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sukunasteeth · 3 months

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Sukuna Dyes His Hair

You were just teasing him.

"Pink like a petite little rose."

"Shut it."

They were just play-fighting words. Part of an attempt to poke the bear that never seemed to bite at you.

"Pink like a sweet strawberry."

"Strawberries are red."

Sukuna had had you in his lap, lazy with a long day of work weighing on his bones. He watched you dote on him with a tired smile, too exhausted to mind your fingers lovingly brushing at tufts of his hair. Usually he'd swat at a touch as careful as the one you were giving him, but there were moments, like this one, where he seemed to soak up your tenderness.

"Pink like a baby kitten's nose." You cooed.

"Jesus." He groaned, rolling his eyes.

Maybe it was the ending boop to his own nose that made him finally snatch you up and tackle you to the mattress.

Maybe that's why one day later, you're staring at him standing outside of a restaurant, leaning against his motorcycle with stark black hair.

He's grinning at you, knowing that he's won the little game as he always does, with overkill.

It was a promised date night, one you had been planning for a few weeks now. Sukuna never had the same days off that you did, but the stars happened to align for you to go out to dinner together and you leapt at his invitation.

After he spots you from across the parking lot, Sukuna stubs his cigarette beneath his boot and starts over to you. You can tell in the way his eyes devilishly glimmer that he's excited to see your expression.

You're in too much shock not to give him exactly what he wants.

"Hi~" He purrs when he nears you, reaching a hand out for one of your own. You offer it subconsciously, moving automatically since your brain seemed to be sputtering. His rings are cold against your fingers, but even their icy bite is not enough to stir you back to the present. He tugs you into his embrace, looping an arm around your lower waist and pressing you into him. He’s warm despite the chill on his fingertips. When he's got you secured to him, he tilts his head at you, waiting for your response.

"Hi." You whisper, blinking up at him.

You know he thinks you're going to hate it. You know he thinks you're going to give him a pout- tell him how heartbroken you are to see his natural hair go. That was undoubtedly the punchline of his stupid joke. You've told him numerous times how much you loved his hair and every part of him that made him Sukuna... So why is your mouth suddenly watering?

“What d'ya think?” He runs his fingers through it, showing it off to you as if your eyes aren’t already glued to the newly darkened locks.

It suits him just as well as his natural hair color does, but the black brings out the deep, rich color of his eyes and makes prominent the tattoos framing his face. People always tell you that Sukuna’s stare intimidated them, and you never felt it yourself until then.

You swallow past your heartbeat, which you can suddenly feel in your throat. Sukuna notices, and his mischievous grin turns wolfish.

"Oh, you like it. Don't you?" He murmurs. Reaching up, he presses your slightly agape mouth closed so that he can place a chaste kiss to your shell-shocked lips. The smell of tobacco and expensive cologne has you in an even more intoxicated daze, rendering you boneless in his hold. His next words are a heated whisper, for your ears only.

"I usually only manage to take the words out of your mouth when you're strapped to my bed. This gotcha that good, little doe?"

#jjk #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x reader #little oneshot to tuck you in #shoud I do part two? hmmm #black-haired sukuna #does things to me #im at his beck and call #on my knees #maybe that's for part two lol #my writing

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captainfern · 15 days

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OOOO BABES RIDING JOHN PRICE WHILE HE SMOKES HIS CIGARS AND YOU DRINKING HIS FAVE WHISKEY AND ALSO HE HAS A MASSIVE BREEDING KINK DUH

seeing ‘breeding’ in an ask has my writing brain reacting in a fucking pavlov response

18+ fem!reader, breeding an all tha

his office is dimly lit, with only the old green banker’s lamp switched on, perched atop his desk surrounded by a sea of paper.

the leather chair behind it had been pushed back to make room for you.

you sat in price’s lap, thighs parted over his. one of your hands cups the back of his neck, fingers drawing circles through the small wisps of hair that dip down from the base of his head. your other hand has fingers wrapping about a crystal tumbler, the amber shine of expensive liquor appearing almost bottomless in the low light.

you took careful sips, your head spinning, both from the ebbing softness of inebriation, and the warm pleasure unfurling in the base of your stomach.

your captain rocked you against him with one large hand on the plush of your hip, his cock nestled inside you, your soaked cunt having taken him right to the root. like a good girl. the coarse hair at the base of his cock rubbed against your engorged clit, puffy and slick, with each gentle rock against him.

he thumbed at the cigar in his other hand, flicking ash into the tray nearby. when he took a drag, a deep and languid inhale with his eyes boring into yours, he’d exhale it away from you. he didn’t like blowing it directly into your face. but the smell permeating the air was thick enough, and mixing with his musk, had the dizzying pleasure in your head amplifying.

“that feels good, doesn’t it, sweetheart?” price cooed, words muffled around the thick wrap of his cigar.

your eyes transfixed on the way his lips wrapped around the waxy paper, and for a moment, you recalled just that morning when he had those lips wrapped around your clit. warm and wet and so fucking good.

you nodded, whiskey strong on your tongue. you took another shaky sip, your hips rolling. the head of his cock brushed up deep inside you, stretching you out and moulding you to him.

“you can give me more than that,” john remarked, words uttered around an exhale of smoke. the hand he had on your hip squeezed gently. “come on. speak up.”

“yeah, feels good,” you answered, then downed the last of the bitter liquor. you blindly reached behind you, placing the glass onto the desk, before then placing your now-free hand onto price’s shoulder. “feels so good, john. y’always make me feel good.”

price hummed, pleased, placing his cigar in his mouth. he then used both hands to grapple your hips and lift you slightly. he then slammed you back down onto his cock, bucking his hips simultaneously, before setting his pace. his thick cock was now somehow driving deeper than before. you could feel him probing around in your gut, your chest, breathing him in. maybe he was looking for your heart. if so, he’d found it a long time ago.

you moaned, and john responded with a grunt of his own, removing one of his hands to pluck the cigar from his mouth and then place it in an adjacent ashtray. he angled his face downwards and blew the smoke across your lap— which you felt against you, tickling the bare skin of your tummy and thighs.

he then ducked forward, locking his lips against yours and licking inwards. his tongue, much like his cock, was warm and thick, heavy inside you. he licked against your teeth, your own tongue, consuming your moans before they even reached the back of your throat.

he tasted of tobacco smoke and spearmint. you tasted of expensive whiskey and a hint of chardonnay.

smooth, rich. tasting each other.

“john,” you moaned against his lips, and he pulled back, looking at you with glazed eyes and a slight rouge to his cheeks, visible beneath the hairs of his beard. “john, please.”

price looked down, taking one of his hands and smoothing his palm across your hip before sliding it across your tummy. he rubbed over your navel, pressing down as he rocked himself into you— and he imagined that his cock was sliding parallel to his hand, squeezed by your gummy walls and leaking pre-cum against the plug of your cervix.

the thought made him moan.

he pressed his hand firmly against your tummy, forcing a bubbled whine from the depths of your throat. price’s eyes darted upwards to watch the look of pleasure sweep across your face. angelic and beautiful and all his.

“my pretty girl an’ this pretty tummy,” he whispered, rubbing firm circles on the pudge of your stomach, still bouncing you up and down the length of his thick cock. “s’about time i fill it up, yeah?”

you moaned, head rolling backwards as the ball of pleasure in your stomach tightened, pulling your nerves taut with it. your body thrummed against his, heart beating wildly beneath the sanctum of your sternum. mind cloudy, all you wanted to do was nod. please.

john chuckled lowly. “aw, s’that right, sweetheart? want me to come inside you?”

“johnnn,” you whined, clawing at his shoulders now. your clit was throbbing as his cock slammed into that good spot inside you. you huffed out whines and mewls, pleasure building inside your lower stomach, right below where his hand pressed. your skin there was heating up fast. “pleaseee.”

“shh, s’alright my darling girl,” price chided, rutting the leaking head of his cock against your g-spot, grinding and bucking deep, rolling his hips. “i’ve got you, yeah? i’ve got you. an’ i’m gonna come deep inside this tight cunt.”

you mewled, louder this time, pleasure burning your lungs. you could feel him, clawing at the insides of your very being. he always stitched himself to you during intimate moments like these. it’s like he was apart of you the second he stuffed his thick cock into your hole.

“come riiiiight here,” john continued, rubbing your tummy and then moaning at the thought of it growing with his child. his hips stuttered momentarily, before he redoubled his efforts. “fill this pretty tummy up— get ‘er nice and fat for me.”

you gasped out, orgasm stretching thin across the precipice of pleasure tightening in your lower belly. “john!”

“come for me, sweetheart,” he said, pressing a chaste kiss to your parted lips. “squeeze my cock, go on.”

you came loudly, body spasming against his. the hands you had on his shoulders tightened, anchoring yourself to him so that you didn’t drift off and drown within your own pleasure.

“john, john, fuck—!” you babbled as your orgasm washed over you, and you practically missed the way john grunted with each chant of his name, cock slamming into you with heavy rolls of his strong hips.

his pace was slowing, lacing symmetry as his release dug its claws into him. it almost caught him by surprise, but he managed to ramble out, “‘m comin’, sweetheart, ‘m comin’— fuck, ‘m gonna come deep in this tight fuckin’ cunt, fill you up with my kids. ‘m gonna get you pregnant, baby.”

he came after that, head slotting into the dewy space between your neck and shoulder, mouth sucking at the scented pulse of your throat. he bucked and rolled his hips as his cock twitched, coming thick, viscous ropes of seed right up against the plug of your womb. it was warm, especially with his large hand still on your tummy, and you fought the urge to giggle amidst your blissful, post-orgasmic haze.

“price,” you whispered, his beard tickling the sensitive skin of your throat and jaw. his cock was slowly softening inside you, plugging his cum inside you. “price, we’ve got to move.”

he grunted, wrapping his arms around you, still sucking at the skin of your neck. the warmth of his arms and chest put you at ease, and you relaxed into his hold, melting into the comfortable aura that your husband provides you with.

#probably a lot of mistakes so just ignore those k thanks x #captain john price #captain john price x you #john price call of duty #price smut #price cod #captain price smut #cod smut #john price #captainfern #captainfernsalutes #call of duty

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marketstats2030 · 1 year

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#Roll Your Own Tobacco Products Market

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konigsblog · 2 months

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stepdad!price raping his stepdaughter the night of his wedding with readers mother 🤭🤭

tw/cw; dark content, stepcest, non-con/dub-con. dead dove: do not eat. MDNI 18+

you're devastated that your mother decided to marry that depraved and disgusting bastard. she ignores and brushes off his perverted behaviour as him just being friendly, that you're being overdramatic and cruel towards him.

it's the night before your mother's wedding, and you're awoken to the throbbing and stabbing sensation of price's bulbous cock against your sloppy cunt. price stinks and reeks of booze and nicotine, the strong and pungent scent of tobacco assaulting your nostrils. if not for the strong smell of nicotine, you wouldn't have known it was your stepfather raping your sleeping body, with his hoarse grunts conforming your beliefs.

your wrists are held above your head in a tight fist, held by his large and calloused hands. your eyes glisten as you adjust to the darkness, while your pussy pulses and clenches onto his meaty dick, feeling him sink deeper inside. your t-shirt is rolled up over your soft breasts, your nipples perky and hard, being played with as if you're some toy for his excitement and enjoyment. you feel his scarred and rough fingers play with your nipples, causing your jaw to fall slack, your bottom lip quivering with mortification, realising the mess you've got yourself into.

how exactly are you supposed to explain to your mother what happened that night? you can't ruin her special day, and it's not as if she'd believe you anyways. she's head over heels for that horrible pervert, caring more about her relationship with him rather than with her own daughter. each stroke and drag is agonising and your cunt is left raw and sensitive, pussy coating his veiny shaft in blood and slick, your moans silenced and choked; choked, pained, and strained.

you put up with his sickening tormenting and harassment for your mother's happiness, focusing on how happy your mother will be to be remarried to a man she loves so dearly, while you're left tense and frozen at the agony and suffering forced onto your poor, sore body.

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sweetercalypso · 5 months

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What Takes the Edge Off || Joel Miller

Word Count: 2.0k

Summary: Now that Joel is living in Jackson, he’s picked up a few bad habits. When he comes home smelling like cigarettes, you punish him for his choice of vices

Notes: smoking, lap sitting, hair pulling, semi-public sex, grinding over clothes, edging, dom reader, sub(ish) Joel, no reader pronouns; smoking is gross unless you’re hot <3

joel miller masterlist main masterlist

Joel’s problem started with a crushed pack of Camels he’d found just a few short months after settling down in Jackson.

Truthfully, his problem had started when he was nineteen and naïve about the habit he was forming with the hand-rolled cigarettes stashed in his glovebox. They’d belonged to Tommy before Joel had quickly confiscated them with a lengthy lecture about the dangers of smoking.

Tommy was still a kid, but Joel was old enough to choose his own vices.

Everyone in Texas smoked; pipes, cigars, cigarettes – it was all commonplace in the rural heat of the South. Even after the world fell apart, there were plenty of people in QZs willing to trade a week’s worth of ration cards for a single carton of cigarettes, a stale taste of the life they’d left behind.

Joel had been more than happy to meet their demand, only occasionally skimming a few from his and Tess’s supplies. He didn’t crave the relief of nicotine any more than he craved a bottle of old whiskey or a quick, drunken fuck – it was just a way to cope with the life he’d been given.

Living in Jackson is different. The air is cleaner, the streets aren’t littered with soggy cigarette butts, and the weight of Joel’s bad habits has finally caught up to him.

The first pack he found, he’d shared with Tommy. The pair stood outside a crumbling house on their patrol route and chain-smoked what was left in the half-crushed box, reminiscing about the time Tommy stole an imported cigar from their father’s nightstand and had gotten sick from the first puff. Twenty years since they’d seen home, their Southern upbringing still kept them from smoking indoors.

The smell of tobacco had worn off by the time they returned to the city gates, and you were none the wiser about their indulgence. Even when you threw your arms around Joel and buried your face in his chest, you’d greeted him like nothing was out of the ordinary.

A couple days after he’d finished the first pack, Joel realized how much he enjoyed smoking. He found himself missing the bitter taste in his mouth, fingers twitching at his sides like he’s flicking loose ashes from a phantom burning tip.

There’d been a gun in his hand for as long as he could remember, and now that his days are spent in protected leisure, Joel feels like a crucial piece of himself is missing.

He’s constantly searching for the sleek steel of a pistol, the pressure of a trigger responding to his unabating command. The weight of a cigarette balanced between his fingers had eased the grief of being still.

A sealed pack of Marlboro’s was Joel’s next find, left behind on a coffee table in a house just beyond his normal patrol route. His habit had never been routine enough to pick a favorite brand, but the familiar red and white emblem is a welcomed sight, a promise of earthy tobacco and a good, slow burn.

The matchbook in his pocket is a heavy burden on Joel’s conscience as he picks up the cigarettes and quietly slips them into his supply bag. This time, he isn’t sharing with Tommy or anyone else who feels they have a claim over a portion of his findings.

Jackson might be a commune, but just this once, Joel’s nicotine-fueled prerogative trumps his commitment to sacrifice.

He waits until he’s past the city gates to unwrap the crisp plastic and slide the first cigarette out of the pack. It’s nearly midnight when he returns his horse to the stable and begins the short walk home, unlit cigarette dangling between his teeth as he attempts to light a match under the warm embrace of the streetlamps.

The initial thrum of nicotine flooding his lungs is bittersweet, a slight burn that dulls his senses with each deep breath. He walks with his cigarette pulled up to his mouth, the weak orange glow of lit tobacco burning a crude effigy into the shadows of his face.

You’re sitting on the porch when he rounds the corner, lazed in a rocking chair that Joel had built the previous summer – his attempt at adjusting to the slow life.

When he realizes that you’re still awake, he flicks the half-finished cigarette onto the ground and crushes it with the toe of his boot, waving a hand to clear the lazy smoke lingering in the air. He grumbles under his breath and pulls the front of his jacket to his nose to gauge how long it would take the smell of tobacco to fade, but he realizes too late that the sickly-sweet aroma is already woven into the material – still clinging to his breath.

He makes his way up the sidewalk with a guilty look on his face and a hand tucked in his pocket, thumb rubbing soothingly over the side of the cigarette pack as if the feel of the box was enough to bring him relief.

It wasn’t that he expected to be chastised for his nasty habit – you knew better than anyone that Joel preferred to take care of himself. But he distinctly remembers a conversation you’d shared some time ago about old-world vices and your distaste for smoking.

He didn’t think it was worth mentioning his habit at the time; smoking was a luxury he doubted he’d ever have again, so why ruin his image of calloused self-restraint?

The sound of the porch steps creaking under Joel’s boots grabs your attention from whatever book you’d been reading, now abandoned face-down on the arm of the rocking chair as you turn to greet him.

“You’re home,” you drawl, the tired lilt in your voice betraying your content expression.

His chin dips in a bashful acknowledgement, tucked to his chest as he leans down to press a kiss to the side of your face. He still isn’t used to having someone waiting up for him; the thought only adds to the weight of his self-reproach.

“How was patrol?” you ask as Joel pulls away, though your eyes rake over him with another question in mind.

Before he can answer, you reach out and grab the front of his jacket, bringing the material to your nose to confirm what Joel already knew. “You smell like smoke.”

He swallows the sandpaper feeling in his mouth and shrugs. “Got a little cold out tonight, we stopped to make a fire on our way back.”

He cringes internally at his halfhearted attempt at avoiding the matter, but it doesn’t seem to deter you from putting the pieces together anyway.

“No,” you interject, brows pulled together in confusion. “You smell like cigarettes.”

He’s silent for a moment, unable to think of an honest way out of this conversation. “Huh.”

“Joel,” you drawl, standing and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. A teasing grin pulls at the corners of your mouth, a scandalized amusement that makes his cheeks burn. “Have you been smoking?”

Your fingers weave through the dark curls at the nape of his neck, tugging softly until his head rolls back.

His eyes flutter shut and he shudders as he pulls the offending pack from his pocket. “Found ‘em on patrol,” he pants, his free hand gently squeezing your hip. “People leave all sorts of useful things behind when the world’s endin’.”

You offer only a simpering tsk in response, not quite the reaction Joel was expecting.

The night air is silent beyond the quiet lull of Jackson and the floorboards shifting under your feet as you shuffle closer together, sharing an intimate moment in the dim light seeping through the front room windows. Joel’s hands are a firm presence on your waist, separated from your skin by only the thin flannel shirt you’d stolen from his closet.

Eventually, you pull away, ushering him into the seat you’d abandoned upon his arrival. He drops into the rocking chair with a grunt and drags you into his lap.

“Missed you, baby” he murmurs, admiring the way you fit perfectly into the hollow of his frame, the way you balance yourself overtop him with practiced ease.

He knows he should be more concerned about your indifferent reaction, more worried about the possibility of someone walking by. But his sensibility is swept away by the heave of your chest and the little sound you make when his hand presses against the base of your spine.

Your hips drag slowly over his and for a moment, Joel thinks you’ve forgotten about the cigarettes. Or maybe you won’t mind his indulgence as long as he makes up for it. The warmth of your body pressed against his makes Joel ache for more, ready to offer an apology with more than just his words.

Just as he leans in to press his mouth to yours, you pull away far enough that he misses.

“Ah-” you stop him with a raised hand, fingertips pressed to his pouted lips. “You can kiss me when you don’t smell like cigarettes.”

The warm, hazy feeling is suddenly ripped from the air. Joel’s head jerks back in a look of disbelief, mouth hung open and brows pulled together as if he’d been scorned. “You’re serious?”

“Mhmm,” you nod, running a hand over his chest to soothe his trampled ego. “Can’t stand the smell, baby. You know that.”

The rocking chair dips forward as Joel drops his head onto your shoulder with a groan. “That’s just cruel.”

“It’s not cruel,” you laugh, pushing back the mess of curls falling into his face. “When you come home from patrol, I wanna taste you, not smoke.”

Your hips stir over his once again and Joel swears under his breath. His cock twitches in interest and he begrudgingly accepts the torment of your slow pace. This isn’t the time to take charge and chase his high; he’ll let you take the reins until you decide that he’s forgiven.

He picks his head up to glance around the empty streets, assuring himself that there’s no one here to witness his weak-willed acquiescence.

“I wanna touch you, make you feel good,” you continue, ghosting your fingers over the front of his jeans. “But how can I do that when all I can think about is those nasty cigarettes? Hmm?”

Your hands travel back to his chest, but your hips continue to roll over his, trapping his stiff cock beneath the comfortable pressure of your thighs. His eyes flutter shut once more as he leans back into his seat and lets you have your fun.

It doesn’t take long for Joel to near his end, subtly bucking his own hips to help himself along. He’s right there, right at the edge of his release, knuckles turning white as his grip tightens on the arm rests and—

The weight in his lap is gone, replaced with an empty chill that makes Joel’s hips stutter. His eyes snap open as he struggles to focus in his blissed-out state, but a hand on his shoulder brings him back to reality.

You’re standing in front of him now, no longer providing the friction that’d been fueling the fire in his belly. “Sorry, baby. You don’t get off that easy.”

He groans when you crawl back into his lap and you’re flooded with a sense of empowerment. It shouldn’t feel this good to see Joel suffer. You know it’s not fair to tease him like this, but maybe he deserves a little punishment.

“Maybe if you hadn’t been smoking, I’d let you enjoy this. Let you use your mouth to make me come, let you fuck me the way you want to.”

Joel stays silent, obedient. He swallows around shallow gasps of air that make his chest rise and fall with the labor of his breaths, thighs tensing as he struggles not to chase that feeling dangling just out of reach.

“I could do this all night,” you note, settling your weight in his lap again, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. “And I think you’d let me.”

#joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller one shot #the last of us smut #the last of us x reader #the last of us fic #tlou #tlou x reader #tlou x y/n #sub!joel #sub!joel miller

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undeadmagick · 1 month

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Broke Boy Guide to Altar Offerings

Hey! Are you broke but still wanna offer something up to the gods? Don't worry! (So am i) So here's a guide of things that are either free, low cost or that you probably already own to slap onto those altars. Mind you: These are mainly modern offerings that I attribute to these different classification of gods. I'll likely update as time goes on with other classifications :)

General Offerings to Deities:

random flowers from outside

random sticks from outside

hand written letters/prayers

plushies of the animals they're connected to

raw/cooked meats as "sacrifices"

drawn symbols

Art/Creative Deities:

symbol painted bottle caps

pens/pencils/markers

old sketchbooks

stickers/prints

origami

comic books

figurines

Death Deities:

bones or meat from your meals

dirt from a dead plant

dying flowers

skull imagery

coins or other gifts for those passing

photo/belongings of your late loved ones

Familial/Household/Protector of Children Deities:

photobooth photos

jewelry gifted from family

baby teeth from your children

breast milk

old baby shoes

framed photo of family

cookies/bread

homecooked meals

Fire Deities:

birthday candles

charcoal discs

burnt herbs

alcohol

incense

tobacco

matchbox/lighter

Healing Deities:

your current medications

bandaids

water

skincare

vitamin gummies

spell jar in an empty pill bottle

Knowledge/Wisdom Deities:

old books & textbooks

pens/pencils

mini chess pieces

written down philosophical quotes

good test scores/report cards/degrees

Love/Lust Deities:

origami 3D hearts

chapsticks

unused makeup

love letters to deities

love letters about S/O or crush

current perfume/cologne

current lotions

apples

Nature Deities:

plants dedicated to them

herbal tea packets

feathers

milk

fruits/vegetables

spells using recycled materials (toilet paper rolls, etc.)

bread

acorns

Sea Deities:

beach sand

shells

sea water

tiny sea animal figurines

shared fish dinners

makeshift spell jar using a shell

Trickster Deities:

laffy taffy joke wrappers

cards against humanity packs

other comedy card games

#deity work #paganism #deity worship #hellenic pagan #norse paganism #hellenic polytheism #pagan #helpol #pagan witch #heathenry #kemetic polytheism #kemetism #polytheism #celtic polytheism #norse polytheism #polytheist #altar offerings #deity offerings

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sytoran · 8 months

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𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟎𝟎𝟓 — 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀

kinktober day 005 | mermaid!wanda x pirate!reader

as captain of a notorious gang of pirates, you've got a reputation of steel, but when there's a pretty little mermaid presenting herself for you, there's no chance in hell you're not saying yes.

cont. sweet talk, begging, humiliation, overstimulation word count. 2178

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

“Righto, fellas, so we got sixty ducats – twenty doubloons, is it?” Bucky asks lackadaisically, tossing gold coins up and down with his good hand.

A loud guffaw surrounds the group of you huddled around the campfire. You shake your head with a toothy grin at your right-hand man’s idiocy. Even the least educated pirates in your gang knew what sixty divided by two was.

You reach over and knock the side of Bucky’s head with your bloodied knuckles. “That brain cavity wouldn’t make a drinkin’ cup for a canary, buddy.”

“Aw, kiss my boot, ya fuckin’ cunt-licker,” the dark-haired man grumbles in response, still playing with his shiny gold coins. He playfully punches your arm his prosthetic one.

In record timing, you whip out your dagger from your cow-skin belt and pierce the hole in Bucky’s coin midair, pinning the coin to the nearest tree with a deadly aim.

“Cunt-licker is right,” you say smugly, going to ruffle Bucky’s already shaggy hair. The impressed hoots and jeering taunts at your dagger-throwing skills are all good-hearted, as is the general atmosphere within your gang.

The lot of you were specialists in your craft, the most formidable and deadly in the piracy industry. Five years ago, you had claimed the largest plot of land that was the very island you lived on with your mates. Tu’Au was surrounded by the freshest of ocean water and the most gorgeous of views.

There was also a legend of the mystical mermaids that lived beneath Tu’Au, but you didn’t believe any of that bosh and bullshit about supernatural creatures. You’d believe it when you saw one with your very own eyes.

“Yall’ finish up counting our loot for the day, I’m gonna take a walk by the shore,” you say, adjusting the piece of tobacco between your lips and then dusting off your pants. “Don’t let Buck do the counting.”

“Got it, boss,” Steve answers promptly, ever the loyal one. Bucky rolls his eyes.

Loveable idiots, you think, tossing your hat to the side. Strolling away from the main camp, you finally take a deep inhale of that tobacco, smoke trailing off into the orange sunset.

As you walk along the shore, bare feet on the wet sand, you look up and close your eyes. It was times like these that were simple, times like these that you never wanted to end—

“I said, get away from me! Please, just leave me alone!”

A feminine, desperate cry from the distant ocean has you blinking open your eyes in sudden alertness, darting to the source of the sound.

From a short distance to shore, there is chaos occurring within the waters. What seems to be a muscular, bare-chested man is swimming inhumanly fast towards a significantly smaller-sized woman with long, cascading hair.

Though both of them certainly spoke like regular humans, there was a certain way about their moving in the waters and tremendous presence that had you second-guessing yourself.

“Get back here, you good for nothin’! You’ll make up your mind when I fuckin’ want you to!”

He’s yelling foul words at her, catching up to her already, clearly incredibly unpleased. Suddenly, the man dives down, and you catch sight of a shimmering blue tail above the waters before it disappears.

Hang on a damn moment. Merfolk are real?

But before your brain can process what you truly just saw, the merman reemerges much closer to the mermaid, massive gold spear in a vice grip.

As if a gear was kicked into motion, you sprint towards the water. Kicking up water as you run through the shallow part of the ocean, you stumble but never slow down, eyes set on the target. It’s prey-or-predator right now, either conquer the enemy or die trying.

The said target has got the mermaid in his massive arms, wrapping around her torso and forcefully dragging her back into the deep waters. Her strangled cries get muffled by the water, cries and pleas ringing in your ears.

Just before you dive into the water, your hand flies to that trusty weapon holster, and a sharp dagger flies at the merman with an air-cutting, brutal force. “Y/N bullseye L/N,” you remember Bucky saying with a stupid grin on his face. “Never misses a shot.”

A millisecond before your plunge into the ocean, the stunning blue eyes of the mermaid meet yours, and you lose all the air in your lungs.

You’ve never seen anything like it, never laid your eyes upon such a breathtaking beauty before. Blue eyes deeper than the depths of the ocean, sparkling more than the brightest of glimmering stars,

An agonized cry from the merman hauls you out of your trance. The dagger struck him directly in the right eye, just as expected, just as you had calculated. Opaque red blood comes out in spurts, and his hands release the mermaid and go to clutch at his eye.

Your arms glide in the water, smooth and cutting, bringing you closer to the struggling pair.

Seizing the moment of the merman’s distractedness, you wrap your arms around the mermaid. You immediately notice the way she sinks into your embrace, head drooping to lean against your chest as you struggle to move through the water.

You really try to not think too hard about the lithe body in your arms. It was proving to be an incredibly difficult task.

After your hell of an escapade, you have the mermaid girl propped up against the wet rocks. It takes a while for you to notice that you’re on all fours above her, panting heavily with wide eyes and a drenched white shirt.

When you do realise it, though, you get off her immediately, clearing your throat awkwardly. So much for being a scary pirate.

“You alright?” you ask instead, fiddling with the collar of your white shirt. It had gotten drenched while you were in the water, along with all your clothes and your hair.

You were having a hard time trying to avoid looking at her chest since it was literally in front of you.

“You saved me,” the mermaid finally speaks, eyelashes wet with drops of water, her voice softer and sweeter than you could ever have imagined. You get a bit lost in the delicacy of her red lips as she stares back at you.

“Right,” you answer, your throat suddenly dry.

“What is your name, human?” the mermaid asks, hand going to stroke at the curvature of your jawline that was dotted with droplets of water. The touch was honey-like.

“Y/N. How ‘bout you?”

“Wanda.”

“That’s a pretty name.”

“Prettier than me?”

“No,” you answer a little too quickly, voice a little hoarser than before. Your eyes dart around to focus on anything but the ethereal mermaid before you, but soon they land on a wound at her tail.

“Oh, shucks, you’re bleeding. I’ll go get bandages an’ stuff from base,” you say, looking at the nasty wound on the tip of Wanda’s tail, incarnadine blood leaking out of it.

“Don’t go,” the mermaid suddenly says, and there’s this little begging lilt to her voice that messes up your brain chemistry. “I mean, mermaids have healing properties, so you don’t have to go,” she mumbles, looking away with her cheeks flushed. Cute.

“That’s cool,” you answer, leaning back to let your hands run over the tip of her tail. Just like she said, the wound heals itself, slowly stitching back that scaly-smooth skin with a magical touch.

You give her tail a long stroke, running your fingers through the little scales that decorate this new thing you’d like to explore.

“Hng,” a little whimper suddenly escapes from the mermaid, and the both of you freeze. It’s a fine line between comedy and erotica.

You rub at her tail again, harder this time, and Wanda lets out a louder moan.

You start massaging her tail, hands spreading out over the sensitive area, kneading gently. Wanda’s face is absolutely flushed, eyes screwed shut in pleasure, the prettiest thing you’d ever seen.

“Kiss me?” she asks, breathlessly, and you don’t have to be told twice.

Warm mouths meet in an inferno of lust, Wanda’s head tilting up to meet yours, your head tilting down to chase hers. The moment you taste the sweetness of her lips, a trigger is flicked inside of your brain, and your body kicks it into overdrive.

Your hands tug off the seashell bra with unbridled haste, flinging it behind you without a care in the world. Wanda squeaks against your lips at your sudden boldness, hands going to encircle the back of your neck.

But that’s before you’re grabbing both her wrists with one hand and pinning it above her head against the wet rock. She moans as your lips make their way down the column of her porcelain, leaving red hickeys into the pale canvas like it was a work of art.

It was true, to a certain extent, because this mermaid before you was a work of art: brown hair splayed onto the wet rock like something out of a Renaissance painting, water droplets across her eyelids, breathing and panting your name, hips moving helplessly under your stronger body, trying to chase a fraction of the pleasure that you’re dangling out of reach.

Your mouth latches on to her supple breasts with eagerness, lips wrapping around her hardened bud. Wanda lets out a shriek when you suck on it, hard. As a mermaid, the sensations and emotions that they felt were many times that of a human, and you were making it no easier for her.

“N-Need you,” Wanda pleads, when you flick at her other pretty pink nipple, admiring how her body arches along with the sensation.

“Need me where?” you ask, a lust-coated rasp in your voice, edged with a tone of teasing that has Wanda’s head spinning.

You finally release her hands, and Wanda grabs your right hand with certainty, sliding it down her shuddering body and scaled tail to where a pussy would be.

Instead, your fingertips find a hot, wet, slit.

“Fuck,” you growl into Wanda’s skin, lost in the sheer thoughts of how much you could ruin her.

“Please?” Wanda begs again, giving you the biggest doe eyes she could. You didn’t need any convincing, anyway.

“All this for me?” You ask, ruthlessly plunging two fingers into her dripping slit. It’s warm and wet, and so tight. Your fingers explore, straightening out then curling in, going in big circles then in smaller ones.

All through your unabashed exploration of Wanda’s cunt, the pretty little mermaid is left completely at your mercy. She’s writhing, never been touched like this before.

“S’ too, too much,” she babbles incoherently when you slide a third finger in, thrusting in and out of her gorgeous little cunt like it’d be the last time you’d get to do this. Because in all honesty, it might be.

That thought alone spurs you on to go even faster, playing with Wanda’s body like a fiddle, making all the right noises with the right fingerings.

“Y/N,” she cries, long fingernails ripping the back of your vest to shreds. You don’t give a damn about it.

Turns out, mermaids have several sweet spots, because you’re finding all of them and breaking her with it.

“Gonna cum already?” you ask, “Needy little thing, hm? Couldn’t even wait five minutes?” Wanda tries to shake her head, but your other hand is stroking the length of her tail.

“Come f’me, sweet thing.”

Those words send her over the edge, snapping the knot that had been building in her belly.

“Y/N!” Wanda screams, a melodious tune, hands clawing at the edges of the rocks, then the back of your neck, all while her head is thrown back. Her tail is flapping in a state of no control, lost in the pleasure you’re feeding her.

Acknowledging the delicious tightening of Wanda’s mermaid slit around your three fingers, you opt to instead go at an even faster pace, fingers thrusting deeper into her body, because you wanted every inch of it.

“Y/N,” Wanda sobs, because she sees stars. Those brilliant blue eyes getting teary with your relentless pace. The tears escape the corners of her eyes and cascade down her cheeks like a waterfall.

It’s a sight you’d imprint into your memory forever, when Wanda’s ocean blue eyes roll into the back of her head and her little mermaid body goes limp in your arms.

You admire her for many moments, at how she had made you fuck her silly, at how she was yours now.

—

“Why’re you smilin’ like a baked possum?” Bucky asks you once you head back to camp. It’s early the next day, still dark out in the wide seas. He’s sprawled out on a wide hammock, sharpening a knife. Steve is cuddled into his chest.

Your lips curve into a stupidly smug smirk. “Not that you would know a dime about pussy, but remember what you said about cunt-lickers?”

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

#sytoran's kinktober 2023 #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader smut #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda x reader #gxg smut #wlw smut #sub wanda maximoff #bottom wanda maximoff #top reader #dom reader

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sttoru · 10 months

Text

⟣ note. based on this panel of the veil manga :3 loved it sm i had to make a small fic out w/ toji && yes this is also ur sign to go read veil :>

⟣ tags. toji fushiguro + female reader. fluff. implied age gap (reader 20-ish, toji 30) ig..?, size difference. toji’s smoking. toji calls reader ‘little girl, kid, brat’ and is a big meanie. i’ve personally written it to be platonic but can also be read as romantic = completely up to you.

the night was a cold one; most citizens had escaped inside, searching for shelter in their houses due to the freezing temperatures and windy weather. therefore, the normally bustling streets had now transformed completely empty and quiet.

“fuckin’ hell.”

well—‘almost’ completely empty and quiet.

“what’s wrong?” you ask toji, who was standing beside you near a fence, looking down at the beautiful scenery the city lights created. you had begged him to meet up in this cold weather solely because you couldn’t sleep.

toji (reluctantly) agreed even though he was warm and cozy underneath his blankets the moment you called. he put on a random coat and went out to accompany you on your little stroll. you knew he wouldn’t do that for anyone else, though you don’t tease him about that fact; he’d probably turn around and go right back to his apartment out of spite.

“can’t light my cig up because of the damn wind.” the older man clicks his tongue, creating a small ‘tsk’ sound. he used his hand to try and block the cold breeze from blowing out the small fire from his lighter, but to no avail.

“poor you, having to deal with an anti-smoking wind.” your witty comment gains a huff and a gentle kick to the butt from toji.

“ha-ha. real funny, kid.”

you lean against the railing, hands cupping your own cheeks as you prop your elbows against the surface. the wind was strong and made you shiver just a tad bit, but the moment was still enjoyable. the distant sounds of the cars speeding across the roads, your coats rustling, the heels of your feet tapping against concrete and… the sounds of a man struggling and cursing next to you.

“still no luck?” you tease with a shit-eating grin whilst turning your face to the side, gazing at toji whose cigarette was still defeatedly dangling from between his lips.

“nah, none.” he scoffs and seemed on the verge of giving up when you clear your throat in an overly confident manner. you stepped closer to him—the faint smell of both alcohol and tobacco instantly filling your nostrils—and undid the two upper buttons of your coat.

toji’s eyes flicker from his lighter to you and he raises an eyebrow at your sudden interference. the look in your eyes seemed to hint at mischief, yet they also glimmered with pride at what you were about to do.

“c’mere.” you gesture for the older man to lower his head, hands parting your coat to both sides of your body, forming a protective shield from any winds. you stood on your tiptoes so toji could light his cigarette in the self-made cover.

toji chuckles at this; “pretty smart, ain’t ya?” he bends his head down, his hands carefully holding onto both your elbows, lifting you a bit higher up on your tiptoes so that he could reach you. toji then lowers his head a bit more until it was fully engulfed by your coat. the warmth radiating from your body almost makes him forget what he was supposed to do.

his thumb rolls against the sparkwheel, the little flame now being more stable as you try your best to keep steady on the tips of your shoes—eyes looking down at the top of toji’s head. his black hair was tickling your chin and you held yourself back from giggling, since it’d probably mess up the cover if you do.

after a second or two, toji finally gets his cigarette to burn up. he lingers there between the warmth of your coat for more than needed, but eventually pulls away and straightens his back—once again towering over your short figure.

toji stays silent as another strong gust of wind almost makes you fall back. your hair gets in your eyes and blocks most of your vision, making it unable to see if your trick helped him like intended.

“did it work?” you ask, voice slightly raised in case toji couldn’t hear you over the loud wind. there was no answer, but you could spot him holding the cigarette up to his lips, the small stick of nicotine resting between his index and middle finger.

seeing you helplessly try to wipe the locks of hair from your face was quite amusing to the man. he didn’t bother helping you like you did to him a moment ago.

besides, you’d survive without his aid—he’s just going to enjoy the view of your adorable self struggling against the wind.

toji moves closer to you after a couple seconds of just grinning at your useless fight against the weather. his free hand pushes your hair to the side, rough fingers gliding across the skin above your eyebrow and eventually coming to rest behind your ears—having tucked the loose strands away.

your obstructed view dissolves and is replaced by a sight you’ve seen many times before: toji, giving you that devilish smirk of his, the one he shows you before he does something to either tease or piss you off.

“guess it did work.” you hum as your eyes focus on the lit up cigarette. you felt proud of yourself for helping toji with that simple task and that lightly cocky expression somehow made you look even cuter to the assassin.

he really just wanted to squeeze and pinch your cheeks as hard as he could. was that called cuteness aggression?

toji takes a long drag of his cigarette before unexpectedly blowing the smoke out in your face, causing you to cough and pinch your nose, “hey! is that how you thank your saviour?”

your answer was a small snicker. toji averted his gaze from you to the city beneath your feet as you stood on a hill. he was having fun accompanying you on your late night stroll. it wasn’t every day that he got to relax like this—plus, you were the only one in his social circle who’d voluntarily hang out with him. others would solely meet up for business matters.

once you calmed down a bit, coughed the smoke out of your throat and fanned any remaining particles away from your face, you mumbled something among the lines of ‘never helping him out again’. the assassin shakes his head at your light-hearted complaints, your pouty expression only fuelling him to tease you some more.

“whadd’ya say there, little girl?” toji raises an eyebrow, one hand coming up to lightly grab your ear and tug at it, your body stumbling back towards his. you yelp and wrap your fingers around toji’s wrist—trying to release yourself from his grasp.

“ouch! let go!” a swat to his forearm did nothing; his bulky physique was easily overpowering you. your tugging and pulling was nothing but child’s play to him.

your lips formed an ever bigger pout, eyes narrowing at him as you tried to give him your meanest death glare. toji was satisfied once he got the reaction he wanted and let go of your ear, but not before rubbing the tingling area gently with his thumb and index finger—soothing the faint pain in his own way.

“seriously, toji?” you roll your eyes and give him one last smack against his bicep. you lean back against the fence and glance down at the streets, feigning your anger at him for teasing you twice in a row.

“you mad?” toji takes another long pull from his cigarette before blowing the smoke out the other way. he turns around and leans his back against the railing, granting himself the perfect opportunity to look down at your face which you tried to hide away;

“am not.”

“yeah you are.”

“am not!”

“…whatever you say, brat.”

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #toji x you #jjk fanfic #jjk fic #toji fluff

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blueparadis · 10 months

Text

LEMONADE + SHIU KONG // f!reader ( she's a sniper), smoking, mention of murder and violence, implicit smut, semi-public ( happens in a car ), little tension between them, rivals to fvck buddies dynamics, he is such a tease here. 1.3 (w.c)

special thanks to @poohbea for beta-reading. without her, i really wouldn't have posted this. i had something in mind and this is entirely different. so i said better luck next time to myself and found the courage to post this. | back to nav. | also tagging @yuujispinkhair

“You’re not nearly as inconspicuous as you believe yourself to be.” Kong mutters off-handedly under his breath, reaching for the latch of your belt. His minty tobacco-laced breath paired with that familiar musky cologne threatens to send your nerves into a frenzy. He’s too close for someone who claims to ‘just wanted to undo your seatbelt’. He had no reason to but he did it anyway, probably because you were asking too many questions. He could have easily pressed one of those buttons on the driver’s side door, the one that unlocks all seat belts at once. The car is fancy enough to have those kinds of luxury features anyway, but you can’t help the racing of your heart when his fingers brush your skin. It’s only when he sits back in his own seat do you register his remark. Did he just scold you? The possibility alone has you licking your bottom lip nervously.

It’s not as though he never has, but given your history with him, he rarely comments on your professionalism. He has been your handler for almost a year now and has yet to actually correct or complain about the way you do your job. He’s proud of your skills, he has to be, otherwise, he wouldn’t be hiring you for every sniper-kill case he gets.

“I heard you were back in town,” he starts, tapping on his cigarette packet before taking one between his lips. “But I couldn't contact you until I got the green light. That, and I’ve been too damn busy with the bounty offers that keep coming up.” He digs into his breast pocket to fish out a lighter, the flame flicking to life as his thumb rolls over the spark wheel. You look at him visibly confused, something he acknowledges with an amused huff. “Were you really so busy that you couldn't read the briefing I sent you?” He is definitely scolding you, but for what exactly? Trying to stay neutral in the face of his crude teasing, you let out a small breath, choosing to keep his gaze despite the nagging need to look away. He’s changed a bit. There’s worry in his eyes, more than usual, eyebrows creased as he continues. “Ah! I can't let you slip up now — ”

“Why am I here?” You interject with a frown.

“What?” He has the audacity to look at you surprised, as if he wasn’t the one to call you here again.

“This is the third time this month you’ve had me meet you… and in case you haven’t noticed, I have a bit of a busy schedule.” Kong lets you speak for longer than ten seconds for the first time in a very long time, his bad habit of interrupting taking the backseat for once. When he doesn’t answer you, you click your tongue, irritation evident in the furrow of your brow. “Why am I here, Kong-san—?”

“Shiu.” He corrects. Guess you spoke too soon. “And you still didn't answer my question. Did you or did you not—”

“I did.” You respond sourly. “And it told me a whole lot of nothing. Which is why I'll ask you again. Why am I here, Shiu?” Despite your irritation, the glaring fact of his contributions to your career as a sniper sits heavy on your shoulders as you sit in weighted silence. He knows it too, and never fails to bring it up every time you try to walk away, try to tell him you don’t need his help. He’s pushed you farther than anyone else ever has. Certainly, you owe it to him, but his ego is already big enough without the offer of such a confession, and you would rather put a bullet in your skull than admit that.

The air inside the car grows thick with smoke as he takes drag after drag of his cigarette, not that you minded, you’re a smoker yourself, but just to spite him you opened the window by your side. “Isn’t it obvious?” Kong soon discards the butt out of his own window, studying you all the while, observing the mix of question and frustration that creases your forehead as your frown deepens. His lips tug up in one corner ever so slightly, too slight for anyone else to spot, but being around him as often as you have, you knew it was coming. “I’ve missed you.”

You blink. Once. Twice. Thrice. What a horrible man… he’s toying with you.

“Hilarious,” you mutter, offering him a sarcastic chuckle. He doesn’t waver, doesn’t look away, that small smile growing at your skepticism. The realization has your heart beating in your ears, and suddenly finding it difficult to keep his gaze.

“Want me to prove it to you?” He dips his head slightly, the leather of his seat squeaking in protest as he leans closer.

“No.” Your reply was instantaneous but you do not move, his hand reaching to play with the necklace resting against your collarbone, the very someone he gifted you after your first successful case. “Aren't we supposed to be doing a job here?”

“You tell me. Haven't you read the briefing?” Again with the same question. He is far too calm in this situation, fingers caressing the hammering pulse that lies just below the surface of your skin. “You weren’t lying to me were you—?”

“This is going nowhere.” You huff, finally breaking the intense staring contest he had trapped you in, finding the courage to withdraw from his touch momentarily.

“It could if…” he guides you back to him, grasping your chin between his thumb and forefinger, gaze dipping to your lips. “If you wanted.”

You bite your lip lowering your head to hide your merriment. “Like the last time?” You ask with a knowing smile. If you wanted. Yeah. Sure. As if he didn’t. Because during the ‘last time’ in question, things were entirely different. You two weren’t out for a job. In fact, you were in a situation similar to this one, in his car, engaging in your usual back and forth. It’s unclear exactly what came over you that day, but those sly eyes and that cocky smile had you seeing your handler as less of a mentor and more of the man he was. The conversation devolved into his lips against yours, his hands against your hips as he encouraged you from your seat onto his lap. Thunder rumbled the heavens and rain battered against the windshield, the perfect mask for inevitable heavy breaths and throaty moans. Your skin tingled beneath his touch, his lips, his teeth, the press of his thigh between your legs that had electricity crackling up the base of your spine. His name fogged the windows, each syllable working its way through the tresses of your mind till that was all you could utter, all that truly mattered. He reveled in that, in the way you gave yourself to him almost entirely. How your body grew hot with every caress, every thrust, every kiss. What did you even call this feeling? Neither of you knew, but it was clear that either didn’t want it to stop. By the end of it, his presence spanned your body, inside and out.

Shiu laughs at your subtle accusation. It has the kind of warmth that reminds you of cozy mornings during winter. There is a pregnant pause after he says. “Yeah.” Bobbing his head in a ‘yes’. You shake your head slowly, an amused breath leaving your nose as your nerves buzz with memories past.

You sigh, assessing him with narrowed eyes, trying to figure out what exactly he’s hiding beneath that elaborately organized talk of his. But the man is a vault, hiding behind dark eyes that threaten to reel you in again. It has you playing with your tongue, curling it against the insides of your mouth before smacking your lips. “Was there really any job for me to begin with?” You retort.

Shiu Kong smiles, his carefully crafted demeanor crumbling in the face of the woman he’s slowly beginning to fall for. “There wasn’t.” He says bashfully.

—

@angelshub @public-safety-network @underratedcharactercorner

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