#we flesh the Kitchen out even more

[pastafossa]

Not an ask or a request - just wanted to send some love your way. I’m on my third reread of TRT and I’m so excited for new stuff but I’m also loving everything you’ve written so far. Thank you for giving us a window into characters and a world that lives off the page. Hope you are having a wonderful spring.

Love from NYC!!

Thank you so, so much anon! 😭 I'm so happy you're enjoying it. I love widening the world, delving into all the chaos and adventures going on in this universe just outside of the canon narrative POV. There's just so much to explore, and I don't think I'll ever get tired of it. I'm just as eager to get back into it, and I feel like I'm getting there, but the patience is still VERY much appreciated. Things were rough for a bit, but spring is definitely feeling like an improvement. <3

Much love back from my cold little city!

[vivwritesfics]

In Trouble

Max and Charles aren't there. Lando knows what they're not allowed to do while Max and Charles are gone, he just doesn't care.

Norlestappen x reader

warning: smut, p in v, cockwarming, talks of punishment i suppose

Lando's hands gripped her hips as she pushed her fingers through his curls. Just staring into his eyes as Lando stared right back at her. "You're so pretty, Lan," she whispered and tugged on his girls, pulling his head back.

He groaned, grin crossing his face. She leaned forward, rested against his shoulder and kissed at his thick neck. He squeezed her hips just a little tighter, rocking her against his lap.

It was just the two of them home. Charles was in Italy and Max was in England, leaving the two of them by themselves. For the first day, they'd been moping around, ordered in pizza so they could sit against each other on the couch, empty spaces on either side of them.

By day two, they were over it. Max and Charles wouldn't be gone forever, and they could have fun while they were gone.

That was how she ended up on Lando's lap, kissing and sucking bruises into his neck. Low enough that it would be covered up on the upcoming race weekend. But Lando wouldn't cover it up. He'd walk into the paddock wearing something that didn't cover up his neck, walking with his head held high to show off.

"C'mon," Lando whispered, his hands slipping lower. "Can we?"

She stilled against him, pulling her lips away from his neck. "Lando, no," she whispered, lifting her head from his shoulder. "We're not allowed."

That was right, they weren't allowed. On the first day they had been too upset to be needy. But Lando had been sitting with it, letting it stir in him. She was the good one, the one who wouldn't even think about anything like that. Lando was the bad influence, and she knew she couldn't say no to him.

He pouted as he looked down at her. "Please, baby," he whispered, gripping the flesh of her thighs. "They're not gonna know."

Pulling her lip between her teeth, she nodded. She wanted it, wanted him.

Lando held her chin. "You're so good," he whispered and leaned in to kiss her. She knew she was good, it was something she prided herself in. Her cheeks were hot and she grinning as Lando began kissing her neck, pushing her underwear to the side and pushing his fingers inside.

The sex itself was quick. Lando slipped inside of her. He bounced her on top of him, his own hips bucking up. The two of them together, it was quick, needy, desperate. Max and Charles would draw everything out, would have the two of them shaking from overstimulation as they held each other for comfort.

But, now, they had the same goal. They wanted to cum, and that was it. It didn't take long before she clenched around him, finished and becoming sensitive. Lando stilled, spilling inside of her.

On shaking legs, she went to climb off of him, but Lando held her still. "Hang on," he mumbled, still breathing heavily. She was still clenching around him as she laid her head back against his shoulder.

The two fell asleep like that, sitting on the sofa with Lando still inside of her. Maybe if they knew Max and Charles were coming home, they would have cleaned up a bit. They would have hidden what they were doing.

But Charles and Max were early. A whole day early. Max unlocked the door and let himself and Charles in. Their loves were going to be asleep, they knew. They were going to be in the bed, holding each other with space on either side of them for Max and Charles to slip into.

Bodies tired, the two men walked into the living room. Just a simple glass of water from the kitchen, that was all they wanted. But they got a lot more than that.

At first, the scene in front of them was cute. The two of them cuddled together on the sofa, Lando holding her close. He was drooling on the top of her head, but she didn't need to know that.

Charles and Max stopped. They looked at each other, smiling. But they knew they couldn't leave them on the sofa.

Max was gentle as he removed Lando's arms from around her. He went to lift her up, but both she and Lando let out desperate whines. That was when they saw it, Lando's dick slipping out of her.

Charles and Max looked at each other again. Max set her down and Charles worked on waking up Lando. He pushed his fingers through his hair and then tugged.

Lando's eyes flew open. He looked at the two men in front of him, his eyes wide. "Shit," he muttered under his breath as he looked at them, his lap empty.

"Been busy, Lan?" Charles asked as she began waking up.

She looked around in confusion, taking in her other two boyfriends. Panic overtook her slightly and she wrapped her arms around Max. "It was all Lando!" She cried, lips against Max's cheek. Trying to be sweet, he understood. "He made me do it."

Other hands were on her waist, pulling her away from Max. "It takes two to tango, ma chérie," Charles muttered, shaking his head at her. They had no doubt it was mostly Lando's doing, but she had still played her part.

"You two are in so much trouble," Max said with a grin.

Whimpering, she turned to give Charles the attention she tried to give Max, acting sweet on him. It wouldn't work, everybody knew, but she still tried.

But Lando, he was grinning. His grin matched Max's, and he couldn't wait. He was in so much trouble, and he loved it.

[hiraethwrote]

Satoru is such a baby when it comes to splinters.

Just imagine you’re standing in the kitchen when you suddenly feel the energy in the room shift — turning around to face Satoru, hunched and small with his bottom lip sticking out in a pout, hand stretched out in front of him to show you his wound.

“What am I looking at?” He shakes his hand furiously, having you approach him, grabbing his wrist to keep it still, and he instantly winces in pain. You squint, noticing the tiny, red dot in the dead centre of his palm — and he won’t tell you how he got the splinter burrowed in his hand, but you suspect he ran down the stairs three steps at a time, hand gliding over the railings and brushing over the chipped patch at the bottom of it (again). “I’ll get the tweezers,” you sigh.

Coming back from the bathroom, Satoru is sat by the dining table, mentally preparing himself for the dramatic procedure you’re about to perform.

“Show me,” you speak softly, knowing he’s going to need the sympathy. He rests the back of his hand on the table, his eyes pinched together as he awaits the stinging feeling of you digging into his hand.

“That hurts!” He squeals, retracting his hand to his chest at the speed of light.

“I didn’t even touch you, baby,” you say with a low chuckle. “Give me your hand again,” and he begrudgingly puts it back in the table.

“Satoru?”

“Hmm?”

“You have to turn off your infinity.”

He peaks open one eye, taking in the scene of the tweezers hovering an inch above his hand. He flicks his attention to your face — one eyebrow quirked, a slightly taunting smirk on your lips, fighting back the laugh you were harbouring.

Clearing his throat, he shifts in his chair to settle in a more confident posture — straightening his back, wiping away his pout and flexing his muscles, all in order to seem like a tough guy.

The invisible pressure under the tweezers disappeared. You lean in closer to execute with precision, only for Satoru to cry out the second the cold metal grazes his sensitive skin, causing you to flinch away on pure instinct.

“Fiiiine,” you singsong, “we can just let the splinter disappear into your hand and travel your bloodstream.” The lie often told to children seems to work, having him chew the inside of his cheek while he thinks for a second, before he once again rests his hand in front of you. “Ready?” He nods weakly, squeezing his eyes shut again.

And with ease, you snatch a hold of the small splinter that was wedged in his flesh and pull it out.

He blinks a few times, looking at his hand, looking at you. “Thank you,” he mumbles shyly, a little embarrassed by how he acted as if it was the end of the world.

With a lighthearted laugh, you get up from your seat and place a kiss on his forehead. “Any time, darling,” you whisper against his hot skin, knowing it’ll probably only be three weeks before you’re sat at the table again, facing the same issue.

©hiraethwrote 2024 . all rights reserved. reposting, translating and otherwise plagarisim is prohibited

[starsofang]

It was hard to keep up with Johnny when he wanted to take you any time, anywhere. The shower, the couch, the kitchen counter — hell, even one time in Price’s office. Something about dominance or whatever the hell that means.

You asked for one night off from his foolish antics, one night. You should’ve known Johnny would’ve convinced you otherwise, what with those pitiful eyes of his and his silly, little please, hen, just once and I won’t ask again, cross my heart.

Where the two of you were meant to meet up with his force for a sophisticated dinner, Johnny turned it into his breeding ground, located right in the back of the car. In a dingy parking lot, nonetheless.

It felt useless to complain when you were seated on his face, though.

Laid along the backseat of the car with your thighs caging his head, his hands dimpling into the fat of them to keep you still. Breathy moans being pulled out of you every time he swiped his tongue over your clit just right, or when he’d dip lower to the rings of warmth that ached to have his cock inside instead.

“Look at ye, givin’ in so easily,” he murmured against your pussy, the sensation of his lips causing you to twitch. “Can’t even resist it, can ye, love?”

You sucked in a sharp breath at the filth pouring out of him, squeezing your thighs around his head in warning. It only made him groan in satisfaction, toying with your sensitive nub with the narrow tip of his tongue as if savoring a piece of candy.

“I asked— fuck… I asked for one night, Johnny,” you attempted to say, but it came out more whiny than intended.

You could feel him grin against you, and when you tilted your chin down to look at him, you meet a heated gaze so sultry, so devilish, it nearly made you burst then and there.

“S’nothin’ wrong with bein’ fashionably late,” he grunted, pulling away briefly to get the words out. Don’t you dare think he’d stop, though. He simply replaced his tongue with his fingers, arm wrapped around your thigh to reach.

Johnny’s grin grew when your hips stuttered and began to rock, chasing the feeling of stimulation his fingers switching between your clit and stuffing themselves inside of you.

The sight of it had him cooing, eyes dropping down from your face and to your pretty pussy that glistened in the dim light of the car with your own slick.

“Johnny,” you gasped. Your hand slid down to his hair, locking your fingers into the dark strands. “We were late last time.”

Johnny’s eyes flickered to you once again. He took in the way you were coming undone. Forehead glossed over with sweat from the growing heat of the car, your tits bouncing lightly from the desperate grinding of your hips to his fingers, pupils blown out.

Johnny would be a fool to not want to have you anywhere he can. When you looked like a fucked out little angel, basking so sinfully in the greed of your pleasure?

That dinner with his force could wait centuries, for all he cared.

“Yeah?” he mocked. If you weren’t already looking at him, you knew you’d be able to hear the smile in his voice. “Then how come yer still fuckin’ yerself on my fingers, pretty girl?”

You couldn’t help but whine in frustration, eyes squeezing shut. Johnny took that opportunity to press his fingers deeper, toying with your gummy walls. Your mind short circuited and you cried out, thighs trembling around his head.

“Yeeeah, cat got yer tongue. Ain’t tha’ right?” Johnny snickered, his free hand soothing over your other thigh, kneading at the flesh.

The car was growing increasingly hot, sweat beading both of your bodies. Every rock of your hips sent the car jolting with you and Johnny’s head inches away from colliding with the door. If anyone were to drive through the empty parking lot, they’d have quite an unholy sight.

“You’re so fucking— shit, so fucking annoying,” you whined.

A sharp smack to your thigh had you letting out a mix between a yelp and a moan. The sting of it had you forcing your eyes open to look down at him to see him glaring in warning.

“Tha’ right?” Johnny hummed. He promptly took his fingers out of you, resting them on your thigh instead.

Immediately, you protested with a frown, wiggling your ass where it rested on his chest. “Johnny,” you complained. “Not fair. You have to finish what you started.”

“Oh, I intend to,” he assured. “Still care about bein’ late?”

You pouted, glowering down at him. He was teasing you, and you were hopelessly falling for it, just as you’d done every other time he got you soaked and needy in all places unthinkable. Really, the car was probably the most modest pick for the night.

“Say it,” he pushed, that cocky grin returning. “Say it and I’ll let ye cum all over my cock.”

You huffed in annoyance, narrowing your eyes down at him. It was a fight between morality, being on time to Price’s dinner request, and selfish greed, wanting to be stuffed so full of Johnny’s cock that you forgot your name.

“Fuck the dinner,” you cursed, choosing the second option. You were already scooting down where you sat so you could plop yourself right on top of his waist.

Johnny grinned bashfully, hands instantly sliding to sit on your waist. “Atta girl,” he praised.

They knew. How could they not, when your makeup was smudged, hair clearly flattened and combed out with your fingers, and your dress a bit crooked from where it sat on your body? Not to mention the boyish glow that Johnny emitted like he was the damn sun.

“Give us a heads up next time,” Price grumbled, clearing his throat. “We can wait.”

The glare you threw at Johnny was deadly, but he only grinned back knowingly.

You could demand for just one night over and over, but you and him both knew you’d end up a moaning mess, crying his name all over again.

[arminsumi]

I WANT TO KISS YOU / キスしたい

↳ GOJO さとる + fem!reader

you and Satoru falling in love despite a language barrier.

2.9k

Chapter index

Summary : you've come to visit Japan to meet these two boys you met online. Though Satoru can't speak English and you can't speak Japanese, the two of you still fall in love. Very cute. Very cheesy. Oh no... wait is there a tension between you and his best friend, too? Oh boy...

Warnings : romantic tension with Suguru / potential love triangle, cat scratch

Note : i think of this fic a lot and i found the continuation hiding out in my drafts sooo here 👍

🍒 More from Jay : Gojo works / Gojo fave works / JJK works

Satoru blinks awake to see your face. His heart beats harder.

結局昨日は夢ではなかったのか？ Yesterday was not a dream after all?

He's not an early bird at all, but from the first day of your visit he magically woke up early as if his soul was too excited to sleep when it knew you were right there, in the flesh. No screen. Just you.

When the first day starts, it feels like you've always been together. Was there ever a screen separating the two of you? And were you really going to disappear behind one again in just a month?

今のところ、彼女はここに留まるように感じています。彼女が訪問を終えて出発するとき、私は空港で赤ん坊のように泣くことになると思います。 For now, she feels like she's here to stay. I think I'm going to cry like a baby at the airport when she leaves after her visit.

Morning routines are carried out. The sky is cloudy at first, threatening rain, and by the time you three cluster into the kitchen to make breakfast together, it starts raining.

You and Satoru banter like two cats. Suguru's morning rasp is very strong.

"Satoru... uh... sugar?" you ask, preparing to make yourself a second one and automatically making Satoru another one, since he looks still very bleary-eyed even after spending an hour freshening up in the bathroom.

"...? Yes?" he tilts his head, then you raise the sugar cube jar. "Yes. Uh... four. Thank you."

Suguru's blushing because of the cute tension between you and his best friend. It fills the whole kitchen, which already felt full with their two bodies and a third one now. Everyone keeps bumping elbows and yet not complaining about it, in fact it's enjoyable to be squished together. Maybe because you three waited so long to be together in person, you don't mind it. There's a silent, ever-present comedy in the air about the tight proximity.

You hum happily, tossing in one, two, three... four? That's a lot of sugar. "Suguru, tell Satoru he mustn't have so much sugar all the time. It's not good for his health."

Suguru laughs. "I try to tell him that every day. But his sweet tooth is incurable."

"His dentist must hate him." you smirk at Satoru, who's been looking at you blushingly after hearing his name mentioned.

彼女の声が今では一番好きな音だと思います。 I think her voice is my favorite sound now.

もう一度私の名前を言ってください。 Please say my name again.

"Satoru? Coffee?" you interrupt his lovey-dovey thoughts and he suddenly reanimates himself, because for a moment there he zoned out and just stared at you with those pretty eyes.

"Mmm... thanks." he takes the coffee from you with a noticeable timidness that you can't quite explain. There's a lot about him that's indescribable, you're having a small internal crisis; aren't you supposed to be fluent in English? And yet you can't even begin to describe just how sweet and gentle Satoru behaves. The most you can do is use metaphors that barely justify him.

"Suguru, tell her... her voice is nice, and also sorry for cuddling you in my sleep (and that she can definitely kick me away at night if it bothers her.) Also!" (the three of you head into the living room, and Suguru habitually trips over the cat who stalks under his feet too quietly to notice) "Also tell her... if it rains today, does she still want to go out? Because if we go out in the rain, she might get sick. And I don't want her to get sick on her trip. Not that I'd mind taking care of you, Y/n, of course."

Suguru lets out a long sigh and pulls a funny face. You smile amusedly.

"...It's too early to be a translator..." he grumbles in English after Satoru overloads him.

"What? C'mon tell her everything I said!"

"Let me have my coffee first. How about the two of you write to each other?" he suggests, putting the rim of the cup to his lips and sipping languidly.

"Eh, fine." Satoru pouts, and stalks off into his bedroom to get his phone.

Then, when he's in his bedroom, his chest flutters for some reason when he sees your suitcase standing there opened and emptied into the free cupboard space. He takes his phone, smiles at the homely feeling of seeing your belongings in his room, and leaves.

"Oh..." he has a sudden idea, and remembers the magnetic drawing board that's hanging in the kitchen. He and Suguru usually use it for writing reminders to each other, like get milk or you're an idiot or sometimes it has doodles of Mint the cat with sunglasses on.

So he returns to you with this magnetic drawing board, and points at it meaningfully, then holds one finger up and bows his head as he begins writing very slowly.

Suguru's checking the weather forecast and muttering sour complaints under his breath to you. "Of course it would rain for three days just when you arrive... at least by the weekend it will be clear and sunny..."

"Mmm... it's alright. A little rain never hurt nobody." you respond.

"I like your optimism." Suguru compliments flippantly at first, but then continues; "It's really uplifting. I think Satoru said something about you being a joy once, he said it really poetically but I can't recall it now."

"Aw..." you dip your head beneath your coffee cup, hiding the bashful expression on your face, which Suguru chuckles at.

And then, for a long moment, you just stare and watch Satoru writing on the board. You're completely captured in this moment, completely captivated in his enveloping presence as he sits next to you. He has slow, meticulous wrist movements. His knees press together, like he's worried that he'll invade your personal space if he sits too comfortably close to you. Funny, considering he cuddled you all night and you had no complaints about it.

He's writing very simply and neatly, just like how he texts you. You're a bit baffled by the characters he's using, though he's trying his best to avoid using any kanji knowing that you don't know a lot of it. He's sure you can figure things out by slowly pronouncing each hiragana character, or at least he hopes.

"Here." he hands you the magnetic drawing board, and then raises from the couch to go feed the cat.

"Minto-Minto... " he calls after the cat and makes a small cute sound to lure her out.

You're trying to read each hiragana character, eyes squinting a bit.

Suguru leans in close to you. He just takes a look, but the proximity for some reason gives both of you butterflies.

"Ooh... that's cute." Suguru comments after reading what Satoru wrote. His voice reaches deep in your tummy.

"Hm... I'll spell it out and... figure it out... anyways, why did you name your cat Mint?"

"Oh... well. There's two reasons. So the first..." he sets down his coffee, like he's about to tell you a great story, "Is because Satoru watched this show called Tokyo Mew Mew growing up, and he liked the character Minto. So he calls her Minto. And then I agreed on calling her that, but I call her Mint, because I hate mint the herb."

"You — haha, wait what? You call her Mint because you hate mint?"

"Yes. I hate mint, both the herb and the cat. She hates me too, clearly." Suguru raises his hand to remind you of how the cat scratched him the night before.

"Such a cute Hello Kitty sticker..." you tease.

"Thank you. Only the manliest men wear Hello Kitty Bandaids."

"How did she scratch you anyways...?"

"Oh, she likes to hang out in the washing machine if Satoru accidentally leaves it open. And when I try take her out of her comfy spot, she scratches me."

You sympathize, "Poor thing."

"What, the cat or me?" Suguru laughs.

"The cat." you lie teasingly.

"Wow! And here I thought you were being sympathetic!" he raises his brows.

You giggle and look at him, eyes finally making contact — ooh no that's bad bad bad, better break it immediately. So the two of you look away like you've both just indulged in a taboo intimacy. His stomach flips.

"Minto has been fed. She gave me cuddles." Satoru comes back into the room, and you admire the feeling he brings with him.

"No scratches?" Suguru asks.

"No, obviously, she loves me more than you." Satoru cheeks.

"Fuck you, haha."

Satoru makes his voice lower and leans to Suguru, "(Did she figure out what I wrote yet?)"

"Y/n did you figure out what he wrote?" Suguru asks.

"I'm trying so hard. What does this part mean...?"

Suguru shakes his head and puts his hands up. "Like I said, I'm not Mr Translator in the mornings."

"But you've had your coffee! Please, just this part..." you beg, and he can't deny that sweet begging. He easily folds for it, just like when Satoru begs for anything.

"Okay, where — this? Uh... Satoru your handwriting isn't usually this neat, is it...? That part means... 'voice'."

"Oh... ohhh!" you suddenly realize, and then the boys swoon over you when you pronounce the characters out loud to yourself.

"Uh... I think I know what it means..." you feel your cheeks warm up from the crown to your jawline.

あなたのこえがすき。 a-na-ta-no-ko-e-ga-su-ki.

"I like your voice, too." you respond to Satoru, and he half-gets it and gives you a thumbs up.

"Thanks."

You look at each other and then promptly look away with shy smiles.

"You two are cute." Suguru comments.

"Ahah... ahah shut up... hey, the sky has cleared up." you point out.

"Ooh... it cleared up 'cuz Satoru walked back into the room."

You awe at what he said.

"?"

"Nothing."

"Hey, Translator — (stop talking about me behind my back!)"

Suguru chuckles, "I wasn't! I was just — never mind. Let's get ready to head out."

And so you head into Satoru's bedroom to get ready, and Suguru heads into his bedroom, and Satoru himself goes into the cramped bathroom. Poor boy. He's really too tall for that archway, he bumped his head again.

彼女に花を買ってあげるべきでしょうか？それともちょっと多すぎますか？ Should I buy her flowers? Or is it a bit too much?

（なんてことだ）、なぜこのシャツには穴が開いているのでしょう？ (Oh my god), why does this shirt have holes?

The door slides open, he steps out of the bathroom half-dressed, and intends to quickly slip into Suguru's bedroom to borrow a shirt instead of awkwardly knocking on his bedroom door and disturbing you.

But oh, you know what? The cheesiest possible thing happens instead. The universe likes making Satoru's life a little more fun in odd times. So the two of you encounter each other in the hallway; you're fully clothed and he's got just pants and socks on.

He stutters once, swallows awkwardly, and even more awkwardly places his hand on your head as if to say sorry for this inconvenience.

But you laugh in response to the funny situation.

ああ、またあの美しい笑い声。 Ah, that beautiful laugh again.

"Sorry." he mutters, and disappears to go get a shirt from Suguru.

"It's okay." you reply.

The image of your pretty smile is burned in his head.

You can hear him telling Suguru something in the other room, and then you hear Suguru's muffled laugh as a response.

"(Don't laugh! I'm embarrassed! She's seen me shirtless now! No one's seen me shirtless except you!)"

"(You're such a virgin.)"

"(Say that again, I dare you.)"

"(Sorry, I don't understand you. I don't speak virgin, only English and Japanese.)"

You're wondering why Satoru sounds so embarrassed and annoyed, and then he groans down the hallway. It feels like you're their roommate, it's funny.

"Hi."

"Hi."

The two of you encounter each other in the hall again. This time he has a shirt, yes. And this time Suguru is there, too, and he's holding back an amused smile. He fluffs Satoru's hair as a way of embarrassing him more.

So Satoru leaves, and he leaves in such a way that it's super comedic, making you and Suguru laugh. Ooh, what a laugh that boy has; his Addam's apple shifts up and down deliciously.

"Ah... Suguru? I need help with the washing machine..."

"Yes...?"

"...this kid on the plane who sat next to me, he spilled strawberry juice all over my shirt and now it's sticky."

"But at least it smells like strawberries, right?" he jokes. "You can put it in the washing machine, I'll be doing the laundry in a second anyways..." there is a small moment of eye contact shared, then Suguru looks down, and frowns at something he sees, "(SATORU YOU LEFT YOUR SOCK ON THE FLOOR AGAIN!)"

"(Haha, sorry.)" you hear Satoru half-heartedly apologize from the other room.

So Suguru picks up the sock like an annoyed mother and goes to lecture Satoru.

"(You're embarrassing me in front of our guest. For the love of god, don't leave your goofy ass socks on the floor. What if she slips on them?)"

"(You're such a mother, Suguru.)"

You're calmly and casually going to put your juice-stained shirt in the washing machine like Suguru said, but then...

(the boys are talking and there's just this hilariously dramatic scream from the laundry room)

"DID THE CAT SCRATCH YOU?"

"(Did the cat scratch her?)"

"Ow, y-yeah!" you whine.

Suguru's the first one at the crime scene, and he picks up the cat and proceeds to lecture the cat as if it understands Japanese. It licks its lips and nubby nose and has an evil stare. You giggle.

"I'm so sorry... come, uh — (Suguru, we still have Hello Kitty adhesives somewhere, right?)" Satoru instinctually holds your hand that got scratched.

And he holds it so tenderly and caringly that it makes your whole chest quake for him.

彼女の手の傷はとても小さなものですが、それでも私は心臓がチクチクするのを感じました。 Although the wound on her hand was very small, I still felt my heart tingle.

He leads you to his bedroom, picking up some adhesives and antiseptic on the way, and sits with you on the unmade beds. You watch his fingers nimbly peeling the plastic off the adhesive, admiring how swiftly and perfectly he does even the littlest things. He has such a great attention to detail, it makes you self-conscious; is he thinking of you with the same attention to detail as everything else? Yes... he is.

He dabs some antiseptic on your small scratch, and then gently wraps and pats the Hello Kitty adhesive around it. You're pretty sure he's the one who bought them. Oh, if only you could ask him, but where even is your phone? Lost in a void somewhere, probably.

"Thank you, Satoru."

His eyes light up. His heart thumps. Why did those small, simple words have such a great effect on him?

"Mhm." he hums in acknowledgement. "You're welcome."

あなたの傷がもっと良くなるようにキスしたいです。 I want to kiss your wounds to make them better.

A second after thinking this and looking at your hand, he brings it to his lips and presses a very delicate kiss to the edge of your wrist, where the small cut spanned up to the base of your palm. Can you even call it a kiss? It's more like his lips graze your skin, hovering timidly.

And for some reason... the atmosphere becomes very intimate. Is it because of the place where he kissed you? The inner wrist has never occurred to you to be an intimate spot, and yet you're feeling as if he just kissed you on the lips.

You hear him audibly swallow, like he's conscious of this, too. The both of you become very aware of the tension in the atmosphere.

And then he looks apologetic, as if he overstepped a boundary. So you mutter a small, whispery "thanks..." which lifts his heart up into his throat and reassures him that you don't mind the intimacy.

"Mmm..." he blinks at you, pursing his lips.

His eyes linger on your lips for a moment, and it feels like he's about to... well you know his body just wants to... he sort of...

"Hey, how's the wounded patient?" Suguru interrupts, and you and Satoru spring apart like you're elastic bands that just got released after being stretched.

"Ahah, I'm okay. It's not a bad scratch." you lift your hand, "I'll cherish this Hello Kitty Bandaid forever, thank you."

"Yeah, Satoru bought 'em so you can thank him."

"I knewww he bought them, haha! So expected... cutiepie." you admire Satoru, and he's pretty sure that the last thing you said is some cute nickname, so he smirks.

"Okay, well... anyways, let's head out before the sun rises too high and it gets too hot to walk."

© arminsumi

Do not plagiarize / repost / translate / copy layouts / etc.

Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

[kissitbttr]

you slam your purse down on the kitchen counter, heels clicking towards the fridge.

behind you, toji rolls his eyes and throws his head back with a loud sigh. he shrugs off his coat before hanging it on the rack. “here we go” he mutters tiredly,

you throw a glance over your shoulder and shoot a glare at him. “what?”

“nothing” toji strides towards you with hands on his hips. “just think that maybe you should act your fucking age for once, sweetheart”

and it makes you let out the loudest yet sarcastic cackle in the middle of the kitchen, unaware of toji’s clenching jaw as he stares at you.

“funny you should say that because it was definitely me who’s acting like my own age while my fiancée was out whoring himself out with a skinny blonde skank in green dress during the gala”

oh fucking—

“jesus” he sighs, rubbing his face up and down with both palms. staring at how your body turns away from him, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and closing it with your heel. “this is what is all about?!”

“yeah, what else?” you sass, looking at him while twisting the cap off. “got another bitch you’re flirting with i do not know about?”

thread carefully fushiguro he thinks, don’t forget how mean she can be

“baby..” he tries to talk softly with you, calming himself so he wouldn’t lash out. “she was an investor… it is my job to find a high quality investor so i would be able to extend my business overseas.. why would i be flirting with another woman when i got you there with me tonight, hm?”

you raise an eyebrow, hand on hip. “so are you saying you’d flirt with more if I wasn’t coming with you?”

he gapes. “what the fuck— that’s not what i meant! you’re my woman! why should i even look at other girls?!”

“you just did tonight!” an argument leaves your mouth. “right in front of me!”

“i fucking wasn’t!” he raises his voice. “why would you even think that?!”

“you were staring at her far too long” you point out, eye brows scrunching together, a sign that tells him that you’re not wrong,

toji shakes his head, “we were having a conversation!”

“so you had to look at her like that?!”

“where the fuck my eyes should be looking then?!”

your tongue clicks against your teeth, watching how your man becoming frustrated. “my tits”

and there it is. the smart comeback that toji loves and hate at the same time. fucking christ, he sometimes wonders how on earth could he put up with you for so long.

the answer? ask God.

“you’re being a smarty pants right now with me, mami”

“nope” you pop out the word, putting the bottle down on the counter it creates a sound. “dead serious.” you turn on your heel and move to the other side of the room,

“oh we are not finished” in quick seconds, toji is able to pull you by your hips and draw you to him. causing you to let out a gasp. “hey, hey—how long have we been together, hm?”

no answer. instead, you look away. arms crossed over your chest. but toji isn’t having any of that, his one hand moves under your chin to get you to look at him.

“come on—how long?”

“…three years” you mumble

he nods, locking his eyes with you. “exactly… and when you kept rejecting me because you weren’t saying yes each time i ask you out… what did i do?”

you sigh, eyes closing for a moment. “waited a whole six months for me. sent me details about your whereabouts and what you were doing because you wanted me to know that you’re serious about having a relationship with me”

again, toji nods. the grip he has on your hip loosen, palm squeezing the soft flesh over the fabric of the dress. “now… would i even be willing to throw away our three years spent together for a woman that I don’t even know about nor find attractive? do you not trust me, baby?”

the tone of his voice becomes softer, eyes pleading to let you know that he’s here for you. and it’s always going to be you. he sees a future together even far before the two of you hit your first anniversary. you’re it for him.

“i do, ji-ji” a pout forming on your lips, eyes looking down as you hold onto his arms. “never doubted you one second”

“then why did you do what you did, hm?” he pulls you in closer, arms snaking around your waist. “you know that I wouldn’t leave you—never in a million years—the thought of finding another woman has not even crossed my mind, gorgeous…”

your shoulders come up in a weak shrug, “just don’t like it when girls are attracted to you… it’s pissing me off that they know you’re hot”

he laughs at that, pecking your forehead. “while that might be true, you then know how it feels to be me when i see men gawking over my fiancée. it’s crazy.”

toji earns a small smile from you, blushing a bit. “i guess…”

“you know what goes through my mind when i was talking to the woman tonight?” he asks, watching you shake your head. “i kept thinking about wanting to fuck you in this dress.. so bad.. you were such a distraction I couldn’t think straight” he groans,

with a giggle, you ask “really?” hands moving up around his broad neck and shoulders. he nods with a half smirk. “do you still want to?”

he raises both of his eyebrows, before moving his hands down to your thighs and catching you off guard by throwing your body over the shoulder with one arm. toji picks up the cold bottle of water off the counter and easily make his way upstairs with a giggling soon to be wife.

“you’ll find out soon enough, doll”

[sanguineterrain]

window pains | jason todd

Summary: He's got a habit of coming in through the window. You want him to start staying... and using the door. 

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader 

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings/tags: injured Jason Todd (he's okay dw), angst, pining, mentions of Jason's death.

A/N: sooo.... i guess i'm a dc girlie now. just a reminder that every character i write will always be 18+!!! this is probably canon divergent but we make our own canon.

If you like this fic and want to see more, please let me know through reblogs ♡

the divider

"Can't you enter my apartment like a normal person?"

"You know who you're talking to, right?"

"You're getting blood on my carpet, Todd."

It doesn't really matter. He'll come back and scrub it out as soon as his ribs are whole. And fuck if he's not good at getting blood out of surfaces. Jason Todd ought to start a housekeeping column. 

You catch his limp as he climbs over the windowsill. It almost topples him, but he gets to the couch before it does. He doesn't make a sound. 

That had freaked you out the first few times he'd stumbled through your window. Once, he came with part of a windshield wiper impaled in his shoulder. He'd lain on your couch so still and so quiet, you'd thought Red Hood had croaked in your apartment. Which would not have been a good look for you. Or maybe it would. Depends on who you ask. 

Sometimes you want to tell him to make sounds. To hiss and grunt and complain. To grab your wrist so you'll slow down as you pull thread through flesh. 

But it's not your place to request such a thing. You don't know where you reside in Jason Todd's life, but it's not somewhere where you can request to hear him hurt. 

Outwardly, his injuries aren't bad-looking. He takes off his helmet and tosses it somewhere under the coffee table. You offer a hand to help him lie down on the couch—he doesn't take it. 

"Jesus Christ, Jay." You suck in a sharp breath and peel back his bloody suit. "What'd you do?"

"Took a midnight stroll in the Botanical Gardens. Why, what'd you do?"

You frown, eyebrows pinching in the center of your forehead. Jason's stomach is mottled with purple and red bruises. There's a sticky gash right above his hip. A knife. Or a sword, maybe. Apparently, swords are commonplace in Gotham. 

"How'd they get you?" you ask. 

It's a rule-break. Jason's number one policy: don't ask questions.

You always do. Even when it was new, this… thing between you two, you'd ask. Who were they? Why did they hurt you? Did you hurt them back?

The last one, you always know the answer to. 

"There were, like, ten of them," he says. "Cut me some slack, will ya?" 

He has a cut across his lips. A ringed finger that caught on his skin, you guess. You wonder if he'd wince if you kissed him. If he'd wince at the pain or the kiss itself. If you'd know the difference. 

Rage suddenly cuts through you. It makes your hands careless, cruel; you pull the bandage around his waist too tight. Jason coils up slightly. 

"Jesus—ever heard of bedside manner?" he asks, looking at you through his lashes. 

"Ever heard of not breaking into someone's apartment and making them patch you up?"

"I don't make you," Jason says easily. "You wouldn't do it if you didn't want to."

That only increases your rage. Because he's right. You wouldn't be here if you didn't want to be. You'd have kicked him out four first aid kits ago if you minded. 

You yank down his shirt and pack up the kit. Jason shifts on the couch. A sliver of skin above his waistband is still exposed. You have to turn your head to force your gaze away. 

"No bandaids?" he asks. "All my cuts'll be exposed to the elements."

"You can put them on yourself." 

His cheek could use one. And his eyebrow. You're not in the mood. 

Jason doesn't say anything in response to that. You get up to put the kit back under the sink. 

"Can I crash here?" 

"Do what you want," you say, suddenly exhausted. Like it's you who just went six rounds with Gotham's scumbags.

You peek over the kitchen counter when you hear rustling and the couch springs squeak. Jason leans heavily on the arm of the couch, reaching for the window. You walk over and stand in front of him. 

"What're you doing?" you ask. 

"You want me to go," he says flatly. "So I'm going."

"I didn't say that, I said—"

"I can read between the lines." 

"If you could read between the lines as well as you think you can, we wouldn't be in this situation," you say. 

"What situation?"

You turn your head. "Nothing."

Jason steps towards the window. You block him again. 

"What is the matter with you?" you ask. "You're injured. Lie down."

"I'm not your responsibility," he says, glaring. "I'm leaving."

"No, you're not. And since you're allergic to using the door, you don't have a choice."

Jason's eyebrow rises. "Are you saying you'd physically prevent me from leaving?"

You lift your chin. "If that's what it takes."

"Hm. Can't tell if your confidence is stupid or brave."

"Lie the fuck down, Todd."

His lip curls. "I don't stay where I'm not welcome."

Sometimes you forget how young he is. Not that you're not also young, but, well… you don't feel your youth as acutely as other people your age might. It's something you two have in common. 

Here, in the gritty glow of Gotham, you are reminded that Jason Todd died once. Before he finished school. Before he fell in love. 

Your stomach churns every time you see that Y-shaped scar on his torso, strapped over him like a chain. 

"I didn't say that you're not welcome," you say. 

"Yeah, well, you didn't have to."

He sags against the couch and it occurs to you that he's as exhausted as you feel. 

"Can you just—" You touch his bicep. He winces even though there's no injury there. "Can you just lie down?" 

You stare at each other for another minute. Slowly, Jason lays down. His eyes are alert instead of heavy with sleep. Instantly, you feel guilty for making him think he has to be cautious around you. His hand curls protectively over his stomach. 

"Do you want a blanket?" you ask. 

He squints. "It's August."

"I know, I… I thought maybe the blood loss made you cold." 

"'M fine. Perks of being risen from the dead." 

You watch him get settled for a minute. He shifts his weight to his uninjured side and meets your gaze. His eyes are gray in the weak light. 

"You're tired of me," he says. 

Your head snaps up. "No, I'm not."  

"You are."

"I'm not tired of you, Jay."

You see it. The fear. He thinks this is the last time you'll let him in. He doesn't know you can't lock him out. You won't. 

You get up and go to get the kit from the sink again. Jason follows your movement the whole time. His face scrunches in confusion when you sit in front of the couch and unzip the kit. 

You pull out the tiny red bandaids. You'd bought them as a joke, initially. It had made Jason laugh and that had been reason enough to keep buying them. And then he let you actually put them on.

You peel the adhesive off of one and gently stick it on his cheek. He blinks at you, thick, dark lashes kissing the corners of his eyes. 

"I'm not tired of you," you say softly. 

"I'd be tired of me." 

"You keep this city safe. How could I be tired of Gotham's defender?"

Jason scowls and turns his head into the cushion before you can put the second bandaid.  

"I'm not its defender. The others protect this city a hundred times better. Nightwing does it with a smile on his face."

"I like that you go out there even when it's hard, Jay," you say. 

He doesn't respond. You lean in, so close that you can count the freckles on his neck. 

"Can I finish putting the bandaids on?" you ask. 

"I don't need 'em."

"You do. You need another on your forehead."

"It'll heal fine without it."

Your shoulders bunch like a cat on defense. You grab his cheek (gently, always gently) and his head whips to yours in surprise. 

"Jason Todd, I am not tired of you. I'm tired of the fact that you only come by when you need fixing."

He scowls. "I never asked you to fix me. If you want me to leave, I'll leave."

"I don't want you to leave, I want you to stay!" you burst. 

Jason scoffs. "No, you don’t. I'll overstay my welcome real fast."

"Maybe I care about you on purpose!" you say, voice rising. "Maybe I didn't stumble through a window; maybe I walked through the door and bought the bandaids and learned how to stitch wounds because I wanted to."

He suddenly looks overcome by grief. The agony in his face startles you. 

"I don't know how to use the door anymore," he says quietly. "All I do is stumble through windows."

Your hand slips off of his cheek. Jason closes his eyes; they fly open when you stick the second bandaid above his eyebrow. 

"You can come in any way you want to," you say, face an inch away from his. "As long as you come back to me."

His gaze darts to your mouth. You don't kiss him hard. He breaks anyway.

You avoid the right side of his mouth entirely, not wanting to pull at his cut. Jason shudders into your mouth. You cup his pulse through his neck and it quickens.

His eyes are wet when you pull away. His chest heaves like he's been swinging through the city. 

"I wanna try to use the door," he says. 

You touch the bandaid on his cheek, humming. 

"Then I'll leave it unlocked." 

[amiableness]

hiii!

first, i’m loving this dad!james series its genuinely so heart fulfilling so thank you for taking time out of your day to write

now i’m not sure if this will spark any interest but maybe dad!james and r have been dating for a like a month but no one knows and then the whole gang (or just rem and sirius) come over and like James is like extra touchy with her which like he was before but more so now so they’re both kinda like ??? until james is like she’s my girlfriend

ily

Dad!James Potter x Bsf!Reader ☼ 977 words

thank you sm babe! i love writing for you all! hope you like it <3

“Do they seem off to you?” Remus murmurs, his gaze following James as he heads into the kitchen. He had muttered something about helping you with the tea, but it wasn’t like you really needed the help.

The whole afternoon, Remus had noticed how James couldn’t keep his eyes off you, his gaze filled with that familiar, adoring warmth. That in itself wasn’t unusual—James had always looked at you that way. But what really caught Remus off guard was how openly you were returning those looks, your eyes just as soft, filled with the same affection. It wasn’t just the casual brush of his fingers against yours or his hand resting briefly on your lower back as you passed. It was also in the subtle, consistent touches—his knee brushing against yours under the table or the way his hand would linger on your arm during conversations.

You both appeared entirely and undeniably in love.

Sirius, however, is lost in his own world, meticulously taking apart one of Henry’s Lego sets just to rebuild it. “No,” he replies, not even looking up, his fingers expertly snapping the pieces back together. “Why? Did you notice something?”

“He hasn’t stopped touching her since we’ve got here.” Remus continues to stare at the doorway, as if expecting it to provide an answer somehow. The wall separating the kitchen from the living room blocks his view, but he can’t shake the feeling that something is different.

“He’s always like that with her.” Sirius says, focusing on a new Lego piece that refuses to snap into place. His frustration is clear as he twists and turns the piece, trying to make it fit.

“No,” Remus replies, shaking his head with a hint of uncertainty. “I’m sure I heard him call her ‘baby’ earlier.”

Sirius finally looks up, curiosity piqued by Remus’s tone. “When did you hear that?”

“When we first got here,” Remus says, his gaze distant as he recalls the moment. “James was talking to her in a more intimate way than usual.”

Sirius considers this, his frown softening slightly. “Oh, he probably did. He’s always calling her something sweet,” Sirius says with a casual shrug. “Lovesick is what he is.”

“He’s never called her ‘baby,’” Remus insists, his brow furrowing. “It’s different, I swear it.”

Sirius sighs and shakes his head, still engrossed in his Lego project. “We’ve thought that for years, and nothing’s ever really changed. Maybe this is just another nickname of his.”

Remus swears he hears you sigh James' name from the kitchen, light and airy, and before Sirius can react, Remus is on his feet, tugging at his shirt with a sense of urgency. Sirius starts to protest, a frown forming on his face, but Remus doesn’t bother with an explanation. “C’mon,” he insists, pulling him toward the kitchen without another word.

“Nothing’s different, Rem. They’re just—” Sirius’s words die in his throat as he catches sight of you both.

James has you perched on the edge of the counter, his body firmly nestled between your legs, the warmth of him pressing against you in all the right ways. One hand cradles your cheek, his thumb gently stroking your skin as he tilts your head just so, deepening the kiss. His other hand grips your hip, fingers curling into the soft flesh where your shirt has bunched up, his touch pulling a gasp from you. The kiss is slow, unhurried, every brush of his lips against yours filled with a lingering desire, like he’s savoring every second. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging him closer, and the way your body arches into his, seeking more of him, makes it clear that neither of you wants to let go. The heat between you is palpable, each movement charged with a quiet intensity that speaks of just how much you want each other.

This is not the first time you’ve kissed clearly.

Remus clears his throat, a sound that cuts through the charged silence. You pull away from James, your breath coming in short, startled gasps. Your lips are swollen and pouty, still tingling from the intensity of the kiss. You clutch at James, reluctant to let go, as if the contact alone is grounding you.

James quickly tugs your shirt back into place, his hands lingering for a moment as he smooths out the fabric with a touch that’s both tender and possessive. His gaze flicks over to the boys, a mix of surprise and awkwardness crossing his face as he registers their stunned expressions. The heat in the room seems to intensify, the once-private moment now exposed under their watchful eyes.

“What the hell?” Sirius exclaims, his voice sharp with disbelief. “We’re out here building Legos—” 

“I wasn’t building—” Remus begins to protest, but Sirius cuts him off.

“—as we wait for our tea, and you two are in here snogging?”

“No, we weren’t sno—” You start to protest, but Remus and Sirius cut you off with pointed looks.

“When did this happen?” Sirius demands, clearly miffed. “Because that’s obviously not the first time you’ve kissed her.” His tone reflects his hurt that James, his best friend, hadn’t mentioned anything about this development.

James clears his throat, his face a mix of embarrassment and defensiveness. “About a month ago,” he admits.

“So you two are just messing around?” Remus asks, raising an eyebrow. James’s expression turns from defensive to offended, his brows knitting together.

“No, you prat! She’s my girlfriend.” James snaps, his voice tinged with frustration.

“Bloody hell, it only took you about eight years.” Remus retorts, a smirk playing on his lips. You let out a laugh, unable to help yourself at Remus’s quip.

Sirius, his annoyance settling, lets out an exaggerated sigh, “I expect another niece or nephew as compensation for making us all wait this long for you two to get together.”

please consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment! it keeps me motivated to write! 💌

[bluetimeombre]

༊*·˚ 𝓕𝓮𝓮𝓵𝓼 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓱𝓸𝓶𝓮

You, Logan, Laura and Charles have to pretend to be a family with the nice people but Logan can’t help thinking what could have been

Warning/disclaimer: strong language, cursing, sexual themes, angst, follows the events of Logan

The silence was the eighth guest at the table. It sat just as stiff as the rest of you.

The lovely family you’d helped at the roads invited you all back for dinner and Logan who was hesitant to accept the kindness of strangers denied, but Charles insisted. Even you didn’t want to turn down a hearty meal. It made a change from the bars of granola and chocolate you’d been eating like it was your last meal the days you’d been on the road.

Logan watched as you coaxed Laura into using a fork and not her fingers and as you told her not to pile too much on her plate.

  ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

You and Logan sat at the dining table at the school. Everyone else was asleep and it was just the two of you in the dead of night, lit only with the dim kitchen lights.

The two of you sat facing each other, you cradled tea while Logan had a soda. Your legs were thrown of his lap as you talked about something, he wasn’t even sure what it was because all he was focusing on was his hand caressing up your leg and how sweet your skin tasted as he nipped and licked at your neck.

You tried to keep talking but he was oh so distracting. “Logan.”

He hummed, kissing that sweet spot behind your ear.

“We’re in a school, stop trying to take me on the table,” you said, amused.

“I’m not trying to take you on the table,” he denied, lifting his head to look at you. “I’m trying to take you on the kitchen counter. C’mon, you know you want to.”

His hands slipped under your shirt that was really his, pinching and groping any flesh he could. He chuckled as you shivered, kissing your lips and trying to slide his tongue in.

“Anyone could walk by,” you argued against his lips.

“Well, they didn’t find us the first time. Or the second, or the last time, or the time before that,” he listed.

You giggle quietly as he groans playfully against your neck, gripping your thighs until he had you straddling him, the chair groaning under the weight of you both. “We can’t break another chair,” you mumble.

“Then we better take it slow, bub.”

He kissed you sweetly before giving into the heat that crawled in his stomach and down to his cock. But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

 ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

“There’s plenty more if she wants,” said Kathryn, bringing Logan from his daydream.

He looked at you, none the wiser he wished he could still love you freely and not pay the price later. Then he looked to Laura who was shoving corn in her mouth. “She’s fine,” he grumbled.

“Where are y’all heading?” Asked Will.

Logan said ‘Oregon’ the same time Charles said ‘South Dakota,’ and everyone looked between the two.

You clear your throat. “Oregon then South Dakota.”

“Vacation?” Asked Kathryn.

“Yes,” said Charles. “Long overdue, we’re city folk. Always wanted to go out and see the country, meet the people who live in it.” He smiled, as if this was all his plan.

Kathryn nodded. “That sounds lovely. Been trying to get Will here to take a vacation for years now.”

“You don’t like to travel?” You asked.

Logan remembered traveling with you once. To Canada.

 ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

The two of you were hiding from the frigid snow in a bar, where Logan could keep himself warm with whiskey and where he could keep you warm all evening.

The two of you had sat at the bar, talking with smiles on your faces, almost passing for regular people.

When Johnny Cash started playing ‘Give my love to Rose’ you had dragged him out to the floor. It was empty besides an old couple swaying slowly. He followed after you grudgingly but his hold on your hand was firm. He dared glare at any man that looked at his girl.

When you were in the middle of the floor you threw your arms around his shoulders as his hands fell to your hips, helping you move.

“Smile,” you told him.

“Why?”

“I wanna see if your face cracks.”

He squeezes you and pulls you in closer, biting down on his lip as he looks at you.

“I thought you’d be happy to be out of the school for a bit,” you said. “I know you don’t like being cooped up all the time.” You caressed his cheek.

He moved to kiss your palm. “I am happy, bub. M’always happy with you.”

“Well, would it kill you to show it,” you tease.

“I can show it to you,” he mumbled in your ear.

You smile and rest your head on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart.

Give my love to Rose, won’t you mister. Take her all my money, tell her buy some pretty clothes.

Logan hummed the song, chest vibrating with it.

“We could do it, if you want,” you said.

Logan hummed.

You moved away from his chest and looked up to him. “We could leave the school if you wanted.”

He looked at you. Sure, he’d thought about it but never said it out loud. He knew the school was your home, the only place you’d ever known. He wasn’t going to ask you to leave it all behind, even if he was at home with the mountains. “You’d leave?”

“Well we’d have to talk to Charles, and we’d visit of course. But I’m not against the idea, Logan. I want a life with you.”

His arms circled around you. “I want you, forever, bub.”

“You have me. Forever.”

He raised his brows. The two of you could live a long, long time. With both your healing factors. “And ever?”

You rolled your eyes. “And ever.”

He grinned, something only you could make him do. He took your hands and kissed the backs of them before pulling out and bringing you back in.

And ever.

 ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Logan felt your foot nudge his under the table and he thought he’d missed a question or something.

You glanced his way. “Sorry,” you mumbled.

Logan chewed and moved his foot closer to yours, your feet together. Color tinged your cheeks. When had the two of you gotten so cold with each other? He couldn’t pin point when the little touches between you two became miracles.

Was it when you lost half your family? Or when he realized he wasn’t getting better?

“And if we go out trapesing the country who’s gonna take care of this place?” Will proposed.

“Exactly, I say let it go,” said Kathryn.

“And live off what?”

“The lord will provide.”

“Well, I’m still waiting for him to provide me with a new thresher.”

Kathryn ignored her husband and smiled at them. “All the same, I’d love to travel someday.”

“And I bet you will,” Charles assured her.

Logan looked to him, wondering if he was getting too comfortable in using his powers again

“I could drop out of school,” suggested their son, Nate.

“Ok let’s not go that far,” said his mother as a couple chuckles passed the table.

“Careful,” you warned, “you’re talking to a guy who ran a school.” You nodded your fork to Charles.

 ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Logan wasn’t one for teaching, mainly he was a sub and would take some danger room sessions. Everyone knew he stuck around for you.

As classes were coming to an end he walked the corridors, nodding to those that said hello to him but he wasn’t stopping for a chat. He kept going until he came by your class. Kids were still leaving, a few young men loitering to ask you questions.

He watched amused as they thought they had a chance before he waltzed in, making himself known with the sound of his boots on the ground. “Hey, sweetheart,” he came up behind you as you straightened the papers.

“Hey,” you mumble.

The three students were still loitering and Logan glared at them. “Beat it.”

Quickly, they scampered.

“Logan,” you chastised.

“What?” He settled in your chair, fingers messaging into you.

“They were asking me what they’ve heard on the news,” you told him, distracted.

Logan sighed. He knew what the news was saying, the wonder and concern why there were less mutant births every day. He didn’t care. Less mutants, less students, more time spent with you.

But you were worrying. You watched the news every day, was reading reports and doing your own research.

“Listen, bub,” he said, trying to get your focus on him and not the desk. “Stop, look at me.”

He turned you around, trapping you between the desk and him. You seemed tired, you shoulders slumped. He went to message them, rubbing away the stress. “I’ve been thinking about what you said, couple months ago about leaving. Well, maybe we should.”

“Now?” You ask. “Logan, things aren’t going well for the mutants, right now Charles needs us here-”

“Things never go well for mutants,” he said. “You’re having second thoughts.”

You sigh, looking up to him. “I’m not having second thoughts. All I’m saying is we just need to wait a bit, to see what happens.”

Logan didn’t want to wait. He was stubborn, he wanted to act. While you had been looking into what was going on with the mutants, he had been looking at places in Canada to live. Little towns, little huts in snowy mountains.

“Soon, ok?” You pecked his lips and moved from his grasp as he watched you go.

 ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

“It was a um… a special needs school,” Charles fumbled on his words.

“That’s a good description for it,” said Logan as you chuckled.

Charles looked over toward you and Logan. “They were in it,”

“Oh yeah, yeah,” Logan mused. “I got kicked out a few times.”

They laughed at that, even Laura.

“I wish I could say you were a good student but the words would probably choke me,” said Charles, a sly smile on his lips.

You took a drink, hiding your smile.

Kathryn gestured between the two of you. “Is that how you met?”

You looked at her, stuttering.

“Oh yeah,” said Logan, looking at you. “I remember it like yesterday.”

 ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Logan remembered finding himself in Charles class room, barefoot, a random hoodie thrown on. He was confused, and angry.

“I’m Charles Xavier,” said the Professor, wheeling out from behind his desk.

“Where am I?” He asked.

“Westchester, New York. You were attacked. My people brought you here for medical attention.”

“I don’t need medical attention,” he said.

“Yes, of course.”

Logan looked around, he knew none of this. “Where’s the girl?”

“Rogue? She’s here, she’s fine.”

Logan raised his brows. “Really?”

The door opened, starting him. “Ah, Logan. I’d like you to meet Ororo Monroe also called Storm. This is Scott Summers, also known as Cyclops.”

‘Cyclops’ put his hand out for Logan. “Hi.”

Logan stared at him. Mainly, at his glasses.

“They saved your life,” said Charles. “They’re in my school for the gifted. For mutants- ah, y/n! Come here please.”

You had been walking by the door when he called for you and ushered you in. You smiled at both Storm and Cyclops but walked around Logan with side steps. He watched you go to the professor and you looked back to him once.

“This is, y/n. This is Logan.” He introduced.

Logan stuck out his hand to you, earning a scoff from Scott.

Whatever else happened that day, Logan could not tell you. He only knows that’s the day he met you and nothing else has mattered to him since.

Logan looked around at them all, still holding your hand. “Cyclops? Storm? What they call you, wheels?”

The Professor bristled but you laughed.

Logan smirked at you.

You met his gaze and took you hand away. “Nice meeting you, Logan.”

As soon as Logan was done. He sort you out, and every time after, he sort you out.

 ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

“Are you married?” Asked Kathryn.

Her husband scolded her.

You clamped your hands between your hands, blushing as even Logan took his time chewing. “No.”

“Never got round to askin,” said Logan.

“Then you had a kid right?” Asked Kathryn, smiling at Laura who watched her with curious eyes. "Ain't that always the way."

You glanced at Logan. You watched him with just as much curiosity. Did you really think he wasn't planning on proposing? That he didn't want to spend the rest of his life with you like you'd always planned. You shook yourself out of your daze, back to eating. "Something like that."

"Well, there's still time," said Kathryn as her son and husband laughed at her. "Sorry, i'm a romantic."

 ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Logan might not remember the last time he kissed you, but he remembered the first. You'd gone on a mission, saving some mutant kids that had been taken. He hadn't gone obviously cause why would he care, he hadn't realised you were going. If he had, he would've jumped on that jet.

He'd heard it had gone wrong. That someone had been hurt.

He was waiting outside when the jet landed. Scott and Jean hurried to check the kids as soon as they stepped off.

Logan growled under his breath and pushed past them all, trying to find you.

You were in the jet, scrubbing yourself clean of blood. You must have heard him coming as you turned quickly. "Hey Logan."

"What happened?" he asked. He could smell only iron, not you. It drove him crazy.

You shrugged, tugging off part of your suit, you wearing a vest underneath, tying the arms around your waist. "The kids are safe."

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

The two of you had been dancing around each other for months. With Logan's blunt flirting and your smirks and long-lasting glances, your coming together was a ticking time bomb.

"I'm fine."

You weren't meeting his gaze and he wondered what he'd done to get you annoyed.

He strode over to you, grabbing your cheeks and forcing you to look at him.

You took his wrists from you. "No," you said, grumbling.

The two of you fought, trying to grab and push at each other until Logan got the upper hand and pushed you against the wall. "What?"

"You!" you snapped. You were panting, looking up to him as he bared his teeth, confused. "You couldn't get your head out your ass long enough to give me a hand? To help?"

"I didn't know- I didn't know you were going!" he argued. "If I had do you not think I would've come with, eh bub?"

"I don't think I ever know what's going on in your head." You tried to push past him but Logan grabbed you again and kissed you.

Neither of you knew what was happening. All you knew was that Logan was against you, bodies pressed together, lips moulding together in anger and need. It was more than he'd hoped, more than he'd imagined.

His fingers dug into your skin, sighing against your lips as your hands grasped at his shoulders in fury and want. "You," he mumbled in your skin. "All my head is filled with is you."

 ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Logan had grudgingly agreed to stay the night at the family's house, after Charles and you had made him. He'd settled Charles in his room and Laura- well, he didn't know where she was and he wasn't sure he cared all that much.

He was looking for you and he found you in the bathroom, washing your face. The droplets of water ran down your neck as you brushed your hands over your head. Slowly, giving you enough time to tell him to fuck off, he stepped in and closed the door behind you.

"What's up?" you ask quietly, dabbing away the water.

He watched you and sighed. The two of you used to just move around each other, understanding without words. Now, he couldn't even stand in the same room as you without you assuming he needed something. "When did this happen?" he mumbled.

"What?"

He shook his head. "When was our last kiss?" he asked, looking at you.

You met his gaze, holding onto the sink to purchase you.

"When was the last time we made love, y/n?"

"Was it ever love?" you mumbled. "It was over very quickly, if it was."

He grumbled under his breath, complaining. "You think i'm not doing all of this for you?" he asked, limping closer. "You'd have left and gone off yourself if I hadn't taken that fucking kid in and gone on this damn ride."

"I want you to do it for you, Logan," you whisper, not wanting to let the house know you were talking. Or arguing. "All you've ever done is to keep Charles safe, or to do it for me, I want you to have some purpose. I want you to have something in your life."

You'd gotten closer to him. He could smell your scent, beautiful, never dulled by the days spent cooped up in a van.

Logan scanned every one of your features. You hadn't aged a day since he'd known you while he was old, greying and gruff, a collection of wrinkles and pain. What did that loving family see when they looked at you? A beauty and its beast?

His hand drifted up to your cheek, cupping it and running a rough thumb over the smoothness of his cheek.

Your eyes flickered around him as he brought his head lower until his lips, chapped and cut, were against yours, wet and soft. You didn't move to hold him, or push him away and for that he should have been thankful. You let him wrap his arms around you, caging your body against his as your nails dug into his forearms. Your lips parted as his did, as he licked your bottom lip and as you gave into him.

He used to be able to kiss you until the air was out of his lungs, but just as his tongue met yours, he had to pull away and suck in a deep breath.

That was your last kiss, and he'd always remember it.

Taglist (thank you! some of y'all wanted Hugh, some wanted Logan, let me know if you wanted to be added or removed): @oatmilkriver, @angstdaddy, @chronicallybubbly, @white-wolf-buckaroo

[sisterslvt]

big sis coming home from her minimum wage, shitty kitchen job, collapsing onto the couch with relief, only to have her lil sis come out from her room, way past her bedtime, asking to cuddle

annoyed, but trying to be a good sister, she says she needs to shower, she’s sweaty and probably smells like fry oil

“and? i don’t mind, i think you smell just fine”, and with that, plops onto big sis’ lap, legs intertwining and arms crossed behind big sis’ head before she can object any more

“okay, you win” she chuckles as she embraces her little sister

as she holds her, little sister nestles her face into her big sister’s neck. “so warm”, she whispers, not realizing big sis’ reaction, biting her lip, trying to push out the intrusive thoughts

“it’s okay, i’m not a bad person”, she silently reassures herself. “she doesn’t know any better” just then, she can feel her sister’s lips grazing her neck

“hey, hehe, what are you doing?” she nervously croaks. “nothing, silly, just relax” big sis’ eyes wander, her sister’s thighs pressed against her own, her supple skin so inviti- she tries to ignore the pounding thoughts and her growing discomfort in her jeans

“big sis, i love you so much, don’t be mad okay?” “huh? why would i be m-” little sister’s lips meet flesh, purposefully, her hand now wandering to brace her big sis’ neck. little sis lets out a moan “-ad?” another moan, this time from big sis’ own mouth

“i want you to feel good, just let me do this for you, okay?” big sis, trying and failing to fight her urges melts towards her sister’s lips, finally reaching her destination. as they pull away, a quick look into each other’s eyes tells little sis that she can surprise her big sis properly.

she swings her legs so she’s straddling her now, ready to make the next move. “do you wanna see me naked?” big sis’ eyes dart around the room, knowing but making sure they’re alone. “only if we can both be naked”

little sister’s eyes light up and she nods excitedly as she begins to strip her big sis down. a flurry of clothes and movement later, little sis is on her knees, in between her big sister’s legs

“i think i saw this in a movie one time, even though mom covered my eyes, i could still see. do you want me to put my mouth on you?” big sis nods, her cock throbbing at the thought. as her little sister’s mouth wraps around her, she can’t hold back, forcing herself as deep as she can bracing her sister’s head with her hands

lil sis would be smiling if she could muster it, but the best she could do was stare up at her big sister as her hips bucked into her. she could barely breathe, but her sister’s face was just so pretty as she moaned between a string of “fuck”s and “you feel so good”s

as lil sis drifted into ecstasy at the thought of her big sister using her like she had fantasized for so long about, her thoughts were interrupted as her mouth was freed and she was lifted onto the couch her other holes now in full view

“lil sis, i wanted this for so long. you always looked like a perfect little fucktoy for me, so now just please let me use you” before she could even respond with an “of course”, big sis’ cock was buried in her pussy, which had been dripping in anticipation. instead, all she could utter was a whimper as big sis pushed her head down and desperately humped against her

“fuck, i shouldn’t be doing this, i shouldn’t even be thinking about this, but your ass is always peeking out of your shorts, i know you wanted this” little sis wanted to say more but all she could get out between thrusts was “yesyesyes, fuuuckk meee”

as big sis’ pace picked up, they both knew what was coming. “you better not tell anyone about this, okay you little slut?” “mm-hmmm” she whined back. big sis bottomed out in her sister as she released all of the pent up stress of the day into her…oh god, she just came in her little sister. she pulled out, her mind no longer hazy with needing to get off and instead left with dread of what might happen next

“i’m so sorry, i shouldn’t have done that…fuck, please don’t tell anyone, we shouldn’t have let that happen”

little sis, blissed out beyond belief just turned around to face her sister, her cheeks now flushed with embarrassment

“i’m glad you came in me, we should do that more often”

big sister’s face lit up, finally excited for what the future held

[fernandopiastri28]

Hello! I loved your last oscar fic so maybe you could do one when oscar repays her and is focused only on her pleasure?

hands in your hair ~ oscar piastri

It’s only a few minutes of this before Oscar begins to get increasingly more irritated. A string of whines and groans leave his mouth as her nails scratch at his scalp and his hips shift against the cushioning under him, desperate for friction and pressure. “Y/N,” He mumbles into the flesh of her thighs, “I’m horny,”

Shocker. “Same,” She cranes her neck and hunching her back awkwardly so she can kiss the back of his head. His hair smells vaguely of sweat and some expensive aftershave, hints of hotel shampoo underneath. It’s distinctively Oscar, her favourite.

His fingers drive into her thighs, leaving white splodges in their wake. “Can I go down on you?”

wc: 2,437 || warnings: pure smut- oral (f), mentions of sex, hair kink??

(self indulgent- just me being obsessed with oscar's longer hair)

Her finger’s card through the soft locks of his brunette hair, relishing in just how long his hair’s gotten. It looks better than it has throughout their whole relationship, and she’s seen her fair share of his interesting haircuts. For a moment, her hands pull away and her touches stop. He wiggles around, his head lolling around in her lap. “Why’d you stop?” His voice comes out as a grumble, a slight pout to his lips.

“Sorry, Oz,” Y/N giggles, her thumbs moving to brush over his cheeks before moving back into his hair. His eyes are shut, trying to get in a last little bit of sleep before he has to get in the car for free practice 3. Oscar Piastri napping minutes before he has to be driving around a track he’s never driven before in his career- fork found in kitchen. He would sleep forever if he could, and likely would if it weren’t for Y/N, Andrea, and Lando all having to try to wake him up.

A knock sounds on the door a few minutes later, proving her point further. “Osc?” Lando’s voice travels underneath the door of Oscar’s room in the motorhome. When he doesn’t get a response, he calls out again. “Y/N, stop sucking his cock, we need to get in the cars soon” She cringes out, turning dark red that that’s what’s presumed they do whenever they’re alone.

It kinda is, but not always. “He’s sleeping, not getting head,” She retorts, enjoying her last few minutes before he gets whisked away.

“Sleeping, sex, quickies- who cares, please just wake him up,” Lando keeps knocking on the door and she frowns slightly, sad that her time with her boyfriend has to be cut short for him to race.

“Yeah, give me a sec,” She weasels her way out from under him, slipping down enough for her feet to hit the floor. “Oscar, time to wake up,” She brushes her hair off his forehead, kissing at the revealed skin. “Cmon, neither of us want you to get in trouble with Zak because you’ve just decided you don’t want to race today,” 

He groans, rolling himself over to bury his face into a cushion. “Fine,” His arms click as he pushes himself up, his fireproof top having hitched itself up to show off the majority of his toned abdomen. “Only because I don’t want to end up in a Danny Ric situation,” She sucks in a deep breath at that, her mouth moving into a grimace. “Sorry, too soon,” 

Oscar needs to remember that even though she’s his girlfriend, she’s a Ricciardo fan firstly, a true aussie supporting her country. “Good luck, loverboy” She pulls him in for a final kiss just as he’s working on getting his race suit zipped up, forgetting he only has one of his arms in a sleeve.

His hand squeezes at her waist, pushing it slightly into the edge of the bench they were previously perched upon, “Back here at the end of practice?” His adorable bunny teeth scrape along her bottom lip, his lips clasping around it.

“You’ve got it,” She sends him off with a swift smack to the butt, getting a howl out of him and a permanently red face of embarrassment when he sees that Lando saw the whole thing. 

He’s never going to hear the end of it.

~~~

Oscar goes crazy on the radio as free practice 3 ends, securing him a first place ‘position’ after getting second in the prior session. For a track that had been cancelled last year, causing him to miss out on racing it before today, he’s doing exceptional. He hurries back to his driver room, excited to get back to spending time with Y/N before qualifying. 

“Oz!” She’s already back on the bench, having made her way out of the paddock once the session had ended to avoid crowds of interviewers. “You were so good, baby!” She reaches her arms out, wrapping her legs around his waist once he’s fully in the hug.

His head buries into the crook of her neck, his hair tickling at her nose, “Did it for you,” He murmurs, his lips aimlessly moving against the collar of her shirt, unintentionally wetting it. “Can we cuddle like before? Your hands in my hair?” The question is slightly muffled by the angle he’s at, but she gets it enough. He’s not really one to go all out with celebrating, and FP3 isn’t something huge to party about anyways. 

She leans back, her head hitting against the wall and lets her legs dangle over the edge so her thighs squish up, just like how Oscar likes. He palms at them, before just dropping his head down onto them, using them as cushions. His cheeks get all smushed up, just like they do under his helmet. Without much time after that, her hands move to his hair, tugging on it ever so slightly, the floppy strands long enough to nearly cover her fingers completely as they disappear under all the brown hair there. He turns over slightly, enough to be looking up at her and have his head up closer to her face. 

After eye fucking eachother for what seems like a decade, his lips press into hers. The kiss is agonisingly slow, strings of spit connecting them and teeth tugging on each other's lips. Their faces seem to merge into one the longer it lasts, each breath being inhaled in tandem. The nose of smacking lips and wet suckling fills the small room, hands going on hips and waists as desperate attempts to hold back whatever incoming lustre they’re both heading towards until they get home tonight. 

They just have to wait til after quali, get back to the hotel, then they can fuck it out. 

Y/N’s the one who ends up pulling away, knowing she’s not strong enough to hold back if they’re gonna continue making out. Oscar’s an exceptional kisser, and sometimes, just that is enough for her to get off on. So they go back to Oscar’s head in her lap, sitting in silence as she strokes his head.

It’s only a few minutes of this before Oscar begins to get increasingly more irritated. A string of whines and groans leave his mouth as her nails scratch at his scalp and his hips shift against the cushioning under him, desperate for friction and pressure. “Y/N,” He mumbles into the flesh of her thighs, “I’m horny,”

Shocker. “Same,” She cranes her neck and hunching her back awkwardly so she can kiss the back of his head. His hair smells vaguely of sweat and some expensive aftershave, hints of hotel shampoo underneath. It’s distinctively Oscar, her favourite. 

His fingers drive into her thighs, leaving white splodges in their wake. “Can I go down on you?” That’s just about the last thing she was expecting to come out of his mouth. It’s not completely out of character for him, he’s actually pretty insistent on spending evenings after races in between her legs, whether his result was good or not. He could spend eternity there, his mind all foggy and dreamlike- like he’ll stay there forever. “I won’t make a mess- I promise, we can be quick. I just wanna make you feel good,”

It’s her favourite request, and her dress is hitched up before he can ask again. Towards the beginning of last season, she’d worn a wide variety of jeans and other long pants, until she realised just how many they found themselves desperate for a quickie before or in between races, and she’d permanently switched to flowy dresses and skirts ever since. 

He arranges himself onto his front, up on his knees and hands while he keeps his chest the lowest angled part of his body. She’s laying in the same direction as him, her knees towards the ceiling and her back flush to the bench, her fingers occupied by playing with the hem of her dress so as to not cum the second she sees his desperate face in between her parted legs. 

It feels like her heart is stopping as his breath gets heavier and hotter on her clothed heat, the fabric basically ruined from how wet she’s gotten. A digit glides across the soaked material, taunting her as he pushes against it. “Fuck, Oscar,” She hits her head down against the pillow under her head, not even realising when she’d gotten this needy.

“You’re dripping,” He notes, his eyes huge and glossy, all mesmerised by the sight. A finger hooks into her waistband, pulling them down tantalisingly slowly. She forces her head up, just enough to study his expression from just above her cunt. He licks his lips, his pupils somehow growing bigger. “Holy shit,” He doesn’t waste a second, his face plunging forward so get his mouth all over her.

Oscar’s talented in many things. Driving, writing hit tweets, taking digs at DRS, being mature in all circumstances, making people laugh with his dry and sarcastic humour, but above all- he’s got a talented mouth. His teeth scrape along her clit, sending shocks of pleasure through her bundle of nerves. Y/N could cum just from that, it feels like floating on cloud nine. She doesn’t even understand how it could possibly get any better until his nose begins nudging her clit, his tongue pushing inside her hole. 

His cock was leaky in his tight boxers, his rock hard bulge still concealed by his fireproofs handing awkwardly off his hips. As she stared down at him, she somehow got even wetter each time he paused momentarily to stare at her wrecked cunt then dove back in like a starved creature. Unclips nails dig further into her thighs, pushing them further apart so his face is fully coated in her wetness. “Oh my god Oscar,” Her voice comes out so depraved and debauched.

Only his eyes are visible as he keeps his steel hard gaze on her. A pair of usually big, puppy brown eyes, the type that ooze innocence and angelic beauty are hardened and dark with lust. Her hands slip into his hair, needing something to ground her as he takes her apart from the inside out. She genuinely can’t get over his hair. How silky it is, how good it feels to yank on, how hot he looks.

His fingers move from her thighs up to under her shirt, practised fingers trailing under the wire of her bra. He pulls the tight fabric far enough from her skin that it leaves a pale mark when it snaps back after release. It’s hell being tortured like this, but it also feels so good. His indexes and thumbs on both hands work the clasp of the bra, undoing it with not much work. It’s an improvement from a few months prior when she’d settled for doing each time as he was so clueless on how to do it smoothly. 

The crazed look in his eyes speaks a million words. She might be the only one getting a proper physical sexual gratification out of this, but he’s clearly getting off on her being in near excruciating pleasure. It feels better than anything they’ve done in a while. She bites her lip, watching as a lock of hair falls onto his forehead, a perfect little curl above his furrowed eyebrows. It’s cute, it’s hot, it’s everything- all at once. 

Now Y/N feels like she could cum just because of his hair, and that’s definitely a new thought.  

He moans, watching his eyes soften at the noise, “That’s so good- you’re fucking amazing at this,” He’s relentless- his tongue, noise, lips, and teeth all committed to making her reach her peak. “Look at you,”

“Look at me? Look at you,” God, he’s so whipped. His index finger glides along her open hole, slipping it inside her and curling it instantaneously. A pain bubbles in her stomach- she’s going to cum. “Fuck, look at that, so perfect around my fingers, just as perfect in my mouth.” She’s leaking around his fingers, her body reacting to his ministrations and praises. 

He can read her like a book, he knows that her twisted up expression can only mean one thing. “You don’t need to ask me, baby, you can come when you need to,” A sharp breath leaves her lungs and her head falls backwards, her orgasm crashing into her like a freight train. 

He kisses up from her aching cunt to her the lower part of her stomach, then her abdomen. He takes his time on her exposed breasts, his tongue swirling around her nipples, before marking her with a love bite in between them. “Looks good on you,“ He looks down at her from where he kneels between her legs, basically drooling at how wrecked she looks post orgasm underneath him. 

Y/N struggles to prop herself up on her elbows, her core aching as she tries to sit up. She angles for a kiss, luckily met halfway by Oscar. “Your turn.. I wanna suck you off,” She pants, her hand moving to push down his race suit. He swats her hand away, laughing at her eagerness. 

“Nah, that was plenty for me to get you off,” He declines, slowly getting off of her so he can clean up the mess he did make in the end, despite his promise. She opens her mouth to argue with him but she’s swiftly shut up with his mouth back on hers. “Plus, I have qualifying in… fuck, like 10 minutes,” He frowns, helping to redress her. 

“Oscar?” Lando’s voice joins the conversation, once again right outside their door. “Now are you getting your dick sucked?” He taunts, like it’s a joke this time around. “Or can we head for quali together?”

He’s wrong, it was the other way around. “Nah, I’ll be out in a moment. Thanks for waiting for me,” He zips his suit up, giving Y/N a final grin.

“Oscar,” She groans. She hates leaving him hard, it feels unfair that she’s just had the best orgasm of her life and he has to go get in a car and drive around at crazy stupid speeds with an aching mass between his legs. 

“Y/N,” He mocks teasingly, peppering her face in chaste kisses, “I’m okay, If I have a killer qualifying session tonight, we’ll continue this later. She gives a final comb through his hair with her fingers, enjoying every bit of it just incase he decides to cut it.

P2 sure is killer, and the sex after it is amazing. Even better when he finds out about the penalty, because angry Oscar is so hot. Her hands stay planted in his hair the whole time, and by the end of it, in their post coital comfort, he promises he won't cut it for as long as she wants.

[satorusugurugurl]

I’m Stuck!

Summary: Gojo comes home to find you in a compromising position. 🙂‍↕️

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x FAB!Reader

Word Count: 1,602

Warning: P in V, smut, grinding, language, smutty smut!

A/N: This idea came to me while sleep deprived! Enjoy! 😘💚

**MDNI**

Whenever you were stressed, you tended to clean your deep and Satoru’s condo—from cleaning the windowsills to the floorboards, even going as far as to pull everything out of the cabinets to wipe everything down. The times that you got like this, Gojo knew there was no point in trying to talk you down. It was best to let you have free deep cleaning whatever you wanted.

What he consistently did once you were close to being done with your manic cleaning was ask you what you wanted for dinner, and he would pick it up. That way, you could relax on the couch while you unwind from your stress cleaning. Your boyfriend wasn’t sure why you decided cleaning was the best way to relieve stress. When you mentioned how stressed you were about work, he offered to help you reduce your stress in a much more intimate way. Involving no clothes and several mind-blowing positions would have you feeling stress-free and with no time.

It almost looked like you were contemplating his offer for a moment as if the mere thought of your boyfriend would relieve the stress within your chest. You shot him down as quickly as the idea seemed to process in your mind. There would be time to make love later, but you just wanted to re-organize your house to get your stress back in order.

Satoru, of course, pouted, rolling onto his side at your dismissal of his proposal. You quickly wrapped your arms around his waist, peppering kisses on his shoulder blades. “After I’m done cleaning today, how about you show me those positions firsthand?” The promise of getting to love on you later was enough to get him to stop pouting.

“Babe!” Satoru announced as he tossed his keys into the bowl on the entryway table. “I’m back! So I thought once you shower and eat, we could try that new position I mentioned in passing this morning. I think you’ll like it; it’s called the Snow Angel! It’s pretty much me—”

“Satoru!” Your voice sounded so muffled, but when he had left twenty minutes ago, he was sure he left you in the kitchen. Were you so stressed you decided to clean the pipes in the walls, too? “Thank god you're back!”

“Awe, you missed me, didn’t you?”

“I-I need your help!”

There was a sense of urgency in your voice that had your boyfriend placing the takeout containers on the table before rushing into the kitchen. He found a sight that had his cock standing at attention. Your head was inside one of the lower cabinets near the dishwasher; both your feet were spread apart, and your ass was sticking out in the air. The shorts you were wearing had written up, revealing the perfect curve of your ass.

“Help me~? I'm stuck.”

You had taken every single scene from every porn Gojo had fapped to and brought it into reality. “Oooh, fuck—” Not missing a beat, Satoru rushed forward, both his hands gripping your hips, massaging them. “Yeah, damn, sweetheart, you’re nice and stuck in there, aren’t you?” Long fingers squeezed into your flesh as he positioned himself. “S-Satoru—”

“Mhmm yeah, baby~ want me to help you get unstuck? Need your big, strong boyfriend to pull you out of here?”

“Nnngh~!” Your body jolted forward as your hand slapped the inside of the cabinet, and Gojo began grinding against you faster. “A-Ah fuck, yes, please!”

Grinding his aching cock faster against you. Satoru tilted his head back, gripping your shorts and pulling them down to your knees. “Oooh shit, baby, I think you’re really stuck in there. I might have to push you further in to loosen you up. Do you want that? Want me to push in?” Your boyfriend snickered as he ran his thumb up and down your wet slit, spreading your sticky slick over your entire pussy, before yanking his dick out of his boxers, coding it in the same arousal.

“A-Ahhh fuck~ fuuuck yes please!”

“Oh, baby, it’s gonna be hard to get you out of there.” He spit into his hand, clubbing up his cock. “ I hope you’re ready.”

Nothing could’ve prepared you for ready as your boyfriend shoved all of his long cock into your pussy in one go. Your eyes went wide as you slammed your hands against the cabinet as if doing so would help you grasp onto anything to hold yourself up. The sharp inhale had Gojo sneering as one hand slapped your ass hard, watching it ripple under the smacks, and his hard thrusts had him growling.

Each thrust in and out coats his cock in more of your slick, making a wet squelching sound reverberate off the walls. The lewd sounds egged Satoru on, making him move faster, his hard thrusts becoming harder as he tucked you further inside of the cabinet with a series of low guttural grunts. Your knees buckled, toes curling within your socks as your manicured nails scratched at the shelf your breasts pressed against. In his position, your boyfriend was hitting every sensitive spot in your pussy, making your eyes roll back as you cried out his name.

“Mmmhm, that's right, say my fucking name~!” His hands groped your ass, spreading it so he could watch his cock disappear inside. “Oooh~ your pussy is so greedy, sucking me in~.” He admired how wet his cock was, a white run of your arousal forming around the base of his cock as he grunted. “Oooh fuck baby~ come on, say it~ say my name again, and I’ll give you exactly what you're looking for~”

“S-Satoru~”

“Mmm, louder, sweetheart; you can do better than that.”

“Satoru~!”

“That was better~ but I think I deserve a little more praise for making your cunt feel as good as it does.” one of his hands wrapped around your body, rubbing your clit up and down. “So say it Nnngh, loud—” he slammed against your cervix, making your eyes bug out, “and Sa-aaah! Say it loud!” He pulled out of you before snapping his hips into yours at a pace that forced you to scream as you came around him.

“Satoru!!”

Watching you cum on his cock, was enough to have the little control Gojo had on himself slipped. He fucked you hard and deep, only focusing on himself since you were still cumming, babbling his name like some drunk cock whore. He was hissing as he breathed in and out through his teeth, hissing sound accompanying the wet clap of his balls hitting your clit, extending your orgasm as he began twitching and throbbing deep inside you before ropes of hot thick cum painted your inner walls.

“Cumming baby, cumming, cumming yeah, oooh fuck yeah, that's it!” His hips pushed his come further inside of you, making sure not a single drop of it came out. “Take it all like a good fucking girl.”

You milked every drop out of him, and once your boyfriend was satisfied with the feeling of his cum seeping around him, he pulled out gently, grimacing at the shine that resonated from inside the cabinet. “Sorry, sweetheart,” His large hands groped your ass, spreading your cheeks, twitching as his cum seeped out of your still twitching cunt. “Fuck, look at that creampie.” His fingers scooped up the mixture of your cum, pushing it back inside your soft wet walls. “Hey~ let me eat you out before dinner~” he stood up straight, tucking his cock back into his pants, as he turned to head back to your bedroom. “God, I’m gonna make you cream so hard for fulfilling one of my fantasies.” Instead of listening to the patter of your feet behind him, he heard you collapse to your knees.

Turning around, Satoru blinked as he watched your legs twitch, your head buried inside the cabinet. The only sounds he could hear were of your ragged breathing as he approached you. Had you cummed so hard you lost the mobility of your legs?

“Hey, you good there?”

“I-I’m still stuck.”

Satoru cocked a brow as a look of bewilderment crossed his face. “As much fun as that was, that's gotta be killing your back, come on.” when he tried pulling you back by the shoulder, you didn't budge. “Eh?” His cerulean eyes went wide as he tried again.

“I told you I’m stuck!”

“L-Like, ‘oh step-bro, I’m stuck in the washer,’ stuck, right?”

“No! I'm stuck, as in, my shirt is hooked on a fuckin’ screw stuck!”

“Why the fuck didn't you say that?!”

“Kinda hard to focus when my boyfriend is grinding his cock against me.”

Satoru smirked as he reached down, cupping your ass. “So, in a weird sense, are you telling me that my idea of fucking the stress out of you worked just as well as cleaning.” You were kicking your feet with a grumble.

“Focus, Gojo!”

“Oooh yikes, last name, hold on.” He slid his long arm inside the cabinet hole pulling your shirt off of the screw where you were hooked on, freeing you from your prison. You finally popped your head out, sighing in relief, before Gojo picked you up and carried you to the bedroom. “So ~ which way did you prefer to alleviate your stress?”

You stuck out your bottom lip, crossing your arms over your chest. “—the sex.” Gojo whooped as he threw you on the bed, fully intending to ensure you were stress-free by sundown.

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks

[studiopeached]

THREE, TWO, RUN. ft. Peter Dunbar

♡ SUMMARY: After fleeing from your boyfriend, it isn’t long before the two of you reunite, against your will or with it.

♡ CONTENT WARNINGS: pwp, afab, fem!reader, ex-boyfriend!peter x reader, peter being a serial killer, moderate description of gore, NONCON/DUBCON, fingering, oral (fem receiving), big dick peter—not great prep, p in v sex, rough sex, biting/marking kink, fear play, predator/prey dynamics, size kink, bondage

♡ WORD COUNT: 2.4k plot, 1.9k smut. 4.3k total

♡ STREAM NOTE: SMUT BELOW THE SECOND NSFW BANNER. this is a spin off from my @peachedtvs blog called 'Til Death Dont We Part'

♡ MASTERLIST. cumming soon! Main blog @peachedtv

Peter felt you were quite silly, even from when his eyes first laid upon you through the windows of your diner.

So silly, in so many ways.

You were silly in the way you spoke. Expressive, lively, words filled with kindness and rhythm. Words Peter wanted to lock away for only him to hear. Your voice always melted into his mind like honey. Soothing, calming, just like the music he’d hum to silently as he got rid of your recent obstacles. A heavy saw in his hand slashing back and forth, splitting bone into two before stuffing remains of human flesh into a black tarpe—or when he'd bring the nuisances back alive. Screams of pain, terror, and torment vastly contrasting a smooth melody muffled through his earbuds.

Your smile was silly too. Loud, boisterous laughs pairing with it each time as you’d close your eyes tightly, breaths jagged as you’d brace your stomach from the joy. Your smile so mesmerizing Peter wanted nothing more to lock it away behind a key. To melt away in the melody of your laughter, to spread it across his lips and adorn the smile as sweetly as you do.

What was even sillier was how silly you made him feel. On the surface, the twist in his stomach was sweet. An admiration, an appreciation of something so pure. Although,

Peter always fell apart.

Even in the room of his own heart.

Every silly thing had something inside of him twist. A strange twist, a bubbling feeling that had his gut wrench around itself—curling around and laying discomfort deep into his heart, where it stood mockingly. Unable to be buried beneath other thoughts, placed behind distractions, or replaced with another. And this bothered him.

Peter was always in control.

Control of his job, control of his victims, the police, his therapy, the growing police patrols in your city. So why couldn’t he control this?

What were you doing to him?

He thought it was uncomfortable at first. But that strange feeling was quite addicting, stacking tenfolds in intensity ever since the first time he felt it with you.

“Are you okay?”

By now, this memory had occurred over 3 years ago.

The first day you two had met, Peter was not in a good mental space. His family was in ruins, the relationship between he and his mother deteriorating until he had finally decided to storm out of the house and leave for good. Leave his home for good.

With nowhere to go, and a rumbling stomach, Peter decided the best course of action was to first fuel his appetite. Damn Diner was loud, painstakingly so. There was a mess of voices, the clash of plates, cutlery, dragging of chairs against tilted floors, chaos that hummed against a muffled out melody of tunes through the ceiling speakers. Everything was so loud. There was a child in the booth next to his. A mess of ketchup and mustard spraying everywhere, a glob falling onto his cheek as his eyebrows knit together in annoyance. There was a couple in the booth across, arguing over the cries of their child whining for a crumb of their attention. There was yelling from the kitchen, scolding as a worker had done something wrong and sent an order to the incorrect table.

And then, there was you.

Timidly, you rushed over to his table. Clumsy and expressive as you stared down to him with empathy, apologizing profusely as you explained the mess around the diner. And there, all the loudness stopped. Your voice muffled, muffled until it became strikingly clear and the diner around him seem to slow. Peter's eyes traced your face, how you were out of breath, how kindly you looked to him, how you asked if he was okay. And in this world of distain, you were pure.

And there was the first twist.

Peter spent nights going crazy.

Absolutely insane.

When he had first broken into your apartment, his heavy steps drowned out by the moans of your roommate through the paper thin walls, he thought he would melt into the floor when he first inhaled the scent of you room.

It was a soft aroma, something that had his eyes rolling into the back of his skull when he saw you laying peacefully on the bed. Your head was smushed between a folded pillow, covering your ears as your face was scrunched in discomfort.

"Lucy's being so loud tonight, isn't she, Darling?" Peter spoke softly, the back of his hand gracing your cheek as he sat on the edge of your bed. Careful to dip your mattress slowly so as to not wake you. Carefully, his other hand trailed up the curve of your torso, hip to waist, before entangling with your fingers.

Your hand felt right in his.

Soft, smooth, and warm against his cold skin. And there, he knew even fate was in his hands the moment he had yours in his.

When Peter had mustered up the courage to approach you in the park, he felt his heart beating out his chest, his mind going hazy from everything he wanted to do to you—from hearing your voice up close again. It had been nearly a year since you two had first met at the diner, and it seemed as though you had forgotten him completely. Luckily, Peter knew enough about you through his year of...supervision, and was soon able to swipe you off your feet. There, he became yours.

Your boyfriend.

And you, his girlfriend.

Often the two of you shared late nights after your dates. The hum of cicadas drumming into the background as you'd lay into the grass of the park the two of you 'first' met in. Your hands would intertwine together as the other would hold the grass below. In this park, the two of you would often talk about your dreams, aspirations, or talk shit about whatever seemed to bother you in your life at the moment. And Peter always listened.

In other moments, the two of you enjoyed each other's company. A silence paired with the ambience of howling wind, crickets, and a glint in your eye from the reflection of the moonlight and stars twinkling above. And through this silence, your heart spilled.

“I want to be with you forever, Peter." You spoke softly, you eyes still stuck on the starlight above.

A twist, something twisted once more.

For the first time, Peter eyes looked away from you—a blush traveling to his cheeks, a pale red hue over his soft features.

“Forever, then, Darling."

And forever meant forever.

Years together flew by, and you both had your own jobs—despite Peter's insistence for you to stay at home and allow him to care for you. Although, you wanted to work. You wanted to experience the world. But what you didn’t want were the unreasonable hours of overtime your boss had subjected to you. Much to Peter's dismay, many late afternoons he would return to an empty home. Full of furniture, light, decoration, but never with the person he truly wished the presence of. Every evening, you would trail home hours after him. Enervated, dragging your feet along the floorboards as you slumped into his open arms.

“I missed you, Peter.”

Your voice was like honey.

“I missed you more, Darling.” Peter greeted you softly. There it was again. Something twisted. Peter looked down to your visage. Dark eyebags staining your soft skin, a pout dragging your lips, your eyebrows furrowed slightly as you sighed from exhaustion. His gut was twisting stranger than usual. A mix of annoyance for those who have exploited you, an annoyance that made his stomach curl inside.

Peter did not want you to continue working.

Your boss had gone missing for a couple days now.

The company was in disarray, having strangely lost employee after employee ever since you were recruited. The once bustling, lively atmosphere became quiet, dull, and empty. And with the new loss of your employer, there wasn’t an office cubicle you could return to. For the first time in months, you returned home before Peter.

Although, something felt off.

With Peter home, it was always lively. The ambiance of bustling trees against the wind outside, a hum of the dishwasher from the kitchen, a low vibrato of your home's ventilation system, and the comfort of your boyfriend's presence. He was such a soothing soul. Without him, the home felt strange. You felt the presence of another, many, an overbearing amount. As though invisible strings clumped together to weigh you heavier into the floor boards, creaking the dark oak louder than usual.

Without Peter, it felt as though something was calling for you—and curiously, you began to explore. Exploring the home you resided in, as this home empty of your lover didn’t feel like a home anymore. And that lead you to the door that stood at the far end of the first floor. Tucked beside the laundry room, you stood still and seemed confused.

Was there always a lock?

A sturdy lock it was. Heavy metal weighing it flush against the wood, holding the door firmly shut to keep everything in out. There was a strange smell, too. A scent that leaked from beneath the dark oak doorway, filling the air with a musk of cooper and spoiled eggs. Your hand reached for the lock, flinching when built up static pricked your skin. A warning. But you held firm. Giving a cautious, downward tug as the lock went slack. It was open. You pushed the door back slowly, a low creak humming your presence, a flood of a strange meat stinging the view in your eyes.

Firmly, a familiar hand held your shoulder.

The hand of your boyfriend.

You were terrified.

“Darling, what are you doing?”

You couldn’t think.

Not with the view of mangled flesh, the smell of copper and iron so strong your head began to haze strangely. No, you couldn’t think. Even more so with scattered limbs decorating the floor—being the remainder of the morbidly intact heads of your former colleges and employer, of your missing boss. Pieces of them did not fit like a puzzle. Limbs, skin, so much of their bodies were missing.

What was that dinner Peter served these passing evenings?

And it seemed as though fate enjoyed sparking your memory.

This time around, nearly three years later, it was not scatttered corpses, blood, or flies that greeted you. You stood before the door of the fourth apartment complex you were going to apply to. Advertised as a gated community of safety, an exorbitant lot you were willing to hack up the money for to get away from him.

Although, just as three years ago, just as you were able to arrive to the complex, nails dug into your shoulder, holding you in place. A voice low, strange, and terrifyingly familiar. The grip dug into your flesh this time, keeping you from running—just as you did in the home you shared with him. With a door you shouldn’t have opened, and a hand on your shoulder that felt larger than usual.

Your boyfriend's hand.

“I missed you, my Darling.”

You didn't know what was happening.

You scrambled fruitlessly, trying to shove Peter's hand off your shoulder when a burning wet rag was drowned upon your lower face. You kicked, muffled screams and sobs as you dug into the palm that pinched the bridge of your nose, your body growing increasingly more limp. You didn't know what was happening, but by the next moment, it seemed as though you were melting into the floor—the world around you sputtering and glitching as your vision faded out and back in as you fell back onto a large bed.

You couldn't recognize the monster that was before you.

You didn't want to recognize the monster that was before you. Although, a rough, large hand gripped the lower half of your face, covering your mouth and pinning you down into the plush duvet to muffle horrified screams, forcing you to look deep into a being empty of a soul.

Even back then, you always felt Peter’s deep eyes had an errie glint. They seemed dull, strange, and detached from any wonder or interest. All until his gaze would flit upon you. A spark of light dashing his iris, a soft smile spreading his lips. He only looked human when he looked at you.

Peter still kept that smile. A smile that had morphed after his descent into maddness. Sharp teeth and bloodshot eyes that contrasted against sharp blues. He looked terrifying. His forearms were scattered with scars and wounds, peeled back scabs across his skin—likely from the amount of struggling you had done while in his arms. Your name was etched into his skin. Over and over and over, hearts and sharp lines littered as keloids formed in the place of his artwork. His size dwarfed you, a wolf to rabbit. Predator to prey.

“Pe—“

"You remember the time when you'd say it back, don't you, Darling?" He leaned down by your neck, breathing in shakily as though he couldn't believe you were finally here. With him. All to himself. "When you would say you missed me too." His voice was disfigured. A mix of insanity and dark undertone to his speech making your head spin and eyes well with tears. Your entire body was trembling, the skin on your back burning as every nerve in your brain set off sirens that resonated throughout your head. You felt too fearful to even choke out a pathetic sob, wanting to blend into the sheets below you.

Meanwhile, Peter felt himself going crazy. He couldn't help the way his mind ran a mile a minute as he stared down at your dicheviled form. You were always so pretty, absurdly so. Even as the strands of your hair fell misplaced over your face, even as you looked up to him with so much fear, hatred, and terror, his stomach twisted just as it did three years ago. That strange feeling laying addiction down into the lining of his stomach, soothing his body that felt run dry of how you made him feel.

He needed you. Now.

Peter brought a hand to his lips, hastily removing his right glove as he bit the fabric covering the tip of his middle finger, tugging his glove off by his teeth. His free hand pinned you pliantly down into the mattress by the lower half of your face, the other sliding beneath your shirt to tear the fabric off your body. You thrashed, muffled sobs and tears running down your cheeks, wetting the palm of his hand.

Your terror only fueled him further.

His hands groped and fondled every inch of your skin that one could imagine, a long tongue pairing with his touch as Peter licked a long stripe up your neck—sucking deep blotches and bruises of dark blue and purple hues across your neck and chest. Peter marked you as his, bit your flesh like a meal, and ruined your soft skin for his pleasure.

The mattress beneath you was in shambles. Inch deep tears lay by your head as Peter held back the urge to squeeze you blue, from ripping into your flesh, the torn mattress a goreish display of holding back the brutal cuteness aggression Peter got from the sight of you.

His hand slid from your mouth, gripping your neck tightly to restrict precious air from flooding your throat. He wanted you ditzy anyway. Nothing but a lifeless shell of who you were once he was done.

Pilant.

Obidient.

And what better way than halfway choking you out?

Your hands held his wrist desparately, nails scratching into his skin as he only smiled wider in response, stitches appearing on the corners of his mouth to prevent his face from ripping in two from his pure display of euphoria.

You hadn't stopped crying this entire time. Desparate pleas falling on deaf ears as you begged Peter that this was enough, that you'd listen, that you'd stay. And as convincing as it seemed, Peter was not giving you another chance to escape him. Not again.

His hand trailed down until it cupped your clothed cunt. Nothing on your body remaining besides your panties. A gift, perhaps—the best for last. Peter pushed your panties to the side, experimentally swirling the pad of his thumb onto your clit, causing you to wretch out a struggled moan.

"P-Peter—!" He only smiled in response.

"You've always been so sensitive, huh? It seems you haven't changed at all." His thumb pressed harder onto your cunt, rubbing your clit side to side as the palm of his hand pressed firmly down upon your womb. He watched you fall apart with glee, sliding his other hands between your thighs and gently nudging a finger inside of you. You threw your headback into the sheets, grabbing the duvet desperately, your hips trembling as you felt your sanity waste away to the pleasure wracked into your body.

You always fell apart so prettily.

Your hand shakily reached out to Peter, your lips quivering as a second finger curled into your cunt—the heel of his hand hitting the underside of your puffy clit as he kept toying with the bud. It burned, terribly so. Considering how much larger his stature was to yours, how much larger his finger would be to your own, it was a miracle you weren’t ripped in half yet. Although, it sure felt as though you were.

Peter stretched you out relentlessly, scissoring inside of you before curling the pads of his fingers plush against your g-spot. You arched your back desperately, crying out as your hips stuttered in response. And Peter kept prying there. His fingers pounding into your cunt, hitting your g-spot over and over and over until you felt as though you'd die from the overstimulation. As you reached out to Peter, he pulled a length of manila rope from his back pocket—grabbing your wrists before tying your hands together and in front of your chest as through you were praying—and perhaps you were. Praying to Peter to slow down, to be more gentle.

A third finger was nudged deep inside of you, pairing with the speed of his thumb on your clit increasing. His fingers pounded into you feverishly, sounds of your arousal soaking your inner thighs and his forearm—dirtying the sleeve of his pinstriped coat. You couldn't concentrate, no longer resisting against the firm hold his shadows had upon your wrists. No longer holding back your sweet moans.

A burning desire began to pool in your gut.

"Peter, p-please—"

A hand gripped your throat.

"P-Peter, please— I'm gonna cu—m!" He smiled to you. You were always so easy to please.

"Cum then, dear." His fingers sped up their speed inside your cunt, recklessly pounding and curling into you, bruising your g-spot painfully as you sobbed out, clenching your pussy around his cock as you squirt onto him. Peter smiled, leaning down to suck your clit and swirl his tongue around the bud as your mouth opened silently. Your hips struggled away, and yet his shoulders spread your knees firmly, the underside of your thighs thrown over them. Peter continued to bully your pussy past your orgasm, sucking and licking your clit as his fingers continued to curl and pound into you to ride out your high. You were crying endlessly. Begging him to stop, that it was enough. And yet, he didn't pull out his hand until you were merely twitching and whimpering in his bed. Broken.

"Have you lost yourself in the pleasure, Darling?" Peter was manic. Your pleasure felt like a high he couldn't describe. The way your fingers clenched around him, he felt as though it was a sign. A sign that all your struggling was only to encourage him to fight against you, a sign that you were only pretending to be scared.

"You wanted this, didn't you?" Your eyes widened open when you felt the tip of his cock slide between your folds, Peter having removed his clothing now too. You struggled, trying to sit up when his hand once again held your throat warningly, choking you lightly against the mattress—gently enough that you could take slow, shallow breaths.

"Peter, it's not gonna fi—!" Your mouth fell open silently as Peter suddenly shoved the head of his cock inside of you. Your pool of arousal allowing him to slide in with just a minor amount of resistance—minor to his strength at least.

Meanwhile, your eyes blew wide as you whimpered out desperately, struggling against the binds on your wrists as your cunt stretched around him. He was big, painfully so. And you were thankful he decided to slide the remaining of his length in slowly, inch by inch. And yet, even when he was just halfway, you felt as though he was already plush against your cervix.

"Is she resisting, hmm? I guess I can be a little rough, you were always into that, anyways." Before you could understand what Peter meant, he slammed the remaining half of his length deep inside of you as you screamed out, your hands curling tight fists as your nails dug deep crescents into your palms.

Before you knew it, Peter pulled out to the tip, and slammed right back into you. His pace was unwavering. A hand gripped on your neck, the other pressing you into the mattress by a palm against your womb as he split you on his cock. Peter pounded into you, skin against skin as you soaked his cock, splashing your arousal onto his pelvis and lower stomach. He was big, too big. Tears streamed down your face, and Peter only wiped them with his thumb before licking it into his mouth. He wanted to taste your fear.

He wanted to rip you apart.

Your chest heaved as his thumb came down to your clit once more, roughly pressing onto you before swirling it harshly. You arched your back, clawing at the wrist on your throat as you moaned, crying around his cock when the underside of it would press into your g-spot, when the head of it would slam so deep against your cervix you felt he might fuck himself into your womb. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, a hand gripping the torn sheets below you as you cried out when your pussy clentched around him.

"Please, please, can I c-cum—" You sobbed, looking down to where you and Peter where connected, seeing your cunt stretched impossibly wide for your ex-boyfriend's cock.

"Don't you dare."

"Please, Baby."

Fuck.

You drove him fucking crazy.

Peter swore he could’ve cum on the spot from hearing you finally call him baby once more, the name you neglected from him. The only name you should be calling him. Peter laughed.

"You truly know me so well, Darling." Peter's pace increased. His cock pounding into you hard enough to have your tits bouncing and the frame of the bed on the verge of giving out—your cunt clentching onto his fat cock even more.

"You can cum in three seconds." You nodded stupidly, too desparate to think.

Peter pulled back to the tip, slamming back inside.

"Three," His palm pressed into your womb, feeling the buldge of his dick against his hand, his cock dragging against your velvety walls. You swore you were going to die if you couldn't cum soon, Peter's counting teasingly slow as he fucked into you like a fleshlight. Like a pet.

"Two." Your pussy fluttered against him, Peter's fingers swirling your clit viciously.

"One," You whined, sliding your hands to his upper back as you raked down his skin.

"Please, please, please, let me cum." You were going crazy.

"Cum." You threw your head back, near screaming his name like a mantra as you clencthed around him, squirting for the second time that night as his cock continued to pound deep inside of you. Peter let go of your throat, his hands sliding beneath the underside of your thighs to push your knees into your chest—fucking you meanly in a harsh mating press as he refused to slow down. You felt like your soul was going to fall out your body, your pussy spasming as Peter continued to pound into you without any concern to your fresh orgasm and painful overstimulation that burned your walls.

"B-baby, Peter—please, I can'—"

And for the first time since three years ago, and for the first time together—Peter kissed you.

His kiss was soft, gentle, loving. His hips never stilled, continuing to rip orgasm after orgasm out of your poor little pussy. Although, his mouth was soft against yours, eyes closed and hand holding your neck lightly as the tips of his fingers graced your bruised skin. Bruised with the marks of his love, his obsession.

He held your face as kindly, as though you may be gone if he didn't keep you in his arms forever. Peter's tongue slid into your mouth slowly, and you moaned around him—letting him in. Your body missed him so much.

Maybe you still love him, even after it all.

Peter's pace became staggered, his hips slowing until he kept his cock deep inside and came directly into your womb. His load gushed out from the sides of your hole that stretched around him, stuffing you full. Peter allowed your thighs to rest by his hips, laying you back against the mattress as he continued to kiss you. His hands massaged your body, comforting the bites, hickeys, and bruises.

"I love you, Darling."

Peter spoke softly, pulling away from you. Admiring your fucked out state.

"So don't you leave me ever again."

You're watching...

© Studio Peached 2024

[astraystayyh]

changbin x fem!reader. younger brother!jeongin. newly established relationship.

in which jeongin discovers you’re dating changbin when he catches you both kissing in the kitchen. fluffy ofc!

this was a very cute request hehe if you wish to request a drabble as well, you can donate to our palestine fundraiser! here are the writers you can send a request to! we have raised more than 2000 dollars so far 🥹

The moonlight filtering through the kitchen window is the only thing illuminating both you and Changbin’s faces. Though the light itself serves no purpose, as you’re solely focused on pressing kisses to your boyfriend’s soft lips, eyes closed. He has you cornered between the countertop and his strong body, his giddy giggles mingling with your laughter as his mouth finds yours repeatedly. His hand cradles your jaw, your fingers lightly graze the scar on his chin, in return.

“I feel like I’m in high school,” he murmurs between kisses, his toned arms holding you captive. Not that you wish to escape; being in his embrace feels like a wonder that could rival the world’s seven, at once.

“Right, like we’re secretly kissing in the library,” you giggle, your lips meeting his again as his hands move to your waist, kneading the tender flesh.

“Should we do that?”

“Why would you even be in the library? You don’t even study,” you laugh, and he shrugs as if it is the most obvious question in the world.

“Because you’d be there.”

“Cheesy,” you grin, your cheeks now aching from the smiles blooming on your face at each one of his words, as if it could only be spring if Changbin’s around.

“You like it,” he beams, scrunching his nose cutely at you, “And I like kissing you.”

“So do I,” you smile, feeling his arm wrap around your back, pulling you tighter against him.

“Do you think there’s a Guinness World Record for the most places someone’s kissed in?”

“No?” your reply is more a question, and his eyes light up as if beholding a million fireflies.

“We should do it then,” a kiss to your nose, “I’ll kiss you in,” and one to your lips, “every place in our world and—”

The light suddenly turns on, and you and Changbin break apart a millisecond too late, because Jeongin, your younger brother, stands in the doorway, a look of shock coating his face. “What the fuck?” he curses, and you glance at Changbin, who looks thoroughly relaxed. As if his best friend didn’t just catch you making out in their kitchen dorm.

“What are you guys doing?” he asks, his eyes darting between Changbin’s hand on your lower back and his obviously swollen lips.

“Kissing?” you say.

Jeongin strides over, grabbing your hand and pulling you away from Changbin. “I can see that. Why are you kissing my sister?”

You do a neck-slicing motion that Changbin deftly ignores, a tiny smirk playing on his lips before he sobers up. “We’re dating.”

“Since when?”

“Hello. This isn't an investigation,” you quip, and your younger brother turns, a wide, sarcastic smile on his face. “Noona.”

“Yes, Innie?”

“Be quiet,” he says, holding a finger to his lips. Changbin shakes his head, a fond look spreading across his face.

“A week ago, actually,” Changbin says.

Jeongin’s scoff echoes loudly across the kitchen. He claps his hands, incredulous chuckles spilling from his lips as you poke his shoulder from behind. “Are you okay, Jeongin?”

“Why are you—” he brings a hand to his forehead, shutting his eyes. “This is so annoying. Why are you kissing as if you’ve been dating for ten years, then?”

“Passion,” you whisper, and Changbin giggles, hiding his laughter behind his clenched fist. “We have also been talking for…” you muse and Changbin’s quick to complete. “127 days,” he affirms, and you grin. “Have you been counting?”

“Of course.”

“This is so disgusting,” Jeongin shudders, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “I refuse.”

“You can’t refuse him.”

“Why would you refuse me?”

Both you and Changbin speak at the same time, and Jeongin scoffs louder, pointing to your face. “Hyung, look at her.”

“I am,” Changbin smiles softly, and you blow him a tiny kiss (one that makes Jeongin wish to bash his head against the fridge), as you walk to the sink to retrieve a glass of water.

“She’s perfect.”

“I know. Why do you think I like her?”

“This can’t be happening,” Jeongin shakes his head.

“I’m really serious about her and—”

The sound of glass breaking catches Changbin off guard, and both their heads snap towards you. Jeongin remains rooted in place as Changbin comes to your side in an instant, grabbing both your hands and checking if you are hurt.

“Did you cut yourself?” he asks in a tone so soft Jeongin did not even know Changbin could muster.

“No, it just slipped from my hold,” you frown sheepishly, and Changbin shakes his head, placing a chaste kiss on the palm of your hand. “It’s okay, I got it,” he says, bending down to pick up the broken shards.

Jeongin sees the fond look in your eyes and the way Changbin’s gaze refuses to stray far from yours for more than five seconds. He sees how you completely melt into Changbin’s side when he stands again. You, his older sister who has always shouldered a mountain of responsibilities, from a very young age. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you this relaxed around someone in his entire life.

The thought of you together seems less horrible all of a sudden.

“Don’t ever flirt in front of me. I mean it,” Jeongin points a threatening finger at both of you, breaking your intimate bubble. “And don’t you ever hurt her. I mean it.”

“I promise,” Changbin nods solemnly, and Jeongin’s eyes shift to yours. “And don’t hurt him too, I guess. He’s important to me.”

“Is Jeongin growing soft on us?” you grin, as both you and Changbin coo loudly as if you are talking to a baby and not a grown adult.

“My god, this is a nightmare,” your brother sighs as he leaves the kitchen, but as he turns off the light, you finally catch a glimpse of his familiar dimples.

He doesn’t need to say it, but he’s happy for you. He’s happy for you both.

[yawnderu]

Final Girl — Slasher!Keegan P. Russ x Reader (1/?)

A word before we start: screaming sounds a whole lot like laughter.

Nothing beats the paranoia of a high man. Rough, calloused hands shove you into the dark wooden closet, whisper-yelling orders to keep your damn mouth shut before the though of protesting could even occur inside your little drunken head. Everything is spinning inside around the room, too focused on the light sensation in your head to be able to connect the dots until it's too late.

“Listen, man, we don't have anyt—” Life can be unpredictable. One moment you're having fun with your friends in a rented cabin in the woods, and the other, your best friend is being shoved into the floor by a much bigger man, the loud sounds of his shouts and struggling instinctively forcing you to put a palm over your mouth, trying your best not to scream along your dying friend.

A quiet whimper makes its way out of your throat the moment a long, bloodied machete is raised in the air, horrified wide eyes meeting yours as the panic fully sets in for him. It's like seeing a trainwreck yet being unable to stop watching, even when your brain is screaming at you to close your eyes. To save yourself from the trauma, to protect your psyche, to let the last image of your best friend be him alive—

Hack.

The masked killer lands heavy blows one right after the other on the figure underneath him, blood splashing all over the room, forcing another muffled whimper out of your lip as the man hacks away at your friend's dead body, seemingly getting more and more excited with every single new wound he's forcing.

The house is quiet— way too quiet for a group of 5 drunk people. You were previously in the bathroom, too preoccupied throwing your guts out in the bathroom to hear any noise through the loud gags and the ringing in your ears. The man's heavy breathing fills the room, making you subconsciously hold your own, not wanting to get any of his attention and be his next victim. They say ignorance is bliss, yet not knowing if the man is aware of your presence only makes the black pit of dread grow in your stomach.

His movements are slow and calculated, letting go of your friend's mangled up corpse, the sound of the machete being pulled out of his flesh almost makes you gag, secretly thankful that you emptied your stomach earlier. Baby-blue eyes scan the room with a precision that almost seemed robotic, instinctive, like a predator who has always succeeded at catching his prey.

Your heart goes down to your stomach when his cold gaze connects with yours through the thin wooden blinds, masked head tilting to the side in what seems to be sick amusement. He inches closer to you, his footsteps surprisingly quiet for a man his size, eyes crinkling up with his pupils dilating quickly, black almost taking over the pale blue.

His gloved hand raises slowly towards the doorknob, maintaining eye contact with your tear-filled eyes— only for his head to snap up towards the sound of a crack on the wooden floor coming from the kitchen. He gives the closet one last look before running towards the sound, the sickening sound of your friend's blood and guts dripping down his machete and clothes following right after him.

Thrashing and more screaming is heard from the other side of the house, snapping you out of it enough to realize it's your only chance to escape the same fate your friends met. Your shaky hand twists the doorknob slowly, not daring to look at the dead body right in front of the door— the body of someone who died just to protect you.

A shaky whimper escapes your lips when you accidentally kick the limb corpse, shaking your head a few times to snap out of it before you move away from him, staring ahead with an unfaltering sense of dread eating you from within.

Your steps are wide and calculated, sobered up the moment the masked killer started attacking your friend right in front of you. From what little you can see thanks to the moonlight seeping through the windows, the entire place looks out of a horror movie, blood staining every single wall, dripping down at such a slow pace that it almost seems like it's God's way of taunting you.

Relief finds place into the pit of dread the moment you can see the entrance door, finally feeling like you're able to breathe again— like you're not leaving behind any of your friends who may have survived the brutal attack. Guilt has no place in survival, you convince yourself within seconds as your shaky hand reaches for the doorknob, only to be slammed against the wall, a gloved hand covering your mouth to muffle the bloodcurdling screams that leave your lips.

You thrash against his rough hold, earning nothing other than a much harder hair pull, only stopping your thrashing the moment you feel cold metal pressing against your throat. Your eyes close as tears fall down your cheeks, pooling on the soft fabric of the gloves of the man holding you against your will.

“And where the fuck do you think you're going, hm?” He turns you around forcefully, pining your body against the wall with his own, tilting his head to the side just to taunt you as his sharp machete presses harder against your neck. His free hand comes up to caress your cheek, teasingly spreading your friend's blood all over your cheeks, forcing a choked sob out of you.

“Aww... Now you're all quiet. Poor pretty, broken princess...” His tone holds nothing but fake pity and pure amusement, sickly getting off on your pathetically horrified expression. His body presses against you harder as he looms over you, only leaning down to press his masked face against the crook of your neck, not bothering to hide the way he's inhaling your smell as the back of his gloved hand keeps absentmindedly running over your cheeks in an action that would be soothing, had he not been the man who killed your loved ones.

“I'll let you go.” Your breath hitches at his words, not believing him for a single second— not when you can feel his boner pressing against your stomach, his hips subtly rubbing against you to get more friction while he wonders if it's truly worth it to let you go instead of sending you home in a box.

“But you say a word about this to anyone... and I mean anyone, princess, and I swear to God, I'll gut you like a fucking fish.” His words take a bitter tone after he calls you princess, though the hold on the machete softens slightly as he hears your choked sobs, knowing the only thing preventing you from nodding vigorously like a well-trained dog is the blood-bathed steel pressing to your neck.

“Yeah? Do you promise?” The machete is moved out of the way, yet he still keeps you pinned against the wall so you don't try to run away. His pinky finger is raised up to your face mockingly, giving you an expecting look that takes you a few seconds too long to understand. Your shaky hand comes up to his, intertwining your pinky with his in a childish promise, a whimper leaving your lips the moment he applies enough pressure to make it hurt before releasing you.

He moves out of the way after a few tantalizing seconds, nodding his head towards the door, watching you scurry away like a kicked puppy, his entire body itching to go after you— and deciding against it last second, knowing he'll be seeing you soon.

[NEXT]

Author's note: The art published in all chapters belongs to @moosch!! We're both very excited about this project and to expand on something we've been talking about almost daily for months, I hope you guys enjoy it as much as we do. <3

[murdrdocs]

INTERVIEW 013

with. finnick odair

includes. fem!reader, husband finnick, filming, kitchen sex, domesticity, oral (fem receiving)

→ kinktober masterlist

It started out as the definition of domesticity. 

There was a package in the mail, sent from Katniss and Peeta, addressed to ‘The Odairs’ in Katniss’ handwriting. Seeing the joint name made you giddy, but reading the letter from your closest friends made you giddier. 

They’d congratulated you on your recent marriage, praised the ceremony once more, and had enclosed an old video camera for both of you to document your newlywed endeavors on. 

While you had cooking and home decorating selected as ideas for ‘newlywed endeavors’, Finnick had gone a different route. 

The camera sat in his hands as he kissed at your neck, his free hand teasing at your waist. 

“C’mon, sweetheart. It’ll be fun,” came his promise, spoken lowly and close to your ear in an attempt to get you to give in. You were closer to doing so than you would like to admit, just the thought almost enticing enough to make you put the knife down, slide the vegetables out of the way, and give Finnick what he wanted. 

Almost. 

You refused to give in without making Finnick plead just a little more. 

You hummed, fauxing disinterest as you brought the knife down in another audible slice against the wooden chopping board. 

Finnick continued. “We could look back on it. You could see what I see; How pretty my wife is.” The term made your heart flutter, still not used to being the wife of Finnick Odair.  His hand at your waist circled around to your front, pressing flat against your stomach and pulling you flush against him so you could feel the semi he was sporting beneath his joggers. 

You couldn’t help it anymore, your head lolling back to rest against Finnick, your skull connecting with the taut muscles all along his body. 

 “What d’you say?” You could hear the self satisfied smile in his words.

You end up on the counter top, any food you were prepping pushed all the way to the side to make room for you. Your legs spread, Finnick’s head between a pair of plushy thighs, your abdomen tensing and relaxing as you controlled your breathing. You caught it all on camera, the object pointed down at your husband who licks and sucks along your cunt like it’s his favorite pastime in the world. 

Which, he’s told you as such. 

The muscles in his shoulders flex as he nudges the back of your legs with them, arms circling around your thighs to press his fingertips into the flesh. 

Your legs have lifted a bit, spreading you open even more. 

Finnick presses his tongue flat, letting it relax over the expanse of your cunt as much as the muscle can reach. He licks a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, repeating the pattern back and forth until you can’t take it anymore. When you whine, the sound desperate and pathetic, he gives you more. 

The interlude of teasing has completely passed, Finnick going back to devouring you like he knows how. He releases one of your legs to use two digits inside of your greedy walls, cunt swallowing them up as Finnick pumps in a fast paced rhythm. 

He focuses on your clit and the surrounding area with his mouth, eyes opening to look up at you. Through the camera, the green is a little grainy, slightly dulled, but you can see the intensity behind his gaze all the same. 

His cheeks flushed, the tip of his nose glistening, blonde wavy hair all over the place from your grip. Your hand finds the strands again as your orgasm approaches, the camera leaning off to the side just a little. 

Finnick pulls away from your cunt and you cry out as you stare down at him in shock. 

He tuts, jerking his head towards the camera. “Keep it on me, baby.” 

You quickly bring it back, taking Finnick’s smile as a form of praise as he goes back down. Just as quick, you’re close again, back arching and muscles tightening. 

Your hand slips from Finnick’s hair, nails scratching at his shoulder as it flails around. Finnick, always knowing exactly what you need, offers his own hand to ground you, both of your fingers quickly interlocking like opposite ends of a magnet. 

When you cum on Finnick’s tongue, it’s so loud that the tiny microphone in the camera struggles to pick it up. 

Watching it back, Finnick teases you for it, his cock sliding in and out of your walls as he fucks you from behind, lips against the shell of your ear as he promises he can make you cum louder here and now than he did then.