#writing and not proofreading

[websitestargirl]

i think soap would draw you in his notebook but obviously thats so sentimental and embarrassing so he keeps them hidden, until you snoop and discover them. they’re almost disrespectful pinups, and they look like you, but they’re exaggerated, made to look erotic and sexy. when you confront him he’s like omg you weren’t supposed to see that. and when you express your insecurity that you “don’t really look like that”, his embarrassment evaporates and he stares at you with a look of sincere bewilderment.

soap’s like, “what are you talking about? that’s what you look like?” and when you retort that your boobs aren’t that perky, and your ass isn’t that cute, eyes aren’t that big and shiny, he gets mad at you. as the artist he’s thinking that he captured you perfectly, and he feels like your insulting his drawing skills. he gets mad at you… hence an argument begins where he’s taking it the wrong way, and you get defensive because you feel like he’s idealizing you.

he bites that he’s capturing you how he sees you, and no maybe you don’t look exactly like the drawing but it’s not about accuracy, it’s about representation and believability. he will die on the hill that he’s right and you’re being weird for not accepting the fact that he’s right and you’re a beautiful bombshell babe.

then gaz or price or ghost come in like “fucking hell can you guys please stop your stupid lovers quarrel”, to which soap shoves the drawing in their faces and asks for their input. to which they give a satisfied nod and say, “yeah, that’s about right, innit.”

so maybe you are just crazy!

[tanjir0se]

Disclaimer these are just a small sampling of some possible writer traits I’ve noticed either in myself or in fics I read. Also consider a rb for sample size !

[dollyfetti]

“do you think we’re soulmates?”

“i don’t believe in that shit.” katsuki’s hand tangles in your messy hair sprawled against the pillow he fought you over and ultimately gave to you with a small roll of his eyes.

you huff against his chest, frowning at his words. “you don’t think we were meant to be?”

“hell no.” he grins almost a little mockingly

“why not..?” you mutter, thankful your face is out of his sight because your disappointed expression is really quite laughable.

it’s silent for a long moment, and in the dark room, you assume he fell asleep. you sigh, cautiously readjusting your position to be more comfortable as you shut your eyes, ready to sleep.

that is until his hand drops from your hair onto your arm, rubbing small circles. “i don’t think i’m meant to be with anyone.” he whispers, staring up at his ceiling, still covered in glow in the dark stars from when he was a kid. “i think i just got lucky.”

you keep your eyes closed, half asleep as you respond immediately, “well, i don’t believe in luck. everything happens for a reason, suki.”

“that’s your prerogative, i guess.” he hums, his motions slowing down against your arm, resting there lazily.

“mm,” you wrap your arms around his torso, your cheek smushing against his chest.

another long moment passes, and katsuki’s still staring at the ceiling, lost in thought.

“you asleep?” he murmurs, careful not to wake you if you are.

“no, baby.”

he nods to himself, leaning down to plant a kiss on your head. “okay. i love you. thank you.” he whispers before resting back on his bed and shutting his eyes.

“thank you for what?” you reply, smiling softly at his affection.

he shrugs lightly before sleep takes over him, his arms engulfed around you without another word.

[shitacademicswrite]

[isasweetie]

in which you’re forced into having a talk with your ex-boyfriend, rafe cameron, on the boat ride to morocco.

being a pogue and rafe cameron’s ex was not easy. although you dated shortly before he killed peterkin, and you were sure he barely even remembered your favourite colour, seeing him blatanly disrespect you and his friends, and go down a path you tried so hard to prevent him from, was hard to watch. but now he’s picked himself up since ward died. you thought you had another chance to at least be on good terms. sending flowers and a card to tanneyhill when ward died, smiling at him when you’d see him around. it didn’t work, he still hated you and your friends.

fortunately, he redeemed himself ever so slightly by volunteering to take the pogues to morocco. rafe had to find chandler groff, you guys wanted the blue crown. it was perfect.

until jj punched him, that is. he knocked him out cold. with a scolding “jj!” coming from majority of the pogues, including you, jj carries him down into the downstairs washroom and ties his wrists to a pole. they don’t trust him, which is fair. you don’t either — you shouldn’t, anyway.

rafe was down there quietly for a mere half hour until he woke up with a groan from his head hitting the ground earlier, followed up with yelling once he realizes he was stuck down there.

all touching your noses and saying ‘not it’ the minute pope suggests someone going down there to check on him, you’re the unlucky one who said it last. shutting up your protests, john b gently coaxes you downstairs, saying things like, “you used to mack on him”, “this is good, you know him”, “he won’t hurt you,” john b leaves you downstairs once you make it to the door of the bathroom. knocking gently, you timidly ask, “can i come in?”

there’s no answer. you can picture him. wrists tied, brows furrowed, eyes closed tightly as his head leans against the wall and towards the ceiling. his gorgeous stressed face. you slowly open the door, peeking your head in. “hi,” you say gently, timid around the scary and aggressive man you have the curse of calling your ex.

“…hey,” rafe says, voice rough as he shuts his eyes tight.

unsure what to say, you awkwardly stand there and stare down at him. “um, i brought asprin,”

“right, right, like i can fuckin’ swallow it. what, you gonna throw it in my mouth like a.. seal or something?” sassy, his upper lip lifts a bit as he thinks about it and isn’t very fond of the idea.

a second of silence as you figure out what to say. “…um, ill just set it down here,” you say, putting the container down beside him. “sorry about your head.”

“yeah, uh, your little boyfriend can’t control his fists, huh?”

“…not my boyfriend,” you correct softly, though you’re not sure why you feel the need to tell him that. “but no one really.. trusts you, rafe, so you kind of brought this on yourself—“

he quickly interrupts you. “bullshit. you know why that’s bullshit? because i was helping. who got you this boat, huh? me. i did. rafe. i’m the reason that you guys aren’t swimming, or some shit, to north africa. i’m being helpful and understanding, and this is what i get. you think that’s fair?” when you’re stood there in silence at his sudden raised voice, he repeats, “you think that’s fucking fair, y/n!?” he kicks a can in anger.

it’s like you’re his girlfriend again as you sit down next to him instantly instead of running. you get deja vu to the time three years ago when he was high on coke and got kicked out of the house. everyone ignored him except for you. “..um, okay, i’m gonna give you some asprin,” you say softly. “help your head. open,” you tell him, grabbing a pill as he gives you a look but opens his mouth. you pop it in his mouth and he dry swallows. “there.”

you two share a look. you don’t think it’s a bad look by any means. he looks frustrated still, but there’s an underlying gentleness in his eyes, as if he registers you’re still the same girl you were when you two were together. “…and, um, for the record, i don’t think it’s fair that you’re down here. you helped us, thats.. nice.”

the word ‘us’ when referring to you and the pogues makes him feel weird. “i don’t get why you hang out with them,” he mutters as he looks at the ground. “tried so fucking hard to keep you away from them when we were.. together.”

“i know,” you whisper, your gaze dropping as well, to his tied wrists. you feel awful. “trust me, your warnings still play in my head when i’m with them sometimes,”

“you remind me of sarah.” he says. you’re not sure what that means.

“you hate sarah,”

“nah, nah— i don’t hate her. hate who she’s turned into,” he adjusts himself. “she makes me sad. i’m sad for her, alright? she had so much potential.“ he shrugs. “but there’s no saving her. she’s in too deep,” he looks back up at you again. “i think there’s saving you, though,”

“…this is weird, rafe,”

“how?” he asks.

“because in the years we’ve been broken up, you’ve never talked to me about this. feels like it’s a… trick or something,”

“it’s not a trick,” he assures, voice still rough. “look, i’m out half a mill, i’m tied up in a bathroom, i’m probably gonna.. die or something. i got nothing to lose, may as well tell you my concern,”

“um, i appreciate it,” you say gently, unsure how to respond. “and i’m gonna go back upstairs.”

“hey— no, woah, woah, woah,” he stops you quickly. “stay. okay?”

“i should go up and help with dinner, though—“

“no, stay. i— i want you to stay, okay? i don’t wanna be down here alone, and i want you away from the pogues,”

he doesn’t wanna be alone. you feel bad for him all over again, nodding gently as you sit back down beside him. you always were so good for rafe.

you’re not sure how long you’ll be down here with him. maybe until it’s late at night and he’s asleep. so gently, after about five minutes of silence, to ease some of the tension and pass the time, you murmur a, “truth or dare?”

rafe just smiles.

[zephyrchama]

Demon brothers weaponizing their incompetence in the human world to get your attention. Your realm is sooo different to the Devildom, they need you to help them. These ancient and powerful beings are stumped by the incredible inventions of human ingenuity.

Or maybe they're taking advantage of you to monopolize your time.

---

Beelzebub, who had been using a fork just fine all day, suddenly forgets what it's for when you walk into the room. He fiddles with it in his hand and asks, "How does this human fork work?

You respond, confused, "It's the same as any fork? Literally the same as the Devildom, you just... stab the food and put it in your mouth."

"Belphie said human forks are different. You might have to feed me."

---

Asmodeus comes to you in a bath robe, which he managed to put on just fine by himself. "I don't know how human baths work, you'll have to take one with me!"

Belphegor's request is simple. He's already laying down, half asleep, when he grabs your wrist and demands, "Show me how the bed works."

---

"Lucifer, your brothers are driving me crazy again," you complain, having fled to the eldest's room for a moment of reprieve.

Red eyes peer at you from over the rim of his glasses. There's the faint curl of a smile on his lips. "Are they, now? Stay in here as long as you need."

[kunasthiast]

bathroom meetings

you were finally in the tub.

bubbles everywhere. hair piled up. candle lit. mood set was divine. perfect silence. peace. it was your me time. after a ridiculous week that felt like being hit repeatedly with a spreadsheet and then lit on fire, the only thing you wanted was solitude and maybe for your skin to absorb enough lavender oil to knock you out for twelve hours.

sukuna had been in full corporate tyrant mode the past few days. buried in meetings. constantly yelling into headsets like he was declaring war (he might’ve been).

there were moments you’d pass by the home office and hear him through the closed doors: “i said quarterly projections, not emotional projections. are you fucking with me?”

in that same low, terrifying voice he used when he was threatening that random guy on the street who once slapped your head thinking you were his friend. and obviously, that’s the tone that meant someone’s career was about to combust.

not that sukuna had been ignoring you, though. there were still sleepy kisses in the morning. half-asleep cuddles at night. coffee mug swaps between meetings. the quiet, steady kind of love. but you missed him. his annoying, smug, feral ass. just a little.  

so when the bathroom door creaked open mid-bath, you didn’t even flinch. you just knew. and yep, there he was.

dragging in his entire goddamn office chair. into the fucking bathroom.

yes, a literal, high-backed, leather executive monstrosity. the one he always dramatically called ‘the only chair that respects my spine.’ he wheeled it in like he was about to conduct a strategy meeting in your bubble sanctuary. and then he parked it casually beside the sink, facing you.    

you blinked at him from your lavender-scented cocoon of suds, “what the hell, babe… are you serious right now?”

“hi, baby,” he said, already settling into the seat like this was perfectly reasonable. “i wanna spend time with you. so i brought my chair.”

“…in the bathroom?”

“yeah, got a problem with it? you’re hot. the lighting’s warm. the air smells like that purple crap you love. it’s a vibe. this is my happy place.”

you stared at him. “you brought your chair.”

“‘course I did,” he said, already opening his laptop (he fucking brought one) and clicking away like this was just another thursday. “i’m swamped. figured i could do my stupid shit and look at you. productivity. efficiency. serotonin. and dopamine. win-win.”

you squinted at him. he never used that many words to justify something unless he was spiraling. which meant that he’s fucking really drained for today – an oddity. sukuna never gets drained. he had the chaotic stamina of a toddler with an espresso machine. weird visual, but whatever. 

“you just wanted to watch me and pretend it was multitasking.” you teased.

“baby, i don’t need to pretend to watch you,” sukuna replied without shame, eyes flicking down over your shoulders, lingering for a breath too long. “i’m your husband. it’s practically in the vows.”

you groaned and slid lower into the bubbles. “you’re so annoying. you have zero concept of personal space.”

“bold of you to say when i was balls deep in you last week,” he muttered, eyes back on the laptop screen.

you rolled your eyes. “rude. that was emotional love-making, actually.”

“you cried after,” he added helpfully, with a teasing grin this time, looking at you.

“i was overstimulated and exhausted!”

“from all the love,” he said, voice dropping slightly as he winked. “you looked so fuckin’ pretty like that, by the way. all whimpery and soft. should’ve taken a photo. mental health purposes.” he then turned back to his laptop and continued doing whatever shit he was doing like he hadn’t just shattered your dignity. 

“god, you’re insufferable,” you sighed, watching him lean back and spread his legs like he owned the damn place (he does). shirtless. and just in his boxers. basically, a menace in soft lighting.

“only for you,” he said, then paused, dragging his eyes down again. his fingers slowed on the keyboard. “you always sit like that in the tub when you want me to look.”

you froze slightly. “‘kuna, i’m literally just bathing.”

“uh-huh. with your knees poking out of the bubbles like that. water dripping down your collarbone. are we pretending you’re not trying to make me fail this report?”

you stared him down. “you’ve been shirtless all day. i haven’t said a word.”

“you bit me earlier. for no reason.”

“you were walking around with a pen in your mouth like a chew toy!”

he grinned and stretched out in the chair, legs wide, muscles relaxed. “ohhh, my bad, madame la professeur. je m’excuse.” his voice dipped, teasing. “would you prefer I recite conjugations again?” 

you choked on a laugh, bubbles shifting. “no... baby, stop. i don’t wanna heart it,” you said as you covered your ears.

“sweetheart, you threatened to drown me with a beret when i said ‘voulez-vous coucher avec moi’ in class.”

“because you said it in front of the TA! and winked at me after saying that, who does that?”

“me, obviously. and now look at us,” he gestured vaguely between the two of you, “still conjugating. still undressing with language.”

“gross.”

“grammatical,” he corrected smugly.

“anyway,” you huffed, “this was supposed to be sacred alone time.”

“correction,” he said, typing, “this is now sacred us time.”

“i can’t believe this is what my marriage looks like.”

he looked up again, glasses low on his nose. hair messy from a full day of stress-yanking (not love-making). dark eyes locked onto you like you were another report he was ready to manhandle. “consider me your emotional support office chair. i’m quiet. i click keys. i’m shirtless. it’s a wellness experience, brat.”

you gave him a deadpan look. “remind me again why you’re still doing reports when you own the entire damn company?”

“because my exec team is full of morons and apparently need their daddy to babysit the fucking budget.” he muttered, his eyes back on the screen.

“… so you really say that in meetings? ‘don’t worry, daddy’s here with the spreadsheets’?”

he gave you a withering look. “baby, don’t make me come over there and show you why they call me that.”

you sat up straighter, mock-scandalized. “you are not turning my bath into a boardroom kink.”

“oh, please,” he snorted. “you’d let me reorganize your filing system if i said that it in that voice.”

 “try me,” you puffed your cheeks and threatened, “i will throw a loofah at you. and for the record, ‘kuna? this is ambush. i was having sacred time, you bulldozer.”

“and yet… you married me.”

“temporarily lost judgment.”

“five-year lapse?”

you rolled your eyes in annoyance. “shut up. you’re ridiculous.”

“correct. and in love.” he said easily, shifting the laptop onto his other lap. and you let out a soft laugh at that because you know it’s true. 

for a moment, he didn’t say anything. just watched you, still half-soaked in warm light and bubbles. his eyes lingered, not with hunger and mischief, but with something softer. like he was memorizing. or making sure you’re here.

“you good, babe?” you asked.

he blinked, like coming back from wherever his head has gone. “yep, just…” he shrugged. “you’re the best part of the day, baby. seriously though, i missed you,” he said voice quieter now, like it didn’t just knock the air out of your lungs.

you blinked and froze a little. not because he said it, but because of how soft he said it. you rolled your eyes again, but your heart was already melting. “i’ve been busy. you’ve been busy. it’s fine.”

“it’s not fine,” he said, not looking up from the screen. “i like working. but i like you more. well, love. whatever, you know.”

that... shut you up a little. for a whole minute, even. you stared at him as candlelights softened the hard lines of his face. he was typing again, brows furrowed, but his jaw was tight.

“… okay, damn. for someone who threatened brad from finance with a stapler, that’s surprisingly romantic, ‘kuna.” you said quietly.

he cracked a small smile. “brad’s an idiot. you, on the other hand, are my peace.”

you were silent for a second and sighed out relief you’ve been wanting to let out for the past week. “well, you’re a clingy little bitch.”

“only for you, baby,” he said without missing a beat. then he smirked and cocked his head, eyes sliding over your shoulder, chest, legs – all barely hidden under the bubbles. 

“also, this bath is really doing things to my productivity levels. like, negative productivity. you gonna stand up at some point or do i have to pretend i dropped something in your bathwater?” he added, clearly back to his cocky self.

you threw the loofah at him. he caught it one-handed. “you’re such a menace.”

“only for you, brat,” he repeated again, softer this time. then added, “also, your left boob’s out. always a ten out of ten.”

“get out.”

“i just got comfortable,” he grinned. “and again… i’m your husband. my perving is legally protected.”

––

a/n: lol i went thru a writing slump last month and i can't think of anything – and thank heavens i've maxxed out my scrolling that i was able to come out of that coping (from a failed subject and delayed grad) lol so here's another husband!sukuna just bc and this ain't proofread

[humanjarvis]

pilot diet

🚨: reference to medical fasting, somnophilia (previously consented), reader wakes up briefly, cunnilingus, tongue fucking for sustenance basically, ambiguous female orgasm but maybe squirting if you're into that

caleb was hungry.

per the fleet’s medical personnel, all airmen were required to go on a 12-hour water fast before their annual physical exam. and his was tomorrow. 

he thought he’d be fine. thought he could last a few extra hours on an empty stomach. but he was so hungry. 

which, somehow, had brought him to your room. fidgeting in your bedroom doorway, eyes glued to your sleeping form.

it’s fine, he thinks, digging his nails into his palm. the nurses didn’t say anything about this, right? a-and she said i could whenever i needed to. we both did. so it’s fi—

a soft rustling from your bed almost makes him jump out of his skin, but you’d only rolled over in your sleep. 

it’s fine. 

slowly, quietly, he inches toward you, his hesitant shuffle becoming a prowl the closer he gets. 

when he reaches the foot of the bed, the soft pressure of his evol pulls your covers back and gently floats you down to him, your legs dangling over the edge of the mattress.

he sighs with longing as he lifts your oversized shirt. normally, he’d take the time to truly appreciate you, licking you through your panties until he could taste you through the fabric.

but he couldn’t risk it tonight. he was desperate, and you had a busy day tomorrow, too.

carefully, he pulls your panties down, his senses flicking to life as if they’ve just discovered a prize. his mouth waters at the sight of you. the sweet notes of your body wash envelop him, mixing with your natural scent. 

moaning involuntarily, he dives forward, hesitating only to remind himself not to startle you out of your sleep. 

a moment later, his lips meet your slit in a gentle, reverent kiss, his nose poking slightly through to brush against your clit. sighing at the contact, he thrusts his pink tongue forward, flattening it against your folds to test your sensitivity. and when you don’t react, he parts your folds with gentle haste. 

his only goal tonight is you gushing around his tongue. right into his mouth, filling him with your flavor.

tenderly, he suckles your clit in an open-mouthed kiss before turning his attention to your glistening entrance. he licks over and around it before plunging his tongue into you, lifting your hips to sink as far as he can get. 

your arousal oozes around him, coating his lips as his eager tongue explores inside you. licking, thrusting, swishing side to side—trying everything he can to taste all of you.

when you abruptly clench around him, he ruts his hips against the firm edge of the mattress, too focused on you to pay his swollen, leaking cock any mind. 

he only pulls away to catch his breath and make sure he hasn't disturbed you. but when he nestles back in, he gathers your folds in his mouth and releases them with a loud pop—too ravenous to notice you stirring awake.

“mngh…caleb?” you moan groggily, reaching down to grip his soft strands. 

“shh, m’sorry,” he mumbles, mouth too full of you to speak clearly. “go back to sleep, baby. i’m sorry, go back to sleep. just need to taste you.”

humming in dazed acceptance, you flop your head back down, and caleb thinks you’ve followed his orders. 

but when you start grinding lazily against his face, forcing his tongue even deeper into you, he nearly stains his boxers white.

you are going back to bed, it seems. you’re just using his face as your sleep aid—and he’s happy to help. 

for a while, you keep using each other, your half-conscious form getting off on his nose and tongue while he licks up your pooling slick.

but eventually, your movements slow before stopping altogether, and your hand goes slack in his mussed-up hair. you'd fallen back asleep, pushing his face into your pretty pussy. like you’d known there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. 

your movements had sent you closer to the edge—he can tell from the twitches of your lonely clit, stiff and desperate for his touch. 

leaving your entrance with a sloppy kiss, he obliges. surging upwards, he lashes his tongue across the bud, flicking and suckling it until your legs unconsciously tighten around his head. so close. 

he can’t use his mouth anymore. it has to be open, waiting, ready to catch whatever you’ll give him.

so he replaces it with his fingers. bringing his hand up to your clit, he rubs eagerly, but the gentle pinch he gives it is your undoing. as he holds the bud between long fingers, your release gushes out of you and into his waiting mouth.

between greedy swallows, he whispers reverent thank-yous, lining your thighs with appreciative kisses. he’s not hungry anymore, but that doesn’t mean he won’t eat. 

once he’s gulped down your release, he sucks your slick folds and quivering hole for more, hell-bent on drinking everything you have. but when his tongue prods your entrance again, your legs instinctively clamp shut, and he knows he’s had his fill for the night. 

raising his head for the first time in ages, he licks his glistening lips in contentment, the pleasant buzz of satiety spreading through his brain. 

[wolviesdoll]

jason who drives fast but never when you're passenger. not that he's a careless driver normally, he just cares much more about what could happen to you than what could happen to him. normally he's the type who accidentally runs a red light because he misjudged the distance and thought he could pass a yellow. maybe he's went over a couple curbs here and there when turning, and maybe his stops aren't the smoothest either. what could he say? it's not like he ever took a drivers ed class. however, when his everything is sitting right next to him, how could he not be careful? he's slowing down into his stops, eases into his turns, and doesn't speed before the yellow light could turn red. he takes passenger princess literally in the way he makes sure you're comfortable and cared for.

he was much more precautious about his motorcycle. jason hesitated for months to finally let you on. he originally wasn't going to let you on at all, but unfortunately for him, he's susceptible to your pleading and gave in eventually. he gave you a lecture about the proper clothes and making sure your helmet was on at all times beforehand, setting a clear rule that could not be broken. there's nothing he's more serious about than your safety. he keeps your arms wrapped around his torso and gently taps your thigh when he feels you're not hugging him tight enough. he even got a custom helmet made to fit you perfectly, despite him rarely letting you join him. that's not to say he doesn't like it when you're with him. he likes feeling you behind him, likes the way your hair is tousled by the wind and helmet combo. but best of all he likes the way you smile afterward, a toothy grin with stars in your eyes and adrenaline still coursing through your veins. he loves making you happy most of all, and if a late night ride on his motorcycle does the trick, he can be persuaded.

[azzo0]

Let's talk about Katsuki, who happens to be dating a med student. Both of your guys' schedules are hectic— rising with the sun and sleeping a few hours before it rises again.

But still, you manage to make time for each other. He makes sure to drop by your place on the weekends with your favourite drink even though he knows your nose will be buried deep in your laptop or a textbook. You're not hearing a single complaint from him, though. You can study while he's still there. On his lap.

He'll silently lift you from the chair and sit on it, dropping you on his thighs. You'll kiss his temple and continue working on your laptop while he scrolls on his phone with his forehead resting on your back, or he'll simply close his eyes with his arms wrapped around your waist while his lips lazily kiss your hair or the back of your neck. He lets you study all you want, but sometimes, he feels like being mischievous.

His breath will fan your jugular while his hands slip under your shirt or move ever so slowly down to your thigh, where he'll give it a firm squeeze, pull your legs slightly apart and draw circles with his thumb on your inner thigh. He likes watching you try to pretend like you don't care what he's doing when you're really crumbling with every touch. He keeps toying with you until you finally give up and turn around to give him a rough kiss and order him to carry you to the bed.

He's not the only one who pays visits. Sometimes, after class, you drive to his agency even if he's not there. You wait for him in his office, in his chair, while doing your own thing. Usually, when he's back, he has a bruise or an ugly gash from a fight with a villain. He insists he'll get it checked from the clinic, but you know he won't, so you tend him instead.

He knows med school isn't easy and that you can't be hanging out with him all the time. He knows you like holing up in your room and distancing yourself from the rest of the world when you have exams and tests coming up, so he gives you the space you need. He also knows how much burden you put on yourself during these days, so his brain has developed an alarm system where he automatically knows you're having a bad day. He drags you out of your apartment by force if he has to so you can take in some fresh air, or he simply drops by to make you your favourite dish and clean up for you. He can tell when you just need his company, so he sits on your bed while you study, his presence comforting your nerves a little bit.

He loves watching you study, but his favourite bit is when he is a part of your study/ practice. He willingly gives you his arm to practice drawing blood, even if takes you a few tries to insert the needle properly. Oh, he loves presenting his arms to you, his veins already protruding out. He doesn't miss the glint in your eye or the way you subtly bite your lips before meeting his gaze.

He loves loves loves when you have an anatomy exam most of all. It's not really studying, but damn, it's so hot when you're straddling his lap with his shirt off, your fingers roaming on his bare skin, while you yap on and on in a dead-serious tone about every muscle and structure.

Once, you were sitting on his lap during a similar session and you grabbed his chin and tilted his head head upwards, making him look to the side. You ran your fingers on the strong muscle of his neck that popped out, your touch sending shivers down his spine.

"This, Katsuki, is your sternocleidomastoid." You said.

He turned his face to you again, his pants tightening a bit too much for his liking. He couldn't make out the complex words falling out of your pretty lips because he was patiently waiting for you to point out every muscle of his and then just kiss him. He knew you were well aware of his erection poking your crotch, but you went on despite it and fuck, it pissed him off and turned him on at the same time.

He took your hand and smoothly guided it down to his hardened, clothed dick, "And what is this called, Doc?"

You gave him a coy smile, your fingers playing with the band of his pants, "You see, there are a lot of parts to name here, so I might need to take a proper look to name them all for you."

And all he could do was try not to come undone while you looked up at him through your long lashes while telling him about his own anatomy.

[deusfoundry]

thinking about jason, and how he never truly feels that he's home even as he stumbles into your shared apartment after a long night of patrol.

not until he sees you, dozing off on the couch with a book laying flat open on your stomach, head hung over the armrest in a way makes your neck ache and pulse. not until he's taken off the leather gloves from his hands and has his fingers hovering a few centimeters shy of your skin. a beat passes before he lets himself finally touch you, let his fingers glide. slowly, until he's cupping your cheek between his palms. like he's figuring out if this is a dream—like he's trying to convince himself that it isn't.

not until your eyes flutter open, and he can only watch in disbelief when your pupils widen, shine in equal parts relief and joy as you take the sight of him in. your eyes scan his face, no doubt looking for new scars or bruises to fret over, and jason's breath all but catches in his throat over how much you care.

"jason."

not until he hears you and your voice, hoarse and muddled with sleep, but no less loving in the way you say his name. no less affectionate in how you speak to him.

"you're home."

not until you take his hand in yours and thread your fingers together. you bring your entwined hands close to your lips to press a featherlight kiss over his knuckles, with a kind of softness that astounds him. makes him wonder how much of this he truly deserves.

but you spare him no time to sit with his thoughts before you sit yourself up and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him flush against your skin. and though jason has always been one to run hot, he feels a kind of heat no sun nor flame will be able to provide now that he's in your arms.

"i am."

and finally—finally, jason is home. finally, jason is with you.

[websitestargirl]

cw: brief piss mention. gangbang/getting a train ran on you. poly!141, mild anal

being blindfolded and having your hearing muffled and getting fucked while being made to guess which guy it is. each man takes turns licking and kissing your pussy. fingers rubbing at you with varying degrees of gentleness. they turn it into a competition to see who can make you cum the hardest. each orgasm you have to guess, and lord have mercy if you’re wrong.

gaz: goes first, fingers you open and licks your pussy with a finesse so adept that he pushes you over way quicker than you’d like. ebbs and flows between gentle, barely there swipes on your clit and pounding almost his entire fist into your cunt. trying to confuse you, make you guess soap, but he’s too clean with it that has to be either gaz or price.

soap: goes second. boyish and eager. spends way too much time rubbing the tip of his cock against sticky folds, using gaz’s load as lube to push in. the push in makes your spine bow upwards. squeezes your tits until it hurts. talks dirty but you can’t hear him. somehow it turns him on more knowing you don’t know it’s him (you definitely know). he also wants to pee on you but he’s chastised for suggesting it so he doesn’t.

price: takes a lot of offense because he’s probably the most gentle. he lets his cock get sucked in as you hump your hips up in the air. goes third, pets your hips and peppers kisses all over your face. it’s hard to tell if he’s taunting you, because you feel somewhat like a little doll. a toy on the shelf being dusted off for the first time in years. the feeling induces too much submissive obedience to be gaz so it has to be price.

ghost: a little frazzled by the time it’s his turn. spreads you open and watches your cunt clench and squeeze around nothing, swollen red and sticky. takes a finger and feels around on the inside at how soft and rubbed raw your hole’s gotten. pushes in slowly and fucks you deep, head of his cock nudging at your cervix. he shows an impressive amount of restraint, working you for nearly half and hour before he pulls an orgasm out of you without and stimulation to your clit. he did stick his thumb up your ass though. dead giveaway.

[opt1mistic]

A NIGHT TO REMEMBER ✶ ft. bbf!ellie williams. prequel to this.

cw. smut, nsfw, angst if you close your eyes and look away, fingering(r!receiving), dryhumping, reader is intoxicated but it’s all consensual, mentions of a man, gin slander lol, modern au, afab!reader and fem reader. wc. 5.2k(what the helly???) note. the plot was lost halfway through so it’s just basically smut mixed with nonsense…i’m really sorry :/

the music felt way too overbearing; mixed with the alcohol you’ve consumed over the past hour or so it all felt way too heavy—almost suffocating. bittersweet clung to your tongue, sharp and herbal, the aftertaste of gin curling at the back of your throat like smoke. dry. piney. something bitter underneath, like citrus peel left to burn.

you hated gin. you only drank it because it was the first thing that was handed to you.

pushed into the far corner of your kitchen, your clothes felt too tight, and your shoes didn’t fit right. you knew they didn’t. it wasn’t because you were overwhelmed and on the verge of a breakdown, it was because they were a size too small. you wore them because they looked good with your outfit, thinking you might’ve at least gotten one compliment about it. but no. not a single person mentioned to you how your shoes looked like they were personally customized for the outfit.

you weren’t mad, or annoyed for that matter. people came here to party and not to tell you that your ass looked fantastic, and your boobs sat so perfectly they might not be real.

none of that mattered really, at all even.

you’re sweating. you feel the cup in your hand feel slippery against the softness of your palm, it might fall to the floor and ruin those shoes you should really get rid of because they don’t fit. these fucking shoes.

it wasn’t even about them. it never was. you’re just pissed they don’t fit you the only time you decided to wear them. and you were pissed because she was talking to her and not you.

it wasn't jealousy.

it wasn’t.

you were just upset. that’s all. upset because she’s been hitting on you for at least two years now and now she was talking to someone that wasn’t you.

you had no right to be jealous. you turn ellie down every time she says anything remotely suggestive, you don’t let her get anywhere pass a flirty comment, maybe two or three more get by, but that’s all.

you don’t like ellie. i mean how could you?

(but it really was more like who doesn’t? ellie was pretty, gorgeous even. with her stupid freckles, green eyes that shine so brightly under the sun of dawn. the light over her face and those freckles. and her hair, it was so pretty, soft with the most addicting smell. every single fucking time you look at her you feel unwell. this sickening feeling in your stomach, it aches.

you have no good reason to turn her down, you do it because you’re confused about why a girl like her likes you.

you‘re clumsy, anxious, you let your mouth run when you shouldn’t. you talk back when enough's been said. your comebacks are snarky. you know you shouldn’t speak, but your mouth moves anyway—quick and defensive. regret always comes later. you feel as if there isn’t much to look at if you look at a mirror.

but that’s the thing that ellie likes the most. you’re different. not in the ‘i’m not like other girls’ kind of way—but in the way you flinch when you laugh, the way you don’t know what to do with your hands. in the way she notices. she doesn’t say anything, but she sees you.

but that’s what pisses you off the most.

because ellie doesn’t like you in spite of those things. she likes you because of them.

she likes the way you get flustered when you’re cornered. she likes when you talk back. when your voice shakes, but you say it anyway. she likes how your mouth runs when it shouldn’t. how you can never just leave things alone. she likes that you’re messy, and mouthy, and unsure of yourself. and maybe that’s why you keep pushing her away.

because if she sees all that and still wants you—you don’t know what that makes you.)

with your eyes shooting laser beams into the wall right next to her, as to not seem like you’re watching her because she’ll get all cocky about it if she catches you looking. it’s not ellie if she doesn’t tease you to death. smothering you with her words, like a pair of hands around your neck—gentle at first, like she’s cradling you to kiss—until they tighten, deliberate, marking you with nothing but words. words that leave an effect they shouldn’t, and it bothers you more than you’ll ever admit.

and now she’s gone, and so is the girl she was with.

wonderful.

you unstiffen your shoulders, dropping them, trying to relax when you feel so uncomfortable. you hear your bed practically calling your name. you’re so fed up. this was supposed to be a fun party, just like every other party your brother throws. but all you could think about was that ellie hasn’t talked to you once, and that some random guy, you were pretty sure wasn’t even invited, kept trying to hit on you, giving you this disgusting drink and telling you to come find him later.

he didn’t even ask you if you like gin, just poured it into a cup with a mix of diet coke, it’s the most nasty after taste you’ve ever tasted. who would drink such monstrosity and like it?

you set your cup down—finally. the stickiness from your palm feels gross; it’s sweaty and moist, like thick mucus. you’re about to disappear upstairs when you hear her.

“you always make that face when you're annoyed. d’you know that?”

ellie.

her voice is too close. low, amused. like she was watching you from the other side of the room and couldn’t help herself. and maybe she was.

you don’t turn around. not right away. you know how this goes—she says something cocky, you get defensive, she teases you until your thoughts melt into something you can’t name. it’s always the same. always her and her dumb words.

you roll your eyes instead, loud enough for her to hear it in your silence. “didn’t know you were watching me.”

“always do.” she says, like it’s obvious. like it’s nothing. you hate the way your heart stumbles at the sound of it.

then she moves closer. you feel it more than see it, her presence sliding in beside you, the press of her arm almost grazing yours. not touching. never touching. but close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin, her breath ghosting near your jaw.

“you looked like you were about to murder someone.” ellie murmurs, glancing at the abandoned drink.

“watcha got there?” she picks up the plastic cup you had just set down on the counter. her curiosity is shut down by the awful taste that appears in her mouth when she takes a generous sip from the cup.

“what the fuck is this!?” ellie’s face scrunches up into a look of disbelief and disgust. “what human fed you this?”

she sets the cup down and moves it further away on the counter like it’s radioactive.

“uhhhh. him over there.” you search in the crowd of people for the dark haired man that shoved the cup into your hand and smirked at you when you forced yourself to take multiple sips.

ellie follows your gaze, spots him almost instantly. the guy’s leaning against the fridge like he owns it—shirt half unbuttoned, drink in hand, grinning at someone who’s definitely not you.

she scoffs. “that guy?”

“that guy.”

“he looks like he harasses women on the street.”

you bite back a laugh, lips twitching. “that’s mean.”

“you drank his little science experiment. i’m being merciful.”

she turns to face you fully now, leaning her hip against the counter, one hand tucked into her back pocket. you glance at her, finally—just a flick of your eyes, quick and stupid—and she catches it. of course she does.

“you’ve been avoiding me all night,” she says, like it’s a casual observation and not an accusation.

“i haven’t.”

“you didn’t say hi.”

“you didn’t either.”

she tilts her head at that, amused. “so it’s my job now?”

“didn’t say that.”

“but you thought it.”

you huff, crossing your arms. “you’re insufferable.”

“and yet.” ellie grins. “here you are. still standing next to me.”

you look away. again. the floor is suddenly very interesting.

ellie leans in just slightly, drops her voice to a hum. “you look good, by the way.”

you don’t respond. not right away. your brain short-circuits a little, glitches like an old tv. there it is again. the teasing, the soft menace in her voice. the compliment you weren’t expecting but still secretly hoped for.

“shoes don’t fit.” you mutter.

“doesn’t matter. your legs look great.”

your cheeks burn. you hate her. you want to crawl out of your own skin. skin yourself alive, bash your head into a wall.

“stop it.” you say, weakly. it’s barely above a whisper.

“stop what?” she asks, already smiling like she knows. like she can feel the heat radiating off you.

you don’t answer. you can’t.

ellie shifts closer. not by much—just enough that you have to fight the urge to lean back, or lean in, or do something other than stand there, vibrating with everything you’re trying not to feel.

“you always get like this when i say something nice,” she murmurs. “all twitchy and silent. like you’re waiting for me to take it back.”

you scoff, but it doesn’t land right. too shaky. too soft.

“i’m just saying,” she continues, voice syrupy, “if you’re gonna stand there looking like that, all flushed and pretty and bitey, you can’t expect me to behave.”

your breath hitches. that’s not fair. that’s so not fair.

“i’m not bitey.” you say, eyes narrowed.

“sure you’re not.” she grins, teeth sharp. “you’re a terror.”

you glare. or try to. but your face won’t cooperate—it wants to smile, to give in, to break in all the ways she makes you break.

ellie takes one step closer, and now she’s really in your space. the music blurs behind you both. voices fade to a dull, distant buzz. it’s just her, now. her and that look in her eye. the one she saves just for you.

“you miss me?” she asks, soft and unserious and too real all at once.

you could lie. you’ve done it before. you’ve done it so many times—shrugged her off with sarcasm, buried the truth under something wry. but right now?

right now you’re toeing the edge of something dangerous, and it’s never felt more tempting.

you don’t answer. you just let her look at you. let her wait. and ellie…ellie takes that silence like for a yes.

her grin fades, just a little. her eyes dip to your mouth, then back up again, slow, like she’s memorizing the way you’re holding yourself together for her.

“come upstairs with me,” she says, gentle now. no teasing, no game.

your heart slams against your ribs. you shouldn’t.

“okay.” you say.

and she doesn’t smile this time just nods, once, like this is the moment she’s been waiting for. like she knew you’d say it eventually.

ellie takes your hand. she doesn’t ask. just does. and you let her. because of course you do. because it’s ellie. and you’ve always been hers, even when you swore you weren’t.

you follow her out of the kitchen like a shadow, steps quiet, careful. she doesn’t look back. she doesn’t need to. the music is louder in the hallway, vibrating through the walls like a pulse. it drowns out everything—your thoughts, your doubts, the little voice in your head telling you this is a mistake.

she leads you up the stairs, weaving past bodies draped over railings and sitting cross-legged on the floor. no one notices you. no one stops you. it’s like the two of you are moving through a world that doesn’t quite exist. like this is some strange little pocket of reality where everything is charged, unreal, and fragile. only you and ellie.

her hand is still in yours when she opens the door to your room. she only lets go once it’s shut behind you both, the lock clicking into place with a soft finality.

the room is dim—just the string lights across the ceiling casting a golden glow over everything. a mess of clothes on the chair. an unmade bed you can’t stop staring at. why couldn’t i clean up after i got ready for this shit of a party?

ellie sits first, casually, like this is just another friday night. leans back on her hands, legs spread, jaw set. watching you carefully. the smallest movements you make she’s there to catch them. you stay near the door. back pressed against it like it might keep you grounded.

“you okay?” she asks after a moment, like the tension isn’t loud enough to swallow you both whole. the blurred absence of the music and shouts makes you feel somewhat better. but that bitter feeling doesn’t seem to slip away.

you nod. too quickly.

“you’re lying.”

“i’m not.”

“you always do that thing with your hands when you lie.”

you look down. fuck—she’s right. your fingers are twisted together, knuckles going white.

“i didn’t come up here to fight.” you say finally, voice thinner than you want it to be. ellie doesn’t move. she just keeps looking at you. her gaze is steady, unreadable.

“i know,” she says. “i didn’t bring you up here to make you uncomfortable.”

“then why’d you bring me up here?”

a pause. her eyes soften.

“because i couldn’t look at you all night without wanting to touch you.”

your breath catches.

“ellie—”

she cuts in, quick. “i won’t. not unless you want me to.”

the silence after that is almost unbearable. you stare at her. she stares back. her face is open, honest in a way she rarely ever lets it be. you want to say something sharp. something deflective. but the truth is boiling over in your chest, and it’s too hot to ignore. you want her to touch you.

“you scare the shit out of me.” you say, with a breathy laugh feeling awkwardness flair up inside of you.

ellie blinks. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

she lets out a breath—quiet, amused, fond in that infuriating way of hers. you hate it.

“you scare the shit out of me, too.”

and just like that, the air shifts. the room tilts. everything feels precarious, like a match held too close to the fuse. your face heats up again.

“come here,” she says, barely above a whisper.

you hesitate. only for a second. then you do.

your feet move before you know it. you walk to her with your heart in your throat and your guard barely holding, and when you stop in front of her, ellie doesn’t move—not until you do. not until your knees brush against hers, light as a question.

she answers it by reaching up, slowly, fingertips grazing your hips. her eyes stay on yours. you’re confused again. you don’t understand why she wants to touch you, like this of all ways.

“still okay?” she murmurs.

“yeah,” you whisper.

and then she pulls you in. you crash into her, not fully losing control of your body but enough for her to take control and maneuver you to straddle her. her touch isn’t rough nor is it rushed. it’s small but has power. ellie knows what she’s doing.

she doesn’t kiss you. not yet. she waits. waits for you to decide.

and god, you want—no, you crave it, in that feral, bone-deep way that makes your skin itch. you want her mouth on yours, soft at first, maybe, just to mock you—but you want it to dissolve, fast, into something hungry. something unholy. you want her to kiss you like she’s starving, like she’s trying to crawl inside you through your mouth.

you want the spit. need the spit. thick, hot, shared and messy—her tongue in your mouth, sliding against yours, teeth knocking when it gets too desperate. you want it to drip, to smear, to cling to your lips and chin, to mark you in the most revoltingly human way. like her saliva belongs in your mouth. like yours belongs down her throat.

you want her to spit into you. mouth parted, eyes half-lidded, breath panting between kisses—and when she pulls away, you want it to trail between your mouths in slick strings. sticky, glistening. you want to taste her down to the root of your tongue.

you want it to ruin you. make your lips swollen, red, wrecked. make your jaw ache. you want to feel her breath enter you and exit in shudders. to drown in the taste of her, sweet and sharp, like blood and peaches and the end of the world.

the silence was killing you. like a sword penetrating skin. you stare into her eyes, deep and honest. if ellie wanted, she could get every confession out of you. she could make you admit how much you like her, she could make you say how badly you need her. make you tell her all the nasty thoughts your intoxicated brain is frying up.

your hands sneak to rest on her shoulders and you just hope she doesn’t say anything about you being desperate for her. she knows you are but ellie isn’t any better, after all, she did bring you up here for the exact reasons you’re thinking.

ellie moves in closer now—much closer than she was back in the kitchen. she’s always been bold like that. you’ve seen her before, at one of your brother’s parties, hand already halfway down some girl’s pants like it was nothing. she never cared who was watching. didn’t even seem to care how the girl felt about it, not really. maybe it was a distraction. maybe she just needed something to do with her hands.

if she wanted, she could’ve had you like that in the kitchen, but she chose to bring you to your room and be more open with her words. none of the teasing that make it seem that she was joking. she’s serious about this. she really does want you, needs to touch you.

her nose is touching yours, she doesn’t blink, just looks at you with a shine to her eyes, if you looked deep enough you could see that she’s holding back. she could take you right here right now but she chooses not to, she waits for you. she doesn’t want to take advantage. because it’s you, and she couldn’t live with herself after if she were to do so.

“ellie…” you say her name breathless, eyes trailing towards her lips. your tongue sticking out slightly licking your upper lip. you move your eyes back up to hers, reaching you hands to the back of her head to twist her hair between your fingers.

she answers you by slowly crashing her lips into yours, moving them against the plush skin when you open your mouth a little for her to slip her tongue in.

she kisses you like she means it—like she’s been waiting. her mouth is warm, slow at first, but there’s weight behind it, like she’s trying to memorize the shape of you. her tongue grazes yours, testing the waters, and you hum into it, your fingers tightening in her hair. she breathes in sharp through her nose, like she wasn’t expecting that.

ellie’s hands wander off around your body squeezing at your waist and hips, needing the flesh above clothes. she unsure about her touch, as if she squeezes you in some way you’ll tell her to stop, she careful but needy at the same time. she’s not rough or aggressive, but there’s a possessiveness to her hold, and it’s dark and full of desire.

ellie pulls back just barely, lips brushing yours as she speaks, her voice low and raspy. “you don’t know what you do to me.”

and she’s kissing down your neck, toying with the skin between her lips, making sure she leaves a mark to tease and laugh at you tomorrow. you know this but let her mark you either way, you’ll yell at yourself when you’re sober; realizing this was a mistake on your part because you gave in this easily.

but it was going to happen sooner or later, so why not now?

and you know exactly what you do to ellie. maybe not everything, maybe not the exact details, but you know what your presence does to her. the way she looks at you like you’re a loaded gun—dangerous, tempting, too easy to lose control around.

“then show me.” you whisper, a challenge and a plea in one. you move your palms to cup her face, tugging her up and kissing her harder this time, and she answers with a soft groan against you, her hands sliding beneath your shirt, palms flat against your spine as they pull you flat against her body. her hands, they’re calloused, warm, grounding. she doesn’t rush. her touch is reverent, tracing you like you’re something fragile and holy.

but you’re not, and she knows.

her teeth catch your bottom lip, not hard, just enough to make you gasp. she pulls away again, panting now, forehead pressed to yours. “if we do this…” she swallows.

“i need to know you want it. really want it.”

your thumb brushes the edge of her jaw, and she’s watching you like you’re the only thing in the world worth watching. she’s so close you can feel her heart racing against yours.

you nod. “i do.”

and ellie’s restraint finally snaps.

her hands move down to the plush flesh of your thighs, feeling the warmth of your blood beneath her fingertips as they grope you hard.

she kisses you again, rougher this time—hungry, desperate, her hands slipping further under your shirt, palms splayed wide across your bare back. her fingers dig into your skin, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough that you know she’s grounding herself with you. your mouth parts against hers, a quiet, needy sound slipping out before you can stop it. ellie swallows it down like she’s starved for it, chasing the noise with her tongue.

she shifts underneath you, tugging you impossibly closer by the hips until you’re straddling her properly, your thighs bracketing her waist. the heat between your bodies makes you dizzy. she presses her forehead to yours, breathing heavy, like she’s trying to hold herself back, but failing.

“gonna lose my mind,” she mutters, half to herself, before she kisses you again—messier this time, open-mouthed, your tongues sliding together with a slick, desperate sound that makes you ache in places you didn’t know could ache.

your hands roam too, almost frantic, pushing under her hoodie to feel the solid lines of her stomach, her ribs, the thin cotton of her tank top clinging to her. you tug at the fabric and she gets the hint, breaking the kiss just long enough to yank the hoodie off over her head, ruffling her hair and making her freckles stand out sharper under the low light.

“better?” she teases, breathless, voice wrecked and full of something dark.

you just nod, too stunned by the sight of her like this, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from kissing you. and she’s looking at you like she wants to ruin you, hands resting heavy on your thighs, thumbs stroking lazy circles over the fabric of your skirt.

ellie tugs at the hem of your shirt, fingers curling into the material. she doesn’t pull it off yet, just slips her hands under it again, feeling your bare waist, the dip of your lower back. her thumbs brush just under the edge of your bra, and you shiver.

“can i?” she asks, and you barely hear her over the pounding in your own head.

“please.” you whisper.

and that’s all it takes. she lifts your shirt over your head slow, almost reverently, like unwrapping something she’s been dying to get her hands on for years. your hair gets a little messed up in the process and she smiles at the sight of you, like you’re the best thing she’s ever seen.

her hands come up to cup your face, thumbs brushing your flushed cheeks. her eyes are wide, a little wild, like she still can’t believe you’re here, half-naked in her lap, asking for her.

“so fuckin’ pretty,” she murmurs, leaning in to kiss your jaw, your neck, the slope of your shoulder. anywhere she can reach. you’re squirming in her lap now, needy and impatient, your hands clutching at her tank top like you’re afraid she’ll disappear if you let go.

ellie groans low in her throat when your hips grind down, just a little, testing. the friction pulls a sharp breath from both of you. she grabs your hips, holding you still.

“easy,” she mutters, voice thick, “wanna take my time.”

you whimper at that, and she grins against your skin, proud and a little smug. ellie mouths at your chest, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the top of your bra, teasing, teasing, until you whine and tug at the straps, silently begging.

“okay, okay.” she chuckles, voice rough and fond, like she’s never heard anything better than you falling apart for her.

she helps you shrug out of your bra, tossing it somewhere across the room without looking, too busy staring at you. her hands come up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing experimentally over your nipples, watching the way your body reacts—your back arching, your mouth falling open in a silent gasp.

“jesus christ,” she mutters under her breath, more to herself than to you. “look at you.”

and then she’s leaning in, mouth closing around one nipple, sucking gently, tongue flicking, while her other hand toys with the other breast. the heat of her mouth sends sparks shooting straight to your core. you gasp, hands threading into her hair, holding her there like you might fly apart if she stops.

you rock your hips against her without thinking, chasing any kind of friction. ellie growls low in her chest, the sound vibrating against your skin.

“needy.” she mutters, pulling off you with a wet pop, dragging her mouth back up to kiss you again—deeper, messier, less polished than before. her hands slide down your back, squeezing your ass, dragging you harder against the ridge of her thigh.

“wanna feel you,” she rasps against your mouth.

“wanna make you cum just like this. fuck.”

you moan, high and broken, grinding shamelessly against her now, feeling the roughness of her jeans against the soaked fabric of your underwear. the friction is almost too much. almost not enough.

ellie kisses you harder, teeth clashing, spit slicking your chins together, hands everywhere—your hips, your thighs, your back, your ass. she rocks you against her thigh, murmuring filthy things into your mouth, barely coherent.

“so wet for me.” she pants, pulling back just enough to look down, to watch you rut against her thigh.

“fuck, look at you. makin’ a mess all over me.” you whimper, desperate, lost in it. in her.

“c’mon, baby,” ellie coaxes, voice rough and tender all at once.

“wanna feel you cum for me. just like this. show me how bad you need it.”

you shudder, the pressure building, unbearably sweet and sharp and right there. ellie keeps rocking you, keeps whispering in your ear, dirty, soft, wrecked herself.

and when you finally cum��when you break apart with a soft, bitten-off sob against her shoulder—ellie holds you through it, arms wrapped tight around you, grounding you, anchoring you.

“that’s it,” she murmurs, kissing the side of your head.

you slump against her, boneless, trembling, feeling like you might float away if she let go.

but she doesn’t.

she keeps holding you, kissing you, whispering promises you don’t have the strength to hear yet, not really. but it’s okay. you believe her anyway.

because it’s ellie. and she’s always meant it.

and just when you think she’s done, ellie shifts you, pushing you gently but firmly onto your back on the bed. climbs over you, fitting herself between your thighs like she belongs there. her hands trail down your sides, slowly, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your skirt, dragging it down your hips with agonizing patience.

you lift your hips for her without thinking, needy and frantic now, again. ellie’s mouth trails down your body as she goes—kisses on your belly, nips at your hips, leaving little stinging bites that make you gasp. she’s taking her time, savoring every inch of you like she’s been dreaming about this. maybe she has. maybe you have too.

when she gets the skirt off, she sits back on her heels for a second, just staring down at you, panting and trembling under her.

“you’re unreal,” she murmurs, voice rough with something almost reverent.

you reach for her, impatient now. “ellie—”

she smiles, wicked and sweet all at once, and leans down to kiss you again—deeper, slower, taking her time wrecking you. her hand slides between your legs, over the damp patch of your underwear, and you whimper into her mouth at the first touch.

you whine, hips bucking up into her hand, chasing the friction just like you did on her thigh. ellie shushes you, soothing, almost tender, rubbing slow circles over the wet spot right over your clit.

“gonna take real good care of you.” she promises, voice thick and syrupy.

you nod frantically, desperate for her, dizzy with it.

she slides your underwear to the side with one hand, not even bothering to take them off, and runs two fingers through your folds—testing, teasing. when she brushes your bare clit you gasp, clutching at her shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to earth.

ellie’s watching your face the whole time, eating up every little reaction you give her like it’s her new favorite meal.

“you’re gonna let me make you feel good?” she murmurs, voice low and wrecked with want.

“yes—yes, ellie, please—”

that’s all she needed to hear.

she slides one finger inside you, slow, careful, watching you for any sign of hesitation. when you moan—high and breathy—her restraint snaps. she pumps it in and out, building a rhythm, adding a second finger when you start grinding against her hand like you can’t help yourself.

her thumb finds your clit again, rubbing tight circles, and the pleasure starts to crest fast—faster than you’re ready for.

“that’s it,” ellie coos, mouth brushing your ear. “god, you’re so fucking pretty like this. wanna see you fall apart for me.”

you sob out something that might be her name, might just be a broken noise, as you tumble over the edge, more overwhelmed this time—clenching around her fingers, trembling so hard your vision whites out. ellie fucks you through it, slow and sweet, murmuring praise into your skin until you finally, finally go still beneath her.

a dragged out orgasm flushing inside you, stick around her fingers still deep inside you, toying with the squishy spot.

ellie doesn’t pull away immediately—just presses kisses along your jaw, your neck, the shell of your ear, whispering how good you were, how gorgeous you are, how she’s never wanted anything so bad in her life.

and when you finally catch your breath enough to open your eyes, she’s smiling down at you—soft, adoring, like you hung the stars in her sky.

“still scared of me?” she teases.

you laugh, too weak to reply.

you whisper something incoherent, and pull her back down into a kiss. because if this is what being scared of her feels like, you never want to be brave again.

[thebestsetter]

"When a boy likes a girl, he's mean to her. He pulls her pigtails, stucks his tongue out at her, screams at her--"

Wrong. Because Blue Lock boys would never.

When Isagi first discovered he liked you, his first instinct was to become your personal "maid", while also following you around like a shadow. Everytime you needed help, he'd be the first to do so. Everytime you passed by each other on the halls, he tried to make your shoulders touch. Everytime you forgot your lunch, he gave you his, even if he spent the rest of the day hungry as hell. Everytime someone bad mouthed you, you can bet Yoichi was right there, ready to beat someone up. He's the perfect gentleman, through and throughout.

When Reo realized he was in love with you, he showered you with gifts. You couldn't spend a single day without recieving tons of your favorite things, even after you told him he didn't need to get you anything: favorite food, merch of your favorite show, etc etc. And you can bet no one can hurt you, his beloved. He doesn't even have to "get his hands dirty". He's going to use his influence to make the person's life a living hell without as much as lifting a finger. It's all for you, after all!

Hiori managed to ditch some practices just to spend more time with you. It was NOT and easy feat: it looked like his parents knew where he was at all times (do they have a tracker on his phone or something? Oh wait. They probably do), and he had a perfectly made schedule he needed to follow strictly. Even so, he managed to fool his parents (with the help of Karasu, who lied to them telling him he was at practice, bless him for it) and take a break from football for a while. And when you both are laying in the grass and looking at the sky while you caress his hair gently, he can't help but close his eyes and wonder if this is the closest he'll ever get to freedom. When he opens his eyes again and sees you, he also can't help but notice that, if you're the closest thing he has to happiness, he doesn't want nor need anything else.

So yeah, that affirmation is just ridiculous. When a man is really in love with a woman, he does everything in his powers to be close to her. And here's the proof.

[isasweetie]

‎♡‧₊˚ boat days with rafe are always prissy!readers favourite days.

you loved them because it felt like the one moment rafe’s mind wasn’t elsewhere. usually he was a stressed, impatient man, but when he’d find the time to take the yacht out far and just park it there and soak in the sun with you, he was always happy.

rafe was doing his morning workout while you soaked in the sun that reflected from the water, a shirley temple in hand that rafe made you at the bar. peacefully content, your stomach rested on the longue chair as your back tanned, glowing from the tanning oil that rafe had applied for you while complaining about how oily it felt and how he was gonna have to wash his hands.

with a sigh when you realize your drink is empty, you call rafe’s name to get you another one — not in a bratty way, you just knew rafe was always glad to keep you content, so he would make you another, even if he did mutter ‘i’m not your fuckin’ servant’ every time.

he comes over, pausing his workout. “yeah, baby?”

“can i have another drink?” you ask, turning over to lie on your back so you can face him.

“yeah, i got you,” he takes the empty glass and makes you another shirley temple, then brings it back to you. “need anything else?”

“umm..” you try to think, biting on your inner cheek. “dunno if i really want tan lines, can you help me untie my bikini top?”

“this isn’t france, baby, can’t sit outside with your tits out,”

“do you see anyone around? we’re in the middle of the ocean,” you ask. “didn’t know you were such a prude, just wanna tan my chest,”

“m’not a prude. fine, sit up. c’mon,” he relents, and you sit up.

his big hands fidget with the little bow on your triangle bikini, untying both knots. “there you go,” he pats your shoulder. “gotta go back to working out, you good here for like, fifteen minutes? not bored?”

“i’m fine. thank you rafe,” you smile up at him, pecking his lips while he’s still crouched down.

he nods, giving you one last look with his pretty baby blues before turning to go to the back of the boat to finish his workout.

you spend a bit of time on your phone while you’re still sat up, taking photos of the water, and topless selfies to absolutely send to rafe next time he’s at the office, and take sips of your shirley temple. then you apply some tanning oil on your front and tan that side for a little while, putting in an earbud to listen to some lana del rey.

after a while, you’re overheatting, even with your drink. but thankfully, rafe is feeling the exact same way. he finishes his workout and comes back to you all sweaty.

“hey,” he breathes out, taking the earbud out of your ear and stealing a sip of your drink so he can get his breath back.

“rafe!” you whine, swiping your drink back.

“usually when people say hey, you say hi back,” he says sarcastically, teasing you. “anyway, c’mon, we’re going swimming, i’m hot as fuck and you’re coming with me,”

you nod and he helps you up. he takes you to the edge of the boat. “we’re gonna jump, you good with that?”

“nervous,” you admit, staring off the yacht and into the blue water.

“you’ll be all good. i’ll hold your hand,” he assures, grabbing your manicured hand. “on three,”

he counts down, squeezing your hand each time. when he gets to three, he jumps and pulls you with him.

the water feels cold and refreshing against your warm body. you can’t help but think that your blowout is ruined from the water, but rafe will pay for another one if it upsets you. giggling, you resurface, looping your arms around rafe’s neck, topless chest pressed against his. “that was fun!”

“yeah?” he can’t help the little smile that appears at your happiness. “c’mon, let’s go again,”

with an eager nod, he helps you onto the ladder at the back of the boat, and you grab his hand when he walks you to the edge again. he counts down again, and you jump. it continues like that for 7 minutes until you get chilly.

rafe gets you a towel embroidered with his name (of course), and leaves you to warm up in the sun.

at the end of the day, you’ve changed into a spare sundress kept below deck, because rafe is cooking dinner in the mini kitchen on the yacht. you watch him cook, drying your hair off with a towel, then recurling your eyelashes and putting your lipgloss back on that wiped away.

you sit down back outside, both of you eating your dinner as the sky turns into this gorgeous swirl of pink, orange, and yellow while the sun dips down.

with the golden hour highlighting every feature on your boyfriends face, the feeling of your wet hair soaking the back of the dress, and putting the most delicious food in your mouth, you’re absolutely sure you’ll never get sick of this.

“i think the water is gonna tarnish my necklace,” you tell rafe gently as you help him wash the plates after. your hand subconsciously fiddles with said necklace, the one that has his initial on it. rafe’s very proud of that necklace.

“well we can’t have that, yeah?” rafe smiles, putting his hands on your waist. “we’ll buy you a new one tomorrow, hm? real gold this time, no cheaping out,”

you smile and nod, and he kisses you in a way that’s gonna screw you up forever. being with him is like paradise.

[arhvste]

“this is killing me.” kuroo mumbled as he tossed his phone to his side. “just trust me bro,” his best friend-turned roommate bokuto grinned. “this works everytime for me i swear!”

kuroo sighed before grabbing phone again to refresh his instagram story views once more. several people had already viewed the post-gym mirror selfie he’d taken in attempts to garner attention from one particular follower of his; you. “maybe it’s too cringe…” he muttered while over analysing the photo that had already gained a couple of likes within the twenty minutes it had already been up for. “nah.” bokuto reassured him and pat his friend on the shoulder. “you look sexy.” kuroo stared back at the two-toned haired boy. “… thanks bro.”

this isn’t something kuroo would typically post but times were tough and he was desperate. he’d seen you around campus but luck was not on his side when it came to scheduling and the two of you barely had class time together. yet the little class time you did share, kuroo hung onto it tightly and would let scenes of these weekly one hour classes replay in his head more often than he’d like to admit.

“i feel like a modern jay gatsby,” the ex volleyball captain huffed. “my selfie is the equivalent of the wild parties he’d throw in hopes to get daisy’s attention except i don’t want to post every night, i’ve already made myself cringe with this one post.” bokuto stared back at his friend blankly. “yeah… whatever that means.” kuroo frowned back “it’s a classic, you should know what i mean!”

how much longer was he going to have to wait? bokuto had promised him quick results with this method and so far he’d felt deceived and lied to. if talking to you when he got the chance wasn’t enough to get a conversation going outside the classroom, then social media seemed like the next best attempt to start interacting more.

what were you doing? why weren’t you viewing his story? could you even see his story? did he accidentally block you?

these questions ran through his mind as he quickly rushed to check to make sure he hadn’t for some reason blocked you from seeing his story. he half wished he did because then at least he’d know what on earth was taking you so damn long to see the photo he was increasingly starting to hate more the longer it was posted.

“this is stupid.” he stated as he faced bokuto who had zero concerns in his method in gaining someone’s attention. “it works you just have to wait, trust me.”

kuroo frowned as the little red hearts of others who weren’t you fluttered from the bottom corner of the photo. “look!” his best friend grinned as he leaned over kuroo’s shoulder and pointed to the screen of his phone. “you’re getting likes on it!”

“what’s the point if they’re not likes from the person i posted this for in the first place.” kuroo grumbled back in response. he couldn’t believe he’d been subjected to such an attempt to gain some attention from you. it was ridiculous.

it had been about forty five minutes since he’d posted it and he was slowly losing his mind. sure, the post was going to be up for twenty four hours (if he didn’t give into the voices in his head telling him to delete it) so forty five minutes was nothing, but the minutes were beginning to feel like hours and he was dying inside. why weren’t you viewing it already and what could possibly be keeping you off your phone right now?

“this is stupid.” he decided as notifications from his old team mates started to flash up on his screen. the last thing he needed was lev replying with ‘looksmaxing’ to a post that was secretly dedicated to you. “no, it’s barely been up!” bokuto whined. “you look hot so you should get some replies anyway what’s the big deal?”

pinching the bridge of his nose, kuroo huffed. “the big deal is the person i posted this for hasn’t replied!” what was the point in making sure to go to the gym during a rest day just to take this photo if he wasn’t going to at least make his existence more known to you? he’d even worked his legs enough to the point of managing to achieve the sweaty but sexy look. the muscles in his legs were dying, but his dignity sure as hell wouldn’t.

the college student opened up his phone with the intention to end the mental war inside his head once and for all by deleting the post altogether. bokuto watched his friend in defeat but his eyes flashed. “yes they did!” he yelled and pointed to the screen as your name flashed at the top of his screen.

kuroo’s heart jumped at the sight of your profile picture he’d made a daily routine of staring at and the now blue dot indicating a message from your profile in his inbox. to think he was going to delete this post just a second too, what were the chances?

psyching himself up, kuroo took a few quiet deep breathes before letting the time next to your message pass for a few minutes. he wasn’t an instagram warrior by any means, but he knew enough about general rules in order to not look desperate online.

bokuto watched over his friends shoulders as the two stared in anticipation awaiting the message kuroo had been dying for. this was it. leg day two times in a row was gruelling and he’d regret it for the next few days but it would have been worth it. the countless messages from his old teammates mocking his attempts at a thirst trap could be looked past now that you had finally given into the bait he’d so carefully laid. this is what he’d been waiting for. days of preparing and deciding how to gain your attention had finally paid off and he was about to reap the rewards he’d sown.

clicking the message with baited breath, his heart raced as bokuto’s grip of his shoulder tightened. finally.

‘the label on your shirt is sticking out, make sure to cut it’

“a wins a win.” bokuto filled the silence between the pair as kuroo stared at his phone with a blank expression. “… a wins a win…”