#On steady paws

[mysticthemulticolouredmew]

[attached is a shaky video of Mystic just flying around his and Troi's room]

I have no idea what Mystic is doing, but it looks fun!

[kirric-the-fan]

I got my oc commissioned, by the wonderful @dryad-druid !

So, let me introduce you to the full design of the precure of loyalty: Cure Steady!

She's friendly!

She's strong! Tough as rocks!

And she's ste-

...

...steady on her feet when it counts.

(the precure curse strikes again)

She is solid on her feet in a fight, but it seems to inexplicably go out the window when it's not. She is terrible at the group dances, and just can't seem to coordinate at all. She'll still make an earnest attempt at it, and her teammates quickly learned to give her a little extra space, and a helping hand if need be.

Some more notes on the design below the cut.

So, when coming up with the design, I started at Green Cure, White hair (short), and hints of mossy rock and lichen vibes.

The design is deliberately early cure style, as the Precure Royales are a 'missing' pre-futari wa team.

The heart pads in her palm aren't the only hidden hearts in her outfit. See if you can spot the others!

Steady is definitely the muscles of the group, breaking through walls, holding back enemies or grabbing and throwing them where they need to go. Her magical attacks can 'change' her into an even bigger and stronger form- she has lifted whole buildings before.

Her purification attacks are hug based, (palm! Hearts! Think how that would feel in a hug!) and she is a big softie and very caring.

She feels a bit insecure when not in a group, because she's always been fighting to protect others, and following others. It's one of the few times she's emotionally unsteady as well, as she's always there to support everyone else.

[heylinfanclub]

making so many kitty OCs and nobody knows (okay like three people across various messaging systems know). I AM SO OBSESSED WITH MY KITTIES I WISH I COULD GET EVEN BETTER AT DRAWING THEM. OOOOOOOOO but every time i draw my skills inevitably slip backwards and i gotta take a loonngg break..... Now is not that time. IM DRAWIN KITTIES. OOOHHH KITTIES.

[k3n-dyll]

Warnings...18+, wlw, not proofread, dom!Sevika, dom!Ambessa, rough sex, porn with zero plot, oral (r!receving), strap usage, strap sucking/face fucking, spit, squirting, spit roasting Word Count: 898

Notes ☆ this is just a sleepy, disgustingly horny, rant, man. Like, more so than usual.

Sevika practically holds you down with her body, mech arm caught tight around your torso as her flesh palm paws and squeezes at your tits, her lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your neck and shoulder. She's enjoying the view more than she'd ever admit out loud, silver eyes fixated on the other woman that's had her head snug between your legs for what at this point feels like fucking hours. Neither of you can seem to take your eyes off of the way Ambessa's scarred back and broad shoulders move as she forces you to keep still for her, the same large hands that so gently caress your face and hold you close any other time now locked in a vice grip against your thighs, sure to leave bruises against the soft skin.

The noises coming from her sucking and lapping at your cunt are bordering on obnoxious, the amount of time you've been pushed over the edge with her mouth alone having landed you sitting in a wet spot of a collection of your own squirt and her saliva. The overstimulation has reduced you into a babbling, trembling little mess, and yet neither of them have had their fill yet.

"I c-can't, I can't..." You slur, both women letting out amused huffs of laughter at your pathetic attempt to speak. Dumbly, you think that Ambessa pulling away and Sevika's grip on your body loosening means that you finally get a little bit of a break, your sigh of relief getting cut short by Sevika's voice as she whispers into your ear.

"You're not done, doll. Hands and knees." Her coaxing is gentle, her hands keeping you steady as you switch positions with the elegance of a newborn calf. It'd be humiliating if your brain hadn't been rendered so useless, eyes half-lidded as you watch Ambessa's tear-blurred form tower over you, a hand coming to grip your chin.

"Such a pretty thing you are. You've got a little more in you, don't you angel?" Ambessa's sultry tone fills your ears, a dopey grin crossing your features at the praise as you give an equally lazy nod. Gently, she presses the red silicone hanging from her hips against your mouth, seeking permission for entrance. "Good, girl. Open that pretty mouth for me"

Your jaw slacks almost immediately, a low hum of approval escaping the woman in front of you, her murmured praises and the feeling of her hand gently palming the back of your head distracting you from the girth stuffing your jaws. Distracting you from what's happening behind you as well.

You get little warning - the bed slightly sinking in from behind and the cool touch of a metal hand against the plush of your hip before you start to feel Sevika pushing her own strap inside of you. A choked yelp of surprise escaping you at the feeling, your body tensing up.

"Uh-uh, relax... that's it, just breathe baby.." Sevika purrs, leaning down and peppering wet kisses along the arch of your back to ease your tension, though she doesnt stop her advances, each shallow pump of her hips stretching you further.

They give you grace, letting you adjust, kissing and marking you as you settle around them but the gentle front doesn't last long. Sevika can't stop herself from slamming into you from behind, admiring the way your ass jiggles with each hard thrust, her own pussy dripping against the harness at the sight of the white ring forming at the base of her cock.

Each thrust from behind forces Ambessa's strap down your throat, every gag forced from you sending strings of saliva pooling from behind your lips and onto your chin, your neck, the bed...

"You're such a fucking mess, look at that.." Ambessa chuckles as she watches you struggle to take her in your mouth, enjoying how eager you are to please, even if it turns you into well...this. She rewards your eagerness by pulling out of your mouth, barely letting you get down a few much-needed gulps of air before she's shifted the harness down off of her hips, instead shoving your face flush between her thighs, letting you taste her.

Your breathlessness doesn't stop you from lapping at her like a woman starved, fingers curling into the sheets as you do your best to focus on the task at hand without succumbing to the intensity of Sevika's sloppy pounding from behind. Their grunts and overlapping praises drown out all thought, your body covered in a thin layer of sweat, shaking and twitching as you're split between the two. The only warning you're able to give before your climax ultimately rips through your body is a couple of muffled, loud whines.

Your head falls from Ambessa's grip, the woman letting you breathe as you cum, Sevika's hips just barely slowing as you finally let go, too enthralled in the way you squirt around her, the liquid wetting both your and her lower halves.

"Gonna have so much to clean up when we're finished with this one - fuck" Sevika boasts, letting her human palm land on your ass with a thwack. Ambessa just chuckles, her palm lightly patting the side of your face to keep you grounded in reality.

"You'll get to rest that pretty head in a little while, angel..." She coos. "But we're not quite done yet..."

Donations 4 Palestine - Arcane Masterlist

Taglist: @archangeldyke-all, @delinthecut, @half-of-a-gay, @porcelainmystery, @glass-apothecary, @cobraisveryhorny - Wanna be tagged?

We're gonna pretend I tagged the correct ppl the first time, 'kay? <3

[deunmiu-dessie]

(unedited) inexperienced simon.

your lips are soft against his, plush and warm; you taste like the fruity gum you always chew and he hesitantly licks into your mouth to get a deeper taste. his large, strong hands tighten on the fat of your hips, pawing and kneading when you moan at the feel of his tongue diffident on yours; your pretty little hands cradling his face and body pressing impossibly closer.

the movie that's flickering in the background is nothing more than a soft drone in his ears, dull and distorted; he can only hear your breathy moans and the wet sound of your messy kissing. it makes his head spin, makes his heart race in his chest and he's sure that you can feel it against your breasts. the weight of your body nestled in his lap, ass perched on his bulge and thighs caged on either side of him; makes his hands clammy, a low, desperate whimper rumbling in his chest.

heaving breaths are taken when you pull away from the kiss, simon's usual shell-pink, thin lips are swollen and tinted with a rosy hue. his eyebrows knit together and his teeth dig into the softness of his bottom lip as your kisses descend upon the rounded angle of his jawline; teeth nipping and mouth suckling upon the skin, your tongue lavishing attention on every inch.

you can feel the soft tremble of his fingers, the gentle bounce of his knee; the tapping of his bare feet on the hardwood floor. his grip tightens, a delicious ache on your hips as he moans, a soft hissed whimper coming from his parted lips. the sound of your soft chuckle feels almost mocking and simon's chin sets; lips almost pouty as he goes to speak, however, his words die on his tongue the moment you're sucking the sensitive skin on his neck.

his eyes flutter back and he practically whimpers your name, a guttural plea as his hips buck up and roll for a brief moment before his thighs tremble and a flurry of whispered curses spews from his mouth. he hugs your body close, burying his face into the warm curve of your neck as he cums in his pants. simon feels your gentle retreat, the soft caress of your hand cradling his cheek, your voice all pretty and breathless. "did you just…?"

"fuckin'…." simon is still cumming in thick spurts, hands keeping your hips steady, his head reclining onto the back of the couch. his skin is flushed red and you can't help but lean forward and press a kiss to his adams apple, his hips jolting beneath you again. "…yeah." he confirms, it's such a breathless, needy sound that you coo and lave softly at the bruises forming on his skin. "can you do it again?"

[bi-writes]

Simon short circuiting when his mail order bride does something kind for him :)) uses her new credit card to buy him his favorite tea and cat treats for bonding with his new baby <3

mail-order bride

simon lets out a deep breath as he slips his boots off. he pulls his tact vest over his head, dropping it beside his shoes before rolling out his neck. he's exhausted. he's been awake for 36 hours at least, and not even a few hours ago, he had been camped out on a rooftop with nothing but his sniper rifle for company.

you pad into the living room, dressed in cute cherry-printed pajamas. little shorts with a matching short-sleeve top, and you smile shyly when you see him standing by the door. your eyes wander a little; you've never seen him with his gear on, and he's surprised you're not more startled by the skull mask he's wearing.

his head darts to the side when he sees the cat hopping along the shelves on the wall. the cat launches itself off the closest shelf, landing on the back of his shoulders and nuzzling along the back of his head before dropping onto the floor to weave between his legs.

"welcome home," you say softly, coming closer, and simon just nods. you reach up when you get closer, slipping your hands under his hoodie to find the hem of his mask. you pull it up gently over his head, smiling a little wider when you reveal his face underneath. he has eye-black smudged around his eyes, but otherwise, your husband looks his normal self, aside from the dark circles under his eyes.

you understand immediately that simon isn't in a good mood. he's irritated, tired, sour-faced and agitated. you smooth your hands down his chest before kneeling on the carpet. simon blinks, confused, but then he watches as you start to unbuckle the holsters around his thighs. you get him undressed enough that he's just wearing his jeans and his hoodie, and he takes your hand gently to help you stand back up. you hook your pinkie around his, guiding him to take a seat on the couch before you disappear into the kitchen.

simon leans his head back against the couch, shutting his eyes gently. to come home to a warm place, one filled with another person, it's frighteningly comforting. he has always come home to the dark. to the heater off and all the rooms empty. to silence and his own terrifying thoughts.

"simon?"

he opens his eyes and sits up a little, blinking the sleep away as you come closer. he hums when he sees you holding a mug, walking slow as you try and keep it steady. you hand him the mug, watching as he takes a slow sip of it.

he shuts his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. it's perfect. he's never told you how he prefers his tea, but it's got just a splash of milk and nothing more. the thoughtfulness warms him more than the drink does, and he curls his toes a little as he tries not to think about it too hard.

"oh!" you smile. "i-i...i filled your car up, and i-i got you something when i went to get a water."

you scurry towards your purse by the door, rummaging through it before you pull out a little crinkled paper bag. you sit next to him on the couch and hand it to him after he sets his tea down on the coffee table.

he reaches into the bag and wraps his hand around a little plastic trinket, pulling it out. he blinks, hooking a gloved finger through the little keychain he's holding. he holds it up, face neutral, but after a few moments, a low chuckle leaves him.

it's a little skeleton, and the bones of it wiggle and dance when he shakes it.

"i...i thought of you when i saw it," you laugh a little, and he watches as the cat hops up onto your lap, moving over your legs to sniff at the little skeleton simon is holding up. after a few moments, the cat reaches up with a paw and smacks the skeleton, watching it shake and wiggle before smacking it again.

"yeah?" simon murmurs, meeting your eyes. "you miss me?"

"y-yes...yeah. w-we missed you."

[naivegh0ul]

Thinking about Ghost helping you out when your breastmilk is clogged 🥴

I mean, he was totally obsessed with your chest before the baby, before you were even pregnant, but now? With your tits all swollen with milk, your nipples puffy constantly? Oh, he's completely crazy for you.

He'd be a little jealous of the baby. They get to have their lips on your pretty tits all the time, why can't he? He almost creams his pants just from you asking him all shyly to help you with your milk because it's backed up and you're sore.

You're not getting him off you after that. His head is constantly under your shirt, lips wrapped around your nipple and his hand pawing at your tits, squeezing and squishing them lightly as he tries to coax the milk out, hoping and praying that he'll get to taste some.

He'd slobber all over your chest, saliva spilling down as he moans and sucks roughly on your perky, sensitive nipples.

"Mmh, come on, sweetheart. Let me taste it, be a good girl." He'd mumble, letting out a loud, lust-filled groan as he felt a small but steady trickle of your milk spilling into his mouth.

"That's a good girl. So good f'r me. Perfect."

[yanderenightmare]

TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, captive bunny reader, hybrid au, mindbreak

fem reader

Thinking about bunny darling… and the mighty bear who’s taken you captive.

Of course, you’re piss-scared to anger him. Goosefleshed when he’s close, shivering from lips to knees—unsteady and speechless—only able to barely nod your head when he asks you if you’d like his big fat cock whilst rubbing the huge clothed pound against you needily.

You close your eyes when he smiles—terrified of those strong teeth, how a bite could easily snap your neck.

But there is one saving grace in it all, in how all type of shame disappears in knowing how there would be no sense in fighting back. He’s way too massive for you to even humor the thought. It would just be too silly.

The understanding makes you pliant in his bed, nice and soft. He doesn’t even need to use threats or ropes, only sweetly suggestive language, which you listen to all too keenly.

“Can you spread your legs for me?” he’ll croon, and you’ll answer by doing just so—spreading them wide to allow him space between them.

He knows he’s hunted you down and taken you against your will, but your display is nearly enough to make him forget—how you wrap your tiny arms around the breadth of his back, barely long enough to braid your fingers behind his neck—holding onto him for dear life like a lover would—moaning oh-so-sweetly when he preps you on his thick fingers. One is enough to make you squirm—wet and warm and velvety in the palm of his hand as he kneads the heel against your clit. Two has you bucking your hips in return, and three makes you all but fall apart—tears on your pretty face, staining your cheeks raw, begging him to give you the real thing, to breed you, to fill you up with his babies.

Bunnies make such sweet little sluts. So easily drunk on pleasure and the promise of more, you go completelydumb in the wait. When you get like that, there isn’t a single sliver of fear within you—too numb to care about anything but the fatness bullying its way within you, so warm you feel like melting around it like a lollipop on a stick.

You suck his tongue with moans while he pounds you. Your legs hooked over his hips, trying to hold on—but his pace is brutal, and you’re not strong enough to withstand it. Luckily, his paws hold your ass steady—one on each cheek, squeezing you firmly, holding you just right to ram your womb on each heavy hard thrust.

You tell him the sweetest things as he makes you cum—how much you love it, how you adore his big bear dick, how you want it to go on forever.

You know no limits when he���s pushed you into heat. The fever reduces you to nothing but an animal seeking to have its every desire sated. The way you ride him is nothing short of shameless—with your back turned, showing him your cotton tail, your feet in the bed, standing while you hop on his lap, in bliss like you’re bounding about a flower field in your head.

You make no protest as he maneuvers, laying you down with your face mushed in the mattress. He stands behind you, mounting you—holding your puffy tail in a fist, squeezing it while rutting into you with enough weight to make you sound like a squeaky toy.

“Please, fill me up—breed me full—” you all but whine against the sheets, curling it in your fists—feeling his cock run you through, making putty out of your insides.

Yeah—in moments like these, it’s impossible for either of you to remember you’re his captive. It feels too good, too right—so euphoric, it’s anything but forced. He drapes you with his body, holding you tight with his cock balls-deep, giving you his all, every last drop of his love, right inside your starving womb.

And the feeling is so fulfilling, you might as well have hearts in your eyes, panting, “Thank you, thank you, thank you~”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Deku, Kirishima, Dabi, Hawks, Enji, Aizawa ♡ JJK – Toji, Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Nanami, Naoya ♡ BLLK – Kunigami ♡ DS – Doma, Sanemi ♡ HxH – Uvogin

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[norikuna]

★ 🐚 🫧 GONNA' MATCH MY FREAK? jujutsu kaisen. 呪術廻戦.

prologue ⋆ ★ getting down and nasty with some fine men? yes, please.

pairings ⋆ ★ sukuna, toji, geto, hajime, choso, gojo genre tags & warnings ⋆ ★ afab/she+her!reader, making it fít, trueform!sukuna, against a wall, créampíe, bréeding, ríding, temple séx, mild mention of smoking (geto), unintentional public séx, óral (f), inappropriate use of jujutsu (electricity), backshóts, mentions of voyéurísm

word count ⋆ ★ 5.1k a/n ⋆ ★ going thru it 😝 was gonna add noritoshi kamo because he's my #bias #ult but i wasn't sure how to write him yet...

RYOMEN SUKUNA ៹ the king of curses

"now yer' just being stubborn," the blush-haired demon is grousing, dark nails clawing at the bare juncture of your hip, as though he's trying not to let his gaze leer downwards. to linger where your bare cunt is straddling over both his tattooed cocks. hefty, and weighty against the meat of your thigh.

"i can take them, 'kuna, know i can," and it's got sukuna sighing at your stubborn nature, as though he's not already being plagued by the most delightful visions of you swaying those delightfuls hips as both his tips swab at your entrance. oouh, tempting, tempting indeed.

you're already getting ahead of yourself, positioning your leaking folds over the first cock, the one stacked on top of the other, letting the fat tip snag at your gummy walls, and fuck, sukuna genuinely fears he may just be in love when you give him those insufferable, pleading doe eyes, "can y'help me fit them in, 'kuna?"

oh, can he ever. sukuna's ducking his face into the crook of your neck, nipping at the shell of your ear, so you can't see the warm flush painting his cheeks, hands heavy on your waist as he gently props you up, two arms wrapped in coils around your torso, and two softly positioned underneath your shaking thighs.

slowly, carefully, lowering you down. angling you just right, so your cunt eagerly begins to swallow him up. slick already drooling and painting treacly strands over his cock, trickling down to the base of thick, curled pink hair that gathers at his groin.

"haahh," you're sighing, lips parting in a way that makes sukuna feel like someone just hit him with a shovel, dumbfounded at the sight of you, only you, "bigger than i thought, 'kuna."

and the king of curses won't admit in, no, he's loathe to lower himself thus, but his heart (and his cocks) only swell at the praise, the knowledge that you're still just so eager to take him, to ride him on his throne, his kimono opened bare across your pretty form so he can lave sharp, stinging kisses over your chest.

"t-taking it so well," sukuna bites out, doing his best to fight the crack in his gruff tone, for the sake of his dignity. or at least, that's what he tells himself, never mind at how he feels lightheaded from the way your cunt is almost kissing the base of his cocks now, and the sound is absolutely filthy, echoing through out the empty hall. all damp sloshes of pre that's leaving smears over your innermost walls.

he has to focus over the buzzing in his ears to catch your sweet words, a hand coming to rest on the back of your head, tilting you closer to him, "mhm, yer' sayin' something?"

you're nodding, breathless and hazy, steadying yourself now in his lap, groping at the little divot that's already formed where his tip(s) now lie, "does it feel g-good for you?"

sukuna stares at you, half-clouded with the tight heat of your pretty, swollen pussy swallowing him up, "what?"

you're pawing at his chest, nails digging into hardened skin, grazing over dark tattoos that have lasted a millennia, "wanna know if 'm making y-you feel good, 'kuna."

oh, he's in love with you. ryomen sukuna is absolutely, foolishly, pathetically head-over-heels for you. his pretty, little woman that's balanced on his hips, rocking yourself back and forth to feel that glorious friction against your sweet spot.

ugh, fine. just this once. dignity be damned, for he's got you.

a large hand cups your jaw, resting against the curve of your neck, as crimson eyes bore into you, "you are what i want, brat," and sukuna means it, planting a heavy kiss against your lips, "just you, just like this. couldn't be b-better."

"you're getting soft." gentle, teasing as you watch watercolour flush paint pretty pink over sukuna's handsome features. for someone who fancies themselves a rather stoic king of curses, a fearsome sorcerer that can command life and death, he does a poor job of hiding how just how much you undo him.

a low grumble erupts from sukuna, gripping at your hips, pulling you closer to him in a way that you feel his cocks jostle within you, brushing against that sweet, sweet spot, "careful, there. don't wanna' break m'favourite human." yeah, you know that idle threats means that you've really got him blushing.

TOJI FUSHIGURO ៹ the sorcerer killer

"heh, thought you said we were gon' get on the job," toji's guffawing even, but that smug expression quickly flitters away when your wandering, wanting hands are feeling him up. gripping at his pectoral muscles that strain against his black, tight top.

"we are on the job," you fiercely gasp against his mouth, feeling that rough scar twitch against your skin, "jus' need you, that's all."

you can see stone-green eyes flick upwards, heightened senses scanning for any intruders, any unwanted peepers to this show that he's about to put on, before kicking the rusted, weathered steel door closed. sealing you in this storage closet with him.

"so," toji simpers, and you know better than to trust the faux-concern on the assassin's face, "what does she need help with?" large hands patting at the clothed juncture of your thighs, running up the thick band of your holster, "couldn't even wait till we shot the damn' bastard, and took home a niceee paycheck."

you push at him, arms using as much as force as you can muster but it does very little to move this solid block of a man. but toji's clearly humouring you, letting you shove him against the reinforced, but worn-out walls, "how 'bout i give you an advance for the job?"

toji's wrapping a muscled arm around your waist, pulling you closer so he's nudging against your lips, "hah, a little taste then?" tugging at the waistband of your pants, "don't mind if i do."

and before you can even take a second to blink, he's whirling the two of you around. balancing you with inhuman levels of strength against the wall, so your ankles dangle in the air. quickly hooking against his waist, while toji thumbs at your underwear, eager to slide any remaining fabric away.

"stay focused now," toji murmurs, "got a big stretch for ya', heh."

and fuck, he wasn't exaggerating. you've never gotten used to it, the way his thick, girthy shaft melds into you, swabbing at the swollen, dripping walls that toji loves to call home. you're not sure if you're losing your mind, but you swear, you truly swear that you can feel the pulse of that one, angry vein that runs along the underside of his cock (yeah, you're pretty familiar).

"ngh –" you babble, "s-so big, fuck," your mind's gone entirely blank, grasping for the right word to encompass just how enrapturing toji's cock is, "so deep."

toji seems to like that, cheeks flushing the most adorable shade of peach and pink that he seems desperate to hide and deny, "y-yeah? deep in ya'?" he's rustling you in his hold, eager to hit bullseye on your cervix, to see you rolling your eyes to back of your head as you take him.

and if toji tears his gaze downwards, he can see your puffy folds parted, inches stuffed into your cunt. painting such a pretty sight that if toji were a less jealous, lecherous man, he'd hire a photographer to come capture the sinful view. hmm, maybe the new paycheck can go to a camera? oh, yeah, he's havin' ideas.

"t-toji –" you mewl, hands grasping at the firm curve of his pectorals, defined and taut underneath the fabric that stretched across his chest, "that's it, hah, jus' what i needed."

"mhm?" toji chuckles against the shell of your ear, "got so fucked out on the job, needed me to come take care of you like t-this?" he can feel your legs trembling in his hold, turning to mush and quivering, as he batters hit after hit against your mound. he shifts, readjusting himself for the right angle so...

plap! each smack of his heavy, laden sack rings throughout the abandoned storage room of this fuck-ass hideout, repurposed for something far more pleasurable. brows furrowed, sweat dripping down tanned skin as toji squeezes his eyes shut, feels every cell in his body unravelling (or well, something like that, he's not a scientist) as your tight cunt swallows him up, takes him apart.

"hnngh, fuck, girl, look what you're doin' to me," toji gasps, rocketing his hips to dig as deep as possible, cock twitching and practically sending s.o.s signals despite this being the first round of many.

he knows he's close, knows that tell-tale tightening in his groin will only lead to him shooting ropes out, so he pulls you in for a filthy, clashing kiss, "where do ya' want it? gon' have to tell me quick, – dunno' how long i can –"

"inside," you murmur, sounding as breathless as toji fushiguro feels, legs deliciously arched against his back, "want it inside, toji." whimpering the most beautiful, sweet groans against his ear.

toji wishes he was a stronger man, he truly does. wishes that he had some restraint, and sense but the very second your mouth parted to form those syllables, he felt the world go blank. ropes upon ropes of thick, cloying seed stuttering out of him, making the assassin feel off-kilter, "think it took, doll?" toji scoops some of the creamy release against your sloppy cunt, "or wanna' try one more time? or two?"

GETO SUGURU ៹ the worst curse user

"eyes on me, pretty," geto's panting, glossed lips parting, and you can see just how affected he is, that soft tremble of his mouth giving away the cracks in his composure.

but are you shocked? well, nah. you've learnt there are several ways to undo geto suguru, to unravel him until he's a trembling mess and your favourite way is to plant your hands on his bare chest, and rock your hips until the two of you are seeing stars.

and god, you feel as though your mind is turning to a sludgy mush, a faint whine building up between your ears until you realise that the sound is coming from your own parted mouth. geto's got a hell of a package down there, and he sure knows how to use it. every tilt of your pitching hips has his fat tip swabbing smears of silky pre against your inner walls, "mhm – feels s-so good, sugu', fuck!"

it's quite a sight, this you know. you had managed to paw off a decent swathe of geto's thick robes, still stained with a splash red that you're not eager to identify. pooling the silk on the cool tiles underneath the broad man. the taper of his broad, solid thighs keeps you well balanced as you crinkle your nose, plucking the lit stub from geto's smoky mouth. tossing it onto the tiles of the temple, so the flame patters out in the stained, warm glow of this sanctuary.

"hey, i was enjoyin' that," geto glowers, violet eyes subdued into a mauve, lustful haze, and you dig the very tips of your nails into the meat of his shoulders, opting for a harsher, sharper angle to slap skin against skin.

"enjoy this, instead," your eyes roll and fall to the back of your head as geto's grip on your hips tighten, almost bruising in the most delicious way possible. but a large, calloused hand travels further along, coming up to cup the underside of your tits, tweaking and pinching appreciatively. predictable, like an ant to some honey.

"heh, q-quite a sight," geto purrs, watching how your captivating form writhes and shakes. knowing that it's solely due to his thick shaft working inches into you, hitting spots that you weren't even aware of, "always so perfect for me, pretty."

you lean down, capturing his waiting lips in a sloppy, heavy kiss. a clash of your eager tongue against his, teeth sinking into plush lips. geto seems to been hit with a spark of some new idea, for he's suddenly pushing you back, murmuring a gentler kiss against your lips as an apology.

manoeuvring his broad frame so he's sitting up now, with you still balanced in his lap. the change in the nasty angle is so prominent, for his cock feels deeper than ever before. each thick vein scraping and pulsing against the walls of your swollen cunt, leaving no surface unclaimed.

"s-suguru, 'm there, right –" the sentence leaves you, mouth parting in a wordless, mindless oh! for the fat, creaming tip of his cock must have brushed past that delicious patch, that g-spot, and it has you trembling, climax washing over you in the most, delicious pulsing waves.

but geto suguru never lets up, never lets his best girl off the hook that easy. he doesn't stop bucking muscular hips up into you, sticky skin slapping over and over again in an addled cacophony of pleasure, determined to have you fall apart all over again. and he needs it to be asap.

"g-gorgeous, heh," he's tapping fingers against your cheek, pushing and pulling at your mouth, "what did i say about wanderin' eyes? keep them on me, love. need ya' to be lookin' at me when i split you apart."

"fuck, 'm feelin' –" you almost sob from the pleasure, crystalline tears pooling at your lashes from the sheer overstimulation. geto's cock absolutely heavy and weighty in you, kissing at your walls, and pecking your most sensitive spot.

"yeah, yeah, i k-know," geto gasps, feeling his own orgasm knocking on the door, thin strands of wispy cum already beginning to shoot out, but he's determined. a man on a mission, so a wide hand reaches in between the tight space, slapping sloppy circles against your sensitive clit in a way that has you sinking teeth into the side of his thick neck.

he's looking at you expectantly, like he knows exactly what's arriving. and when. long fingers twirling at your sloshy cunt, flicking over your throbbing clit, "three," he murmurs, "two..."

"and one –" geto's climax hits him at the exact same time, the hypnotising pulse of your pussy practically sucking any restraint out of him. translucent ropes of cream and ivory pumping into you, until you can only lay limp and boneless in his arms, with him still sprawled against the floor of the temple and...oh.

"suguru, baby?"

"hah, yeah," oouh, geto sounds ruined. his voice a rock-salt rasp, still quivering from the earth-shaking climax.

"did we leave the temple door open? and aren't all your guests meant to be arriving today?"

HAJIME KASHIMO ៹ the god of lightning

"tch', thought you said you weren't gonna move, silly girl."

hajime's been going at it for hours, now. well, you can't truly be sure for the world has become slow and hazy, but it certainly feels like an eternal passage of time, rife with that familiar, cloying buildup of pleasure shaking your abdomen.

you're whining, glossy and reddened lips being gnawed and worried into, aching fingers curling into loose strands of cyan hair that's come loose from the knots that hajime seems to favour, "i k-know. but it's –" you squeal when sharp fangs bite at the inner flesh of your thighs, "it's so much, and i've already –"

the sorcerer fixes you with that piercing stare of his, that disconcerting gaze of jewel-cerulean that is a direct shade match with his soft hair, "you've what? finished already? twice? thrice?" the man's getting cocky, you murkily wonder, scraping the tip of his tongue against your throbbing clit, "that's the point. but 'm waiting for something else, y'see."

you can only what else he could possibly want from you, for hajime's got you splayed out for him. bare thighs spread across the edge of the clean bed, the heat of your cunt sensitive even to the cool chill of the air, as he continues to kneel in between your legs. humming, murmuring, as he toys with your slick, sweet folds.

but you know one thing for certain, hajime is a man who will never accept defeat. he's competitive as fuck, and he shows it in all aspects, but especially when it comes to pleasuring you.

"look at you," hajime's cooing, pink mouth blooming a vivid magenta, painted a mirror sheen of your arousal, "jus' falling apart from my mouth? already?"

turquoise hair bunched around hajime's shoulders, falling over his white robes in thick, silky swathes, as he wraps his lips right around your sensitive bud, cheeks hollowing to suck. slender, wiry fingers littered with scars trace mindless circles around your entrance, pushing at your gummy walls until he's the one sucking in a breath.

"heh, s-so tight," hajime mutters, bestowing a filthy kiss upon your cunt, all sloppy and so loving, "have half a mind to just fill you up instead, have ya' pressed under me." he seems dazed by the way that you're still taking his fingers so readily, never mind the six orgasms that he's ripped from you already.

and you would be lying if you said you weren't desperate for the thin but lengthy curve of his cock, pressing up against your cervix as he was so prone to doing when he had you in a tight mating press.

"why don'tcha, then, 'jime?" you're mewling, hands moving away from his sea-green hair to paw at the thick padding of his ivory robes, "want y'in me so, so bad." you're all but sobbing, for hajime's delighted with how you're taking a third finger, and he's crooking the digit up. searching, searching for that sweet spot.

"patience, woman," the rough pads of hajime's fingers swirling thick arousal back into every cranny and divot of your walls, "hmm, 'm gonna' try something." he's grinning now, face splitting into an electrifying smile that you are all too familiar with, "just need to relax for me, sweet thing." pulling sodden fingers out of your cunt, ignoring your needy cries at the sudden loss of sensation.

you can practically feel how restless the sorcerer is, bruising the fingertips of his left hand into the fat of your thighs, amused at how they leave gloss-streaked smears over the skin. but the other hand is slowly stroking at your folds, teasing as hajime takes joy in watching your hips buck up continuously, desperate for some stimulation.

and that's when you first feel it. it's a little jolt at first, something stronger and almost harsher than what you're accustomed to. you can't even help the wanton, candied moan that falls from your lips at how the pins-and-needles quickly turns pleasurable, and how hajime's eyes have become aglow, cursed technique ever so delicately ramping up.

"hahh, 'jime," you're not even sure what to say, to cry out and hope that the words are able to form themselves, and not fall out in slurred groans of pleasure, "more, m-more!"

the sensation is warm too, each small spark sets you alight. far more heated than the cool tips of hajime's fingers that you're used to. and you're certain that you can attribute the involuntary twitching of your leg to the small, controlled electricity being channeled through hajime's skin, each pinch at your clit having you arch your back in the most filthy, whoreish of ways.

"aha," hajime angles a finger in you once more, resuming that gentle push-and-pull pace that he's kept for hours, so the messy pop! rings in your ears each time that he glides away and bottoms his fingers out once more, "i think 'm getting the hang of this, wouldn't ya' say?"

you must look absolutely out of it right now, for hajime's cursed technique is running jolts and buzzes through you in such a way that you know jujutsu was never intended to be used for. tongue falling out of your mouth, whining, as you squeeze your eyes shut. feeling the pace pick up, and hajime's fingers hit bullseye when they brush that spot.

"there, there, t-there, 'm gonna –"

you faintly catch the satisfied, thrilled look on hajime's face when you climax, spraying all over his chin. droplets of clear release that he's eagerly digging into to lap up, hah, you know he's glad to have achieved a victory like this, exhilarated just from achieving your pleasure. tongue sloppy as it works you through a mind-numbing orgasm, slick dripping over his faintly-tanned chin.

"see, i knew y'had it in you," hajime's standing up now, and you bite back a bratty comment about how a four-hundred year old sorcerer was able to stay on his knees for so long, gulping as you see him reach for the loose ties on his martial pants, "and i wanna' see something else now."

CHOSO KAMO ៹ the death painting

"are you sure, my love?" you've barely even touched him, and choso already sounds ruined, tremors wracking his sensitive form. he's beautiful like this, broad-shouldered and thick with hardened muscle. a dark curtain of inky, clingy hair falling around his face as he looks down at you, from where he's hovering with his beefy arms on either side.

"i'm sure, cho," you whimper, inching your legs up to wrap around his waist, pulling him in and closer to where your hot, glossy folds are practically begging for his touch. or rather, for his cock — all his glorious inches that beam an angry, sensitive shade of scarlet.

choso brushes his nose against yours, as intimate as he always is, "jus' don't wanna' hurt you," thick tip snagging against the very entrance of your glistening, winking hole, "tell me if it's too much."

"i will, oh, i –" the air is punctured from your lungs, like your very breath has been stolen away from you in the most searing kiss. that first, initial stretch of choso's cock in you is nothing short of delicious and eye-opening. he's always like this, so intoxicating and sweet, and mindful of how the body of a human may differ to that of a half-curse such as himself, so he's running a thick hand against your abdomen, soothing as he bullies another inch into you.

"not too much, love?" choso gasps out, spellbound by your tight, loving grip, and he thinks he's already lost his mind, hand kneading at the sudden divot that's formed under your skin, from where his cock is settling.

"mhm, mm!" you shake your head, unable to speak from the instant swipe of his cock against your sweet spot already, determined not to wantonly start moaning and gasping in his ear before he's already bottomed out.

choso's worried thumb comes up to swipe at your lower lip, pressing into the kiss-stricken flesh, "hey, i like hearing you. always sound so pretty." pressing his lips to your mouth again, as though he could stay there forever. like this, with you. in you.

"ahh, cho, 's good, really," and you're telling the truth, for his thick cock is rendering you senseless, and so in love. nails lightly clawing at his peach-toned skin, certainly leaving small, crescent marks that you know will make choso flush later. raking your nails down as choso finally, finally bottoms out with a pop!

the sound of skin slapping and sliding against skin makes you flush, your arousal practically drooling out of swollen folds, as thin strands delicately balance between your hips before snapping into creamy puddles, creating an absolute mess underneath you.

"it's like i can feel all of you," choso groans, silky ends of his dark hair tickling your cheek, "and yer' so, so pretty," he's gnawing at his lips, blood-hued, fucking you absolutely stupid on his endowed cock. hitting you with solidified rams against that rough, sensitive spot, drawing senseless, pleasured sounds of your gaping mouth.

choso's weaving his hand in between the two of you, determined to reach for your glistening, throbbing clit. to run sloppy, mindless shapes over the bud that make the most filthy sounds, that soft and pulling sound of your translucent slick sloshing over choso's broad hand.

"you gotta' finish," choso heaves, hauling you a little closer to him, so he can do his very best to draw circles around your clit, despite the slick making it nigh impossible for his fingers to stay on course, "gotta' see you fall apart f'me."

and what a glorious sight for choso's eyes, to see how your lips moisten and part. eyes tight and shut, brows drawn together like a bow releasing a quiver of arrows, he thinks he'd be content to stay like this forever. to have your body tremble underneath him, orgasm painting over you in the most gentle shade possible, hips bucking further into him.

"wait," choso looks almost sheepish now, ears a glowing shade of berry-red, kissing away the last tremours of your climax, "can i turn you around? wanna' see how you look from the back."

GOJO SATORU ៹ the strongest

"w-what? here?" gojo groans, but god, he's never one to complain. hard for him to even find one fault in the world when you're straddling his thighs, looking so lustful and dazed above him.

you're nodding, lips pressed into a frown that gojo immediately swipes away with a kiss, "been wantin' you for days, 'toru." hands already pulling aside his haori, digging into the soft bands of his white pants, "always soo busy, everyone's takin' your attention."

oh. you're needy. and gojo's not ashamed to admit that he loves to play into it. loves to see how his pretty wife's brows furrow and lips part when she's desperate for him.

he snickers, looping a muscular thigh in a way that he's able to flip the two of you over. splaying you out on all fours for him, him only. your knees digging into the soft mats in the training rooms that gojo's certain he locked when you dragged him in here.

he's biting at the shell of your ear, rough hand slithering up your top to cup at the fat of your tits, "y'do know that everyone's on me because they wanna' check in about my fight with sukuna." rocking you back against his tight bulge, "and i did say i would face...him before the twenty-fourth."

"you're the s-strongest, – fuck, that's so –" hah, gojo's already a step ahead of you, sheathing both girth and length into your drooling pussy, leaning back to admire the way your swollen folds snatch and eagerly swallow him up, "and you're always trainin', i was getting lonely."

"my, my," gojo purrs, running a large, broad hand down your spine, slamming your hips back into his so the white curls at the base of his cock kiss the heart-shaped juncture of your ass, "if i knew m'wife was this jealous, i'd have brought ya' in to train with me." gojo's figuring that life's kinda short, and he's gotta live a little — revving up six eyes without any shame, desperate to see the curve of his cock drill home into your tight cunt.

you squeal when he rams his thick, rosy-toned tip deep into your sticky, slimy walls. and for each squelch! when he pulls out, there's a coating of gloss that drips from his cock, entrancing the white-haired man, "well, we're kinda' training now, s-satoru."

"heh, you're right, wifey," gojo decides to take it all the way, looming his frame over you so the tight weave of his dark tee presses against your back, his chest firm enough against you that it bows your back down in the most pleasurable arch, rummaging his cock all over, "see, what would i do without ya'?"

if you crack open bleary, hazy eyes, you can make out the cracks and fissures that run deep in the walls here, plaster splitting apart to reveal brick underneath. wondering, vaguely, whether it was the force of gojo's cursed technique tearing apart the foundations of this building. but it doesn't make you shudder, no, what truly makes you quake is the smack! of gojo's palm against the fat of your ass, and his thick, muffled groan against your ear.

"can't believe i've been neglecting ya', sweets," gojo whines, churning at your pussy in determined rolls of his hips, "and her, too, of course." he's got you bent at such a determined angle, that you're not sure whether you can muster the energy to even tilt your head back. but you certain that the hot drops that quickly cool upon your shoulder are leaking from his stormy eyes, prickling at his long-white lashes. gojo's always been so sensitive during sex, always so easily riled up and undone.

he doesn't let up on the place, continuing to smack the fat head of his cock against your cervix, as though he's desperate to not miss the right spot to spill thick wads of buttery release, and you know that gojo won't, not with those superhuman, heightened senses of his.

"close? close? is m'wife –" gojo hoarsely rasps, "are ya' close? because i think 'm gonna pass out, ouh, yeah. snatching me way too good, heh, been missing out on this training," already pussydrunk and babbling as he tends to do, running his mouth at the same pace at which he's slamming his cock into you, "you know i lo –"

gojo's never one to withstand a rude interruption, not even when its his own orgasm snatching the words out of his mouth, so even as steaming, slick strands of his climax pump themselves into you, he's mouthing and kissing at your neck, gently pulling you up from all fours to balance your arms wide, splaying your thighs wide apart — all while he's still filling you up, "love you, love you so much, i fuckin' love you."

[chimerabytes]

also considering digging out some of my old makeup again. i Did do a skin patch test a few weeks ago & i didnt break out so I think i will be ok. i am a total n00b at makeup unfortunately.

[oceantornadoo]

you’ve got a certain captain wrapped around your finger and he’s more than glad to be there.

it’s a celebration of your one year on the team, drinks galore at your favorite local dive in london. johnny insisted on a half-circle booth and as the person of honor, you’re smack dab between him and your captain. your captain who’s been paying your tab all night long, waving off your hands as you try to reach for your wallet.

“lieutenant, give us a dance.” gaz says with a smirk on his face. ghost, on the other side of johnny, is one too many drinks in to move, which means it’s john’s turn to scooch. except he’s leaning his head on the worn wooden backing of the booth, lost in thought. he’s seen you naked in safe houses and shared showers, so why does it feel so obscene to lift yourself over his lap? there’s barely space between his massive thighs and the table, necessitating callused paws to guide your hips over his own. it’s the scrape of denim on denim, your ass firmly over his crotch for a whole second, before he pats your hip to push you all the way. “thanks, cap.” you turn with a glimmer in your eye and he dips his hat like a gentleman of old, making you giggle in your drunken stupor.

you used to hide reactions like these, suffocated by the rigid emotional walls of the military. but now, the team’s given you a safe space to be yourself: a titan on the field and a human with emotions off it.

gaz bows to ask for your hand and you accept with a curtsy. the two of you are the best dancers on the team (not a hard competition to win) and entertain johnny with twists and turns on a dance floor of your own making. he calls out instructions in that grumbly accent of his, causing you to cry with laughter in gaz’s arms. two things happen at once: you go down on the dance floor and simon lurches off the booth. johnny catches him with quick reflexes but you’re not as lucky, landing in a pile of gaz’s limbs and your own.

someone strong lifts you up with hands tucked under your armpits, inducing a ticklish squirm you subdue with years of experience. gaz is up without help, pushing simon back from the other side so he’s straight up again. “righ’ l.t., time to get ye home.” johnny’s strong but the weight and uncoordination of a drunk simon requires gaz’s help as well. “happy anniversary, angel!” he yells out as the three stumble out of the bar and (hopefully) back towards base.

“think he’ll be ok?” despite your alcohol levels, you whip around back towards john, throwing him off guard with raised eyebrows and hands out to steady your shoulders. “man’s a human tank. i’m more worried f’r gaz an’ soap. you ok?” you nod convincingly.

sure, in your year on the team, it’s been necessary to touch your captain. hands brushing over your shoulders as he reaches for his favorite coffee cup in the highest cupboard. fingers crossing as you pour over reports into the wee hours of morning. a fist bump here and there. he slaps his men in the chest but with you he squeezes your shoulder, a movement with longer contact and more thought required. tendons and sinew coming together to acknowledge your own with practiced hand eye coordination. you don’t read into it - he’s just avoiding touching you in an uncomfortable area. you’re familiar enough to initiate it first, a friendly squeeze to his bicep after a rousing pre-battle speech. but touching him has never been like this.

you ask him to become your new dance partner and he does, hands cradling your waist with splayed fingers. your own on the breadth of his shoulders, hard and never ending. instead of the joyful twists you did with gaz, john rocks you slow and steady to the crooning beat of an 80s love song.

“didn’t know you could dance, cap.” he shrugs and it echoes through your grip on him, magnified by a hundred. “every man should be able to waltz.” there was a word he wanted to say after his last and you can’t figure it out, the staccato ending bitter in your ears. instead of pressing, you’re content to sway back and forth. it calms your spinning brain. “got any loved ones yer celebratin’ yer anniversary with?” it’s an oddly personal question, but you doesn’t acknowledge its strangeness. you sway a bit with him before answering, stepping a half foot closer.

“my family and i are celebrating on my next leave. i would celebrate with my close friends, but it’s hard to explain my position without telling them classified information.” he nodded knowingly. the music changes to a faster song but he keeps your peaceful tempo, his chest brushing your own through your well worn civvies. “no’one else?” you shake your head before realizing the implications of what he’s asking. there hasn’t been anyone else for a long time, even before you joined the team. work was busy. once you joined, it felt somehow wrong to seek companionship outside of the four men who’d been gifted to you. one more than others.

“no one else, cap.” his fingers are tracing the small of your back. you can’t tell if he knows or not. before he can say anything, you turn the questions on him. “you got someone you’re going home to?” his eyes meet yours, dark blue and smoldering. “got everythin’ i need righ’ here.” you jump a little at his words. they sober you up instantly as you realize you’re slow dancing with your superior, prolonged eye contact past what’s socially acceptable. he doesn’t let you go too far, tightening his grip on your waist. “had ‘nough?” you nod and clutch your stomach for the full effect. “take me home?” he grabs his coat and dumps it on your shoulders, the intoxicating mix of pine, soap and musk seeping into your pores. john leads you back to base with a hand on your back the whole time.

-

“c’mon, got t’ make sure you’re tucked in alrigh’.” he’s in your barracks room, private thanks to the privilege of your position. you don’t sit down on the bed but he does, seemingly exhausted by the night’s activities. “i knew you were old, but wow.” you nudge his foot to make him look up. when he does its like he’s aged five years, with a scruffier beard and deep wrinkles. “john?” you’re drunk. that’s why you say his name, why you reach out to smooth a crease on his forehead. all the while he’s quiet, content to let you play with his face.

“i’m sorry about last month.” it rolls off your tongue unbidden.

(last month. half a bottle of whiskey in his office. your ass on his desk, his hands on your waist. his beard meets your chin but before he can kiss you, you turn, letting his lips meet your cheek. “i’m sorry.” it comes out as a gasp. he doesn’t say anything, scraping his beard against your cheek. “don’t worry about it.”)

“why’d ya say that?” he murmurs. you shrug. “you seem agitated in my presence. thought it might help.” he gives you an old man groan, peeking an eye out from his hat as you giggle. “y’r killin’ me sweetheart, so i’m askin’ this once. you into this or not? i’ll go home right now.” he’s closer than you thought, almost face-to-stomach.

you pull him closer by his beard until he’s resting against your torso. the angle has to be unflattering with how you’re looking down at him, but he’s not running away screaming. “are you into me even though i turned away?” he bites out a ‘yes’ automatically. you owe him an explanation.

“i got scared. i don’t want to jeopardize my place on this team.” in a move credited to a boot camp instructor somewhere, he flips you so you’re under him on top of the covers, arms pinned by his own. “y’r permanent on this team. no matter what.” you blink at him unbelieving. “laswell picks who comes and leaves. my words are jus’ a suggestion. i’ve barely any influence.” you hardly believe that but when he’s on top of you with these sapphire eyes, it’s hard to deny him.

you kiss your captain slowly like you’ve been wanting to do for months. he captures your bottom lip with his teeth, sucking like he owns your mouth. the pace ebbs and flows, from sweet to possessive in a matter of seconds. “john, oh fuck, john.” you pant out in between kisses. he moves to your neck, sucking the soft skin there. “you gotta promise me.” you nudge him until he gives you his hand. you twist him into a pinky promise, something he didn’t know existed. “i promise, baby. now let me give you your anniversary present.”

-

idk what this is. i’m tired and hungover. pls enjoy.

[nebulaeternal]

✦.── In His Clothes── .✦

―୨୧⋆ ˚GENRE/WARNING: porn w/no plot, praise kink, edging, f!xm

―୨୧⋆ ˚SUMMARY: Sylus loved seeing you in his clothes, but couldn't help this particular night when you looked up at him with those eyes that could unravel him in an instant.

―୨୧⋆ ˚WORD COUNT: 0.8K

―୨୧⋆ ˚A/N: This is pure brainrot writing, mans has been dominating the cranium for too long now. This isn't super clean or anything, nothing is super structured, just pure brainrot. Borrowed some lines from @comatosebunny09 (thanks pookie). If you wanna sign up for the taglist for future posts, the link is below. Enjoy! (Can’t remember where I found the Sylus eye banner but credits to @omi-resources for the name one)

―୨୧⋆ ˚LINKS: AO3 Ver. , Twitter, Taglist Sign-up

―୨୧⋆ ˚TAGLIST: @voidsylus

If there was one little thing you did that made Sylus’s heart swell, it was wearing his clothes. It was an unspoken intimacy, a quiet declaration of your comfort in his space—and around him—to be able to equate it to your own. 

He always cherished the sight of you slipping into his home and raiding his closet for something loose and comfortable. Today was no different. Before he could properly greet you, you had already slipped into one of his oversized dress shirts. 

“Hi,” you chirped, finally meeting his gaze. The shirt hung off your shoulder in a way that made his pulse quicken. It was never your intention—at least that he was aware of—but Sylus could not help the way his gaze lingered on you. 

The hem of the shirt mocked him as it rode up your thighs when you reached for something. The deep v-neck dipped perfectly, drawing his eyes to the swell of your breasts every time you leaned over. He felt his body grow hot, his thoughts dancing on the edge of decency until your voice snapped him out of it. “Sylus?”

His stare was almost blank. “Yes sweetie?” He responded, trying to steady himself, though his mind was anything but. For a moment, he had forgotten what you even said, too distracted by the sight in front of him, of you in his shirt and out of your pants. “I was asking if a movie night was okay with you?” you repeated, leaning in with those knowingly pleading eyes that could unravel him in an instant. How could he possibly say no to that?

“Of course. It’s more than alright with me sweetie.”  His opens his arm to you, an invitation that you eagerly you accept as he reached for the remote on the table out in front of him. With his arm now wrapped around you, settling naturally against your side, his fingers idly caressing your skin as you both now turned your attention to the screen.

Except Sylus couldn’t focus. 

It was only about 30 minutes into the movie, his hands began to wander. Fingertips delicately grazing over your skin. His eyes flicked down catching a glimpse of your exposed skin, and finally he caved.

You were pinned beneath what you could call a hungry lion. He eagerly lapped at your skin as he sucked and bit the flesh, enjoying the dark marks that began to bloom. He was quick to have your folds sopping wet and dripping onto his fingers. Enjoying the way you squirmed and pawed at him, eyes glazed and filled with tears of pleasure.

“Sylus~” you mewled out. His fingers curl expertly, hitting that spongy spot inside you. You throw your head back into the plush of cushions, feeling yourself teeter on the brink of an orgasm.

“You’re doing so good for me, kitten.” He coos softly into your ear, feeling your walls clench around his thick digits. His other hand soothed you, gently caressing your hip as he worked you.

Before you could succumb to the tantalizing sensation, his movements halted. A frown was quick to appear on your features but the feeling of his cock sliding slowly into your folds had your dismay long forgotten, eyes rolling back into your head. “There she is~” he purrs, watching your face full of bliss.

Sylus loved the view beneath him. You, practically swimming in his shirt, with your legs folded to your chest, and his cock practically splitting you open while he pumped in and out at an agonizingly slow pace. “Faster.” You managed to whine out but Sylus shook his head.

His hips rolled slowly against yours, dragging the head of his cock slowly against your aching walls till just the tip remained inside and slowly pushing back in, savoring every inch he could while he sunk inside you. The whine that left your lips almost made his self-restraint snap. “You look so beautiful like this.” He murmured, continuing his slow pace.

The movie served as mere background noise as he savored every inch of your skin, swallowing up the whines and moans that left your mouth. His only focus was you–your pleasure, every reaction, the tremble of your body. He eased the grip your thighs, letting them fall naturally at his side “So perfect.” His torturously slow pace continued for the next hour, bringing you closer to the edge, never once letting you fall. At this point you were a sobbing mess, begging desperately for your release. “Sylus please–” You choked out once more, voice laced with need and desperation as you writhed in his hold. He hushed you gently, his voice low and soothing, “I know baby, I know. But you’re doing so good for me.” Your pleading eyes, tear-stained cheeks, and flushed appearance snapped something inside him. He couldn’t deny you any longer, not when you had been so good for him. He groaned in surrender, hips snapping quickly against your own, finally, giving you what you craved. “Give it to me.”

[bunny-jpeg]

tip

capt. john price prompt: "just the tip"

tags: smut/pwp, unprotected sex, needy!price, wife!reader, marriage/established relationship, doggy style

hands on your hips, pressed you up against the counter. his cock hard in his flannel sleeping pants. hairy chest and stomach up against your backside. price is needy, he doesn't get needy. he was a military man with a resolve made of iron. but yet, there he was rutting against his missus without a care in the world.

he held on a little tighter and rubbed a little further up against your soft behind. his mind was racing with all the things he wanted to do you, how he wanted his wife.

"let me put it in, petal... just the tip."

but it was rarely the tip. price was greedy in a way that made it impossible for him to just give you the tip. it was like denying himself pleasure if he just rubbed his leaky tip up inside of you. no, he needed it all. he needed the tip to slam into the furthest parts of your womb. he wanted to make sure none of his boys went to waste. it was hard to do that when his fat tip was only inside of you.

you were on the bed you shared with your husband with your ass slightly up. price was taking off all your clothes, your shorts, t-shirt, bra and panties were all tossed to the floor. you could feel the temperature in the room rise as price got his paws on you. he licked his lips at the sight of you.

"look at ya, beautiful. my sweet petal." his cock twitched at the sight of you, "you drive me up the goddamn wall, look at you. you're beautiful." he felt excitement roam in his body as he admired your nude body, "the heavens made you all for me, didn't they? they said 'let's give this price something to keep him busy' and i got you. my beautiful wife." he felt something stir in his middle as he rubbed his achy cock up against you. he loomed over you as he pulled his cock out of his pants, "just the tip, right? just the tip for my princess."

you moaned a little against the covers and arched your back. you felt the fire in your belly as you shifted your hips a little. it felt erotic, your entire core felt hot as price teased your achy slit with his hard cock. you tried to find your voice as you said, "please, john. fuck."

price got the tip in, a bit of a stretch for his woman, but you've taken him before. countless times. you've become quite good at taking every inch of him. but as much as he tried to just give you the tip, rubbing it just at your entrance. it wasn't enough, it would never be enough. he buried his nose into your hair and exhaled deeply, "can't do it, petal. can't do it, love. i need ya, need that greedy girl." he said in reference to your achy pussy. he could feel the fire in his body as he moved up against you with such want. it almost pained him, it felt like he was being teased.

you held onto the pillow under your head and arched your hips a little. you had to admit, just the tip wasn't cutting it. you couldn't help yourself, your husband was a bulky man with a heavy cock. to only have the tip felt like a tease. you wanted to feel all of it, every inch of what your husband had to offer. you arched your back a little bit and price noticed it, that was the thing about him. he noticed everything.

so he took it as an invitation to sink himself all the way in with one hard thrust. the feeling of his cock fully inside of you made you yelp and hold onto the pillows tightly. you loved the feeling of him inside of you, even though he broke the promise of only the tip. you couldn't be mad for too long, not when it felt that good.

price continued to kiss at your neck with love as he worked himself against you. as he kept his hands on your soft lips and worked himself against you with a heavy pace. while price couldn't jackhammer your cunt till you made a pace, his thrusts carried power in its steady thrusts that made your brain get flooded with pleasure. he groaned against you, his lips on your skin for a moment longer before he said, "you feel like heaven, angel. my wife. i knew from the moment i married you that you were going to be everything to me." he said as he continued to fuck you. his thrusts were slow but powerful, it shook you to your core as your body rocked with want.

you groaned further into the covers and arched your back a little more. the pleasure was undeniable. there was something about price that let him just use you however he wanted. he knew how to fry your brain with over stimulation and made you crave him. you needed our husband more than you needed air. you let him bully his cock into you.

"ya feel like heaven, angel." he grunted, he held onto your hips tightly and worked his cock, "you have no idea what you do to me. anytime i'm out of the house i'm thinkin' about all the ways i can make ya scream and squirm. but you'd take it all so well because you're my beautiful wife. my everything. no one does it like you, no one pulls me in the way you do. that's why i can't just do the tip. i need to feel all of you." his voice was hazy with lust as he continued to work his body against yours and you felt the curl of your toes.

the hammering in your chest only made you gasp further into the covers. you felt the heat in your core as he fucked up into you with such a power that it left you without breath. you couldn't help yourself, there was something about price, your husband, that turned you on only further. you were at his mercy, you let his cock hit up against the softest parts of you. he loved it, he loved you. he loved the feeling of you while he thrusted up into you.

"please, john. you're so amazing." you whimpered against the covers and let him fully take you. the movements were still carrying such power as you held on tightly. the pelasure became so much, the pleasure mounted in your core and it made you hiss with pleasure. the heat was so much, to be fucked by your husband felt so good that you were clawing at the pillows.

you gasped against it and arched your back, you knew the fury in your core from the feeling. you groaned and let price take you perfectly, with pleasure the warmed your entire body. you knew you weren't going to last much longer, the feeling was intense and it made you moan loudly into the covers.

price could feel you clench around his cock as he battered himself up against you. he wanted to make sure he claim stuck, he wanted all of you. every way he could have you. he kissed your heated back as he worked against you, his movements were hard and it left you only more needy for his sexual want. your heart hammered, your body sweat and with a few more thrusts, you finished around his cock. you let out a sweet moan as you felt the pleasure rush through you. you panted heavily. the feeling was overwhelming as you held onto the covers for dear life, let yourself fully be taken over by the heated want of sexual euphoria.

price continued to move against you, working your achy pussy through your climax. his breathing was heavy as he fucked you with such a heated passion. he groaned as he moved against you. the kisses on your flushed skin grew hotter as he continued to fuck you with a heaviness, he loved it. he loved you. he soon pushed himself all the way inside of you and muttered against you, "take it all, petal. take every inch of your husband's hard." he rocked against you through his climax as his cum hit the back of your womb. right where it belonged.

he exhaled deeply and went "oh fuck yeah, petal." then moved your face to look at him and kissed you deeply on the lips. his cock still snug inside of you. he grinned against the kiss before he pulled out and laid out beside you.

he held you close after he pulled out. his nose in your hair. he said lowly, "sorry i couldn't do just the tip, love. you're to fuckin' addictive. need ya badly." he said lowly.

you traced patterns across his fuzzy chest and smiled a little, "i can't be too mad, it felt too good." you kissed his chin lovingly before you continued to trace patterns on his skin. your legs tangled up in one another as you laid in bed together. husband and wife, a perfect match. <3

[just-aake]

A Feline Connection

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha makes a new furry little friend and becomes captivated by its owner along the way.

Masterlist Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

Warnings: light fluff, light angst

Words: 4270

Natasha shoots upright in her bed, her heart racing and cold sweat clinging to her skin. Her hand instinctively reaches for the knife tucked nearby, gripping it tight as she scans the room, her pulse thundering in her ears.

She’s met with silence. The darkened space of her room at the Compound was empty of any threat. No footsteps, no shadows lurking—just her.

Exhaling shakily, Natasha lowers the blade, pressing her free hand against her eyes, as though she could push away the remnants of the nightmare from her mind.

The memories linger, though. They always do.

A quick glance at the clock tells her it’s 4:00 A.M. Too early for anyone else to be awake. 

But for Natasha, this was normal.

Sighing, she swings her legs out of bed, trying not to dwell on how long it had taken to fall asleep in the first place. 

Three hours of sleep was better than nothing. 

She dresses quickly, pulling on her jogging clothes in automatic, well-practiced movements, intent on escaping the restlessness that always comes with her dreams.

The sky was still dark when she went outside, the first hints of light barely on the horizon, but Natasha set off anyway, her pace swift and determined.

With every stride, the tension in her body begins to ease, her breathing falling into a steady rhythm that mirrored the pounding of her feet against the pavement.

This was her moment of relief—where she could forget, even if just for a while—pushing her body harder, faster, hoping to leave behind the lingering shadows of her past.

After a few miles, Natasha slows to a stop beside a tree, her breath coming in even pants as she stretches out her arms.

The world was still quiet, save for the distant rustling of leaves.

Then, faintly, she hears something.

A soft, distressed sound.

She freezes, tilting her head to listen. 

There it is again—a tiny cry coming from somewhere nearby.

From above? 

Her gaze lifts upward, and there, high up in the tree, a little black cat clings precariously to a branch, its claws struggling to maintain a grip on the rough bark. 

Natasha blinks in surprise, but before she can react to the sight, the cat lets out a desperate yowl and slips.  

Moving on instinct, Natasha surges forward and catches the cat just before it hits the ground. She cradles the small creature against her chest securely.

“You’re okay,” she murmurs, her fingers gently checking for any injuries. Its fur is soft and clean—not a stray, then. 

Her suspicion is confirmed when she notices the sleek collar around its neck, the gold tag gleaming faintly in the early light.

Natasha tilts the tag to read the name engraved on it.

“Widow?” 

An amused smirk tugs at her lips at the irony.

At the sound of its name, the cat looks up at her with wide, inquisitive yellow eyes and lets out a tiny, plaintive meow.

Natasha couldn’t help but chuckle softly, sinking down to sit against the tree with the cat still nestled in her arms. 

“What were you doing up there?” she asks, her voice a soft murmur as she scratches behind its ears.

The cat responds with a long, dramatic meow as if offering some elaborate excuse for its predicament.

Natasha smiles softly in amusement before glancing at the tag again, searching for any contact information but finding none.

“Well, you obviously belong to someone,” Natasha muses, lifting the cat to meet its gaze. “They must really trust you to make it back on your own, huh?” 

In response, the cat swats playfully at Natasha’s face, its soft paws barely grazing her skin.

Natasha shakes her head with a smile and tries to set the cat down to let it go on its way, but to her surprise, the cat clings to her, its claws digging into the front of her shirt.

“Hey, easy now,” Natasha grumbles, gently trying to pry the cat off, but it stubbornly clings to her, refusing to let go.

“Really? This is the thanks I get for saving you?” she deadpans, raising an eyebrow at the tiny creature. 

The cat chirps, blinking up at her innocently before nuzzling against her chin. 

“Alright, I surrender,” Natasha sighs, settling back against the tree in resignation, her fingers absentmindedly stroking the cat’s fur.  

The warmth of the tiny creature in Natasha’s arms is unexpectedly comforting. Before she realizes it, her eyelids grow heavy, and exhaustion finally pulls her under.

It’s not until a soft movement against her arms stirs her that Natasha blinks awake, momentarily disoriented. As her vision clears, the first thing she sees is your face, watching her from a nearby bench, chin resting casually on your hand.

“You have my cat,” you say, your tone flat but not unkind.

Natasha blinks again, still shaking off the grogginess from the unexpected nap. She glances down to find Widow still nestled in her arms, staring up at her with wide, expectant eyes.

As she processes your words, Natasha loosens her hold and sits up straighter.

Widow hops onto her lap, stretching languidly and letting out a tiny yawn, completely at ease.

“Your cat was stuck in a tree,” Natasha explains, her voice still rough with sleep. “I caught her when she fell.”

You raise an eyebrow, your gaze flicking to the lazily stretching cat. 

“You do know they land on their feet, right?” 

Natasha opens her mouth to argue but pauses, catching the subtle teasing in your tone. She leans back with a small smirk, deciding to tease you back.

“Widow is kind of a strange name for a cat.”

At her remark, you scoff and cross your arms, leaning back on the bench with a playful glint in your eyes. 

“Wow, so you’re a thief and you’re judgy. Maybe next time I won’t be so nice and let you finish your nap.”

“I didn’t steal your cat,” Natasha retorts, unable to suppress the slight curve of her lips, trying and failing to hide her amusement. “She wouldn’t let go of me. Also, you watched me sleep. Isn’t that a little weird?” 

You shrug with casual ease and respond with a softened tone. 

“You looked like you needed it.”

Your bluntness catches Natasha off guard, leaving her momentarily speechless. She blinks, surprised not only by your remark but by the realization that she hadn’t woken up immediately when you arrived. 

The fact that she was able to rest so peacefully with a practical stranger nearby is something she never would’ve thought possible—but here she is.

As the sun rises higher for the start of the day, its gentle light softens the tension between you. It casts a warm glow over everything, including you, and Natasha finds herself at a loss for words at the sight.

After a moment, you stand, calling Widow to your side. 

The cat stretches one last time before hopping down from Natasha’s lap and trotting over to you with a playful spring in its step.

As you turn to leave, you glance back at Natasha, a faint smile playing on your lips.

“Maybe find a better spot for naps next time,” you say, giving her a backward wave. “Take care, Miss Black Widow.”

Natasha watches you walk away, something unfamiliar stirring in her chest. She exhales, running a hand through her hair as she tries to shake off the lingering sensation.

“Yeah,” she murmurs softly. “You too.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

A few days later, Natasha returns to her room after another one of her early morning runs, her body drenched in exhaustion from both physical exertion and the sleepless nights filled with nightmares. 

She lets out a tired sigh, closing her eyes and shaking her head as if to shake off the haunting memories of the recent dream when a soft scratching sound from her window catches her attention.

Her eyes widen in surprise as she spots the source of the noise. Hurrying over, she opens the window and carefully scoops the black cat perched on the sill into her arms.  

“How did you get all the way up here?” Natasha asks curiously.

Widow meows softly in response, twisting in her arms to bat playfully at a stray strand of hair that had fallen across her face.

Natasha huffs in amusement, leaning her head back to keep the hair out of reach.

Her gaze drops to the collar around Widow’s neck, reminding her of the lack of contact information to reach you. 

A small smile tugs at her lips as she recalls the memory of you accusing her of being a thief. Now, somehow, your cat has found its way to her again, staring up at her with those innocent, wide eyes.

Natasha taps the top of Widow’s nose lightly in mock scolding.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble with your owner again,” she mutters, half-playful, half-exasperated.

Unbothered by Natasha's words, Widow glances around the room with mild curiosity before letting out a pitiful meow, pawing at Natasha with an urgent expression.

Natasha raises an eyebrow, confused. "Am I supposed to know what that means?"

Her meows grow more insistent, her tiny voice taking on a more desperate tone.

“What do you want? Food?” she asks.

The cat immediately quiets at her suggestion, eyes shining with eager anticipation. Natasha chuckles softly, shaking her head.

“All right, let’s see if we can find you something to eat.”

An hour later, Natasha finds herself in the Compound’s kitchen, waiting for the coffee pot to finish brewing as she reflects on the bizarre morning.

Just as the aroma of fresh coffee begins to fill the room, the elevator doors slide open, and Tony Stark comes strolling in, waving his phone at her.

“Someone explain why the emergency communication system I created is sending messages for cat food.”

Before Natasha can respond, Peter Parker swings in through an open window, landing at the kitchen counter with a large bag of cat food under his arm. He pulls off his Spider-Man mask, flashing a wide grin.

“No worries, Mr. Stark! I saw the message and picked some up on my way,” Peter declares proudly, placing the bag triumphantly on the counter.

“Thanks, Peter,” Natasha says, taking the bag and raising an eyebrow at Tony. “At least someone’s reliable around here.” 

“Anytime, Miss Romanoff,” Peter replies, rubbing the back of his neck shyly as he moves toward the sitting area. 

Meanwhile, Tony scoffs at her teasing jab, muttering her words mockingly under his breath as he turns to leave. But he freezes mid-stride, pointing toward the couch.

“Uh, what is that?” 

Natasha follows his gaze and sees he’s referring to where Wanda is sitting on the sofa, using her powers to create a small red ball of energy for Widow, who is happily pouncing at it.

“Her name is Widow,” Natasha explains as she pours the cat food into a bowl.

“You named a cat after yourself?” Tony snorts, shaking his head. “And people say I’m the narcissist.”

“She’s not mine,” Natasha replies, rolling her eyes as she walks past him toward the sitting area.

“So, you stole it,” Tony deadpans.

“Why is that the first thing that comes to your mind?” Natasha huffs, exasperated, as she sets the bowl on the floor.

At the sight, Widow scampers over, letting out a happy meow before digging into the food.

Natasha smiles softly, scratching the cat’s head as it eats, though her thoughts inevitably drift to you, wondering how she will return your cat to you.

Wanda, who’s been watching the scene with an amused grin, chimes in, “Natasha has a crush on the owner. She keeps thinking about her.”

“Oh, this just got interesting,” Tony says, leaning on the back of a chair with an intrigued smirk. “When did that happen?”

Natasha glares at Wanda before answering, “I met her on one of my runs. We talked. That’s it. Also, what have we said about reading people’s minds?”

Wanda raises her hands in mock surrender.

“I’m not, I swear. Your thoughts are just…really loud, and most are about her.”

Tony chuckles at the revelation, thoroughly entertained. He raises an eyebrow at Natasha, grinning.

“Nat, there are better ways to get someone’s attention than stealing their pet. I could give you some tips if you want.”

Natasha huffs, crossing her arms.

“I don’t need your help, Stark.”

Tony, unbothered by her dismissal, smirks.

“Then why haven’t you contacted her about the cat?”

“I don’t have her contact info,” Natasha admits reluctantly. “I didn’t get her number.”

Peter, who had been quietly watching the exchange, suddenly perks up.

“I have an idea!”

He pulls out his phone from his backpack, snaps a picture of Widow, and begins typing. A moment later, he shows the screen to Natasha. 

The post reads: “Cat found at Avengers Compound,” with Widow’s picture attached. 

“What’s this?” Tony asks, peering over Peter’s shoulder.

“It’s the ‘Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man’ app,” Peter explains animatedly. “You told me to focus on local stuff as Spider-Man, so I made this app where people can report crimes or activities happening in New York. This way, Miss Romanoff’s crush will see the post and know where to find her cat.” 

At his last casual remark, Tony bursts into laughter while Wanda hides her smile behind her hand.

“All right, that’s enough,” Natasha says, scooping up Widow and grabbing the food bowl. “Come on, Widow. Let’s get you some peace and quiet.”

With that, she leaves the room, escaping the playful teasing of the others.

Later that afternoon, Natasha returns to the common room and finds Peter frantically overturning the sofas.

“What are you looking for?” she asks, arms crossed.

Startled, Peter jumps, dropping the sofa back to the ground with a loud thud.

“Please don’t tell Mr. Stark,” he pleads.

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “What did you lose?”

Peter hesitates, then slumps his shoulders in defeat.

“Mr. Stark gave me a USB with the new suit design, and I was going to show him my modifications, but now I can't find it anywhere.” 

He starts pacing, clearly panicking, as he continues.

“I thought I put it in my backpack, but it’s gone. If I lost it in the city, Mr. Stark will never let me help with modifications again!”

Natasha steps forward, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 

“Hey, calm down. Tony will understand,” she says, nodding toward the window. “Why don’t you go check your place again? I’ll keep an eye out here.” 

Peter takes a deep breath and nods.

“Okay, yeah, I’ll do that. Thanks, Miss Romanoff,” he says before pulling his mask back on and swinging out the window.

Natasha shakes her head with a small smile and resumes her original task—finding Widow, who had somehow slipped out of her room without Natasha noticing.

The little cat was proving to be surprisingly clever and stealthy. It seems you obviously trained her well.

After searching around for a bit, Natasha is about to check with Wanda when a pair of yellow eyes appear from the shadows on one of the black sofas.

Widow stares up at her, completely unbothered.

Chuckling in realization, Natasha sits beside the cat, gently scratching her head.

“You’re pretty good at hiding. I didn’t even realize you were there.”

Widow responds with a bored yawn, stretches her body, and then hops onto Natasha’s lap, curling up contentedly. As her eyes begin to flutter closed, Natasha frowns in realization.

“No, no, you can’t fall asleep on me. I’ve got things to do.”

Widow ignores her, already deep in sleep. When Natasha hears the soft sound of the cat’s snoring, she throws her head back against the sofa in disbelief.

Sighing, Natasha spots a tablet on the nearby table. She carefully reaches for it without disturbing Widow and begins doing some work.

After a moment, the rhythmic purring from the cat brings an unexpected feeling of calm and comfort to her, and before she knows it, Natasha’s eyes start to grow heavy, and she drifts off without realizing it.

She doesn’t know how long she’s been asleep when she wakes up, blinking groggily. As her eyes adjust, she notices a familiar face beside her—you.

For a brief moment, Natasha wonders if she’s still dreaming. Though, she doesn’t usually have dreams this pleasant. 

But then your eyes lift from your phone at her movement, and you raise an eyebrow, amused.

“For a hero, you sure take more naps than I expected.” 

Natasha blinks away the remnants of sleep, sitting up straighter, and tilts her head at you curiously.

“How did you get in here?”

You gesture casually toward the elevator. 

“I came by after seeing the post, and your teammate—Wanda, I believe—she said she recognized me, so she directed me here.”

Resting your arm against the back of the sofa, you lean your head on your hand as your eyes twinkle with amusement.

“I thought I told you to find a better napping spot. This one’s just going to give you neck cramps.”

Natasha’s lips curl into a small smile as she gestures to Widow, still sound asleep on her lap. 

“Wasn’t exactly my choice.”

Your gaze drifts down to the cat, and you sigh knowingly.

“Widow, stop pretending and get off her.”

Natasha frowns in confusion at your words and snaps her gaze to the seemingly asleep creature on her lap.

For a second, the cat doesn’t move, but when you call her name again, a little more sternly, the cat’s eyes snap open.

Widow lets out an indignant meow before hopping off Natasha’s lap and licking her paws casually as if nothing happened.

Natasha shakes her head in disbelief.

“What a little liar.”

Groaning softly, she stretches out her stiff muscles and catches you watching her, your gaze lingering for a second too long.

When you realize she’s noticed, your eyes flicker back to your phone.

Natasha smirks, about to tease you, but then you show her the screen of your phone—the post Peter made about Widow.

“I need you to take this down,” you say, your tone serious.

Natasha furrows her brow but nods.

“Sure, I can do that. But why? It looks like she’s a hit with everyone.”

Your smile turns faint as you stand, the lightness in your expression turning somber.  

“Not all attention is good attention,” you say cryptically. 

Before Natasha can ask what you mean, you grab a pen from the table and reach for her hand. She watches in surprise as you scribble something on her palm. Your touch lingers for a moment, making her feel unexpectedly flustered.

“Here,” you said, finishing. “If Widow finds her way to you again, you’ll know how to reach me. Though, hopefully, you won’t need it too often.” 

Natasha glances at the number on her palm, then back at you with a raised eyebrow. 

“Am I only allowed to use this for cat-related emergencies?” 

 You smirk, though there’s a hint of something more serious in your eyes.

“I’m not sure I’m someone you’d want to get involved with.” 

Natasha holds your gaze, intrigued.

But the tension is broken when Widow hops back onto the sofa, drawing both of your attention. The cat tries to burrow into the cushions, as if searching for something or determined to get comfortable again. 

You sigh, picking her up despite her annoyed yowl. Before leaving, you glance back at Natasha, tilting your head thoughtfully.

“Though… I guess a hello from the Black Widow every now and then wouldn’t be too bad.”

With that, you head to the elevator, disappearing behind its doors.

Natasha looks down at the number on her palm, a small smile playing on her lips. She finds herself hoping that Widow might "accidentally" find her way back to the Compound again soon—if only for another chance to see you.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha didn’t have to wait long for another chance to see you, after all.

Just a few hours after your departure, late at night when the Compound was quiet, Natasha—still unable to sleep—wandered into the common room.

To her surprise, there you were, dressed in dark, stealthy clothes, frozen the moment you noticed her. 

Her instincts kick in immediately, and within seconds, Natasha has her weapon drawn, pointing it directly at you.

Yet, you show no sign of panic. Instead, you raise your hands slowly and tilt your head at her with a calm, almost amused expression. 

“You really shouldn’t be up this late, you know,” you say lightly, as if this was a casual conversation. “Messes with your sleep schedule.” 

Natasha ignores the teasing, her gaze unwavering and her senses on high alert. She didn’t feel any malice from you, but the situation is far too strange to let her guard down. 

“How did you get in undetected?” she asks, her voice low, tinged with suspicion.

With deliberate slowness, you gesture with one hand toward the open window behind you. 

“That was left unlocked. Pretty reckless for the Avengers.”

Natasha’s frown deepens as she glances at the window, already making a mental note to have Peter redo security training. 

“And the alarms?” Natasha asks, her weapon still trained on you.

You shrug casually.

“Let’s just say we have a lot of experience when it comes to not being seen.”

Natasha's eyes narrow at your words. "We?" 

You nod toward her feet, and Natasha briefly glances down.

Widow is there, casually walking through her legs and brushing her fur against Natasha with a soft purr, completely at ease.

When her gaze snaps back to you, you gesture toward her weapon. 

“Mind putting that away? I’m unarmed. You can check if you like.”

Natasha hesitates, her eyes studying you carefully, looking for any hint of deception.

But there is none.

Reluctantly, she holsters her weapon and steps closer, reaching out to pat you down.

You stand still, hands raised, letting her search you for any hidden weapons or gadgets.

“So, what are you?” Natasha asks, her tone sharp. “A spy?”

“Reformed thief, technically,” you reply with a casual shrug. “I don’t do this sort of thing much anymore.” 

You sigh lightly, casting a glance at Widow, who had settled by Natasha’s feet and is now nonchalantly licking her paw. 

“She, however, is still struggling to break her old habits.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, glancing at the cat.

“You’re telling me this cat’s a thief?”

You chuckle softly, catching the disbelief in her voice.

“I’m serious. Check my pocket—it’s the reason I’m here.”

Frowning, Natasha reaches into your jacket pocket, her fingers brushing against something small and metallic. She pulls out a USB drive, her eyes widening slightly in realization when she notices the small Spider-Man logo sticker on the side.

“I didn’t realize Widow had swiped it before we left earlier,” you explain, your tone sheepish. “I came back to return it before there’s any trouble.”

“Is that why you wanted the post deleted?” Natasha asks, her suspicion now tinged with curiosity. “Are you in some kind of trouble?” 

There is a brief pause as you meet her gaze. Your smile turns slightly rueful at the concern in her voice, and for a moment, something unspoken lingers between you.

“Let me worry about that,” you say softly, your tone more serious than before. Then you lift your hands slightly in surrender, a playful glint returning to your eyes. “So, are you going to arrest me, or am I free to go?” 

At that moment, Widow trots over, settling in front of Natasha and meowing softly as if to plead on your behalf. 

Natasha crosses her arms, her lips curling slightly in amusement at the sight, though the concern hasn’t left her eyes. 

“You two sure know how to double-team a person.”

You chuckle, realizing Natasha’s letting you go, and call your cat’s name. Widow immediately jumps into your arms, curling up comfortably. You look back up at Natasha, your expression softening.

“I told you—you wouldn’t want to get involved with someone like me.”

Natasha’s gaze softens in response.

“Your cat seems to think otherwise.”

You smile at that, gently shifting Widow in your arms.

“She’s got good instincts. A good judge of character, too. So, you must be really special if she’s interested in you.” 

For a moment, silence settles between you, broken only by Widow’s soft purring. The tension eases, but something still lingers beneath the surface—an unspoken understanding that there was more to your story, more to you, than you were letting on.

With a small smile, you take Widow’s paw and give Natasha a playful wave.

“You should head to bed soon, Miss Black Widow,” you tease softly, raising an eyebrow. “We wouldn’t want you napping in random spots again.”

As you move toward the window, Natasha steps closer, her voice lowering.

“You know, I don’t mind the visits from Widow. And the two of you don’t have to sneak in or anything. Just…come by whenever.”

You raise an eyebrow, surprised by her offer.

“Are you sure about that?” 

Natasha holds your gaze steadily. “Yeah. I’m sure.” 

You study her for a moment, then smile—a genuine, appreciative smile that softens the usual teasing banter.

“I’ll think about it,” you say with a playful tone.

With a quick nod, you adjust Widow in your arms and slip through the window with practiced ease. Natasha watches you disappear into the night, her mind spinning with questions and curiosity.  

One thing’s certain: this won't be the last time she’d see you and your cat. And to her surprise, she finds herself looking forward to the next time.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

a/n: thank you for reading!

[beloveds-embrace]

Fuck it, we ball, I hope that disrespectful anon gets hemorrhoids and they can't get them removed until next year, AND that their insurance doesn't cover it. I'm here thinking about your Omega idea where omegas normally do the pursuing, but with a slight twist; the boys being the omegas. An alpha who is for sure down bad for the boys, but thinks "ah, theyre out of my league, I should be aiming lower, manage my expectations". Only 141 is just as down bad for them, and they're doing everything just short of screaming "PICK UP ON THE HINTS, COME INTO OUR HOUSE AND BEDS AND LIVES AND STAY FOREVER PLEASE"

Johnny is about to say fuck decorum and just show up in reader's house wearing nothing but a ribbon and a tag that says 'free to a good home' (your home is the good one, please keep him, there is no receipt so you can't return him).

Price has the brain cell normally in terms of trying to gently coax you into getting you to say you're into them, he has a 15 step plan that may or may not involve using his various contacts to get you spending more time in close proximity to them. Also he for some reason is always baking, he always comes over asking you for sugar? (He'll take any kind of 'sugar' you're willing to offer, he loves making a variety of cream pies)

Gaz is always gently inviting them to attend 'friend' things, things that could be a date but that he can excuse as 'well we're coworkers/friends/neighbors, we should get along :)'. It's just a coincidence that various other people seem to bail except for any of the other boys, now why don't you sit beside him so you guys can share popcorn at the movies (you both always seem to be reaching for it at the same time, if your fingers touched anymore you might as well be holding hands)

Simon is chasing off any omegas he thinks are a threat to them getting reader, that is THEIR alpha, paws OFF (rip to anyone reader was halfheartedly going on dates with, this man is gonna become those people's sleep paralysis demon)

Hope you enjoy!! :3 💕💕 i lovedddd writing this sm omg

See, the thing is, you’d always thought of yourself as a decent Alpha. Not overbearing, not egotistical, not a demanding freak- just capable and steady. But you weren’t extraordinary. Not the kind of Alpha Omegas like them would look at twice. And so, while you worked alongside the men of Task Force 141 you convinced yourself to be content with just admiring them from a distance.

You couldn’t help it. They were perfect, as far as you were concerned. Perfect, and fully out of your league.

Surely, Omegas like them would want someone better. Someone stronger. You’d told yourself that so many times it was practically your mantra, the only way you’d be able to stop yourself from pursuing them. They deserved someone more charismatic, more confident- an Alpha who could match their brilliance. Not someone like you, fumbling through conversations with them, struggling to keep your feelings in check.

But they’d already decided. They didn’t need a flashy Alpha or someone who tried too hard. What they wanted was you. The only problem? You didn’t seem to realize it, no matter how obvious they made it.

John took the lead, naturally. He knew you were cautious and perhaps a little insecure when it came to relationships (it was fucking visible in you, silly Alpha. He scoffs each time you draw back, frustrated), so he made it his mission to draw you in- slowly and subtly. His plan was meticulous: get you comfortable, build trust, and create opportunities for you to spend more time with them so you’d see that they only want you.

Maybe then you’d break out of that stupid shell you’ve put yourself in.

He’d started baking regularly, a habit you hadn’t even known he had. At least once a week, he’d show up at your place with a tin of cookies, a loaf of fresh bread, or a perfectly golden pie. “Thought I’d share,” he’d say casually, though the slight smirk tugging at his lips told a different story. He peers at you, letting his scent coil just a bit more. “I hope you don’t mind the amount of cream. I happen to like cream pies a lot.”

The way to an Alpha’s heart is through their stomach, and all that.

If he wasn’t offering you baked goods, he was asking for your help to make said baked goods. “Ran out of sugar again,” he’d sigh, handing you an empty container. “Mind sparing a bit?”

It was ridiculous, downright unbelievable how often he supposedly ran out of baking supplies. But his visits became a highlight of your week, and the lingering looks he gave you left your heart pounding long after he was gone.

The one time he’d handfed you, watching you lick the syrup from his fingers with half-lidded eyes, still lives in your mind rent-free.

Kyle took a softer, more personal approach. He wasn’t above using the pretense of friendship to spend time with you, often inviting you to casual dates- grabbing coffee, going to the movies, or just walking through town and shopping. Every invitation was framed innocently, but there was always a little extra effort behind it. He’d pick a movie he knew you’d like, suggest places he knew you’d find interesting, and ensure that others you unfortunately knew joined just enough to make it seem less like a date.

Somehow, though, those other people always mysteriously canceled. It was never anything dramatic- just a sudden cold, a scheduling conflict, or a “something came up, sorry.” Eventually, it would be just you and a very smug Kyle, sitting close enough that your knees brushed or reaching for popcorn at the same time. Once, right as the bowl emptied and you both reached for it, Kyle simply thought fuck it and held your hand.

On one occasion, you both shared a bowl of spaghetti and ended up with the scene from the Lady and the Tramp.

It was so painfully obvious to everyone.

Except you.

“It’s not a coincidence,” Kyle muttered to Johnny one evening after you left, both of them sitting in the spot you were in, bathing in the leftover warmth and scent. “How can they not notice?”

Speaking of Johnny; he’s barely keeping himself together. Subtlety in missions are a must sometimes, but he doesn’t want to that with you anymore. He was just so, so, so frustrated with your obliviousness. What more does he need to do to show you that he- that they- want you?

He’s been dropping so many hints; half-jokes about Omegas waiting begging to be swept off their feet, suggestive winks when you compliment him in that lovely, adoring tone of yours. Once, while watching a romantic tv show, he’d sighed loudly and very pointedly said: “If only someone would claim me.”

“If ye don’t figure it out soon,” he growled at the others one night, pacing back and forth like a wild beast and probably on his way to leave a dent in the carpet, “I’m showin’ up at their doorstep with nothin’ but a red bow, like some bloody Christmas prezzie, I swear to god.”

John sighs, rolling his eyes. “You do that, and I’m leaving you on their porch.”

“That’s exactly what I’m askin’ for!”

Simon took the quietest but most direct approach. Just not exactly direct towards you. While the others worked to get closer to you, Simon focused on eliminating what he saw as obstacles: other Omegas who thought you were free for the taking. It didn’t matter if they were serious or just someone you’d gone on a casual date with- Simon saw them all as threats.

He didn’t have to say much to scare them off. A single cold glare from across the room, sharp bursts of his scent, or a low, menacing comment was usually enough to send them packing. He didn’t care if it was excessive.

You were his Alpha. You were their Alpha, and no one else had a right to you.

But even Simon softened when it came to you. He couldn’t put all his thoughts, all his feelings into words, so he did them with his actions. Quiet protectiveness, gentle, careful touches. Moments of fleeting vulnerabilities shared between you and him.

He was always there for you. Even if you didn’t know you need him with you.

Still, despite all their efforts, you remained convinced that they weren’t interested.

In the end, to no one’s surprise, it’s Johnny who snaps. Johnny, so close to his heat, so absolutely done with your obliviousness and the Omegas that aren’t them talking with you when you should be only focused on them.

He doesn’t care; leaves the carefully made nest with your stolen shirts and none of the others stop him when he just. Drags your surprised self to the nest.

“Johnny! You-“

“I want you.” He hisses, bares his teeth all sharp and desperate. “We want you. And damn it, we will have you.”

And well, who are you to even say no when this is all you have wanted?

[lymtw]

Comfort The Tired Soul

Toji comes home from work feeling a whirlwind of different things. He's starving, he's exhausted, he wants to bury his face between your thighs, but he also just wants to lay his head on your lap and have you play with his hair. His body is basically running on autopilot, holding off on giving out until he sees you.

He unlocks and opens the front door, hoping to smell something amazing. Something warm and made by none other than you and your precious hands. Instead, he enters a house that looks like his home, but lacks what truly makes it deserving of the title—you. You aren't there on the couch, ready to jump on him like you normally do. The house smells clean, the couch cushions are properly positioned, like you haven't laid there, at all. The TV is off, the shower isn't running, there's no music blasting from your phone—it's dead silent.

Toji keeps walking, keeps searching for you around the house, the occasional 'doll' and 'ma' being called out. He still peeks into the bathroom, despite the light being off, and rules it out when he sees there's no sign of you. The next room he directs himself towards is the bedroom. The light is off and the door is closed, so he isn't expecting anything from this room, either, but he checks, anyway.

Lo and behold, there you are, sitting on the bed, cross legged. The only light that illuminates your tear stained face and your nervous habit of biting your nails in action, is the screen of your phone.

"Hey, doll," Toji says, his voice calm and steady, so as not to scare you. His hand holds the doorknob and he keeps the door pressed to his shoulder, as he watches you quickly try to get yourself together. You stop biting your nails and you wipe at your face with the sleeves of your hoodie.

"Oh, hey, baby," you say, with enthusiasm that Toji knows you're working too hard to provide. "Sorry, I didn't know you'd be home so early. I didn't make anything for you to eat."

Toji instantly notices that your voice doesn't sound like it usually does. It sounds like you're trying hard to keep your emotions down, but there's an annoying lump in your throat that doesn't allow you to hold yourself up very well. You're also still pawing at your face with your sleeves, like your tears haven't subsided.

"It's six, ma. You know I always get home around this time. What are you doing in here with the lights off?" He flicks on the light to get a better look at you and your shrunken demeanor. Immediately, he notices the way you squint and furrow your eyebrows—a normal reaction to brightness after being in the dark. What wasn't normal, was the way you rubbed the space between your brows, like the sudden brightness of the room was affecting you more than it should have and you were trying to soothe the pained area.

"Nothing," you simply say, laughing, nervously. It's a sound with no detectable joy in it, and Toji knows very well that it's fake. You can't trick him into believing that you're alright, with it.

By instinct, Toji has gone into his protective mode. He steps further into the room, with newfound energy, and heads for the spot in front of you. The room is quiet, like the rest of the house, until he sits down. He tugs on the sleeve of your sweater, a silent way of signaling that he's there, but also a request for you to spare him your attention. You look up, facing him, and he sees it all. The slight puffiness and redness of your eyes, the wetness of your eyelashes. Something is tearing you up inside.

"Tell me everything," Toji says, setting a hand on your knee. Instantly, you blink and avert your gaze from him.

"Nooo," you whine, in an attempt to lighten up the mood a little. You didn't intend for your voice to crack and make his view of you more pitiful. "You're tired. You don't need this, right now."

The feeling Toji gets from seeing you this way, is like thousands of little needles jabbing at his heart. Your eyes are growing glossier by the second and you keep pressing your lips together, presumably to stifle the quivering of your lips.

"Sweetheart," Toji says, calmly. His voice carries love, patience, and understanding—all things that easily break down your facade and cause tears to begin freely streaming down your cheeks. Once again, words are lost between you and Toji, and silence nears, only kept away by the sound of your sniffling and soft, shuddered deep breaths. He takes your hand in both of his and brushes over your knuckles with his thumbs.

"I love you, mama. We have so much time," Toji, wholeheartedly, assures. His patience makes it hard for you to hold in your sobs—your chest and your throat hurt from not letting go of them. He sits there with you as your emotions pour out, playing with your hands and waiting for you to calm down enough to talk.

"I don't feel good, Toji," you finally manage to say, slowly shaking your head. You can't lift your gaze to meet his, again, even if you can feel him calling for your attention through the gentle squeezes he gives your hands. You feel vulnerable and you get this strange feeling in your stomach every time you think about how Toji is seeing you completely stripped of any strength to hold yourself together. You can't look at him, despite how attentive he's being. You don't want him to look at you, either, but you won't tell him to stop or push him away. You know it would be heartless of you.

"What hurts? Want me to get you some medicine?"

"No, no. I just..." you sigh, heavily. A fresh stream of tears roll down your cheeks when you shut your eyes. "I've had a massive headache all day and my chest hurts. It feels so heavy, like something is pushing down on it."

"You didn't tell me this earlier, when we were talking on the phone. You sounded just fine." His hands still, no longer squeezing your hands or gently brushing your skin. "Why didn't you tell me? I would have come home sooner, doll."

"That's why I didn't tell you. There's no need for me to share my stress with you while you're working. You have your own things to stress about, too. I'm not going to be another one of those things."

"Hey, come on, stop," he says, squeezing your hands, again, to signal that he isn't mad at you. You don't need more guilt mixing in with the rest of your feelings.

"I get home from work before you. I have time to wind down and... and clean up. The least I can do..." Your chest heaves, your harsher emotions catching up, again. "...is cook you a damn meal."

"My love, stop."

The room goes quiet again, nothing but the sound of your sharp, short inhales and sniffling. He got you to settle down with the remarks, but he wants to calm down your mind, as well. He gently wraps his hands around your shaky ones and brings them up to his lips. Soft kisses are planted on your fingers, your knuckles, and your palms—you feel his perfect scar, occasionally, brushing against your skin. After he sets your hands down on your lap and releases them, he moves up to his side of the bed and positions himself so that his back rests against the headboard. He calls for you, with a couple pats to the space he left for you between his legs and a warm, "Sit, doll."

You stay unmoving for a few seconds—indecisive. He just got home. You don't want to continue to drop all of this on him, but you can feel him watching you, and the more you feel his gaze on your back, the more you start to think about the time that is going to waste because you won't go to him. It's time that he can be using to rest—so, you make up your mind and crawl over to him.

Once your back is to his front, he molds around you. His arms envelop you, tightly, to ensure that you feel his warmth and understand that he physically has you, just as he does emotionally. He rests his chin on your shoulder, and turns his head to murmur a soft, "You listening?" You nod a couple times, while wiping your cheeks with the dampened sleeves of your sweater. "Okay." He tightens his arms around you a little more and places a gentle kiss on your neck, before facing forward, again.

"Ma," Toji starts, a soft sigh leaving him. He's really hoping that by the end of this talk, you won't be trembling in his arms, anymore. "You can't hide this type of stuff from me." The words don't come off as him scolding you or trying to be controlling. Instead, they sound more like a plead. A plead for you to trust him with your mental health the way you trust him with your physical safety, and for you to follow the rules of communication you've done so well at teaching him about.

"You just told me that you don't feel good. You're so stressed that your head hurts and your chest feels tight. Is that why you were in here with the light off?" Toji asks, tilting his head to look at you. You respond with a weak nod, not willing to use your even more weakened voice. "See? It's hurting you, baby. It's making things hard for you. There's no need for you to hold things in when you have me. Me being at work doesn't change a thing. When we're on the phone, I want you to tell me everything. Everything. Not just the good stuff."

He pauses, a brief intermission that gives you a chance to sit with everything he has said so far. He refrains from asking you questions, for now. Clearly, you aren't emotionally stable enough to explain everything going through your head, and it's likely you'll break down again before he even begins to grasp what has you in the condition of a wilted flower.

"You can tell me about anything. Know I'll do everything I can to help or make you feel better, because this? This isn't right, ma. You're my little sunshine. I can't have you dimming on me."

He notices you aren't shaking as much and you haven't been running your sleeves over your cheeks, anymore, so he squishes you in his arms and smiles softly when you release a puff of air—a stifled groan.

"And just so you know, I'm okay with you not making dinner every day," he says, planting a kiss on your jaw. "Don't get me wrong, I love when you cook for me, but I don't expect you to do it. I can make or get myself something to eat if you don't feel like cooking, alright? Don't ever stress about that, ma."

It goes quiet for a minute or so, just you and Toji sitting in the intimate, guarded atmosphere created between you and him. You feel the pressure of his heavy arms around you, you feel the body heat that emanates from him, you can smell the aftermath of a busy day on him, and though your eyes feel heavy and swollen from the waterfalls of tears you've shed, feeling this safe makes you want to cry all over again. He covered you up and kept you warm when he found you trapped in a mental rainstorm. He soothed your aching soul. He deserves the remainder of your tears—two final liquefied crystals, gliding down your cheeks. They make up the words you can't say in the moment. 'Thank you.'

"You're the last thing in the world that could ever stress me out. Understand?" Toji asks, breaking the silence. He receives a slow, barely noticeable nod, from you. "You promise?" He asks, seeking certainty in your response. Immediately after, he hums in thought, considering the recurrence of your inaudible responses, and decides to find a way around your simple head nods. "You probably don't wanna talk, right now, so just squeeze my hand. Let me know, mama."

He puts his hand out and waits for a physical confirmation from you—your hand around his, offering even the smallest amount of pressure. As soon as he sees you lift your hand, aiming to place it on his, he's rolling the puffy sleeve of your sweater up, so that he'll be making direct skin to skin contact, rather than having the thick fabric acting as a barrier between your hands. Your fingers interlace with his and you give him three squeezes, before relaxing your hold.

"Yeah? You love me?" Toji asks, a soft smile curling onto his lips. You squeeze his hand once, emphasizing your response with a familiar, subtle nod. "Love you, too, doll. Gonna take care of you, I swear."

You release his hand and wiggle out of his arms, turning around, afterwards. You keep your eyes shut, knowing that the puffiness must look even more extreme when your eyes are open, and just fall into him. He's safety, he's home, love, and everything more.

"Your pretty eyes got a raw deal, huh?" His hands go to your back and rub up and down the expanse in slow, soothing motions. You nod against his chest and tighten your arms around him. "It's okay. You're still the prettiest thing," he assures, pressing a couple kisses to the top of your head. "Wanna take a shower with me? Get some food after?"

"Mhm," you hum, a quiet affirmation. Still, you don't make any attempt to move from your position. Toji notices this and pins the delay on himself. He steals your role and makes it seem like he's the one that doesn't want to move.

"Alright, just..." He sighs, reciprocating your embrace. "Just give me a couple minutes. Wanna stay like this a little longer."