#/MY/ FAVORITE FIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[tonycries]

To Tame A Monster - G.S.

Synopsis. Gojo Satoru, the most dangerous underground fighter in all of Japan - and the…hottest, too. You, the cute nurse that takes care of him, and totally not his favorite prize, right? Right?

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! nurse! reader, underground fighter! Gojo, scarred Gojo, he wears a muzzIe, slight vioIence, he’s a little (very) ínsane, muscular Gojo, manhandIing, full neIsons, semi-public, thigh grínding, edging, Gojo goes FÉRAL, tummy buIges, creampíes, face-sítting (fem rec.), cúmplay, BIIIG stretches, running from it, making it fit, HEADLOCKS, chokíng, fighting talk, squírting, dúmbifícation, víbrators, marks (on him), L bómbs, Sukuna cameos, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 8.0k

A/N. Happy 100 chapters on AO3!! Here’s a lil’ something for my hubby <3

They say that Gojo Satoru could take down the strongest of fighters with only six moves.

Audiences adored him, opponents insisted that the man wasn’t even human. And it was well known around these parts that one had to be brave enough that it inched into stupidity to ever even think about challenging him. 

Hell, they’ve had to muzzle him in thick leather just to give his opponents even the briefest advantage. 

Some trembled in fear at the very mention of his name - peering ‘round, making sure they wouldn’t catch a glimpse of those haunting sapphire eyes, or those scarred fists that left no evidence. No witnesses. Others scoffed at the exaggerations of what were obviously little more than sketchy underground scraps. A publicity stunt, surely.

That is, until they saw him.

And you have, too.

With the nature of your job, you had to constantly be present after rounds to tend to bruises, scratches and - if Gojo was involved -  broken bones, after all. 

Only…you were here for him.

“OH! King of Curses down- Six Eyes knees him in the ribs so hard that I’m sure you could hear it, ladies and gentleman! Is he the one who’ll take the Shinjuku Showdown grand prize tonight?!” 

You’re grimacing at both the booming volume of the eager commentator, and the cracking slam of flesh-on-flesh. Having your special nurse’s position smack-dab on the first row meant that you could see n’ hear everything. 

Everything. 

From the roaring cheers of the bustling crowd on their feet, to the way that Gojo was gritting through his dark Stygian muzzle and grinning. Wild. Gorgeous.

Your thighs squeeze together involuntarily - despite the way the entire underworld had his name in their mouths, the one thing nobody ever disagreed on was how…hot Gojo Satoru was. 

A devil masquerading like an angel. All curtains of silky, sweat-slicked white hair, and muscles for daaaays. His skin-tight t-shirt was hanging off of him in nothing but rings of tatters, showing off a snowy happy trail that makes you gulp. Milky skin glistening in the beating stadium lighting, all decorated in as much battle-won scars as sultry, sultry veins. 

Gojo’s towering shadow falls right in front of where you were gawking up at him, and fuck- he makes a big show of letting the rest of his shirt riiiip—! with only a mere tug. 

Well, there was a reason he was your favorite patient.

And you swear he was so close that you could practically taste the scorching iron dripping between his lips, lacquering his pearly whites with a thin film. All red and raw when he turns to you and winks–

“HOLY SHIT! The King makes a comeback- he’s still on his feet! And he’s swinging wide at our monster Six Eyes.”

The thundering, thick stadium air simmers a few degrees tenser as Ryomen Sukuna crashes his meaty, closed fist right into the other’s right cheekbone. Shocked inhales ring out all around you - because if Gojo was the monster of underground fighting, then Sukuna was the curse.

The only fighter in history to ever get a solid few knocks on the other. Both massive.

And if this was anyone else, the sheer force would have made them pass out right then and there. If this was anyone else, then they wouldn’t be snickering-

“Cute.” Gojo’s deep sing-song voice is cold. Seething. Just barely audible enough that your buzzing eardrums can make out. He throws one arm over the stretchy fighting ring ropes, “But I gotta lady ta impress.”

Crimson eyes flicker to you for nothing but a split-second, but it was long enough for the other man to grow rigid. On edge for the first time.

Smugly, Sukuna spits right into Gojo’s face. “Heh- Hell yeah, that chick’ll be impressed in the locker rooms by a real winner later. Me.”

Just a word about you is all it takes.

A breathless gasp departs from your lips as something in Gojo grows…different.

Without another word, he’s drifting over a hand to one of the bulky bands wrapped firmly around his wrists. Unlatching them. So often mistaken for somewhat of a fashion statement, but after so long spent in fighting company, you knew what they really were.

They were weights. Yet another disadvantage. 

And they crack the ground as they fall.

“Weights? Weights?! OH- Gojo headbutts! The King of Curse’s is down-” He’s bleeding and accomplished, every trace of humor wiped. Every degree of a smirk clenched into a steely scowl, and suddenly you’re feeling that perhaps those rumors about him being superhuman are true. Perhaps. “SHIT! He snaps back with an elbow strike-”

Gojo’s big, beefy biceps tense and flex as he curls it menacingly around Sukuna’s throat into a fucking headlock - and your thighs clench.

“You- fucking-” He chokes out past the sculptured harness, cushioned palms coming to slam down on Gojo’s forearm. “For- for some girl-”

Tightening, “What was that~?”

“The King misses- oh, he’s in some real trouble now! Place your bets, you greedy watchers, there’s a reason they call Six Eyes ‘The Strongest’.”

And you knew that underground fights had no rules other than attempt not to die - or, at the very least, try not to make a mess when you do. It’s hard to get stains out of the felt. But Sukuna’s vein-popped face was going purple now, and Gojo was blank-featured through it all. 

Barely even flinching as his opponent grapples a hand into his ridged obliques, lunging and lunging. And yet, the strongest doesn’t even flinch. 

Doesn’t even notice, it seems.

His ghostly cerulean eyes drift to you, seated on the edge of your chair, and he slams a knee into Sukuna’s rugged face. Letting the man drop onto the frictional ground with a resounding thud! - before his fists continue. 

Once. Twice. Clawing at his throat-

“FUCK- CALL THE MEDICS. SIX EYES IS MAKING A SLAUGHTER-SCENE–!”

And no one needed to draw the count, for fear of getting near. Why would they risk death incarnate?

Continuing and continuing until Yaga barks at four- five other referees to even get Gojo to budge. They only just manage to throw a few arms ‘round his powerful ones, and pull him far back enough to giggle down at the carnage he’s created.

Voice octaves higher. Crazed. “Don’t you talk about my lady, ya hear?”

Yaga, as Gojo’s burly coach and former champion, is the one that dares break his harrowing eye-contact to shake him into a stand. Ordering the organizers to get the awards ceremony done as swiftly as possible lest they wanted one of their top-earning fighters down for the count permanently. 

“S-Six Eyes is the champion of Shinjuku Showdown! And in LESS than his signature six moves- oh what a fight it was! One for the books, folks!”

Of course, Six Eyes is declared the winner.

And as Gojo is handed a glinting winner’s banner - dominant arm being thrust in the air - you watch as Sukuna’s barely half-conscious firm slurs out a ferocious, “Rematch. T-tomorrow.”

Cash. A shoddy belt. Champagne.

Tens upon hundreds of reporters and photographers scramble and keen to get the most-selling shots of him. The glare of the flashing lights illuminating him into some sort of other-worldly figure. 

A fighter so dangerous that they claim he hides six eyes. And yet, they only remain on you.

Though, it’s not as if you’re any better - you can’t look away. 

He stands tall, proud. Button nose overspilling with a wisp of cherry-red, perspiration-dampened shorts clinging onto thick thighs and showing you a pretty tuft of white in a way that was unintentionally sexy. Gojo’s leathery mask now dangles haphazardly to show off such a wicked grin.

And Gojo points. Right at you. In front of everyone. 

“Later,” he’s mouthing, whilst interviewers scream for a quote. 

Oh…

.

.

.

“Fuh-fuuuck, Toru–!” Your mouth floods with sheer bucketloads of drool through each wailing whine n’ whimper, back arched like such a slut into Gojo’s bumpy, Herculean front- though, what else could you have expected when the great Gojo Satoru himself accompanied you to your dingy clinic above the fighting ring?

Ready for his real prize of the night.

And lo and behold, bandages and rubbing alcohol forgotten, you’re finding yourself draped right over his lap so prettily; struggling to close your jittery legs ‘round his huge, meaty thighs. 

The fringes of your teeth nip right along Gojo’s plush, scarred deltoids once he tugs on your nurse’s outfit and clings onto a good handful of your ass, draaaagging you to grind all over his quadriceps. Dribbling out a fresh line of candied slick that smears on top of every dip and curve of his bulging muscles.

Your drenched panties catch onto his velvety boxing shorts and you have to hold back a tiny sob. With a deep inhale of his musky cologne, you murmur, “T-Toru, I wan’ you ngh- so bad, y’know?”

“Awww, how cute~” He’s crooning from above,muzzle still on. The pointed curve of his nose tickling your throbbing pulse. Dangerous. Gojo breathes in your sweet scent until it’s all he can smell, “But yer gonna get us caught, mama.”

And he’s so mean.

He fought mean, and he teases you even meaner.

You’re frowning, kiss-swollen lips down-turning into a pout once the sensory pads of his stern digits rover up to your cheeks and smush them together. Crashing your jutted mouth into his frosty mask–

“C’mon now, gotta- gotta be quiet.” Gojo groans at the way you’re getting ever-more soaked when he’s toying with you like this. Lazily, he drops his muzzle to let his plump, bubblegum-pink lips tickle down your own, “Suck on my tongue, there- you can do better.”

So filthy.

Huffing out, your further unfastened jaw basically floods with the damp rivulets of saliva that just kept on watering out of you. When it rained, it poured - and Gojo finds himself smirking at the slop. “Yeah- yeahyeah, you got it. Theeere’s a good girl.”

Weepy pussy positively throbbing at the scratchy texture of his tongue like candy, you couldn’t help but let your fuzzy mind wonder how it would feel inside-

“Oi, nasty girl.” Your pitchy yelp fills the paper-thin walls as Gojo gifts the right of your ass with a rude spank, and then one more just to hear you make that cute noise again. Gruffing out, “Can feel ya getting wetter on top of me. S’like a damn waterpark.”

Before you have the time to even catch your breath, he slouches back sensually to watch you - letting your thin patient bed ring out with an ancient creak! 

And Gojo stares at you lecherously- oh, he was devouring you with his heavily half-lidded gaze. 

The way you’re pouring out syrupy sap with every urgent back n’ forth of your hips, the way all he has to do is hook a thumb past your gluey stuck panties to watch you pulse and quiver. 

Hazy, summer blue peripherals roaming all over your needy expression for a split-second before he’s tap-tap-tapping the doughy mound of his heel on the tile floor. Bouncing you with every motioned lurch, your puffed-up clit catches on one of his zig-zagging veins and you squeal.

Oh? Speeding up, you’re struggling desperately at his whims. One hand grappling onto Gojo’s dimpled back, and the other clawing at the starchy bedspread, no matter how much you were trying to regulate the tempo - he would just speed up more. 

And more. And more. 

Over and over he’s lurching just a few carnal inches off of your bedsprings to chase your sensitive nub. Reeling you down - hard - with a hand stuck to you like adhesive, to pap! against his thigh, letting white-hot bliss spark all that way from your pressurized clit and up your clammy spine.

“F-fuck!” You’re babbling away, fingers interlocking with the soft creamy curls at his nape. Clawing. “Toru– k-keep that up and I won’t…”

Gojo perks his calloused thumb to swivel over your sloshing mess and promptly plugs up your unfastened lips, muffling you. “Shhh shh sh- Wouldn’t wan’ any of those fucks to hear those pretty noises, my girl.”

He was brutal.

Your lower tummy was tumbling and spinning and doing gymnastics you didn’t even think existed. And it was times like this that the strongest from all those headlines peaked his head through. 

Swirling your tongue around his plummy fingerpad, he tasted so much like caramel salt that made your legs grow weaker. Cadence springing to jerky. To oversensitive. “P-please- ngh!”

“Now, what was that pretty lil- hey now, c’mere.” Your lungs cave with a soft ‘please’ as soon as an engulfing, bruised hand crowns your sweat-oiled scalp and holds you still. Gojo doesn’t even have to try, and yet he’s showing off a few sexy flexes of his biceps just for you to ogle at. 

Rutting his jerky leg up into you until your head throws back, he can’t help but leave a sweet, innocent peck right there on the tender spot of your throat. “Don’t run. Don’t run from me.”

Another wet kiss near your slobbery maw, and yet another swat of his thickly tipped fingers right over the slivery slope of your pussy. The sharp sting was just enough to get your glassy eyes to focus on him, “Yeah? Look at me- gimme a lil’ kiss, mama.”

Oh, he always was such a ruthless opponent. 

Because as soon as your spit-glossed lips are crawling towards his, Gojo’s prying them open and spitting inside with a soft coo. Watching as the treacly wad of splashing syrup slides allll the way to puddle the back of your throat. 

“T-tease.”

“I think you mean…champion.” He hunches you over until you’re slipping n’ sliding all down the ridged rollercoaster of his abs. The fragile points of your hardened nipples massaging into his sensual scars and driving you mad. Sweaty and needy. Boring dead-on into your half-shuttered heart eyes, “Now, tell me what you want.” He hums, still tugging on your bloated outer cunt, watching you gasp. “Tell me what’s got this lady here so fuckin’ wet.”

Your words choke with every viscid tear - tears of bliss. Close. “Want t-to-”

“Mhmm–?”

“To-” You’re just so far gone, your gushing orifice only getting soppier and soppier by the second. And before Gojo’s fourth and final spank comes slamming down on your clit- you’re crying. “Cum- fuck fuck fuck- m’so close. So- m’gonna cum–”

And as soon as it was about to happen - it’s gone.

Immediately, your lungs depart with a disappointed whine. “Nooo–!” Scratching at the pronounced back of his throat, you’re struggling to maneuver your body within his merciless hold. And the entire time Gojo only watches in amusement at his sheer display of strength, “I was so close- fuck! Was about to cum, Toru…”

“Nuh uh.” Gojo’s grinning - grinning. And oh, despite the way that makes his cheek indent with a cute, cratering dimple you already know this won’t bode well for you. “M’starvin’ after that match.”

Before you can dredge up enough brainpower to ask what that meant - he’s already showing you. 

Falling back onto the stark white bed until his head hit the pillows with a dull whoosh! and for the moment you’re simply admiring just how pretty he is. 

This wasn’t the Six Eyes that everyone knew and feared. 

With his ethereal locks splaying out on the cushion like a halo, looking oh-so-pale in comparison to the pretty pink that he was flushing all the way from forehead to neck. Irises half-lidded, crazed. Gojo’s broad, scarred chest heaves with every murked out pant he was whistling out. 

Twiddling over the shoulder strap of that tight lil’ number you called your nurse’s outfit. “Take this off f’me- show me my hah- show me my lady.” 

Oh, it would never get old when you do that.

The way that Gojo’s toes curl, the apples of his cheeks staining with a scorching whirlwind of blushing red. Fuck- his heavy tongue droops even heavier with a slick covering of watery spittle, just watching you in your matching set of bra n’ panties. 

All in light blue.

“Knew I’d win, huh?” He’s quirking a snowy brow smugly as he does away with your bra, too. “C’mere.” Gojo’s long lashes flutter up at you delicately, his crowning smirk plastered permanently across his handsome features. And as you’re tentatively making your way on top of him, he cups a roaming grope of your left ass-cheek. 

Squeezing for a second - two - before the strongest simply lifts you up to straddle his face. He doesn’t even waste a second. Doesn’t even hesitate. 

Setting you down gently - you think he of all people would even need to try to manhandle your pretty self this way?

No introductions, no welcome mats necessary - your throbbing pussy was already pouring out in torrentials of translucent sap right through your underwear. Copious, dolloping droplets that hit his readily awaiting pinkish tastebuds in claggy splats!

“Mmm—” He’s swirling his soaked muscle all ‘round the insides of his mouth to just savor your sugary taste. Through a sharp, three-second spank to your ass once more, Gojo grunts, “No need to be shy. Sit on my face, mama.”

And Gojo was always such a messy eater - not even the slightest bit afraid to get his hands dirty. 

No wonder all his opponents complained that he had the filthiest mouth. His tongue was lengthy, dexterous enough to slither past your panties with a sapping squelch! the very nanosecond your drooling core hits the tip of his tongue.

Oh- Gojo’s eyes agonize shut simply to memorize the pattern in which your strands of dangling slick slipped into his mouth. Lathering his chin all glossy, “Yeah like that-” His rugged palms stick to that perfect curvature of your spine. “-sit properly. Sit.”

You’re mumbling out something barely audible, cut off when he curls a firm hand around your throat and pulls you down onto his ravenous face. “Said- fucking sit-”

Sweltering hot breath strikes your geysering hole and makes you keen, your cracked eyelids open just barely enough to spot the way Gojo lands a shimmering glob of saliva right inside. And more when it only adds to the steadily-growing pool you were formulating on his pointed chin, his neck. 

Whimpering when your weight settles on a purple-ish spot on his cheek where Sukuna had caught him off-guard. 

“Watch this.” He’s moaning throatily, making such a show of letting your slippery slit streak out utter cascades all down his tongue. “Told ya- s’a fuckin’ heh- waterpark. Come ride my mouth, my girl- come- come.”

Your head tumbles back with a loud ‘fuck’ when his parched muscle bullies right past the rubbery ring of your entrance. And he takes the time curling his mazing tip into your slicked hole and streeeetching out a cute lil’ heart that makes you whine your poor heart out. 

With a scoff at the way whoever walked by your clinic definitely knew what was happening, Gojo’s slapping the tender skin of your ass raw. “Yeah yeah, louder n’ maybe that ngh- bastard Sukuna will hear.”

Slowly yet sensually probing his tastebuds into every mushy ridge and corner embedded inside of you, he was roaming so deep. Raking a thorough grip on your right ass cheek to gyrate your sodden cunt rougher.

Fucking you wiiildly with his tongue - so wide. Fast. 

He was impatient. 

“Y’know with you sittin’ and- nghh-” You’re mewling once he tapes off that sentence with a pinch of your perked clit between his plush lips. Hollowing out those attractive cheeks to tug n’ tug until you’re sobbing. “-and- and squirming in the seats tonight- this was alllll I could think about?”

He spits back a loaded wad of drool that slides away back down to your flooded hole, pushing the webbed mess right back with the fat crown of his thumb. “Couldn’t wait-”

“Ngh- Toru—” You’re recanting like your own personal mantra, the crackles in your voice following every flop of his textured tongue in and out in and out in and out. “Keep going- hah! Feels so gooood–”

“Mhm, I know.” Gojo bites back cockily, chewing on the squishy inside of his cheek to stop himself from fucking moaning outloud at how your pussylips were just throbbing. The very same pulse you felt in your tight throat. “Had to stop myself from- ngh- making out with this lady right ‘ere all in front- in front of those cameras.”

“Y-you would-”

THWACK!

Oh, he’s snapping at the stretchy elastic of your panties to let the slimy fabric spank your precise pussymound.

Taking the filthy, filthy opportunity while you’re thrown into a dumbstruck daze to skim a few strong fingers underneath your stringy panties, Gojo pulls-pulls-pulls until it’s torn cleanly off of your hips. Freeing you completely bare, and gifting him with the perfect scented fabric for him to draw up to his nose and sniff–

Your jaw dangles widely agape, the same greedy oh! that your dewy hole makes when setting it aside to dip a finger sloppily inside your cunt.

Stocky and long. And yet you take Gojo’s length middle finger with great gulping clamps of your dripping pussy, so much so that you’re hearing a growling “Fuuuck, mama- m-made for me.” from underneath you.

You just made the strongest…stutter?

And you’re just pouring wet from the idea, but before you can stupidly open your mouth to taunt the big, bad fighter below you - Gojo squeezes his hold on your neck and draaaags you further down. Until you’re so pushed against his hot maw that you don’t know where you end and he begins.

He’s spitting, there’s another pop! as he adds another girthy finger to scissor apart your treacly slit. Rovering and rovering. Your voice shatters into numerous pieces so cutely, and he can feel the way your core pulsates frantically once he’s smudging the doughy tops of his digits nearer to your g-spot. 

Hmmm, he’s snickering internally. Gojo’s swirlin’ his manicured fingernail right over your bulging magical spots with such ease. It was so cute how obvious you were. 

“Got such a pretty cunt.” You’re arching desperately on and off his vibrato of words, the very same vibrations curdling that tightness in your stomach. “Such a pretty- pretty…”

“Sh-shiiit, Toru–” You hiccup, warbling shrills filling up Gojo’s ears like his favorite song. And it was. Almost as much as the plap! of a fresh wave of sap spraying a sheen across his face as he slithers in a third finger.

Sliding his pearly whites over your neglected clit, “Tha’s my name.” Gojo’s mouth hangs open with every slop, slapping alllll over the hood of your nub before trying to squish the very mound of his tongue in past your overstuffed entrance. Stimulating you. Driving you insane.

He’s swatting your ass a few more times until the mere touch of skin-on-skin sends your eyes sliiiding all the way to the back of your head. Gurgling – wet. “Say it a lil’ louder f’me now.”

“Toru–” you’re raking your hands down his pecs, nudging your plump clit right into the very tip of his button nose. And oh, you’re feeling the frigid whoosh! of air once Gojo leans his head in and takes a deeeep breath. Tugging gingerly on his unruly hair and he groans-

“Louder.”

“T-To-”

“No stutterin’.”

And you don’t know if you could comply with all his mean rules even if you could, the locked vice of his warm palm jostling your watery eyes until they were dead staring at him. 

He was peering up at you through angelic, white lashes with such loving. Cerise lips swirling all over your beating clit, he could practically taste the rapid ba-dump–! of it coating his heated mouth. 

Starting to crawl straightly up but you don’t even mean to. All he has to do is grasp your throat until all the air drains from your lungs and you’re held there. Solely by his monstrous strength. 

Swallowing back the leaden lump that’s permanently branded on your throat, with a flex of broad arms you’re being lazily shoved sloppier and sloppier by each passing second. And as you’re resting your dribbling slit back on his sensual chin, a steamy cloud of Gojo’s giggles hit where you’re stretched the most tautly tight. 

Blinking eyes flickering with primal need, your bleary vision is just filled with the heavenly sight of him him him. Urging your rickety knees to knobble faster, he murmurs into your folds. “Say it.”

“P-please.” The outdated bed sings as you’re shivering. Shaking. And no amount of cute gasps that you intake is enough to stop your heart from racing. “Toru. Please l-let me ngh- cum.”

“Hmmmm. Good enough.” He’s leering mean-spiritedly up at you, that very same wicked curve of his lips glued to your pretty clit. Gojo lets off a strained growl that almost makes you shy – desperate. “Now…you’re gonna squirt f’me, mama.” 

Another hit thud! of hits at your g-spot, and another few steps closer to your inevitable high. So close, in fact, that you’re not even realizing what Gojo’d uttered until he lolls out his fat tongue like he was drunken, silvery slabs of spit hitting your inner thighs. “Spit.”

Fuck- the very same moment your glittery cobweb of saliva is hitting his sizzling tastebuds, you’re hitting your high. Well, more like crashing headfirst into it. 

And Gojo was right, the way you squirted your brain-shattered release was in the most vapid spurts of juices. Spraying out of you like a fountain, sploshing all over the top of his face n’ gravitating down to his chin. “Squirt on my face- yeahyeah fuck, squirt on my face.”

One that he loooooves. Oh, how he loves it. Loves you. 

“So sweet- fuck…fuck, always the fuckin’ sweetest, my girl.” His guttural syllables ring out and make your eyes immediately flap helplessly shut. Toes curling, “Thank you- was so fuckin’ thirsty after that fight. Thank you.”

Lets his swollen lips slip open to drink up the honeyed squirts in big, deep sluuuuurps–! Scraping near your g-spot to draw out more and more of those pooling splotches all over his face. Gojo knots his fingers ‘round your throat and shoves your pussy to cling to his mouth ruthlessly. You’re watching through the white-hot stars behind your lids at how obviously his prominent Adam’s apple bumps and propels. 

Fuck. 

Glossy layers of slick stick to your folds like a candied apple, and every lil’ suck Gojo leaves drives you craaazy. Soon enough, your thighs are twitching right on top of him, “Please, Toru–”

“Mmmm–?” He’s panting, positively blistered in sweat at this point. And even when he’s catching his eyes with yours, his own look…cloudy. Feral. Murmuring something like ‘round one’ into your outer pussy.

“Want you in me–” You’re babbling out the only few sets of words you know will work to draw him away from the sweet, sweet dessert he’s found between your legs. And you’re watching with bated breath as Gojo takes a sloppy second to consider, still nibbling his canines on your sensitive clit. 

Huffing n’ puffing cutely, you’re reeling your sweet cunt back– only for Gojo to squeeze his hold around your neck and pull-

“Just one more-” He’s contaminating the heady clinic air with repeated saccharine, saturated squelches after every peck upon peck. Like it hurt to part with your pussy - it always did, n’ Gojo made sure to leave her more than enough goodbye kisses.

“One more-” Stringy oodles of slick washing over his face, “One- one more.” Again. Just another French kiss. “One…” And again.

And again and again until you’re dipping your hands through his mussed-up bangs of cloudy white and tugging, all that it takes for Gojo’s achingly hard cock to twitch.

“O-oh.” His voice breaks so many multiple octaves higher as he pulls away with a final - final - slimy graze of his stinging lips. Head lazing in an angle downwards, as if he’d just noticed the painful, rock-hard bulge tenting his too-tight boxing shorts. 

And Gojo’s cerulean eyes widen, flitting from the slushy wet spot soaked through his dark pants, to the way your glistening hole was winking down at him. Needily - as if to beg.

The middle of your bowed spine tingles with the remnants of your orgasm as soon as Gojo opens his mouth to growl. Low. Rasping. 

Depraved. 

“On- on my cock now, mama.” He’s tracing his hands admiringly over your tummy, the edge of his thick thumb drawing a long line right across the middle and your teary slit - measuring you. Where he’d already memorized the sweet lil’ targets he’d be fucking deeeep inside. Could never forget. Gojo nudges his straight nosebridge between your dewy folds once more, “Gotta really celebrate w’my heh- lady here tonight.”

And as you’re scrambling on your still-tottering knees to slide yourself down his Adonis-like body, he scoffs. 

With a blunt roll of his eyes, Gojo’s cupping the curve of your slam-driven ass and manhandling you easily. Trawling your weepy pussy down, down, down over every one of the calloused scars on his front, every one of his bumpy abs - you counted eight - to sit all prettily beneath the snug waistline of his shorts. 

Gojo spies up at you through his chalky bangs, plastered to his forehead with perspiration until you’re barely making his greedy stare out. Eyes half-hooded, pupils darkly dilated until you couldn’t even see those irises. 

It’s then - only then - that you realize just how ruined he looked. 

With that blossoming injury from tonight’s match across his cheek, burnished and purple - though, not even half as bright as the flush that coated his pretty features. 

All red and raw. You were practically basking in the scalding heat that radiated off of him, melting the glassy sheen of slick that dripped off of him in globules, so fucking wet. 

And yet, Gojo only ever wanted more. Kissing you with his cutely pink lips, he heaves in great panting gusts. “Take- heh-” Massive, twitchy hands fall on your own and guide them to his thick hem, a viscous gumdrop of your sap trickles from the point of his nose. “Take ‘em off f’me, mama. Take a goood long look f’me~”

“So bossy.”

“Mmm— I’ll be fuckin’ that rude mouth shut soon.”

Gojo sits obediently manspread as you fumble your eager fingertips underneath his shorts and pull–

The first thing you see is a curly tuft of his white happy trail, glimmering and drenched through with his own buttery precum. 

And the second thing you see…fuck. He’s never been harder.

Swollen n’ aching. Gojo’s furiously reddened mushroom tip dribbles out a constant stream of syrupy pre, hitting your hands with a loud splash! And not just that– he was spilling out a murked milky few dewdrops as if eating you out had him on the very verge of cumming. 

He’s sprawling his swole, veined arms behind his head, letting you gawk and ogle as you please.

And how could you not?

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to just how pretty Gojo and his erect cock was. Damn past ten inches, it’s as if he grows every time you see him for a post-match ritual. 

And so does his rosy cockhead, the exact same shade of pink as his burning cheeks. So wide that your slippery hole clenches ‘round nothing at the sight. All bloated and over-decorated with so many lightning bolted veins, you’re feeling your mouth water at the mere notion of tasting him–

“Ah ah-” He tuts, pulling you away as he once more cradles your throat softly in one hand. 

You pout, “B-but…”

Nodding sloooowly so you understand, “Wanna fuck this pretty pussy. Ride me like a hah- good girl now, m’kay?”

Oh, he was so evil. He knew exactly how that lil’ nickname would have your mind pitching into a state of carnal frenzy.

The desire purely evident on your gorgeous face as you’re toppling your capped knees on either side of his firm, toned waist. 

One masculine hand wrapping around his bulky hilt - aligning it all ready to smooch your pretty pussy - he sliiiides his heavy head to sandwich between your bloated folds. Rocking upwards into a teasing little back n’ forth that leaves his rigid head swatting on your clit. Pap! Pap! Pap! 

“Ready–?” Gojo drawls out in husked syllables, licking his lips to lap up any remnant of you. Wordless, the only thing you can manage out right now is a shaken nod.

Before it feels like you’re being split apart.

You’re whining when your hole stretches out with a rowdy sluuuurp–! just the thickened tip of his length popping in past your entrance. And he’s so fat, you could feel every solid ba-dump–! of his prominent veins tugging your cunt apart. 

“Oh, f-fuck, jus’ look at you.” He’s spitting through gleaming clenched teeth, words hitting you straight into your saccharine sweet pussy. Biting down on his pouty bottom lip, “Just ngh- look at you takin’ me- taking that biiig stretch, fuck.”

Your glassy eyes roll all the way back at the way he wasn’t even halfway inside yet already made you feel so dizzy. Stumbling flailingly into his arms, “Wanna kiss, Toru–”

“S’so cute when you’re all cockdrunk” Gojo whispers as he leaves a stinging spank on your ass, the shock of the force makin’ you swerve your hips deeper down his thick shaft. 

But he doesn’t kiss you - not yet. Instead, he’s chuckling deeply at your adorable irritation, sharp hips bucking off the mattress just so that he could fit himself inside. Up. Up. Up. Probing and probing his pulsing crowned tip over and over to ease inside a few more solid inches. 

“T-Tooooruuuu–”

“Mhm–” He places a warm palm faced open on your tummy, searching for that familiar bump where he’d be ruining you all inside. Where his rounded head would be prying apart your gum-like walls in urgent impales. “I’ll kiss you if ya say ‘biiig stretch’ f’me, my girl.”

You’re squirming your hips impatiently, only to be locked down with only one of Gojo’s hands. Honestly, what did you think going against a fighting champion? “B-big-”

“Nuh uh.” Bearing you with a wild, animalistic smile that makes you shudder. All wide and toothy. He’s rudely slapping you once more - this time on your dripping cunt. Quivering. “Say it. Biiig stretch, mama.”

“B-big-” You wail out whimpers just as soon as your little mistake leaves Gojo’s swollen shaft inching out of your hole, a warning. Already making you feel so empty inside- “Fuck! Big- biiig- stretch mmpf-”

Before you can register it, a hand clawed into your throat pulls you to crash your lips onto Gojo’s soft ones - muffling the absolute trill you’re letting off when he finally bottoms out with one big push. Finally. 

“Now m’kissing you here, too–” he has the audacity to flush. 

His sensual mushroom tip scrapes a swiveling line allll down your gooey walls, swirling ‘round and ‘round until he’s following the map directly to your g-spot. Giving her a good long snog, you’re curling your toes at the swashing waves of pre that dribble out of him and straight onto that tender orifice. 

You’re so full that your mouth overspills with generous helpings of drool, slobbering right onto the valley between his pecs where you found yourself laid. 

The slick velvety walls of your cunt scoop him up gladly, and Gojo finds himself wearing such a dopey smile at the instinctual way your gummy walls clench. “Hmm– have I ever told ya how much I ngh- love you?”

And maybe it was the way his thick cock was reaching you everywhere, maybe it was the way Gojo stared at you with heart eyes. It could’ve been anything and everything - you simply found yourself cumming. 

Right then and there, with only a few vulgar bludgeons of his merciless cock. 

And Gojo?

Gojo looks like he’s in heaven. 

Startling out a slight puff of laughter while he careens his hips back to fuck you through your sudden high, and you can feel the way he pinpricks your insides with every thrust. Feel the way he strikes right at your most favorite spots - precisely. 

“Already? I really am winnin’ tonight- heh. Already won Round 2, too.” 

Round 2? What is he…oh. 

Oh, shit.

He’s talking about how many times he’s made you cum.

The sounds of his raspy praises make your ears buzz, head throwing backwards when you start to arch your back and rut yourself, attempting to meet his vicious pace. To run.

“Fuh-fuuuuck” You’re biting your tongue to try and fight back those pathetic pitches and mewls seeping from your lips. And all it takes is a slamming whack into your cervix to render that useless. “Fuck me- fuckmefuckme, Toooru–!”

“Now now,” he’s tutting, and oh you can feel your tummy lurch with anticipation at that dark tonality of his. Or maybe that was just the feral twitch of his battering tip. 

Through eyes saturated with a film of fat droplets of tears, you’re glancing down at the way your hips are suddenly pinned to his toned pelvis. Unmoving. With just his steady grip of your throat. “Runnin’s against the rules, mama.”

And suddenly, you’re moved so fast your cottony brain begins to wonder if maybe you’ve teleported. 

You’re whimpering as your fatigued back ends up laid over the crescent curves of his pectorals, his front digging into your mounds of flesh as Gojo pulls your clammy knees back back back back. Into a full nelson so mean that you don’t even realize he’s positioned his cock until he sinks allll the way back in–

“Atttta girl. Look at youuu–” His hoarse pants sizzle the tender lobes of your ear after every unapologetic pound you’re being graced with. You gawp at the full-length mirror that was right adjacent to the patient bed, shit- you forgot that was even there.  

And now that you’d taken a glimpse at the lecherous scene, you couldn’t look away.

Gojo was so staggering. Swole muscles bending you pliably, the only thing holding you upright enough so that your cross-eyed stare could lock with your fucked-out reflection in the mirror. 

Your dizzy pupils circling all over comically the more n’ more he jackhammered away. Vehemently. 

The girth of his shaft was so big that your head lolls stupidly back into the planes of his collarbones, “Takin’ care of ya favorite fighter.”

Five exact circumferences of his fingertips sway over to that large, cylindrical outline being oh-so-thoroughly fucked into you. A tummy bulge that he thumbs over, that mushroomy globular end.

“Takin’ c-care of me alllll ngh-” He massages down on that cute lil’ bump going back and forth back and forth back and forth. Driving himself just as crazy as he was with you. Groaning, “-here.”

And Gojo’s body was still aching from the aftereffects of his fight, he was still sore in places with soon-to-be bruises. Yet, he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t even slow down.

Hard and fast.

His crownhead an angry red that prodded your deepest, most tender insides. Pushing and pushing and pushing. So wide that both you and the rickety bed were singing with whimpers after every delving drag of his vein-covered length.

Strokes vulgar. Alllll the way from the very strawberry divot in the middle of his globular tip, to the massive circumference of his hefty base. And even though every pricking whack into your cervix was hard, Gojo took his lazy time pulling back out to make sure you felt every bump and bolt of his swollen veins scraping down your insides. 

“Watch this.”

“Wh-what- oh.”

You’re peering through the smoggy mirror at the way the strongest himself rovers up his big, beefy right arm to wrap neatly ‘round your neck. His hard-earned biceps bulging against your throat and blocking off your airway sexily.

Watching yourself, you swear you could count every vein thumping down his forearm, every flex of his rippling muscles caging against your neck. Oh…you only got wetter. 

“Saw you lookin’ at me. Could tell how much ya- haaah- liked this, mama.” Gojo titters, words sloppy and his strokes even sloppier. “Almost drenched the heh- seat didn’tya? Watching me? Ohhh you like this don’tcha? W’my big arms puttin’ you in a ngh- big headlock?”

Babbling. Gojo himself was drooling, a thin trickle of spittle that befell with every passing second he watched your sloppy slit swallow his inches. 

Yearning for more.

Begging for more.

You half-couldn’t believe that was you with your face tear-streaked and oh-so-ruined in the reflection. And once you feel that familiar fluttering from your pussy, you’re slithering down a hand between your legs–

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare.” He was breathless. 

It was so easy for Gojo to trap both your unsteady wrists within only one of his, gruffly bringing you back into your cute headlock whilst pinning them so you could struggle allll you want. But he wasn’t letting up.

Clinging onto your swiveling with one hand, and keeping you manhandled with the other. He bucks his hips so your curved spine is rubbed all down with his sweat-glossed abs, he knew how weak you were for it. 

Smearing the stocky end of his thumb over your needy clit, “Not when ya have me, mama.” He breathes next to your ear, so close. Drawing circles. Hearts. His name. Mindlessly lapping away the pearls of tears running down your face, “Not when your d-dear ngh- ‘Toru’s’ here.”

And when you’re cumming, it’s with those exact words scratching a carnal desire set inside of you. 

“Fuck- m’cumming m’cumming- ngh!” Your previous orgasms had already taken so much out of you that it was all you could to will yourself not to pass out right now and here. 

“Yeah? Yeah? Go on- I- ngh- win- round three- heh.”

Sharp stings of pleasure buzzing all the way from your throbbing pussy to your empty head, you draaag your nails all over his sturdy forearms. Your body slicks over with sweltering perspiration, glissading you smoothly up n’ down Gojo’s sculptured body. 

Gojo jostles you in his headlock to stare deeply into your eyes while he drags out your high, counting every filthy spank he was honing out. It’s not too far into your overstimulated high before his creamy tip showers your drenched insides with sprays of buttery cum.

You could hear yourself mumbling out faint nonsense with every ropey smack you felt pumped inside you, and it was as if Gojo was orgasming harder than he had his entire life. 

Cumming and cumming so hard it was like he couldn’t stop - didn’t even know if he could.

And it was so weighty, too.

You could feel the soppy splosh of his sap being bubbled all up inside you, every swab of Gojo’s leaking cockhead frothing it even deeper inside. You’re swearing the bumpy outline of your tummy bulge was only being cumflated, feeling like he was glueing your very walls together.

Naturally, a few slicked gumdrops of cum ooze their way out between your teary slit. His hips jolt at the primal sight, thick seed dribbling out of you like frosting, formulating so many rings upon rings that Gojo just can’t help but admire and muse as his most favorite ones. 

Shit, with a humid pop! he’s inching out just to watch the butter-covered sheen that stuck to his red shaft. 

Hooded, his sapphire gaze rips away from your reflection to narrow down at you. At the way your ancient patient bed was now completely destroyed; headboard split, standing on only three feeble legs. 

“Broke the bed, heh- tha’s a KO, my girl.” Gojo lets go of his headlock on you, nuzzling your cheek with his sweat-lacquered forehead whilst you still attempt to catch your breath. “Mmmm– really do love you, y’know- the fuckin’ b-best prize I could ever have.”

“I love you too–” You find your cartoonishly dazed smile directed up at him. “-Six Eyes.”

With a soft groan, he twiddles his thumb over to toy with the sticky seconds of his seed pouring out of you. Lazily.

Letting it scoop onto his fingerpads, shoving it back between your slippy lips. Repeatedly even painting a languid heart with it over your tummy bulge- before skidding the salted cream between your lips. 

With a fat few fingers stuffed into your dampening maw, overflowing with glutinous saliva, you’re letting your eyes stray back to the reflection in the mirror. Blinking back your vision-

“Holy shit.” You’re gaping - at everything from the way that Gojo Satoru had seemed to gain more red, red scratches and bruises all over his arms, back, and pecs from you than in an actual fight, to the way he seemed utterly content about it. “T-Toru, I gave you more marks than Sukuna did during the Shinjuku Showdown…”

“I know.”

.

.

.

“Aaaand welcome back, folks! To the Shinjuku Showdown 2.0!” 

You wince, Haibara’s commentating voice would never grow any less booming no matter how many times you sat here. Front row for yet another one of Gojo’s famed fights. 

Though, you squirm in your seat, you wished he could get here sooner. 

“Requested by our very own King of Curses- he’s quite a sore loser you see- oh, my mistake, Mr. Sukuna, sir. You are the underground’s most honorable fighter, of course of course.”

Ryomen Sukuna scowls even as the crows roar and yell rambunctiously around him, eyes falling on you - for the briefest, tensest second - before he tears away. Pacing around the barren ring like a tiger prowling for his prey.

Only, said prey wasn’t going down without making sure that Sukuna knew the true hierarchy here. 

“FINALLY! Hereee we have our monster of Japan, Six Eyes, making his long-awaited entrance tonight! Ohhh place your bets, ladies and gentlemen, tonight is going to be goooood!”

When Gojo Satoru entered the ring, everyone knew. Everyone held their breath.

It never got old seeing his generously over six-foot figure loom menacingly towards the ring, draped in a dark blue robe of crushed velvet. Which just-so-happened to be the exact color of your matching lingerie tonight…

Usual gloves on hand, a tiny, plastic remote in hand.

You’re shivering as he twiddles it over deftly, pulling down the hiked-up hem of your nurse’s outfit. Just praying that nobody could hear the bzzz–! of that hot-pink bullet vibrator lodged inside your sloppy pussy.

Meant to be there for the entire fight. 

The cutting stadium air was so tautly-pulled that you could hear every resounding thud! of his powerful footsteps as Haibara rattles off Sukuna’s introduction. Jumping swiftly and athletically over the ropes of the ring. 

“And in THIS corner, we have Six Eyes, The Strongest. Some fear to speak his name. Some think he isn’t human. With a winning streak ever since he arrived here, with so many knockouts that it’s said they created a new medical term for it. Challenge him and you challenge death. The man. The myth. The nightmare-” 

Then Gojo straightens- 

“-a monster that can never be tamed!”

-and he lets his robe fall.

All red, angry patterns of scratches on full display for the countless rabid photographers and watchers to gawk at. Down his back, down his arms, down his pecs.

Everywhere and anywhere for the eye to see, and to see Gojo- Six Eyes of all people to be so thoroughly claimed. As if he was thrown to the wolves - someone put a hand on him?

Oh, you could hear the reporters stumbling over their questions as they screamed for answers and relationship reveals. 

Though, all of them were answered once he turns straight to you. Miniscule remote calibrated to the very maximum before Gojo fucking throws it somewhere into the ringside. Even through his muzzle, you could tell he was grinning as you gasped at the lecherous vibrations pulsating to your g-spot. 

Over and over whilst media personnel - realizing your connection to the most dangerous underground fighter in all of Japan - jostled you for more juicy details. Fuck- everyone was going to know about this. Everyone. 

Gojo turns back to a fuming Sukuna with a quirk of his ivory brow. 

“The monster has- has been tamed! Let the fight begin!”

A/N. FAWK I NEED HIM. Was this slightly inspired by all the boxing talk going on in my blog? Mayhaps. 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[specialgradefckr]

Satoru Gojo who thinks you're only with him for the money.

He's pretty insufferable, after all. And a shitty boyfriend to boot - always bailing on dates, showing up at weird times, telling you vague stories about his work that don't make sense.

Honestly he's surprised you've stuck around this long.

That you still read every message he spams you when he's bored and lonely fighting special grade curses.

(after all, he always has to go on those missions alone. there's no one who can go with him.)

You still text him back. Open the door to let him in. Smile when you see him, like it's the very first time and he can tell you're just so star-struck by his eyes as he tugs down his blindfold with a grin, "Do I look blind to you?" "Blindingly handsome!"

He'd laughed at that. You're shocked by his appearance, but you're earnest, and so obviously smitten, and he loves a woman with a little humor.

Satoru Gojo who didn't expect you to text him back after the first night, but you did.

cutie pie: omg, those look so good! what flavor? satoru: my favorite, the edamame and cream~ cutie pie: bring some for me next time you visit <3 i'll feed them to you ;)

On a lesser man, that might have sounded presumptuous. To Satoru, it's the perfect come-on. Casual, flirty, and easy to do - all the makings of a great hookup.

He hadn't expected to spend half the night on his knees like a dog, licking at your fingers. Watering over a thumb pressed down against his tongue while you drooled your mochi-sweet saliva straight into his open mouth.

Unexpected, but amazing! Satoru knew then that you were going to be a treat worth savoring.

It was just a shame that he could only enjoy you for one night.

Not even that much, really. He'd been called away in bed; one arm wrapped around your darling naked form, holding you pressed against him.

Left while you were asleep without a word. He'd texted you on the way, a blase little "sowwyyyyy smth came up! u were gr8 last night." and no real expectations of a return.

If you were (reasonably) upset with him, he'd block you - his one act of kindness to a woman he couldn't treat right.

Instead he gets "thanks! you weren't so bad yourself haha" and your enthusiasm is obviously a bit defused, but he can work with this.

He lays it out to you, next chance he gets. Tries to text you often enough to make sure you don't think he's ghosted you.

"I know this might sound like the kind of thing married men say," He says with a big, sardonic smile, "But I have a very demanding job. I don't have time for a relationship. And for personal reasons, I can't agree to be exclusive, either."

There's a look you give him that makes him wonder what exactly you think of his job. Satoru vaguely wonders if you think he's a sex worker.

He hopes you try to find him on porn websites later. Maybe he should film himself jerking off real quick sometime so you can watch it.

"That makes sense," Is what you say, instead of any of the ridiculous thinks he'd imagined.

You don't seem thrilled about it, but you don't look immeasurably disappointed, either. You're a smart girl. You'd probably already figured he couldn't commit.

"But!" He chirps, "I am very very interested in seeing you again. Multiple agains. And I'd like to come to an arrangement that makes that easier for you, since my schedule is so tight..."

For a moment, you stay quiet, and Satoru wonders if he should just offer you cash upfront. But you're receptive, and things go well.

Worryingly well, to be honest. What type of girl are you, exactly? Naughty thing. Get money from a lot of men, do you?

You laugh when he tries to bring it up in bed, "You're one to talk, Mr. can't-promise-exclusivity," you tease, running a hand through his hair while you smile at him.

He likes it when you do that. He likes a lot of things you do.

The real wonder is - although he is absolutely spectacular in bed of course - how much do you like it?

The whole relationship has to happen on his shitty, inconsistent schedule. He can't commit to a relationship or tell you about his job - you're better off that way. Even if you don't know.

Satoru Gojo who pretends to go on dates with other girls sometimes just so that no one watching him thinks he's serious about you. He can't have the Higher Ups thinking of you as a tool to use against him.

He can't even offer you exclusivity. Even if he wants to. Even if he struggles to get it up with those girls - his heart just isn't it in - when he's making sure everyone who's watching him knows you're just one of several people he's having sex with.

After all, the only thing that could be worse than people thinking you were the strongest sorcerer's weakness, was if they thought you might be pregnant with the strongest sorcerer's child.

But if he's fucking around, if he's the whore his so-called superiors make him out to be - then you're safe. Just another girl.

And god, does he take advantage of it.

Texting you late at night. Early in the morning. Times don't mean a lot to him these days.

The most sleep he ever gets is the rare night he spends with you, maybe once or twice a month, five hours in your arms before he pulls himself away and slinks out of bed while you're still asleep like a guilty dog.

He doesn't deserve your warmth or your bed. But he'll take it while you're offering. Eat it all up and beg shamelessly for seconds.

He makes up for it with money, or tries to. Leaves you treats and sweets and other gifts. Spam texts you and facetimes you constantly - when he can.

To be perfectly honest, he's kind of expecting to be dumped any day. He'll take whatever he can get.

If paying your rent or buying you a house makes you feel guilty enough to stay a few days longer with him, that's a good use of his money.

He arranges for you to receive an offer for a remote job, something flexible that will let you meet him whenever he comes calling.

His gifts get more lavish. He's always generous in bed, makes sure you have a good time.

He has a reputation to uphold, after all.

Sometimes he just stares at you when you're asleep. It feels like a waste to spend his precious few hours with you sleeping.

Look at you. All peaceful in his arms. Cuddling up to him.

He can admit, in the dead of night, with no witnesses but himself; the sight makes his heart tug.

If he could, he'd stay. Wake up next to you in the morning. Make breakfast, flirt, joke, maybe even take a little ~morning shower~ and have some fun in there.

It's so clear in his head. How you'd joke back. Smile and giggle and playfully bump against him. Give him a little kiss, a little hug before he leaves for work.

You would kiss his forehead when he got migraines. Hug him when he talks about his difficulties at work.

Your soft smile, your warm lips, your tight hug. It's all so vivid in his head. How you'd look in the morning light, staring at him while you think he's asleep.

Would you stare? What would show on your face, then?

He tries, very hard, not to imagine what your face must look like when you wake up alone every time you sleep with him.

What you think about when he's not there.

Do you wonder if he's with other women? Do you see his flirty texts - "sorry kitten daddy's gotta work late" "babygirl you're not my dad, he goes to bed at 9." - and wonder if he's said that to a hundred other girls?

Because he has. And that's what hurts, really. He could message a hundred girls and get a hundred vapid responses, all those notifications could build up in his phone and he wouldn't care.

But when it's you messaging him?

When you tell him about your day, or text him a picture, or pick up on the rare phone call he gets to make - Satoru's heart skips a beat.

What about you? He thinks about you checking your phone constantly to see anything from him, and it hurts.

You don't show any unhappiness about the arrangement. Every gift, every little arrangement or donation he makes, you accept it all with grace. Everything money can buy is yours, he makes that clear.

As long as you're with him, he'll spoil you rotten. And you were starstruck in the beginning, he could tell.

Expensive hotels, exclusive restaurants. First class flights everywhere, even a private jet if you want it. He brings you custom made jewelry worth more than people make in a year, pulls it out of his pocket and clasps it around your wrist like a passing trinket.

You get used to the constant spa days, the shopping trips. Ordering food for every meal. Living in a city center in a beautiful penthouse with brilliant fixtures. And you're happy like that. At least you look like you are.

But every time he sees you, you're with him. He can't tell if you miss him, if you're sad when he's not there.

He... he sort of doesn't want to know.

Satoru Gojo who loves you. And he hopes to god you don't love him back.

After all, if you did, then you'd want things from him he can't give. Shouldn't give.

But if all you love is his money? He's got tons of it. You can have as much as you want. He can make you happy. He can buy the love he can't afford to earn. He'll never run out of funds.

As long as it's only his money you love, he can have you forever.

[rhapsoddity]

Cuteguy Arc Part 12-3

Character flat colours done by @galaxygermdraws

New pages every Tuesday and Friday!

[starryjake]

toxic situationship jake

he was such a sweetheart on the outside which is what initially made you fall for him. however, as you started talking, you found that he was not as sweet as you or anyone else would’ve thought.

as the two of you became closer, jake got more and more jealous. if he saw you walking with a male friend to class or grabbing a coffee together, he would absolutely lose his shit.

he’d yell and pick fights with you over it, then absolutely break down when you started to cry. by break down, i mean he would fall to his knees and practically beg for your forgiveness.

and if that doesn’t work, then he finds another way to make it up to you. this includes lapping at your pussy for hours on end until you’re pushing his face away, or fucking you dumb until you can’t feel your legs or utter out a coherent sentence.

after sex, he would assure that he’d never be so mean to you again, but the next time he saw you with another guy, the cycle repeated.

jake was obsessed, and how could he not be? how could he not want you to be his when you were absolutely fucking perfect and seemingly made just for him? you let him fuck you so good and hard and sucked him off so sweetly, sucking his cock like it was your favorite flavor lollipop.

he didn’t talk to other girls. he wished you didn’t talk to other guys, and since it didn’t seem like you were going to stop, he had to stop for you.

he’d threaten the other guys you were talking to and that included guys you were strictly just friends with. he wanted everyone who wasn’t him out of your life. he knew you would cave at some point, so why wouldn’t he help move that process along?

he’s the kind of situationship who fucks you real deep and slow, and at the end when he’s about to cum, he utters out the words “i love you.” and god, does he love you.

“say you love me,” he’d demand, his hips gliding out before snapping back inside you.

you looked up at him in awe, your eyes glistening from both pleasure and emotion.

“i-i—fuck!” you sputtered out, feeling your high approach.

“i said say it,” he instructed sternly, squeezing your cheeks slightly. “i know you love me so fucking tell me.”

“i love you!” you cried out, choking on a sob as your orgasm washed over you.

-

a/n: haven’t posted in a minute so here is my apology <3

[kitab00m101]

(within my twisted brain)

*Looks at c!Grian with a laugh* Dude, it's us fr fr

*C!grian tied up with duct-tape* Please let me leave-

Shhhh shhhh dude, it's time to watch our favorite show! *puts a piece of tape over his mouth and starts playing a loop of the cactus ring fight on the tv with no audio except for Scar's ragged breathing until he too goes silent.*

*me, maniacally cry-laughing as I take the piece of tape off his mouth because I physically can't go 2 seconds without hearing his voice* Wasn't that delightful! That was so silly, watching you beat your best friend to death-

The fucking Watchers are more sane than you-

*grips his shoulders tightly* Not even they can take you from me

I like when people like a character so way too much that it transcends even self shipping or kinning and becomes more of a patron saint that you pray to type of deal

[lalunanymph]

💭 thinking about . . . . accidental pregnancy with caleb

tw. colonel caleb x fem!reader, suggestive content, angst, accidental pregnancy, a character study on what caleb would do when we get pregnant including his choices and how he navigates the threat of ever, mentions of abortion, wife-basement(ing), possessive caleb, mentions of violence, 3.2k+ words

It shouldn’t have happened. It was a mistake.

But, Caleb can hardly fault you. 

As he stares at the tracker on his phone, seeing your missed period, he wonders what’s going on in that stubborn mind of yours. 

And, why haven't you reached out to him yet with the news. 

In times like these, he wishes he wasn’t separated from you by the sky; that he was on the ground to bring you into his arms, hold you tight and ease some of his anxiety. As he switches off the dim screen, he massages the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. 

There’s only one thing left for him to do, and it’s not a pretty decision. 

Resolutely, he books his next trip to Linkon, and this time, he’s not leaving until he makes sure you’ll be with him—forever. 

The whole apartment is quiet as you stare down at the mess of contents in the toilet bowl. 

Images, like flickering mirages, flit through your mind. 

Caleb’s body over yours, the warmth pressing you down into the mattress. The feeling of being completely and utterly possessed by him in the heat of the moment. Kind, purple eyes flashing with unending adoration for you as he held you in the afterglow. The last goodbye was over a month ago when he left you to settle some urgent Fleet business, and you’ve missed him ever since.

Sighing softly, you flush the toilet and stand, feeling the edge of nausea digging right into your consciousness as you stumble back into your bedroom. With a groan, you flop onto the bed, tucking a small pillow right to your belly, holding onto it and pretending that it’s Caleb instead. You frown and resist the urge to call him. Outside, the birds are chirping and a spring breeze blows past the wispy curtains, ruffling your hair. It’s calming, and makes you doze off, the weight of this secret holding you down in fatigue till you don’t notice the bed dipping beside you and fingers in your hair.

When your eyes flutter open, you’re met with pensive purple ones—instantly snapping you awake.

“Caleb—!”

He wraps his arms around you, and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Pipsqueak. I’m home.”

Blearily, you rub your eyes and stifle a yawn. “W-when did you get back?” 

“An hour ago.” He frowns. “You forgot to latch your door. Again. Someone might come in and it wouldn’t be pretty.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “I’m not a kid anymore, Caleb. I can handle myself,” you fake a bright smile. “Besides, if anyone dares to break into a Hunter’s home, they can catch my guns!” 

“You say that, but give it a few more months and that big ol’ belly will be in the way of you landing a good punch.”

The air leaves your lungs. 

Silence weaves in thick, cold currents, and you don’t know where to look—how to respond to his astute observation. It hits you then: of course, Caleb would know. He knows everything about you. The ins and the outs. What you love, hate, like, adore. He’s a walking encyclopedia of knowledge about you, and did you think you could hide something this momentous from him? 

His palm, large and warm, creeps towards your belly. There’s a hitch in his breath—half pain, half wonder. 

“... how long have you been keeping this under wraps, baby?” 

Hearing your favorite nickname fall from his lips in such a tender cadence springs tears into your eyes. For days you wrestled with the conundrum of reaching out to him or staying mute. The tender breasts, aching belly, sleepless nights. You would endure it all if it meant not letting Caleb worry. He already had too much on his plate—he didn’t need another battle to fight because of you.

“A…” you trail off, heaving in a deep sigh. “A few days…”

Caleb makes the same consternated sound again. “Baby, you know I would’ve immediately come to you if I knew.”

You swallow and stare down at your pink, floral sheets. “I—I didn’t know how to approach this… how you would react—”

He senses the impending sorrow lining your throat and eyes, and pulls you firmly against his chest. “Hey, hey. Don’t cry… I’m not gonna leave you like this, baby. You know me. Through thick and thin, right? I’m here for you.”

Caleb smoothes his hand down your hair, patting your head and back gently. Despite the confidence he displays, he can’t help the shard of worry piercing his chest. It elevates his heartbeat, and he has to take a few, deep steady breaths to keep his neurons stable. 

The whole ballgame has changed. This doesn’t just concern him and you anymore, but another soul—one he can’t bear to put in harm's way because of his unfortunate circumstances.

His heart is heavy, and the words feel like lead in his mouth, but he has to ask you this. Ask you for a possibility to protect yourself first.

“Do you… want it?” 

The elephant in the room lays as a speck deep in your body. You awkwardly press your hand to your belly and lower your gaze, conflict brewing like heavy tar in your chest. 

“I… I don’t know—”

He seizes on this opportunity to change your mind. “Pipsqueak… you know I love you, right?” 

You nod. He presses on. “And, you know I want the best for you, right?”

Again, you nod. 

“What do you think… about… scheduling an appointment to remove it?” 

Your heart stops beating in your chest. A breath, shaky and vulnerable, trembles from your lips and you look up at him as if he’s gone mad. 

“What? Wh-why would you say that?” 

It’s like a flip has been switched. Caleb’s no longer the loving, understanding man who swept in to save you at the last moment. 

His eyes are hard. Unyielding. 

“Pipsqueak, you don’t get it, do you?” He grabs your wrist, and you fight back to no avail. Frustration seeps into his tone, and he shakes you slightly like you’re an errant, nonsensical child. 

“This isn’t just me and you anymore. We have a baby—an innocent soul to protect. We can’t—” Swallowing hard, he shakes his head, as if to dislodge a dangerous thought. “I can’t protect the two of you at once.” 

The silence after his admission rings loudly, and he sucks in a ragged breath. 

“Please,” he tries to reason with you, those purple eyes practically dilating with fear. “Please, Pipsqueak. I’ve never asked you for something before—you know me. But, I can’t—” he falters, “—I can’t lose you if I’m not too careful. I already have an entire organization on my ass and—” 

It’s like he can’t physically force the words to come out of him. Like he can’t admit his weaknesses. 

Caleb’s lower lip trembles and he clenches his jaw, trying to control his surging emotions. He tries again, this time in a steadier voice. “I can’t lose you. I can’t. Don’t make me—don’t make me choose between you or this baby. I will always choose you.”

You have no idea whether it’s the hormones or the sheer horror of this lose-lose situation that gets to you. Tears sting your eyes, and you have to look away from him, feeling sick to your gut. 

The truth is, while weren’t exactly the most spiritual or motherly person around, something about the arrival of this baby—on the cusp of spring, no less—makes you believe this little miracle was meant to come into your life. 

How could Caleb want to take that away? 

Before you can think it through, you shake your head. No, your tears and stubborn set of your pout tells him without words. No—I want this baby. 

His eyes harden. The grip on your wrist tightens. “Love, please,” he almost hisses, brows knitted together, mouth twisting into the shadow of a snarl. “Listen to me—you’re thinking with your heart and not your head—”

“No!” You yell, yanking your hand away from his grasp. Rubbing the contused flesh, fresh tears spring down your cheeks, further exacerbating his guilt. 

He can’t take the sight of you crying and stands up from the bed, pacing the room. You’ve never seen Caleb look this stressed out in your life, not even when he almost flunk his basketball tryouts because of a food poisoning mishap. While you rub your eyes, he’s running a hand through his dark locks, pinching his temples and shooting his gaze skyward as if some higher being would help him out. 

Finally, after what feels like an eternity in this stalemate, he relents.

“Love…” He sits on the edge of the bed, and you don’t fight him when he takes your hand. His expression is weary, speaking volumes of this difficult position you’ve put him in. But, you can’t be the one to compromise this time—not on something this big. 

Irrational as it is, you want this baby. You want this proof of love that is a piece of you and Caleb. 

And, you want it with him. 

Intertwining your fingers together, he squeezes your palm and sighs heavily. “If we are to do this, I have a few rules you need to follow—ah bub bub bub. Let me finish.” Grabbing your chin and tipping your head up so you can face him, Caleb’s expression is stern, brokering no room for protests. 

“Linkon isn’t safe—whatever forces that want me in Skyhaven also have their sticky hands here,” he tightens his grip. “The safest place you have is with me, princess. Always by my side. Do you understand me? Nod if you do.”

Slowly, you bob your head once.

“Good,” the look in his purple irises is devastating—a man on the verge of risking everything he loves. 

“Do you want to hear the rules now?” 

His voice is low. Gravelly. 

Fear, pure and unadulterated, floods through you as you have no choice but to nod again. 

He takes a deep breath, and the two of you stand at a precipice of the biggest leap of faith in your lives. There’s no turning back now; not when you’ve made this choice. 

The rules are as such—

You wake up in the middle of a large, king-sized bed to the slow rise of an artificial dawn. 

The room’s modulated temperature begins to warm, and your Circadian rhythm kickstarts along with the preset smart lights and thermostat modes. Recycled air flows through the basement’s vents, and you sit up, already feeling the first stirrings of nausea encroaching your consciousness. 

You grumble and turn to the side, finding his blanket folded neatly, not a trace of Caleb to be found besides your aching body and the slight mess still staining the sheets from last night’s activities. You wrinkle your nose and lug yourself up heavily, stripping the duvet and ambling over to the washing machine, stuffing it full with the floral linen he had let you choose for this studio apartment.

If you forget about the fact that you’re currently housed in a bunker beneath his Skyhaven home that’s fortified with passcodes, equipped with CCTVs and only accessible to him, you would think the way he modeled it to look exactly like your dream apartment would be sweet. 

Sighing, your hand drifts over to your belly, feeling the smooth, slightly misshapen dome dimpling under your touch. 

Through layers of skin, sinew, muscle and fat, lies a little boy you can’t wait to meet in a few months time—Caleb’s son, snugly protected and still asleep, judging by the lack of kicks.

A sudden beep stirs you from your thoughts, and you turn to find the doors whirring open. 

Speak of the man himself, and he shall appear. Caleb shoots you a warm smile, his arms heavy with bags of groceries. A layer of drizzle clings to the ends of his hair, and he shakes his head slightly, dislodging the dew drops. Without thinking, you step forward, and smooth your thumb over the raindrop right under his eye. 

The cool water immediately evaporates at your touch, but you bring it to your cheek, as if you could mimic the droplets falling from the sky onto your skin. 

It isn’t hard for Caleb to sense the longing in your actions. He puts the groceries down and takes you into his arms, the curve of your softening belly pressed tightly against his hard planes.

“Just a few more weeks, okay?” He hums. He had promised that once you hit the second trimester, he would move you to another secluded spot, but this time, you would be afforded more freedom and movement to raise Oliver. 

Pictures of a house in the middle of an island free from Protofield fluctuations fill your mind, and you sincerely believe Caleb’s done the impossible—he’s actually found you two a safe haven away from Skyhaven. 

The hours pass and soon, night falls, and the artificial lights begin to dim. Since setting up this emergency bunker for you, Caleb has sorely neglected his own bedroom and home above ground, preferring to sleep with you in this makeshift apartment. He holds you close, breath stirring the loose ends of your hair, and gently traces a pattern on your bare back.

“Pips,” he hesitates, “Can I ask you something?”

You blink your sleepy eyes—truly, pregnancy has rendered you almost physically useless—and nod. 

Caleb takes a moment to construct the question in his mind, and when he does, he gauges your reaction carefully. The last thing he wants is to upset his pregnant lover.

“Why do… Why do you want this baby so badly?” He backtracks, humming and hawing. “What I mean is—even when we were kids, you let me assume most of the responsibilities when we adopted that stray cat, and you told me that you hated dolls because you couldn’t be bothered to brush their hair when it got tangled… so what changed?”

The soft whir from the AC fills in the silence, and you take a moment to answer him.

“It’s cause… I thought I would never get a—“ you break off and scowl. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”

“Now, hold on,” he frowns playfully. “We always agreed to never keep anything from each other no matter how silly. So, spill it. What’s brewin’ in that noggin of yours?”

You sigh, knowing he’s not going to let it go until he has an answer, and pout petulantly. “I just… wanted a family of my own, okay?” You exhale the confession like a burst of wind desperate to escape the room. “I thought that this baby would, well, be a new start.” Clutching the sheets, it slowly starts to sink in how stubborn and reckless this decision of yours was, and that Caleb is only complying to it because he doesn’t want to hurt you.

Even if he shares the same thoughts, Caleb doesn’t voice them out.

“You want a home,” he gulps. “With me?”

Is it that hard to believe? Caleb looks like you’ve just told him unicorns exist. The doubt lingering in his expression nearly makes you grin, but you prefer to roll your eyes, instead.

“Yeah… is that so wrong?”

His answer is immediate. “No—uhh,” he tightens his grip around your waist and you can tell he’s itching to crack a big ol’ grin. “I’d like that. Love that, in fact. Yeah—family. You and me. Family.”

But, this happiness is not made to last and a house built on cards will eventually come crashing down.

It’s a random Wednesday night and Caleb’s caught up with some last minute Fleet work that needs his attention. After he’s done signing off a new agreement, he gets up from his chair and heads on home, picking up some takeout he already preordered a few hours ago and a bouquet of blush pink roses for you.

He thinks nothing of the quietness in his home when he arrives, and makes his way down to the basement. 

The first thing that hits him is a cool draft of air. Caleb tenses and his eyes widen. The stairwell doesn’t look different, and there’s no trace of an intruder, but a draft like this isn’t supposed to exist… unless—

He sprints down the staircase and his heart sinks right into his boots when he finds the password-encoded door hanging wide open. The keypad locking you behind safe, steel doors, sparks and beeps pathetically, the evidence of gunshot disabling it apparent once he smells the smoke and sees a bullet shell on the ground.

Caleb rushes in, his Skybreaker gun at the ready, only to be greeted by the foul stench of Viper standing in the middle of the living room. Frantically, he looks around and spots you in a corner, terrified and unmoving, your wide eyes fixed on a spot over his shoulder.

The modified man glances at Caleb and snickers vilely. “I sssssee that congratulationsssss are in order.” Viper darts his snake-like gaze to your trembling form huddled behind the sofa. “Ssssso thisss isss where you have hidden yourself from the Professsssor. He missssssed you, Mr. Overprotective.” Caleb swears the room tints red. Without another second to spare, gravity lunges right at Viper to knock him off his feet. 

The crunch of gears and grinding of bolts shoots through the air like a miasma of destruction, and you squeeze your eyes and ears shut, turning away from the massacre taking place in front of you. Within a few, short seconds, the man standing before you is a mess of parts, his unseeing eyes staring listlessly into the air. 

Caleb approaches you and sinks to his knees, gathering you into his arms. 

“Are you hurt?” He demands. “Did he hurt you anywhere?”

You force your numb lips to move, shaking your head. “N-no. I’m fine. He just—just took me off guard.”

There’s no time to lose. In a few hours, Caleb’s helped you pack, the plan to move you to safety expedited by a few weeks. It’s not an ideal situation, but he would rather you sleep surrounded by boxes for a few days than to be caught up in the mess Ever had embroiled him in—a mess that would have devastating consequences for you. 

As he loads the car with some quickly packed bags, he tells you to sit in the passenger seat and not make a sound. His jaw is clenched, veins popping from his temple. The second he gets into the car with you, Caleb floors it and speeds off.

Tentatively, you reach out to take his hand, and to your surprise, he intertwines your fingers together, holding your hand tightly.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he manages to choke out, the fear and anxiety making his heartbeat reach dangerous zones. Caleb forces himself to suck in a few deep, sharp breaths. You soothe him by rubbing his shoulder, shaking your head.

“I’m fine. We’re fine. Nothing happened. I was just shocked that Viper was standing there. I… but he didn’t hurt me. He just told me he wanted to wait for you to come home.”

Somehow, that’s worse.  Caleb doesn’t know what the Professor has up his sleeve, but he sure as hell has little doubts that it isn’t anything pretty. And, now that someone knows about you and your condition… Caleb’s light violet eyes harden. 

There is absolutely no way in hell they were going to get you. 

He would rather lose his other arm than risk you or the baby.

Family. It’s what he’s sworn to protect—from the beginning all the way to the bitter end. 

On your little island away from the entire world, the sun shines down in honeyed rays, highlighting your swollen belly. 

You can’t believe that in a few weeks time, you’ll get to see Oliver right in the flesh, hold him in your arms and kiss his little head. Caleb’s been more of a nervous wreck than you. While you’ve been doing your deep breathing exercises and bouncing on your yoga ball to stimulate contractions, your lover is quietly seeking discreet methods to help you with the inevitable home birth. 

Though he hides his nerves behind a calm, stoic facade, you know him all too well. Caleb’s been going for more runs lately, sometimes starting at the early hours of the morning. When he comes home, he showers, changes and slips into bed next to you, pressing a kiss to your forehead and, tentatively, starts to stroke your belly.

He’s definitely not like other excited fathers-to-be. 

Caleb doesn’t gush about his son, nor does he commit those stupid romcom acts of kneeling at your feet and pressing kisses to the domed flesh of your stomach. He definitely doesn’t get teary-eyed or ecstatic when he paints the nursery with you.

It’s more like a dull, hum of mundanity. Like nothing could ever phase him. 

And, a part of you thinks… Does he hate the baby?

If you weren’t secretly awake right now, you might’ve thought so. The night is dark and filled with flashing thunder. He still thinks you’re fast asleep. 

Caleb’s head is on your chest, and he gently caresses the bump, the soothing motion making Oliver flutter deep in your womb.

“Hey, little guy,” his soft voice pierces the lull, and you feel Oliver responding, turning at the sound of his father’s voice. “Whoops—looks like you’re awake, huh…?”

There’s a sharp inhale of breath.

“Look, between you and me, Oli, I can’t think of a reason why I should want you—” Your heart hurts at his admittance. “—but, I love your mom, and by some miracle, she loves a sucker like me, too.” Another deep breath, this time, a little more shaky. 

“I hope you know, I…” a soft, hitched sob. “I just—I just really want you to be safe.” 

Caleb shudders and you feel him wipe his eyes with the edge of his shirt. You wait for him to say more, but he falls silent. His breathing grows deeper, and you realize he’s fallen asleep.

You never speak to him about that vulnerable moment, and he doesn’t share what’s really burdening his heart. 

Caleb may not say it, but you can see in his actions how much he truly loves Oli. 

Nutritious meals all prepared by him, baby clothes sourced from a local vendor, more cams and CCTVs set up around the remote estate, so far away from any form of civilization. It feels like you’re in your own little bubble, away from the world. 

As you make the final touches in the nursery before your scheduled due date, you smile at the rocking chair he bought from an antique store. It’s an old thing—barely used. But, you love how it adds a touch of rustic care to the cozy space. Folding some baby clothes, you notice Caleb holding a box in his hand, moving it to the crib. 

“What’s that?” 

For the first time since he found out about this pregnancy, Caleb looks… excited? 

“Check this out, Pips,” he pulls out a crib mobile, begins to assemble it. Dangling from the arch, you see tiny acrylic planes and stars, the sight making your chest squeeze.

“Are those—?” 

“Plane mobiles,” his chest puffs out with pride. “Yep,” he pops the ‘p’. “I found them online and had them delivered to the mainland. Whatcha think? Sweet, huh?”

You walk over to him and take his hand. “It’s so adorable.” 

He squeezes your fingers, this moment feeling bigger than the two of you. “Now, he can dream sweetly about little paper planes.” 

“Yeah,” you echo, seeing the first stirrings of love and anticipation for the baby on Caleb’s glowing expression. He finally looks happy. 

“Now, he can dream of paper planes.” 

Giving birth has got to be one of the top ten hardest physical things you’ve done in your life.

But, with Caleb by your side, it moves like a breeze. He had spent months preparing for this moment. Watching videos, simulating the birth, getting used to seeing blood—everything he did was so he could be prepared to help you. 

His hands are warm, his voice a low, murmur of support, helping you through with the water birth. You cry when you feel him bundle up Oliver in a soft blanket, and take his hand after he cuts the cord that finally severs you and the baby apart—your living, breathing proof of love finally in your arms. 

Later that night, as you’re resting in the bedroom, you hear Caleb get up from his spot next to you. 

The space has been cleaned and sterilized. While he handled the birth all on his own, Caleb did have some help from Zayne, who gave him tips on how to create the safest, cleanest environment for both mother and baby. In the middle of this lonesome estate facing the seas, your eyes follow your lover as he picks Oliver up from his crib, the tiny newborn making a soft noise, almost like a loving coo. 

Again, he doesn’t know that you’re awake. 

“You’re such a lil’ miracle, ya know that?” Caleb’s voice, soft and fringed with exhaustion, reaches back to you on the bed. “Shucks,” he whispers under his breath. “You’re so adorable.” 

He’s right. Though only a few hours old, Oliver has your nose and his eyes. Sparse and downy, his hair is dark just like his father’s.

You hear him place a soft kiss onto the baby’s head. 

“I… I can’t believe you’re here. You’re finally here.”

Caleb’s voice is as familiar to you as your own heartbeat—voracious, excited, raised, angry, filled with warmth, lowered by an octave when he was in you, you’ve heard them all… but you have never heard him speak so tenderly to someone like this before.

“Crap, swore I wouldn’t cry…” 

You hear him sniffle, and your heart tugs, squeezing with all the love you hold for him. 

“Listen… I just wanna say I’m sorry if I sometimes can’t be the man you need me to be. It’s… complicated. Dangerous. I might not act like me, but I want you to know I’ll always love you, and protect you.” 

You feel his remorse echo sincerely. 

“No matter what, I’ll love you and your mom. Always. All my life. I…” he swallows. “Never had a dad. Or, a mom. I only had your mom, lil’ guy. And she’s the best person I’ve ever met in my life. You’re gonna love her as much as I do—maybe even more.”

He gently bounces Oliver in his arms. 

“And, one day when you grow up, I hope you can protect her. Take care of her when your old man isn’t around—crap. I am your old man, huh? Your pa…” 

You turn over soundlessly, and admire the build of his broad back cradling the tiny, sleeping bundle in his arms. Though you feel guilty at eavesdropping, a part of you is glad you could witness this—see the love he has for Oliver finally spilling over. Maybe you’ve known it all along… he did love your son. Caleb has always wanted this baby. 

It’s just he couldn’t admit it because he didn’t want to let it be real. He didn’t want to put his family in danger.

“I know it’s too soon, but I’ll explain to you and your mom. One day. About everything,” his whispers stir the exhaustion in you, and without meaning to, you start to doze off, almost missing the last words he says.

“About my arm… my world… how your mom and I grew up… I’d do anything to make sure you’re both safe and free—”

Caleb pauses as he hears your soft snores. He turns back, admiring your sleeping figure in the dim moonlight.

“Heh. She’s out cold.”

He turns back to the sweet, little tot also fast asleep in his arms and places a lingering kiss on the baby’s forehead.

“Sleep tight, Oli. You’re safe with us,” Caleb’s expression softens for his son, this tiny human he created out of love.

“Dream of paper planes tonight for me.”

♡ feedback and reblogs are appreciated

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own.

[semisasseater]

ILL NEVER LET THAT HAPPEN AGAIN

i mean never.

SUMMARY ‘ ni-ki protecting you from a perv.

𓊆 尼基 𓊇 x fem!reader 㞫⠀⠀ ִ ⠀ 865 teasing harassment crying emotional distress angst fluff — 类型 fluff angst

✴︎ LIBRARY ✴︎

‧˚⠀⠀ 🤍⠀⠀ ɞ 作者注 : if ur man ain’t like this leave em

You were excited for today. Ni-ki had been looking forward to visiting this mall for weeks, hyping it up every chance he got. It had all his favorite stores, an arcade, and a food court with the best ice cream he’d ever had.

But something was ruining it.

You felt it before you saw it—that unsettling sensation of being watched. Every time you moved, you could sense someone lingering just a little too close, hovering. It wasn’t until Ni-ki pulled you into a store that you dared to glance behind you.

A man. Older, with greasy hair and an unsettling grin. And… was he holding his phone low?

Your stomach twisted.

You gripped Ni-ki’s sleeve, whispering, “Ni-ki… I think that guy’s following us.”

Ni-ki immediately tensed. His carefree energy disappeared, replaced with something sharp and dangerous. “What guy?”

You subtly motioned toward the man, and Ni-ki’s jaw clenched when he noticed the angle of the creep’s phone—pointed directly under your skirt.

Something inside Ni-ki snapped.

Without a word, he stormed toward the man and grabbed him by the collar, yanking him forward so forcefully that his phone clattered to the ground.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” Ni-ki growled, eyes burning with rage.

The man stammered, trying to back away, but Ni-ki wasn’t letting go. Instead, he shoved him hard, sending him stumbling against a store display.

“You think you can take pictures of my girlfriend like some fucking pervert?” Ni-ki seethed. The entire store fell silent, eyes locking onto the scene. But Ni-ki didn’t care.

He picked up the man’s phone, unlocking it with ease and scrolling through the gallery. His blood boiled at the sight of the upskirt photos.

His fist connected with the man’s face before he could stop himself.

The pervert yelped, cradling his jaw, but Ni-ki wasn’t done. He punched him again, sending him crashing to the floor. “You’re lucky I don’t fucking kill you” Ni-ki spat.

Security rushed in, pulling Ni-ki back before he could do more damage. “Sir you need to leave. Now.”

Ni-ki didn’t fight them. Instead, he wiped his knuckles on his jeans, turned to you, and grabbed your hand. “Come on baby we’re leaving.”

You nodded numbly, letting him lead you out as he scrolled through the pervert’s phone one last time, deleting the photos from the gallery, the trash bin, and even the iCloud. When he was satisfied, he tossed the phone onto the ground.

Outside the mall, Ni-ki exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Disgusting.”

But you… you felt awful.

This was supposed to be Ni-ki’s day. He had been so excited, and now, because of you—

Tears welled in your eyes. “Ni-ki i’m so sorry…”

He frowned, turning to you. “What?”

You sniffled, biting your lip. “I ruined everything you were looking forward to this and now we got kicked out because of me.”

His expression softened instantly. “Baby… no this isn’t your fault.”

“But if I hadn’t worn a skirt if I had been more careful—”

“Don’t” Ni-ki interrupted, pulling you into his arms. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

Your tears spilled over, soaking his hoodie as you clung to him. “I just feel so bad…”

Ni-ki sighed, rubbing slow circles into your back. “Listen to me, okay?” He pulled back just enough to cup your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. His thumbs brushed away your tears as he spoke, voice gentle. “You did nothing wrong. That creep is the only one to blame. Not you, not your skirt, not anything else.”

You sniffled again, lower lip trembling. “But you wanted to go there so bad…”

Ni-ki smiled softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Baby i don’t care about some stupid mall. I care about you.”

Your heart clenched. “You really mean that?”

“Of course I do” he murmured, kissing the tip of your nose this time. “Now no more crying okay?”

You nodded, taking a shaky breath. Ni-ki grinned and wiped away the last of your tears. “Good. Now come on—I know another mall nearby and they have an even better arcade.”

Your eyes widened. “Really?”

“Really” he chuckled, lacing his fingers with yours. “Let’s go crybaby.”

You pouted at the teasing nickname, making him laugh as he tugged you toward the car.

And just like that, the day wasn’t ruined anymore.

@semisasseater

[cosmic-crashout]

Female Reader x Mohawk Mark

Male Reader x No Goggles Mark

Mohawk Mark has grown on me but No Goggles Mark was my favorite, he was just so sadistic and mocking when he was fighting the Guardians, it was great wish he survived 😔

Female and Male Readers will probably change, a good plan which makes me work on character design lol, if anyone has a characteristics they’d wanna see lemme know, no guarantee

[neigepomme]

🍎 quick headcanons about the lads guys pt. 2 WOOO!! media added for better experience :9

⋆ most of the couple tiktok videos you do with caleb are actually his idea. his whole fyp is filled with cute couple trends, and he sends them all to you. he really loved when you picked out his outfit for the h.s.k.t trend and has to fight himself to not wear that outfit daily now. his phone background is you two with the lipstick heart trend on your cheeks.

⋆ rafayel never shows up to your place empty-handed. when you tell him it's okay to not bring you a gift (whether it be flowers, some snacks or pastries, a cute handbag, etc) whenever he visits, he looks at you like you offended him before going "yeah, no. no way cutie." he actually started gifting you more stuff after you commented on it.

⋆ even though xavier's jealous nature is really cute and you don't mind it, he tries his best to keep it at bay. by that i just mean that instead of glaring daggers at a guy who's hitting on you, he starts resting his head on your shoulder from behind and dramatically sighing like a kicked puppy. it works AND you pet his hair, so it's a double win. xavier - 1, the guy who hit on you - 0.

⋆ sylus never tells you, but you quickly figure out that he loves it when you care for him and play with his hair when you two are cuddling. he's a big man and typically has you sleeping on his arm (and he loves it), but at one point, he fell asleep with his head on your stomach while you stroked his hair. when he woke up and you flashed him a warm smile, he almost saw god and thought to himself that he really ought to fall asleep like that more often.

⋆ zayne deliberately leaves his dress shirts at your place, in hopes of seeing you wear them. when he drops by to see you at one point and you answer the door only wearing his shirt, his knees actually buckle and he falls on the floor. you got really worried, and he got really embarrassed, but he gave you some excuse along the lines of "sorry, i think my blood sugar is low right now." you didn't miss how his ears turned bright red tho!

⋆ additional headcanon about zayne because he's my favorite, and i've been neglecting him recently: your phone background is his flushed face covered in lipstick marks, your handiwork. the actual video of you kissing him is the greatest thing in your camera roll — it's zayne growing more and more flushed and giggly as you smother his face in kisses. he could die happy!!

ok moving on to loser headcanons i need them to lose some aura rq

⋆ caleb never had a musical phase, he says. guess who knows the lyrics to meant to be yours from heathers tho! because that sure as hell isn't gideon! at one point, he got really drunk at the DAA and was belting it out. he also kissed gideon during that drunk episode but that's a story for another day (spreading my caleb bisexual agenda)

⋆ rafayel has edited wikipedia articles to be right in arguments and is not above pouting like a toddler and making you feel bad when you find out. at one point, he started forcing tears out of his eyes and going "no it's fine! you hate me, i get it, your boyfriend's feelings are less important than trivia night, it's fine!" like. he's a loser but a really pretty one so it cancels out kinda

⋆ xavier's the type of guy to go "huh??" at least 3 times when you explain something to him before he finally goes "ohh i get it". he in fact does not get it but he felt you getting worked up and he decided not to hit you with a fourth huh. his survival instincts are good and he'd rather look it up than have you be mad at him #loverboy

⋆ sylus has a really good grasp on his facial expressions, but he will hit a disgusted face when he hears something stupid. like yeah sure big bad unreadable boss and stuff but one time, he hears some guy on the street loudly say the worst take he's ever heard in his life and he can't help the side eye + disgusted face combo. he also stank faces when he listens to good music

⋆ zayne meows at cats. not elaborating on that it's pretty clear LOL but sometimes he'll think of the really cute cat he saw on the street that morning and quietly go "... meow..." greyson catches it and is so in shock, but no one will even believe him if he talks about what he heard ("yvonne you're not gonna believe this i just heard dr. zayne meow" “girl what the hell are you saying”)

[reverieblondie]

Bad Dream

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: Nightmares, Mysterious passes, Breaking and entering, Panic attack, Breaking washers, Bucky touches your underwear (whoops...)

Summary: You and Bucky are not only neighbors but friends for months now. You two are close... but are still finding out new things about each other...

Word Count: 2,613

A/N: This was inspired by an amazing request got from an anon. I loved the idea so much that I can see this being turned into a full series if enough people like it! Just let me know! I look forward to feedback like always! and request are always open!

"So... What am I eating?"  

Bucky says almost suspiciously as he looks at the macaroni noodle on his fork.

"I can not believe you are so picky," you say, rolling your eyes before taking a delightful bite of the casserole dish you made. Once swallowed, you point your fork accusingly toward Bucky. "It's called tuna mac. It's cheap to make but delicious. Now you can either eat it, or I will stop being such a friendly neighbor and stop sharing my dinners with you."

Bucky chuckles before giving you his signature smirk, "If that's the case, don't come knocking on my door when something of yours breaks again." 

You huff, he doesn't play fair. 

He watches as you pout and sigh before he takes the macaroni and tuna mix into his mouth. When he eats it, his eyes bulge slightly. "That's actually really good?"

"See, you just need to trust me, neighbor. It's something my mom used to make. Boil noodles, mix up the sauce, and top with cheese. It tastes better than it sounds." 

Bucky smiles as you ramble on. When you look over at him, he looks back to his plate, mixing it around as he makes a face before eating more. "That's true. This is way better than that chicken we had last Thursday."  

"Hey! We agreed to forget that monstrosity!"

Of course, Bucky laughs at your dramatics, and you can't help but echo it back. Thursday night dinners have become your favorite tradition since moving in; no matter how shitty your week could have been, this always lifts up your spirits, even just a little bit. Most people in your building seem to avoid Bucky; they won't join him in the elevator or even greet him in the mailboxes. They judge his past... but who are you to judge? Though getting to know him didn't happen instantly, it happened because of an accident you might have caused…

You have been fighting with these washers and dryers since you moved in. And now here you are fighting again with the washer. The stupid thing won't spin, and it's starting to flood with water. You paused the cycle and knew that you should just ask the maintenance guy for help, but that has the risk of being blamed for it being broken.

Distracted, you don't notice someone walking in to use the other machines. Honestly, it's surprising someone else is up this late just to do their laundry. So much for not running into anyone while you're dressed in your lazy day pajamas—no bra just to add to the pending embarrassment… Trying your best to keep your head down and fix the machine as silently as possible, you didn't realize that your rattling around has definitely drawn attention. 

Until a shadow is cast over you. Turning slightly, you look up at the imposing figure and see your next-door neighbor. James Barnes... Ex Winter soldier and a current Avenger... 

His head tilts as he stares down at you, "Problem?" 

This is the first time you have really seen him up close… he's much taller than you thought, and his eyes are the clearest shade of blue… While you're silently coking, Bucky shifts on his feet, his scowl deepening as he continues to stare. Mentally, you chastise yourself for being rude and pull your hand from the filled drum to offer him a handshake, stumbling out your name in the process. This was a mistake, however, because you ended up splashing the super soldier with washer water… -Shit… 

"I'm sorry, and yeah, I'm just trying to get this washer to work… they never want to act right… old machines acting wonky, what's new?" You huff a laugh, but Bucky keeps looking at you unamused… ah yes… he's an old machine, you idiot… 

You quickly take another step closer in panic mode, "Oh! But not all old machines! My grandma had a vacuum for like 20 years, and it never crapped out on her!" -what are you even saying? 

Buck just further scoles you, keeping his eyes locked on yours. Honestly, it's a bit intimidating—his intense stare locked onto you. Then there's the fact that his glare doesn't roam—it's just set on your eyes. Plus, you're just rambling on, and he's just watching you like you have lost your mind! You can't afford to move again… 

"Why don't you just call for maintenance?" he says in a confused tone, his brows knitting together.  

You give him a gentle smile, "I don't want to be blamed for breaking it…" 

He doesn't seem too impressed with your excuse as he rolls his eyes, but to your surprise, instead of walking away, leaving you to struggle, he places his laundry down and begins to investigate the machine. 

You step closer to him, "So you're going to help me?" you chirp.

"I'm going to try, but if it breaks further, that's on you…" -Okay can't really blame him for that..

"Fair enough, neighbor." he only seems to hum at that before continuing his investigation. 

He does his diligence checking everything out; while he does that, you're doing your own checking out. It's not like you're trying to be a perv.... but curiosity always gets the cat in the end, so you allow yourself to check him out a little. His back faces you, and it's incredible how sturdy it appears; you can even see how the muscles ripple with every move despite it being hidden underneath his t-shirt. Then his narrow waist that draws your attention down the length of him, and his arms bulging with every move as it roots around on the inside of the drum. The dark metal arm is so eye-catching you can't help but stare even though you know you shouldn't... If you were caught, you would be modified by how rude it would be. But you can't help yourself from admiring how pretty it truly is… and the craftsmanship is impeccable… 

"I think something is just caught if I can unwrap it…" With another pull and a slight groan, he rips out what was caught. Surprisingly, it's Small... red and- 

Bucky holds up the dripping wet material, and now that he has it unscrambled, you are mortified... Of course, out of everything to get tangled up and caught, it had to be your thong. Turning it about, Bucky looks at the material confused, unsure, until he meets your mortified eyes and flushed face. It must suddenly click for the man that he's holding a stranger's underwear because, with the inhuman speed, he's met with realization and he's practically throwing your underwear at you like it would bite him. 

The flush of his neck and the way he suddenly does not meet your eyes tells you he's thoroughly embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, ma'am…" Ma'am? Wow, now he's talking to you properly; he really is embarrassed...

It's quiet for a moment as Bucky awkwardly shifts on his feet. Then you can't help yourself any longer, and you laugh. You laugh so hard you all but fall over yourself, and to your shock, Bucky breaks from his mortification and joins in on your laughter.

The moment lasted for a while until you were both on the verge of tears. As you wipe away your tears, you catch him smiling, and it's like looking at a completely different guy. If people saw this, they wouldn't be avoiding him, that's for sure. 

With the washer fixed, you could finish your laundry cycle as Bucky moved to start his. As you're turning to thank your helpful neighbor, he is gone? Scanning the room, you see him leaving, shit! 

"James!" You shout without thinking. He pauses before turning back with a small smirk. 

"Don't tell me you broke something else." 

He's… teasing you? A grin spreads to your face, "I wanted to thank you for helping me out." 

He shrugged, "It's no problem. But call me Bucky; when you say James, it makes me feel old." With that, he walked off. 

Days later, you were still troubled by the feeling you didn't get to properly thank your neighbor for saving your panties from doom. So you did the only thing you could think of. Making him food. Make sure debts and gratitude are always paid... it's something you picked up from both your parents, but where your dad made sure to do it with favors and money, your mom would always pay by making desserts and meals. So, in your situation, you decided on a platter of brownies.

The look on his face when you knocked on his door was priceless. Of course, he accepted, and thus, the cycle between you two started. You would have a favor, Bucky would help, and then you would make him a meal or dessert. Over time, Bucky's grumpiness was replaced with friendliness, and your friendship got stronger. Even though you had fewer favors, you two continued the tradition of eating a home-cooked meal together once a week until suddenly, it was odd if you were not seeing him.

Like now...

It's been three weeks since you last saw him. It's honestly so lonely in the building without him around. Sure, he's not talkative all the time, and there are still things you know you two have not shared, but it's undeniable this closeness you feel to him.

You just hope you get to see him soon, or you will be forced to break something and force him to come back…

It's another quiet night. It should be a night that you rest easy, drifting far off into dreamland. But you just can't seem to fall asleep. Perhaps it's the fault of a certain super soldier's absence. As you lay pondering whether you should just force yourself to rest or get up and do something until you're tired…

Then, loud bangs from the neighboring wall interrupted the stillness. On instinct, you freeze and try to listen to where the crashing is coming from. 

Bucky's place... but that's odd; he's not home. Or did you just miss him? Another crash makes you second guess that it could be a break in… 

But who would be dumb enough to break into a super soldier's apartment?

Apparently, you are...

It is technically breaking and entering, but is it bad if you do it for a good reason? What if someone is wreaking his place? What if he's in danger? What will you do if you actually run into someone? You will deal with that once you encounter it…

You ignore that for now as you concentrate on picking the lock... You hated it then, but you're now thankful for the skill at times like this. It clicks with a few more twists, and you're now sneaking through the threshold.

It's the same place you have been in multiple times, but tonight, you see the crumble of blankets on the living room floor, the flipped furniture, the mess of wreckage. Then you see the more heart-aching sight in the room's darkness. 

Bucky usually stands tall and has that sly smirk for you with some greeting. Now, he is crouched so small, disheveled, and trembling. Those ocean-blue eyes clenched tightly...

A step towards him immediately has him on the defense, ready to pounce.

But he pauses at the sight of you, confused, rightly so. But you're more distracted by how the outside lights reflect on the streams down his cheeks.

You're about to say something, but his hoarse voice cuts you off before you can, "Get out!".

You should really listen, but as he sinks back to the floor, your feet feel like lead. With a swallow and a steadying breath, you step closer. He should understand by now that you're not one for listening. 

Closer now, you can take in his sweat-drenched body and matted hair and how he tries to stop shaking... Thousands of questions flock to you; you just swallow them down. Slowly, you sit close enough to be noticed but not enough to touch him…

Settled beside him, you hold your hand towards him on the floor, making a silent offer. "I'll stay for as long as it takes..." 

It could take minutes or hours. There is also the chance of him lashing out, but you will just be silent and patient and let him feel your presence and hear your calm breaths.

You're there for a couple of minutes until a clammy warmth touches your hand. Looking down, you can tell the shaking has stopped a little. You spread your fingers and let him lace them with his own. 

"I... don't know what to say..." he mumbles, but you shake your head before meeting his eyes.

"You don't have to explain... We all have scars... Bad dreams. "

"Every night I have bad dreams... Sometimes, I just randomly shake awake."

"Other times, you just lay there waiting for the sun to rise."

The look he gives you tells you he's shared the experience. You shrug and look out the window, "Like I said... bad dreams."

As you two sit there, his shaking slowly stills, but your hand's grip only tightens. 

"I'm sorry..." It was such a silent whisper that you almost didn't hear it. Bucky, tired, and a wreck, brought back memories you thought were packed away. 

"Don't be sorry. Let's just work on getting you cleaned up. Are you good enough to rinse off?"

Bucky nods before standing up... He walks towards his bathroom but pauses just short... He has his own set of questions he wants to ask... One of them is clear to you... are you going to stay... 

"I'll clean for a bit and will brew some tea for, when you get out. Okay?" 

He gives a short nod before disappearing. You start placing what you can remember being placed before. It takes you a minute to get everything back in its place. Sure, this place was a mess, but you have had to fix the fallout of worse. Once done, you move on to the kitchen to brew the tea. As the water heats, you just listen to the muffled sound of the shower. Does this happen often? And if so, how have you never noticed before?

Bucky takes longer to wash off than you expected, but ultimately, it's a good thing he took the time for himself. When he finally comes out of the bathroom, he's only in pajama bottoms, a towel resting on his shoulder, and fixing his metal arm back into place. His hair is still dripping wet when he finally plops down on the couch. For a long moment, he's still thinking of what to say, but you just slide the peppermint tea over to him.

Bucky gives a small thank you before he lifts the cup, letting the smell waft to his nose and the cup warm his hand. When he finally takes a sip, you feel like you can breathe again. While he works on his tea, you notice the drops falling from his hair and landing on his skin, causing him to shiver. He didn't even bother to dry his hair, huh? Carefully, you take the towel from his shoulder and softly start to dry his wet hair away. Bucky looks at you curiously as you focus on the task before you. 

"Why are you so good at this?" 

"Like I said, everyone gets bad dreams. Some worse than others." 

He hums before slightly chuckling, "Is that also why you know how to break into apartments?"

The playful tone in his voice makes your heart squeeze, and you can't help but grin, "You're not the only one with secrets, soldier boy." 

[glittering-darmallon]

My Rooks Part 1.: Valrys Ingellvar and Canelo de Riva

Questionnaires behind the break

Valrys Ingellvar

1: Where in the Thedas is your Rook from? Nevarra City. However, they were likely born somewhere in the Deep Roads from Orzammar to Nevarra, but they have no way of knowing.

2: What is your character's alignment? Neutral Good

3: Race and class? Dwarf Warrior

4: If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found? Does this mean where in the Lighthouse? They'd have picked up and relocated that mirror of transformation first off. They'd also likely set up shop on the second floor of the laboratory. It looked like there was enough space up there for a dwarf sized bed.

5: What emotion did they usually pick? Affable.

6: What companion are they platonically close with? Their best friends in the Veilguard were Emmrich and Taash

7: Romantically close with? Lace Harding (somewhere in the background proud cries of "That's my wife!" can be heard)

8: Who are they suspicious of? In the Veilguard? None of them. They consider them all like family. They are the kind of person to give benefit of the doubt at first. But once you lose their trust, it is gone forever. They were and are still a little suspicious of Morrigan

9: Does your Rook get along with their chosen Faction? Yes, very much. They love each and every Mourn Watch member, especially their chosen parental figure VORGOTH and loves Myrna like a little sister

10: Are they proficient in playing any instruments? Nope. Not only that, they can't carry a tune to save their life

11: Weapon of choice? A maul. They really liked the one named Lawrence.

12: What is their orientation? I don't know if I have the right word for it. They're genderfluid but only interested in women (they love women so much). So I'm choosing to use sapphic.

13: What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it? They like fighting but not necessarily killing. However, they understand they live in a dangerous world and it's necessary sometimes. They will try to come to a non-violent solution whenever possible.

14: What hobbies does your Rook have? They like fashion and history. And the lack of finding the clothes they want that fit them right (this is me being mad that even the robes in the game had pants) had them teaching themself how to sew and make clothes. It's my headcannon that in the future when they and Lace get married, they're making their own gown.

15: What NPCs do they like? Which one's do they dislike? I've already mentioned Myrna and VORGOTH but they also like Viper and Antoine and Evka. It's not that they have anything against the other faction leaders, they just wouldn't want to hang out with them much. They really liked talking weather with Karash.

They did NOT like Shathan. Yes, they understand she was struggling to understand Taash's identity struggles and did the best she could, coming around in the end. But they did not appreciate her telling them that "Taash was rarely interested in men" while looking right at them (and this is when they were dressed in the most femme outfit I had access to at the time, and a full face of makeup. They were serving looks) and never apologized for that. That whole conversation made them want to break things.

And they really hated Mythal (only time I've fought her so far).

16: Do they have a favorite creature in the Thedas? They love nuggalopes. It is a life dream to own one for a mount and or pet

17: Do they enjoy life as an adventurer? Yes. They love to learn. My plan for Valrys and Lace post-game is to go on journeys to find and compile Dwarven history into a compendium

18: What would your Rook be doing if they weren't recruited by Varric? Killing every Venatori that dared entering the Necropolis and helping VORGOTH with the hauntings they discover

19: How do you think they'll meet their end? By trying to reason with the wrong person instead of just fighting them

20: Would they side with Solas or fight him? They reluctantly sided with him. But they weren't happy about it.

21: What is your Rook's favorite ability? Deadly ground and Reaper. That Spirit Storm ultimate was amazing

22: What languages is your character fluent in? Other than Trade? Nevarran and somewhat fluent in Orzammar Dwarven but that's self-taught and hard to practice back home (they found a book)

23: What do they do after an absolute crisis? Smash so many things.

24: Does your character believe in the afterlife? Yes. They grew up around spirits. They know there is more.

25: What specialization best represents your Rook? Reaper no question...However, if berserker had been an option....

26: What animal best represents your Rook? An elephant: Strong, smart, protective of their own, great memory and generally pleasant unless you wrong them them they're gonna remember forever and make sure future generations know about it.

27: What was their life like before the events of Veilguard? As much as they liked it and working with the watchers, the Necropolis was starting to feel claustrophobic

28: Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader? Yes. They were trusted with the job and they take it seriously. They have enjoyed bringing everyone together and helping people

29: If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why? They'd probably enjoy being a Veil Jumper even though they're not magical. The history they'd get to learn about would fascinate them. They would absolutely refuse to wear those outfits. "No. They do nothing for my figure. I look like a lump of mud. Absolutely not"

30: What's your favorite thing about your Rook?

Aside from the fact they're just so good looking? I love how they just let themself feel whatever emotion it is they're feeling. They repress nothing. They're highly emotionally intelligent.

---------------- Canelo de Riva

Where in the Thedas is your Rook from? Born in Seleny, moved to Treviso at approx.16

2. What is your character's alignment? Hard to say. Likely a true neutral of the "heroic neutral" variety.

3. Race and class? Elf rogue, veil ranger

4. If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found? In the Wolf's Den

5. What emotion did they usually pick? Stoic

6. What companion are you platonically close with? He was bff's with Davrin and Harding (yeah I know. Why did I choose to hurt him like that?)

7. Romantically close with? Lucanis

8. Who are they suspicious of? He didn't trust Solas, Illario, and Invenci right from the get go

9. Does your Rook get along with their chosen Faction? For the most part. He is close with Viago and the real reason he was sent away from Treviso was for his safety. Canelo suffered a psychotic break thinking he'd found Antaam member responsible for killing his siblings and just went ham on them. Wasn't even aware of what he'd done until Viago told him. He likes Teia a lot as well. They do each other's hair.

10. Are they proficient in playing any instruments? Nope.

11. Weapon of choice? Longbow specifically the dauntless greatbow he named Jugular (his preferred place to shoot a target)

 12. What is their orientation? Bisexual greyromantic

13. What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it? A job is a job, and being an assassin pays better than being a prostitute did.

14. What hobbies does your Rook have? He enjoys making his own arrows, including the knapping of arrowheads when he can find appropriate stone. He likes dancing and making beads for hair or jewelry too

15. What NPCs do they like? Which one's do they dislike? As stated above, Viago is very important to him, like an older brother, Teia too. But he likes Tarquin quite a lot, and they both grew up in a lower socioeconomic class. He is to no surprise no big fan of Illario. "I don't care if he's like your brother, mio cuore. He tried to kill you, had you imprisoned in a place where they tortured you. I am never going to like him." He is also no fan of the First Warden

16. Do they have a favorite creature in the Thedas? Dracolisks. He thinks they're awesome. "Lucanis, if you were ever thinking about getting me an extravagant gift...get one of these."

17. Do they enjoy life as an adventurer? He is the kind of guy who would have been happy earning an honest living as a hunter and continuing to raise his little brother and sister and being left alone, but life had other ideas. Adventuring really isn't for him.

18. What would your Rook be doing if they weren't recruited by Varric? He'd love to say still working for the Crows, but he is fairly sure Viago would have made him find other work outside Treviso. It was clearly not doing his mental health any favors, and the city was slowly killing him

19. How do you think they'll meet their end? Likely the way most Crows seem to. In a power grab

 20. Would they side with Solas or fight him? Oh he fought him. Every tragedy in Canelo's life could be traced back to Solas giving Corypheus that orb.

The orb explodes and opens the breach

Demons pour out of fade rifts

His parents are killed by demons on their way to Treviso to collect a shipment of spices to sell at their store.

Canelo is too young and doesn't have the brain for running the store, and it goes under. He and his two year old twin siblings lose the house and end up living in a hunter shack in the Tellari Swamps near Seleny. They do okay for about 2 years

Zenzera gets sick, and Canelo has to sell everything but the clothes on their backs and steal the rest of the gold to get them to a special healer in Treviso.

He cannot find a safe job that will let him bring a pair of four year olds along with.

Ends up becoming a sex worker to feed them, but never makes enough to get them off the street

A noble who had been tossed from the brothels for being too violent with the workers their decides to just quit paying for it and assaults Canelo.

This noble that Canelo kills in self-defense was Viago's contract. This results in Canelo joining the Crows.

The three of them are doing okay for a while.

Then the Antaam, who broke away from the Qun after the events of Tresspasser (Thanks again, Solas) invade Treviso.

Antam raid the market where Zenzera and Zafferano are shopping with some fledglings and are killed.

Canelo falls into a spiral of depression, PTSD, and heavy drinking until the above mentioned psychotic break happens and he snaps, killing those two dozen Antaam and wrecking the big plan that had been in the works.

ERGO- SOLAS AND HIS PERPETUAL FAILURES RUINED CANELO'S LIFE. THEREFORE, THERE WAS NO PEACEFUL RESOLUTION TO SOLAS' STORY.

 21. What is your Rook's favorite ability? Hurricane of Blades and Storm's Path

22.  What languages is your character fluent in? Trade obviously, but Antivan and Rivaini with conversational knowledge of Qunlat and Tevene. He's fairly good at picking up languages. Davrin and Bellara teach him Elvhen when they can.

23. What do they do after an absolute crisis? Go hide on the island with the laser that is floating above the Lighthouse Courtyard and have a good breakdown where no one can see it.

24.  Does your character believe in the afterlife? He wants to, but he's afraid that if it's real, he'll go somewhere other than where his family is. Or if he finds them, they will hate him for the choices he made in life

25. What specialization best represents your Rook? He took Veil Ranger, because it was bow focused, and that suits him just fine

26. What animal best represents your Rook? Jaguar- Quiet until they're not, death from above, solitary, master of tactical retreat (Canelo's tactical retreats come when his emotions are too big for him and he needs a safe place to hide and process them)

 27. What was their life like before the events of Veilguard? See the answer to number 20. It wasn't all bad. The first few years with the Crows were great. For the first time in over 5 years they all had enough to eat. When Canelo became a full Crow, he quickly earned a name for himself for being quick and efficient from far away, his contracts never even knowing he was there. Once the Antaam invaded though, it all fell apart

28. Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader? Yes, but he'd really rather not be the leader. Someone has to do it though

29. If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why? He'd make a good Shadow Dragon.

30. What's your favorite thing about your Rook? He's resilient. He's been served a tragedy buffet and yet, still going. Plus, underneath the stony and or sad exterior he's a lovable person who will lavish his loved ones with affection. Even ones who would REALLY rather he didn't (Viago).

Rook Questionnaire

inspired by @cassieuncaged's BG3 Character Development Questions but for Rook instead!

1: Where in the Thedas is your Rook from?

2: What is your character's alignment?

3: Race and subclass?

4: If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found?

5: What emotion did they usually pick?

6: What companion are you platonically close with?

7: Romantically close with?

8: Who are they suspicious of?

9: Does your Rook get along with their chosen Faction?

10: Are they proficient in playing any instruments?

11: Weapon of choice?

12: What is their orientation?

13: What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it?

14: What hobbies does your Rook have?

15: What NPCs do they like? Which one's do they dislike?

16: Do they have a favorite creature in the Thedas?

17: Do they enjoy life as an adventurer?

18: What would your Rook be doing if they weren't recruited by Varric?

19: How do you think they'll meet their end?

20: Would they side with Solas or fight him?

21: What is your Rook's favorite ability?

22: What languages is your character fluent in?

23: What do they do after an absolute crisis?

24: Does your character believe in the afterlife?

25: What specialization best represents your Rook?

26: What animal best represents your Rook?

27: What was their life like before the events of Veilguard?

28: Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader?

29: If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why?

30: What's your favorite thing about your Rook?

[scriptseekstories]

Queen Bee’s Hive

Chapter 2- Bee in a Wasp Nest

A/N: Okay, so things will pick up next chapter, just have to set up relationships and personality for Bee!Reader and other characters. And more fort as to what your mother’s research actually does and what she did.

Kinda made yall like Mirabel from Encanto and Laios from Delicious in Dungeon ngl

~Years Later~

Bees were your friend. They work with each other and protect their home. When you had another rough day of school and a torment from Damien, you could always count on the hive planted on your window to keep you company. They had always been your friend.

Sure you had human friends at school who are weird as you, but they just don’t know you like bees. They comforted you at low times, watched over you when you slept, and gave you so. Much. Honey.

The days were somewhat better after years since you were first taken in by the Waynes, but you wouldn’t never say your life got better. You were still pushed aside but your so called siblings, ignored by your father unless you were in trouble, and tormented by your demon brother Damien.

The harsh words, the aggressive shoves, the brutal chases away from his dog Titus, you didn’t know if being mugged was better than living with him. You even considered the other’s snarky comments about you whenever you bumped into them were more bearable.

“Don’t they have anything else better to do than bother us?” You once heard Tim scoffed when you wanted a seat from the kitchen while they had dinner, Stephanie humming in agreement as Dick laughed it off while others didn’t even answer him. Yeah… they all had dinner together while you were in your room eating alone.

Buzzzzz

My mistake, you never ate alone.

“Hey, my beauties,” You slid your window up carefully to avoid crushing any bees that were too slow. You clutched the flower pot in your hands as you stared at at their strong hive, seeing that honey is almost ready.

“I got you some flowers,” You spoke as if the bees understood you, but maybe they do understand you. They never stung you, they always perched on your nose or hand, and they always seem to make your day a little brighter.

“Today we have Lotus flowers on the menu,” You sighed while resting your cheek on your hand, watching the bees snuggle into the petals and collect the pollen. You adored your grown hive, tending to your little creatures for years as you seen generations after generations of bees live past.

Each Queen bee you’ve seen are as beautiful as the last, and you adored how hard she keeps her drones and workers happy. ‘Wish I was your worker bee,’ You hummed deeply before checking your phone to see that it was only 3.

You had time, so you quickly shut the window, apologizing to the bees who were startled before grabbing your travel bag and wallet, stumbling out of your room and racing down the long stairs, where your favorite butler was cleaning the couches.

“I’ll be back Alfred!” You called out to the butler as you attempted to fight your coat into staying on you. Alfred smiled before wincing when you accidentally slid on the carpet and crashed into the umbrella stand.

You had always been a klutz, crashing into objects, tripping over air, even one time accidentally taking out half Gotham’s power. (GCPD and Batman assumed it was an attack by a villain, and Alfred had the love for you to not narc)

“I’m okay!” You called out while stumbling to stand up and attempting to fix the umbrella stand, finally having your coat on before shutting the door behind you. Alfred merely shook his head and smiled softly while truly fixing up the stand as you left all the hats and umbrellas on the floor.

“May Master (Name) always have that bright smile,” He mumbled, before going back to cleaning the couches, just as he quietly check on the carefully written list full of your birthday wishes he had in his pocket, smiling.

You inhaled a deep breath of the Gotham air, which may sound disgusting but since you lived in the rich part of the city, the air was cleaner than most. That thought made you sad for reasons involving people and insects, not much are capable of fixing the air in order to thrive in.

Which is why you must do what you need to do.

Looking around, you concluded none of the family were outside, so you took that chance and crouch around the bushes in the front, and pulled out your skates. Why would you hide them outside instead of your room? Simple, there’s just not enough space in your room.

You replaced your bed frame with a hammock so you could fit your desk for school, you had a small closet boxed with childhood accomplishments and awards, and walls completely covered in posters and research papers.

Yet it didn’t bother you one bit, for it was your safe space, your haven in a house that wasn’t your home. You shoved your foot into your skates, wobbly standing up and securing your ground before rolling down the driveway.

You pushed yourself down into the big city of Gotham, avoiding walking pedestrians and taking turns left and right. Each person you passed by, you always greeted with a bright smile and waved at them, to which they couldn’t help but smile back.

In a place like Gotham, it’s rare to have genuine smiles and kindness that you apparently had. You decided it was best to still show a smile to all even though your life wasn’t that great either.

Why let the darkness and grim life consume you when you could still bring a light to others? That’s what your mother taught you. Sure, it was hard to keep on showing that sweet smile of yours day after day being neglected and tormented by the Waynes, yet you had to.

For your mother.

Each street you rolled into, the less citizens were present. That was due to the fact you were skating right into the heavy crime side of Gotham City. Yet you didn’t stop, in fact, your smile grew as you now saw the figures of the neighbors who all were familiar on the news.

“Good evening, child,” “Though you bit the dust already, kid!” “Avoid that pothole, (Name),” The various voices you heard as you skated pass them, where you stumbled upon the banged on concrete and avoided the destroyed roads that even the toughest tires would get deflated.

“Hi, Dr. Crane!” “Still kicking, Mr. Dent!” “Sharp as always, Miss Kyle!” Each calls towards a villain may have civilians run for the hills, however you on the other hand was either not afraid of these top baddies, or stupid to know your life could be in danger.

It might’ve been the latter, as your anxious personality prevented you from reacting like a normal person. So instead when you first stumbled upon the villain side of Gotham, you didn’t run away. Instead, you used all the fake confidence you had and strutted inside, greeting each criminal, thug, villain, or henchman with a smile.

Needless to say, some were baffled, others were amused, they wanted to see if you would still smile after witnessing them take your teeth out. But alas, there was one particular criminal that had them all to back off, dare they try to harm you they would have to answer to-

Ding

You pushed the door to a shady rundown flower shop, the tiny bell ringing to indicate your presence. Digging into your bag, you pulled out a wad of cash Alfred provided you ever since middle school since you needed permission from jobs to work, and you didn’t dare ask Bruce, so Alfred provided.

“My sweet little Bumblebee~” You looked up with a smile at the sight of the woman who provided you with flowers. Her rose red hair always stood out amongst the plants and flowers, her pale skin kissed with hues of green, and her dark green outfit flowed and tangled with the vines lowering her down from the shadows of the flower shop.

“Hi Miss Ivy!” You held out the bills for her as she lowered herself down and gracefully grabbed them. She placed her feet on the floorboards and leaned against the counter, counting the money with a grin.

“Glad to hear that my flowers are being praised by your little creatures,” She sighed, sensing all the plants you bought being tended to by the bees and other insects who craved the sweet aroma of her plants.

“Miss Ivy, you think you could pre-stock some marigolds for me around a week in advance? I think I actually might have gotten a breakthrough! Just on time for my birthday!” You excited rambled off, jumping in one place like a child as Ivy handed you a bag of seeds just as you paid for.

“Really now?” She grinned, “Well, here I give you a special treat for an early birthday gift~” Using her vines, it reached deep into the hall behind the counter that was suspiciously covered in shadows before it emerged with a box.

“Thank you, Miss Ivy,” It was a nice steal box, knowing Ivy would never use wood for anything. It had carved bees on it and honeycomb patterns. You were about to open it when Ivy placed her green hands over yours, giving you a wink. Right, open it on your birthday.

“Like I said, anything for my little Bumblebee,” She cooed while booping your nose, “It’s only fair to assist the bee’s savior, which also extends you being the flower’s savior too~” Her vines curled at her words, sliding up to you in an attempt to pet you, to which you backed away quickly.

“Ha ha ha…” You let out a nervous laugh, voice cracking midway which made you wanna internally die when you heard Ivy cackle as you walked out of the door, skating down and almost hitting Bane.

Being so deep into the crime filled side of Gotham, Ivy believed you to be stupid and had a death wish when you first came into her cover store. She decided to spare your life when all she saw in you was a clumsy and pathetic ridden teenager who just wanted to actually buy flowers from her.

You amuse her so much. The moment you ate shit in front of her little shop had her hooked immediately, and she fell in love with you the moment you rambled on about the relationship between bees and flowers.

You skated along the roughed up sidewalk, waving goodbye to the residents of this crime filled area. Never actually saw crime here, as you guess Batman had them on a leash.

‘Batman… why couldn’t you have saved her,’ You held to resentment towards the Dark Knight, yet you weren’t a fan of him either. He was just… someone who couldn’t save your mother.

You finally made it to your location, just as the sun shined perfectly down into the building you worked so hard inside.

An abandoned warehouse just right at the edge of Crime Alley. The warehouse that your mother worked in with her team before it was attacked by a crime boss. You moved all her papers and results inside to avoid questions from Alfred or the others.

You grunted while pushing the collapsed door to crawl under, before grasping a power generator and jerked it around. With a simple puff of smoke, the whole place lit up with dim lighting and additional fairy lights you added for personal touch.

“Right, time to get started,” The closer you walked through the warehouse, the louder a buzzing can be heard. Sunlight peering through a skylight, in the middle of the building lay a garden, with flowers planted by Poison Ivy herself and a garden gate built in by Scarecrow.

Inside the garden? Your mother’s bees. The ones that she nurtured for her researched, the genetically modified creatures that made it through everything. You smiled with pride at the fact you kept them alive for this long, generations of bees lived in your care.

Digging through your bag, you pulled out your laptop and an empty jar, where you set them down on a lab table. On the table sat an old tv with a VHS player. Grabbing a tape from the top, you inserted it in and opened your laptop as the video began to play.

“Project: Honey. This research study may very will be the next step in animal kingdom history. We are here to investigate the potential for genetic modification to enhance the physical capabilities of the honeybees, rendering them more resilient to climate challenges and better suited for urban environments to grow our managed earth,” the static voice of your mother rung out in the warehouse, causing the bees to buzz in an almost harmonious way.

“For years, we have concluded that our genetically modified bees are able to gain more muscle mass that not only increase their flight, but their defenses, speed, and strength. Our results have tested our bees to collect 35% more nectar than the average bee, and provide more pollen over a whole continent!” The excitement in her voice made you smile. You really do miss her.

You turned on bunsen burners, tubes filled with essences of the hive and honey made from the bees, listening to each VHS tapes that your mother recorded. Just like what you’ve been doing since you turned 10, you realized you had to do more than tend to the genetic bees.

You had to continue her work.

“However, the side effects to potentially playing god among the bees are a serious risk to take for the better of world. We just need to-,” Yet a harsh SSSSHHHHH sound popped up as the final tape wasn’t fully finished, and it cut off while only playing static.

You turned it off after hours of work, stretching your limps with a satisfied feeling. You rested your arms on the table and turned a picture frame that held a photo of you on your fifth birthday, with your mother in her lab coat holding you in her arms, both of you happy.

“Just one more week, and I’ll finally complete your dream Mama,” You smiled softly at the photo, gently kissing your fingertips and placed them over her face. Everything you’re doing, all the hard work, it was all for her.

She may be gone, but you’re still here. You’ll complete Project: Honey and help humanity your own way. You’ll be a hero, just like what your mother would’ve wanted, be more of a hero to the world like Batman is to Gotham.

It was currently 10, and you had to hurry home before Alfred came up stairs to check on you. You decided to take a cab home and after a solid 20 minutes, you made it home than you usually do when on skates.

You slid your skates under the bush, made sure your jar of honey made by the genetic bees were sealed in your bag, and opened the door. You saw Alfred serving your plate, yet you knew it wasn’t going to be set on the table with the others.

You walked closer to the dining area, seeing that all of the family were together, eating and talking amongst themselves while smiles on their faces.

“Hey… don’t mind me…” You awkwardly shuffled to the side, slowly reaching for a honeydew, then your plate Alfred gave with a sad smile, before mumbling a “sorry” and running back your room, cringing at the interaction. It was as if they forgot you lived here and are uncomfortable with the thought of seeing you.

Just as well, you were just as uncomfortable making small talk to them as they are even looking at you. You didn’t care, right? Yet you still felt your heart ache with hurt. They never seem happy to have you talking to them.

You opened your door, setting the box Ivy gave you on your desk and the jar of honey down as well. You sliced the honeydew into slices and took one to the window, sliding it open to see the bees perching on the sill, almost like they were waiting for you.

“Hello my loyal royal subjects!” You joked with a proud look on your face, though the way the bees didn’t buzz at you, they weren’t impress with your humor. You gave an awkward laugh before placing a slice of honeydew on the windowsill, where the bees practically burrowed into the fresh sweet fruit.

You smiled with joy. Today wasn’t that bad, yet it still wasn’t enough to have you reassured yourself that you belonged here.

The next day you needed another ripe honeydew that Alfred bought you. You peaked from the stairs and nodded when no one was present in the kitchen. Taking long strides from the stairs to the kitchen so you could get back upstairs faster, you grasped onto the fruit when a tsk was heard.

“You don’t belong here, you know that, right?” Dropping the honeydew due to the familiar voice, you dreaded turning around to see Damien, arms crossed and leaning back against the kitchen island. It seemed he was eager to mock me and waited for me to come down like a weird predator.

“Yeah… don’t need to mention it every single day…” You nervously nodded, crouching down to grab the dropped fruit, hoping it would still be fresh enough for your beloved bees.

“I should, because it doesn’t seem that you got it through your inferior mind,” He scoffed, grabbing the honeydew before you could retreat, “You’re not special. You’re nothing but mundane and simple, not worthy to be on the same stone as us,” That damn smug look on his face made you wanna shove that honeydew up his-

“Right, and you supposedly are with your cool sword skills and emo energy,” You muttered, snickering to yourself as if you said something cool. Which you did, of course! However Damien didn’t find it funny as he scowled you suddenly felt pain on your stomach. You hissed in pain when he threw the honeydew at you.

“Watch your mouth, inferior! I am the perfect offspring of the Al Ghul and a Wayne! You don’t belong in the Wayne title!” He snapped, hands twitching as if he was ready to call Titus on you. Fear shot up your spine, making him smirk at the look in your eyes. But what he said, about being a Wayne, anger took over your fear of his damn dog.

“Well, good news, brat! I don’t want a title that makes me as egotistical and stuck up as you guys!” Your voice might’ve been shaky, but this was the most confrontational you’ve ever been towards anyone, it caught Damien off guard with how offended and angry you actually sounded.

“I’m not a Wayne! I’m a Raine, and I don’t need a brat like you destroying what I have left!” Grabbing the now bruised honeydew, you pushed Damien hard. It may not have actually made him fall down, but he didn’t fully expect you to physically touch him, so he stumbled back a little.

He looked at you like you had the audacity to put your hands as valuable as him. His eyes darkened as he didn’t bother to call for Titus, he let out a shout before lunging at you.

You both fell, you pushing his face away with one hand as you held onto the honeydew so Damien wouldn’t use it to slam it against your stomach again. Alfred heard the stumbling of chairs being pushed and shouts in the kitchen, causing him to race in just in time to see Damien scratched your eyes.

“Master Damien!!” He was appalled at the sight, quickly pulling you out of his reach. In a flash, Dick, who was right behind Alfred, held onto Damien and pulled him away as he cursed at you and struggled like an angry cat. A mangy, ugly looking cat.

Dick managed to calm Damien down, but then gave a disappointed sigh before looking at you, giving you a look as if you were the one causing problems and he was tired with you. As if he even had the time to know you and get tired with you.

“You shouldn’t have talk to Damien like that, he doesn’t know better, (M/N)!” He scolded you with a tsk, where you didn’t even bother to mention that he completely butchered your name, “You have be apologize,” You stared at Dick in utter disbelief.

You? Apologize to Damien?! You let out a scoff as you stumbled to stand up, seeing the now ruined honeydew crushed by Jason who gave you an unimpressed look, crossing his arms which added more humiliation.

“L-Like hell would ever apologize to a stuck up baby! He started it!” You stammered, voice cracking in a way that didn’t help your situation as you saw a grin on Steph’s face, about to mock you. Cass merely gave you a look like silently saying that you were to blame.

“Stuck up baby? Look in the mirror,” Tim remarked, nudging Duke, who looked uncomfortable and was about to speak up, but deep footsteps made everyone freeze. Bruce stared at Damien, who was being held back by Dick, and then you, who quickly avoided eye contact and clutched onto Alfred’s hand tighter.

It might have been foolish, stupid even, to think that Bruce would come to your aid, to comfort you and scold Damien for attacking you. But you knew the truth. You never mattered to him.

“Go to your room,” He demanded with his sharp eyes staring at you. “Now,” You felt awful, sick. Every time you get in a tussle with one of them, Bruce will always come in defense to them. Every time you get blamed, you would be sent to your room alone. And every time you see his eyes, they’re always filled with nothing but annoyance and disappointment.

As if you were the one causing a nuisance in their perfect family, as if you were the intruder insect that invaded their hive, as if you were nothing but an obligation. Slipping your fingers out of Alfred’s hands, you tried not to cry.

“Fine,” You whispered, legs pulling my body up the stairs, not daring to look back to see Damien’s stupid smug smirk and the disappointing head shakes from Dick or the snickering from the others.

Your room felt smaller, more closed off than the other rooms. Why did you choose it again? Right, it was because you weren’t wanted by the family, hence you didn’t deserve being in the family hall.

You heart your heart twist with hurt and anger, as if you could open your mouth and vomit all the hate and rage building up inside you. Sliding up your window, you watched the sunset from over the garden, where the bees began to settle down and perch over your hand.

Alfred will be coming up to give you your dinner and stay with you. But even with the company of Alfred, he wasn’t strong enough to get through the family, he wasn’t enough to bring the love you craved for years. Despite it all, he was still a bee that works for Bruce.

You concluded a long time ago that this wasn’t a beehive, and you weren’t an invasive insect. No…

This was a wasp’s nest, and you were the bee they taken for consumption.

Buzzzzz

At least your hive will free you one day.

A/N: Yep, you in fact do have villain friends. Yet they don’t know your current situation since you referred to yourself as Raine, never Wayne.

Hopefully they would help you when things get low. They may be evil, but they’re not monsters (just ignore the comic accurate villains lol. And joker)

Taglist: @jellystar-star @moom0goddess @pix-stuff @lettucel0ver @lithiumval @bad4amficideas @degenerates-posts @deathbynarcisstick

[honeyryewhiskey]

⋆｡°✩ no mini-skirts allowed

synopsis ✩ teasing older!dean has become your favorite pass time here comes trouble intro page for more age gap drabbles

warnings ✩ 18+ descriptions of dean being horny, skimpy outfits, undressing, flaunting/teasing, restraint 1.8k words

Dean’s pushing fifty, he’s seen every kind of mini-skirt a woman could wear—denim, snakeskin, pleated, painted-on tight. And you—you’ve got one of each.

Every damn day, it’s something new. One morning, it’s a little plaid number, all flirty and preppy, barely covering a damn thing as you lounge on the couch. The next, it’s tight denim, hugging every curve as you bend over the Impala’s hood, pretending to be interested in whatever he’s fixing. Then there’s the snakeskin one—hell, that one nearly did him in. Slinking around the bunker like some kind of walking temptation, flashing him that wicked little smirk every time you caught him looking.

But today—it’s the black one.

The shortest, clingiest, most offensive thing you’ve ever worn. And it’s been a problem all day.

Maybe it’s because you’re practically flaunting it in his face. Maybe you damn well know what you’re doing. Maybe it’s because Dean knows if he was his younger self, he’d have spent the whole day with his hips locked between your thighs—but you’re a case. A spritely little thing he swore to protect, not defile. Either way, Dean’s been fighting a losing battle, his patience wearing thinner with every step you take.

And you’re enjoying every second of it.

This morning, when he stepped out of the gas station, he damn near dropped the bag in his hand at the sight of you bent over the Impala’s vinyl seat, half inside the car, digging around the floorboards. The fabric was stretched to its absolute limit, clinging to every dip and curve, and that little triangle of pink lace peeking out from between your thighs was down right offensive to his resolve.

Dean stopped dead, heat crawling up the back of his neck, his grip tightening on the plastic bag until the rustling of it was the only sound he could process. That sliver of lingerie was a goddamn bullseye, branding itself into his brain. His stomach clenched, jeans tightening around his cock far too much for a man standing in a parking lot at eight in the morning.

He ripped his gaze away, clearing his throat like that might dislodge the image from his brain. “You lose somethin’?”

You wiggled. Hips twitching as you hummed back, “mhm. My phone.”

Dean turned on his heel so fast it nearly gave him whiplash, muttering something about being careful as he yanked open the driver’s side door and tossed the bag on the dash. No way in hell was he standing behind you. Instead, he slid into the seat, reaching under the passenger side until his fingers curled around the cool, smooth shape of your phone.

“Here,” he grumbled, practically shoving it into your hand without looking at you.

You only smiled, sweet and cunning—like you knew just how much you’d wrecked his entire damn morning.

Later, while Dean was working on Baby in the garage, he was trying—really trying—to focus on the engine in front of him, but that damn skirt was making it impossible.

You’d perched yourself on a barstool a few feet away, flipping lazily through some magazine like you had no care about what you were doing to him. Legs crossed just enough to hike the fabric higher, teasing the soft skin of your thighs.

He forced himself to keep his eyes on his work, tightening a bolt with more force than necessary. But his resolve slipped when your legs parted—slowly—before crossing again, like you were stretching just for the hell of it.

Dean caught the flicker of a smirk on your lips.

Son of a bitch.

He gritted his teeth, wrench working double time to keep his hands occupied. The garage was warm, but it wasn’t the heat making sweat gather at his collar. He knew better than to look again—knew damn well that every glance was just giving you ammunition.

But then you hopped down from the stool, the movement making the hem of that tiny excuse for a skirt ride up just enough to give him a peek at the curves of your ass. The little top you have on doesn’t help, the hem doesn’t even cover past your belly button. The plush skin of your stomach pokes out between the two pieces, another taunt. Another image burned into his brain that’ll creep back into his mind when he’s alone in his bedroom at night. 

Dean muttered a curse under his breath, dragging a hand over his stubbled jaw. You didn’t adjust the fabric, didn’t even pretend to be modest as you strutted past him like you hadn’t just shortened his lifespan by a couple years.

“That skirt’s a safety hazard,” he grumbled, voice rougher than he meant it to be.

You didn’t even glance his way, just laughed, light and teasing, as you bent over to grab a drink from the cooler. The motion made the back of your skirt ride up again, and Dean had to snap his gaze to the ceiling before his self-control completely crumbled.

“Right,” you chided, cracking open a bottle of water. “You worried about my safety, big guy?”

Dean exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders like that might shake the tension out. “Yeah,” he muttered, wrench clanking against the metal. “Somethin’ like that.”

But you heard the strain in his voice. And from the way you licked a stray drop of water off your lip, eyes meeting his like a damn challenge—you knew you had him closer to where you wanted him.

The breaking point comes when you crouch in front of a bookshelf in the bunker’s library, back to him, that godforsaken skirt dipping low. The waistband sliding down your back enough for the strings of your panties to come fully into view. Slung around your hips, material so thin Dean figures it’d take one pull to tear the lacey pink from your skin. 

Dean’s hands clench at his sides. His jaw locks. His restraint is hanging by a damn thread, and he’s too tired to keep up his composure.

“All right, that’s it,” he announces, voice gruff, decisive. “No more skirts.”

You glance back at him over your shoulder, blinking wide, innocent eyes. “No more skirts?”

His stare is locked onto you like a man staring down a loaded gun, like he’s already taken the hit but is too damn stubborn to go down. “You heard me.”

Slowly, deliberately, you rise to your feet, turning to face him, that little smirk playing at the corners of your lips. “I don’t know what you mean, Dean,” you say sweetly, approaching him with your hands behind your back. “It’s just a skirt.”

Dean exhales sharply through his nose, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

Your head tilts, mischief gleaming in your eyes, and then—without breaking eye contact—you take another slow, deliberate step into his space. Close enough that the air between you turns thick. Close enough that he can smell the vanilla in your shampoo, feel the heat radiating off your skin.

“Take it off me, then.”

The words go straight to his growing bulge, all the heat in his body coursing to his core. He prays you don’t glance down, because he knows that triumphant little smirk will come back and he can’t do anything about it. 

Dean stills. His fingers twitch at his sides like he’s fighting the instinct to grab. His gaze flickers over your face, lingering on your lips for a beat too long, before dropping—just for a second—to the hem of that damn skirt. At the lace still peeking over the waistband because you, apparently, are refusing to adjust it today. 

For half a second, you think he might actually do it.

His hand lifts—just an inch, just enough for his fingers to graze across your hip and naval, the heat of his fingertips burning against the soft exposed skin of your stomach. A touch so fleeting, so barely-there, but enough to make your breath hitch.

Dean hears it. His jaw flexes, nostrils flaring.

And then—just as quickly—his fingers curl into a fist, like he’s physically snatching his own control back.

With a rough exhale, Dean steps back, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear it, like he's some damn teenager again, knocked flat by the first girl who ever looked at him like she wanted more. His restraint is hanging by a thread, fraying fast. “Go to your room,” he mutters, voice like gravel.

You laugh, soft and teasing, the sound sliding down his spine like a warm hand.  “Go to my room?”

Dean’s jaw clenches, fingers flexing at his sides. “Before I do something stupid,” he grits out. “This—” he motions between you, frustration rolling off him in waves, “can’t happen.”

His voice is strained, rough-edged, but his eyes—the heat in them, the way they drink you in like you’re something dangerous tells you that there's hardly any grit behind those words.

He’s not giving in yet, fine, but can't happen and won't happen are two different things. And besides, you’re sure as hell not done toying with him for the day. You tilt your head, all wide eyes and faux innocence, “Fine. I’ll take it off.”

Dean doesn’t even have time to process the words before your hands are slipping under the waistband, pushing the little black scrap of fabric down your thighs. The air in the room shifts, charged, like a storm gathering on the horizon.

Dean’s throat works as he swallows hard, pulse hammering in his ears as the skirt pools at your feet. His gaze—traitorous, desperate—flickers downward before he can stop it.

Pink lace. Thin. Damn near sinful.

Heat licks up his spine, tightens his stomach, makes his skin prickle like he’s seventeen again, fumbling through the backseat of a car with a girl he has no business touching. Only this is worse. Because he’s not some dumb kid—he knows better. And yet, he still can’t look away.

Then you turn your back to him and bend at the waist. Slow. Deliberate.

Dean grips the back of the chair beside him like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to sanity, fingers digging into the worn wood. His jaw flexes so tight it aches. His eyes watch shamelessly as you give him full view of everything he's craving. Skin he can't let himself touch, hips he wants to grip onto while he fucks some of that attitude out of you.

And you—like you don’t even feel the heat radiating off him, like you didn’t just wreck him beyond repair—saunter toward the door in nothing but that little top and pink panties.

At the threshold, you pause. With a wicked little smile, you toss the discarded skirt over your shoulder.

It smacks Dean square in the chest.

He catches it on instinct, fingers fisting in the fabric, knuckles going white. The soft material, still warm from your body, feels like a brand against his skin, like evidence of the war he’s losing.

“You are gonna be the death of me,” he mutters, voice low, wrecked.

You glance back at him over your shoulder, a smirk playing at your lips. “What a way to go, huh?”

Dean doesn’t answer. He just stands there, burning, watching you disappear down the hall, still gripping that damn skirt like it might be the only thing keeping him from chasing after you.

You never got that black mini-skirt back. 

tags ✩ @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @daylighted @jollyhunter @soldiersgirl @bejeweledinterludes @bluemerakis @cowboysandcigarettes @littlesoulshine @couturewinx @ultravi0lence14 @figthoughts @snowluvvie

[moldycheezeit]

Neglected Batsis idea

This was inspired by @sleepn0tfound "That's MY Daughter (P.S this is my first time writing anything like this at all. （´∇｀''）)

Ok so imagine a neglected fem batsis reader who is really smart and pretty, because she's Bruce's daughter, But she's so smart after she wins a science competition she ends up meeting Tony Stark. Who talks to her about what she made and other science things (idk man im not a science person (ᵕ—ᴗ—)). And over time she goes to New York more and more to stay with him and help make inventions.

 Over this time Tony will start seeing her as his daughter and not want her to leave, so he asks her to join the avengers as a tech person. She agrees because neither the batfam nor anyone in Gotham cares about where she is and what she's doing or if she's dead. So he has her train under Natasha for self defence or just in case she does need to fight in a battle.

One day at a public event that Tony is hosting and batsis is seen standing next to him. As he calls her his daughter and how she helped him make the new tech that's being promoted. Alfred who has the Tv on as background noise hears a familiar name being said and looks up to see batsis next to everybody's favorite genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. So he goes to where the batfam is (because they are all magically there) and tells them. At first they dont believe him but decide to look at the news channel he was talking about and are surprised when they see Tony Stark calling their sister/daughter his daughter.

While thinking of this I wanted to inspiring batsis off ochaco uraraka, mitsuri kanroji, and nami. Ok thats all for now toodles ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Edit : If I do write this and accidentally miss characterize anyone I’m sorry 😞

[real-evil-genius]

One of my favorite bits was the people that asked if sailor Moon could fight Warhammer 40k.

The best suggestion was that she would rebuild the universe so that the emperor was a simple salaryman who had time for his kids.

I approve of powerscaling discourse only in utterly senseless contexts. I don't give a shit about which shōnen protagonists could beat up which other shōnen protagonists, but I will 100% read your five thousand word essay exploring the subtle nuances of establishing a tiered ranking of the Smurfs.

[waitineedaname]

I've decided to finally compile all my daemon au thoughts into one post instead of just flooding my friends' dms with them! I doubt I'll ever managed to actually write a fic for it because there's no way I can pull together a coherent enough plot so it would just be a series of vaguely connected vignettes, BUT. it's on my brain always.

Shen Qingqiu has a red-crowned crane. She felt Shen Jiu die when Shen Yuan transmigrated, and she was NOT PLEASED, which definitely puts a damper on their relationship at first, though she begrudgingly plays along with Shen Yuan assuming the role of Shen Qingqiu because the alternative is death and she will NOT let this fool's incompetence kill her. She eventually comes around to him, but she generally has Shen Jiu's rather acerbic and distrustful personality

Luo Binghe's daemon is unsettled at the beginning because he's still a kid. He usually chooses smaller, easier to hide forms when they're out in public, only choosing bigger forms when they're alone. Eventually, as he becomes more comfortable with Shen Qingqiu, he starts coming out of his shell more and exploring more forms around him -- a lamb bleating at his heels, a little lion cub tumbling around the Bamboo House's private training grounds. On one notable occasion he took on a crane form as an attempt to get in SQQ's daemon's good graces. She did not appreciate it.

He doesn't settle until the Endless Abyss. In PIDW, Bingge's daemon settled as a chow chow, a dog that looks soft and fluffy but is prone to, uh. aggression issues. In SVSSS, Bingmei's daemon settles as a Tibetan mastiff, an absolute unit of a dog that LOOKS intimidating, but is really just very protective

Shang Qinghua has a yellow-throated marten daemon! This is, notably, not the daemon the original goods had. Since he transmigrated as a baby, the original goods' daemon hadn't settled and was Also a baby, so he didn't end up with a grown adult's fully settled daemon like Shen Yuan did. Martens look very cute and nonthreatening, but they are fierce predators and will take down animals much larger than them! He usually keeps her hidden in his robes, but she wiggled out to screech at him to GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE when things started going wrong at the Immortal Alliance Conference, and her having a different form is what clued SQQ in that SQH might also be a transmigrator

Liu Qingge has a snow leopard and Yue Qingyuan has an Asian black bear. These daemons were chosen because Tibetan mastiffs were kept to protect monks from snow leopards and bears lol

Plot stuff under the cut!

SQQ's daemon is aware of the System, and therefore gets to learn things about SQQ's fate in the original novel. she is Not Pleased.

She remains reserved and guarded for a while, but it's hard to resist Shen Yuan's persistent charm, so she does warm up to him eventually. She's not wild about being touched, but she'll occasionally allow him to pet her feathers. She's also not wild about letting That Little Beast live in the Bamboo House, but she quickly learns Shen Yuan is just as stubborn as her A-Jiu was, so she allows it if only as a chance to keep a closer (suspicious) eye on Binghe

They definitely get much closer after the Immortal Alliance Conference, because she can tell just how much SQQ is grieving, and it pains her too. At this point, she's started seeing him as Her Person and not just a bodysnatcher

When they run into Binghe and his daemon again at Jinlan City, they both get to enjoy remembering the graphic descriptions of how in PIDW, Binghe's daemon had ripped SQQ's daemon's wings off as part of his torture. And oh fuck, his daemon settled as something even BIGGER this time?? Look at those jaws!!! Clearly the thump thump thump of his tail wagging against the floor at the sight of them is because he's excited to get his revenge. Definitely not because he's excited to see them again

On rare occasions, daemons of powerful cultivators can survive beyond the death of their person, usually only if the daemon is particularly strongwilled. She survived Shen Jiu's death once already. She's certain she could survive until SQQ gets into the back-up mushroom body. They thought it would only be a few minutes. They didn't expect it to take five years.

She is absolutely catatonic with grief during those five years. Binghe takes her survival as proof that Shizun's soul must have survived, certainly he will be able to bring him back if his daemon is still alive. He treats her with the utmost respect, the same way he treats SQQ's corpse. He never touches her directly since he knows she hates being touched. She never spoke much to him before, but now she doesn't even speak at all. She just curls up on the bed where he keeps the body, resting her head on Shen Qingqiu's chest

When Plantzun does finally show up and chaos ensues with the corpse hot potato, she confirms any of Binghe's suspicions about Shen Qingqiu's identity by swooping into the fray to peck angrily at the familiar stranger, some life and vitality finally returned to her and she scolds him for taking FIVE YEARS?? SHE NEVER WOULD HAVE AGREED TO THIS IF SHE'D KNOWN IT WOULD TAKE FIVE YEARS, HOW DARE HE. Shen Qingqiu is first so relieved to see her, and then terrified because she immediately broke his cover

After everything settles and the plot concludes and bingqiu get their happy ended, Binghe's daemon becomes SUCH a lapdog. Clingy rescue dog made of velcro type of vibe. They have to get a big enough bed to fit two grown men and a 150 pound dog. He LOVES Shizun headpats. SQQ's daemon does not ever join these cuddle sessions, but she always keeps an eye on them from her nest of pillows across the room because like hell is she ever letting Shen Qingqiu out of her sight again