#'male' 'female' 'both' 'neither'

[serpentface]

i'd love to hear more about the akoshos! i'm sure they'v been brought up more than twice, but tumblr's search function is the enemy of knowledge :')

Yeah so the akoshos gender role is a long standing practice in the Wardi cultural sphere that has ancient roots, existing in both Wardi and Wogan spheres (I'll mostly be talking about the modern Wardi context here). Its ancient precedents were varied and often broader in description, often encompassing people designated male who present and live as women and/or engage in sexual/romantic relationships with men (and usually involving additional cultural roles beyond just being an Identity).

In the modern context, it is a gendered space where someone designated male at birth performs expected presentation and social roles of women. In terms of Wardi convention, this usually involves braiding the hair, wearing veils while outdoors, longer robes or skirts, wearing non-unisex jewelry, and behaving under the myriad of feminine social conventions. Most akoshos experience strong social pressure to shave any facial hair (and will often be seen as 'overmasculinized' if not).

Akoshos will be referred to with the ‘she’ pronoun and other feminine gendered language articles and titles (with the exception of being called an 'akoshos-husband' if married to a woman).

Being akoshos is regarded as being dual-gendered- having a 'male’ body capable of penetrative roles while otherwise socially performing ‘female’ roles. This is ultimately conceptualized as being physically male and spiritually female (quite literally in the sense of having a female soul incarnate into a 'male' body). They are considered a polar opposite to eunuchs, who are regarded as de-gendered and neither male nor female. Their role is not regarded as a personal choice but to be an aspect of their nature.

This role has some religious connotations, being seen as an imperfect human approximation of God's dual-sexed nature, and a few specific rites and minor priesthoods are exclusive to akoshos. (In deep theology they are imagined as metaphors of the living body of God before the initiation of the death-rebirth cycle, lifting the foundation of the world and inseminating the seas to create humans, while eunuchs can represent the dead body of God in sacrifice and the initiation of the death-rebirth cycle, being severed and divided to grant the world life and form) (This is not going to be a common line of thought for the everyday person though).

The actual word ‘akoshos’ stems from a role in traditional all-male Wardi theater, for actors who specialize in female roles (with no connotations on their gender/presentation in daily life). The occupying forces of the 2nd Burri empire took this performance-specific word and used it as a catchall for dual-gendered members of Wardi and Wogan peoples, with this (in addition to separate Wardi tribes gradually assimilating/being assimilated into an indistinguished nationality) eventually resulting in the linguistic loss or obsolescence of most pre-existing titles in favor of 'akoshos'.

While they are accepted as a specific gendered space (seen as a normal part of the cultural framework, rather than ‘failed’ men or otherwise deviant), they are subject to stigma and disempowerment as a non-male gender in a patriarchal sphere. They are grouped with women in terms of class status and are similarly denied certain legal rights (sole property ownership, self-representation in court, subordinate statuses to husbands in inheritance, legal independence from a familial patriarch, etc).

It is, like most other gender roles here, a fairly rigid gendered space that one can ‘fail’ at or shamefully deviate from. The fact that akoshos are so accepted as part of society is part of what makes this role equally rigid to manhood or womanhood. An akoshos is expected to perform female roles and presentation consistently and as culturally required, and strong deviation from female gender roles (with exceptions for some sexual roles) is treated with much the same disdain as for men and women 'failing' at their own gender.

People generally do not Want their perceived sons to turn out as akoshos, and will often find it an unfortunate lot that a female soul has incarnated into their child's male body. The framework of society heavily revolves around the fundamental importance of the family, preserving and propagating one's family and honoring their name. Children are, in many ways, functionally assets, with their marriage securing a family's future and further descendants, and the success and stability of one's adult child (typically only attainable in marriage) allows for parents to be cared for in old age and to receive necessary and proper rites. Akoshos, in many ways, cannot fully support this framework. They cannot perform expected patriarchal roles of sons as primary heirs, inheritors, and and carriers of the family name and legacy, nor can they function as daughters to be given in marriage, being incapable of pregnancy.

As such, many akoshos lose direct support from their families and on average tend to occupy disenfranchised societal roles. (This is NOT universal though, you’ll find plenty of families that continue to fully support their akoshos children throughout life). Akoshos living in cities often develop microcommunities with themselves and other notably disenfranchised women (often sex workers) as means of self-support.

Akoshos can take on certain jobs ostensibly exclusive (or predominant to) women, including some esteemed fields. Many find work as midwives, and are allowed into certain all-female priesthoods (particularly as physician-priestesses), though they are not accepted as Odonii. A couple of Usoma-Hittibe (the unmarried eldest sister to a king or emperor, outranking a queen or empress) known in history have been akoshos.

While akoshos are not '''useful''' assets in marriage (which is usually arranged, and in many ways a political or financial agreement), they are unique in that they Can legally and officially be wed to both men and women (and will be referred to as an akoshos-wife or akoshos-husband, depending on the gender assignment of their partner). Marriage is otherwise exclusively between men and women, the concept of it existing in other capacities is regarded as an absurdity, given its predominantly reproductive role.

An akoshos taking on a 'husband' role to a woman is not ideal in a practical arranged marriage (especially as, in having a woman's denial of many legal rights, they may find it difficult to perform a husband's role of supporting a family), but these arrangements are biologically capable of producing children, which is of some benefit. Akoshos-wives are less common, as these unions cannot produce a pregnancy and thus cannot fulfill the reproductive role that marriage largely exists to facilitate. But unlike an akoshos-husband, an akoshos-wife is fully capable of performing all Other roles expected of a wife. Men will sometimes remarry akoshos after they have already acquired children through a previous marriage, at which point the akoshos-wife can fully inhabit the expected non-reproductive roles of a wife and mother.

Akoshos also have a significantly larger degree of sexual freedom in comparison to those designated women and ESPECIALLY to men. They are still subjects to strict standards of 'appropriate' libido, but are socially permitted to take on any sexual role with partners of any gender. (An akoshos receiving penetrative sex is not 'shamed' like a man is, as they are in part women and that is their lot (including the spiritual pollution seen as inevitable for women via penetration). An akoshos performing penetrative sex is also acceptable (though any receiving male partner is 'shamed'), as they are ''''physically men'''' and this is also their lot). A woman who is 'disproportionately' interested in sex with women may be regarded as overmasculinized or having an excessive libido, but an akoshos exclusively interested in women will not usually draw scrutiny (again owing to their conception as being both male and female).

Not ALL akoshos would be trans women or otherwise transfeminine in the contemporary LGBT+ context (though a probable majority are). This role is also the only one that allows for people designated male to have open and mutualistic romantic/sexual relationships with men (eunuchs can as well, but this is not the most attractive route for obvious reasons), and the only role where one can marry a man, so it may appeal to some who would be considered cis gay/bi men. The role could attract a variety of people for a variety of reasons (a minority could even be cis and het), and conversely not all trans women or nonbinary transfeminine people would be comfortable or self-actualized in the akoshos role. It's culturally specific, just one representation of the myriad ways people conceptualize, reject, or transcend sexuality and gender.

[patron-saint-of-lesbeans]

Heyyyy RJ. I'm working on a huge comprehensive post about the theology of the Sides, biblical hermeneutics, hamartiology, anthropology, and etc. An area that I originally wasn't going to touch on at all, was the areas of intersex people and trans theology, because on the one hand I don't experience this for the most part and on the other I am just sorrowfully lacking in any knowledge about it.

Long story short: since you seem to know a lot about these things could you inform me of your approach towards gender, sex, intersex people, and trans theology?? Thank you, very much appreciated <333

Of course! For reference, though, I am not well-read (academically) on the topics, but they are something I think of, pray about, and encounter fairly often, so if any other intersex or trans people have any further theological sources or reading to suggest, I would appreciate it. I am speaking from the perspective of a USAmerican cradle (Roman) Catholic with very poor catechesis. I hope this is informative or at least inspires your own research on the topic; I’m happy to answer any more specific questions to the best of my ability.

(Funny enough I had a post in the queue on this topic, so I've transplanted a lot of it to this post).

Firstly, I came to interact with the intersex community, and by extension gender's intersection with theology, because I am disabled. I was born with a debilitating congenital birth defect, and went through the combined medical pressure to 'be fixed' and the spiritual frustration of being made 'imperfect' by a perfect God. The generally accepted answer from the Church is that the fall corrupted nature, and therefore disability and birth defects exist - not as a punishment or transferred guilt from Adam, but simply as a part of our fallen world, just like death. That is not a very satisfying answer when you're 9 years old and can't walk or run or play with the other kids.

Personally, my parents shielded me from medical professionals who wanted me to submit to some pretty drastic procedures for a child to go through. When a doctor suggested a surgery, my parents would explain to me what would happen and how it might help or hurt me. I denied almost every optional 'quality of life' surgery offered, and that decision - even as a child - was respected. Intersex people, especially children, do not have that kind of informed consent or support. (A lot of disabled people also lack in this support and understanding, I just happened to be one of the lucky ones.)

I should also note that my birth defect is very rare - literally rarer than 1 in a million - making it much rarer than intersex conditions, including ambiguous genitalia observable at birth. The argument that intersex conditions* are 'rare' and therefore 'intrinsically either male or female' is a gross simplification and erasure of their physical and social reality. As far as the statistics, just how many intersex people are born are inherently skewed toward rarity. Many countries and cultures still permit or encourage the killing of intersex infants at birth, and there is a documented history in the US of intersex infants having their genitals cosmetically altered at or soon after birth (sometimes without the parents' knowledge or consent). Furthermore, some intersex conditions aren't apparent until puberty, and many young intersex people are lied to by their family and doctors about their condition. Therefore, the justification that intersex people are 'rare' and therefore don't need theological accommodation is inherently flawed. Even if intersex people are exceptionally rare, like my condition, the Church doesn't teach that I needed to submit to medical 'correction' to live a 'normal' life. My naturally disabled life is of individual and intrinsic value. The Church failed to extend this understanding and compassion to the intersex community.

Currently the Church's teaching on intersex people is murky at best - from my personal research. The 'intrinsic' nature of gender is dogmatically limited to either male or female, reflecting man-made social constructs and tradition, not nature and God-given identity. Is it the 'intrinsic' nature of humanity to be abled-bodied? Should disabled people therefore make every possible effort to present as abled-bodied? Of course not - so, why do we demand intersex people pick an 'intrinsic' gender to present with? (Hint: intersexism.) The idea that intersex people with ambiguous genitalia - and remember, not all intersex people have ambiguous genitalia - need 'corrective' surgeries for their genitalia is fearmongering medicalization. Very rarely does ambiguous genitalia impede necessary bodily functions, and when it does, surgery to correct the urethral opening does not necessitate the extent of cosmetic changes these medically necessary surgeries supposedly require - as though the addition of prosthetic testicles is at all tied to a person's ability to urinate.

Until the Church meaningfully convenes with, recognizes, and celebrates the God-given intrinsic nature of the intersex community, there can be no settled theological value assigned to gender.

This doesn't mean that I dismiss the theological importance and value of the perisex* cisgender male and female genders. The Word Incarnate came in the form and likeness of a 'man,' and I respect that the priesthood reflects that. The (potentially) procreative nature of sex being limited to a married 'man' and 'woman' also falls within my understanding and respect for Church teachings on intimacy. However, I think theological values need to be extended to and evolved to include intersex people who don't transition to present as a perisex man or woman.

Which therefore also extends to trans theology. If we cannot accept and understand diversity given by God at conception and birth, we cannot have an informed and theologically solid interpretation of transition later in life. Hence its even murkier status - and by social and cultural hang ups, its negative bias - in Church teachings. The Church permits abortions for ectopic pregnancies as a medical necessity as determined from years of medical study as the best and most life saving option, but the transition of a severely dysphoric* person is not seen as medically necessary in spite of years of similar research and support?

I guess that's the crux of my approach to gender with reference to intersex and transgender issues. If it is natural - and it is - then regardless of rarity it is God-given individuality that should be theologically affirmed and celebrated. If it is medically necessary - and for trans people, transition is the best modern treatment - then it should be permitted by the Church. The merger of these two concepts, natural diversity and medical necessity, cannot be theologically dissected and discussed until they are individually accepted by the Church.

I was born disabled - not in a disabled body, not with the wrong skeletal structure - I am disabled. It's not a dirty or bad word, and it doesn't mean I'm intrinsically broken or need to be fixed. The intersex community has fought long and hard for recognition of their individual value, and the Church must respect and celebrate that if it wants a cohesive theology on gender.

The soul and the body are not mirrors but complements. If they were mirrors, then does my physical disability present in a spiritual limitation or flaw? No; they complement each other and any dissonance between the two is created by the fall of man - like Death, which separates body and soul, and is therefore abhorrent to God and human nature alike. Is it wrong to administer medical attention to the terminally ill or dying? No; we administer medical attention with the knowledge that we cannot cure death but that we can offer bodily comfort. And we shouldn't try to 'cure' death - only God can do that, and will do that, at the second coming. It's a bit dire of an analogy, but similarly, we should administer the same compassion and care to our transgender siblings. You cannot 'cure' them, but you can make their bodily life easier, more comfortable, and more joyful.

intersex* - Intersex conditions can vary from alternative hormonal expression to chromosomal differences to mixed sex characteristics. The intersex community includes a variety of presentations, including those invisible to external medical observation. (You do not know who is intersex just from looking at or speaking to them.) Focusing on and defining these conditions by the potential medical complications of intersex development is intersexist and leads to extensive medical abuse. It would be ridiculous and exclusionary to defined perisex cisgendered women as those who have required a cesarean section. It is just as ridiculous and narrow-minded to define intersex individuals as those with ambiguous genitalia that required medical intervention at birth to allow for normal bodily function. Here's some Intersex 101 resources for those who want to learn more.

gender dysphoria* - Some transgender individuals do not experience gender dysphoria and the medicalization of the trans community, like the intersex community, is rife with disagreements and the high potential to withhold treatment and medically abuse individuals that do not perfectly meet strict conditions. With the Church's failure to acknowledge and include intersex people, this nuance cannot be addressed with our current limited dogmatic and theological understanding of gender.

perisex* - This term simply means the opposite of intersex, synonyms include dyadic or endosex. A perisex person has sex characteristics that 'match' their 'sex chromosomes.' Eg. a woman with XX chromosomes and a normally developed uterus, ovaries, vagina, etc. and an estrogen dominated endocrine system or a man with XY chromosomes with normally developed phallus and testes and a testosterone dominated endocrine system.

** Not mentioned above, but for reference the word h*rmaphrodite and variations thereof is a derogatory slur for intersex individuals. Just because a word is medically used, like r*tard, doesn't mean it should be used either medically or colloquially. More accurate scientific descriptors appear in any specialized biological field (monoeicious for trees, cogenital for some invertebrates, etc.) making the use of the h slur not only offensive but often inaccurate in scientific contexts. Just use intersex or if you’re specifically talking about ambiguous genitalia, just say ambiguous genitalia. If you didn't know, now you do - one of today's lucky 10,000!

[waterdeepthroat]

so so so sick of seeing playersexual discourse again with veilguard

[fishyfishyfishtimes]

Which sea creatures are able to change their sex

Oh, so many! Clownfish are the most well known, but many species of wrasses, groupers, sea basses, sea breams, ribbon eels, some moray eels, damselfish, marine angelfish, gobies… probably even more I cannot find right now! There’s also fish that can be both sexes at the same time, like hamlets and the comber! And that’s just the fish. There’s many sequential or simultaneous hermaphroditic marine animals out there, nudibranchs are hermaphrodites, so are flatworms! The ocean is full of little and big guys changing their sex, sometimes some animals can even flip between the two!

[wonder-worker]

It is true that Æthelflæd exercised a degree of authority unmatched by any royal woman prior to Edgar’s controversial queen, Ælfthryth. Nevertheless, her career should not be viewed as wholly distinct from that of other well-born women of the period. The charters depict a woman who gained political prominence, not in spite of contemporary gender expectations, but through them. Her rise to domina Merciorum followed a traditionally gendered path from daughter to sister, wife, and widow. She, like other noble women, provided her father, brother, and husband with a means of fulfilling their ambitions for themselves and their family. Yet she should not be seen as a passive or unwilling participant in this project; rather, it was her place at the intersection of West Saxon familial expectations and Mercian royal traditions that positioned her to achieve the sort of political influence typically available only to men. At the same time, like the Alfredian entries in the Chronicle or Asser’s vita Alfredi, Æthelflæd’s charters must also be understood as the political propaganda of a savvy West Saxon dynasty accustomed to crafting both a public narrative and a documentary record to suit their needs. The Æthelflæd of the charters is no less fictional than the Alfred of Asser or, for that matter, the Alfred of the prologue to the OE Pastoral Care. The charters, like these texts, are an exercise in political image-making. If the “real” Æthelflæd still remains elusive, however, we may at least be able to catch a glimpse of her in the documents of the law.

— Andrew Rabin, "The Charters of Æthelflæd", Æthelflæd, Lady of the Mercians, and Women in Tenth-Century England (Edited by Rebecca Hardie)

[kaleidoscope1967eyes]

does "girl but socially genderfluid" make sense

[galaxirin]

Wow congratulations ! You totally deserve more !

If you wanna could you re draw Caryll ? 👀 we only saw a glimpse of our fav runesmith !

Also would you be ok with more lore oriented questions ? I’m really curious about some of your interpretations.

Hello!! Thank you so much!! 🩵🩵

And here’s a reference for Caryll!! I got some inspiration from ruinetsel on twitter for a base design :>>!!

And to answer your second question, yes!! I’m super open to more lore oriented questions!! I have a lot of thoughts regarding the lore of bloodborne and it’s characters 🤭 so you can ask as much as you want!

(Art requests still open)

[genderqueer-karma]

sometimes you realize that nothing is real and that you can totally wear that studded belt that was refused to you when you were younger. i can wear what i want forever

[virigorne]

Can I go in the lesbian tag without being bombarded by “lesbians can like men <333 if you don’t agree you hate nonbinary people :(“

Leave us alone.

[bapydemonprincess]

Just had to get this one last thing out into the wild before I was done for the day. 👋

[thecourtjester12]

Why do we view a lot of things as male and female when they....dont have genders??? Like the sun and moon and cars and electronic devices???

Such a strange concept it is...

*nudges boyfriend at 3 AM* pretty fucked up that we depict the moon as a girl and the sun as a boy. they’re just floating rocks in space. chad? wake up chad. listen. they’re sexless.

[cerusee]

deciding between watching tmopb vs gmp, how would you say the treatment of the female characters by the narrative is in each?

Surprisingly tough question! I would argue that, overall, in each show, the female characters are largely treated, by the narrative, on par with the male characters. This is not to say they’re not having a shitty time—the women in Goodbye My Princess are on average having it worse than most of the men, because they live in a sexist, patriarchal society (at at a certain point in the story, a lot of the female characters on screen are also in the imperial harem, with all of its internal politics and constraints)—but EVERYONE is having a shitty time of it, at one point or another. I think I noted in the tags of a GMP reblog that very often, female characters come into their fullest agency on this show when they’re choosing whether and how to die. But this is very much based in the sexist constraints of the historically informed setting, as well as the overall arching theme of power as a kind of trap, and the pursuit of power as a path of moral corruption. Does the world of GMP respect women? No. Does the narrative? Oh yes.

Most of the female leads on Ten Miles of Peach Blossoms suffer from terminal love brain, but this is the resting state of the show; the male leads are all equally dumb due to chronic love disease. The whole show just vibes on that particular frequency and therefore there is a pleasing consistency to the bad decision-making among women and men alike. (Also I should rush to clarify that some of these characters are very intelligent in general? It’s fun to watch Ye Hua make plans! Just uh. Not about romance.) Su Jin is….arguably a misogynistic trope. It’s just like, such a bonkers effective execution of the jealous, scheming female foil that I cannot bring myself to want her to be anything other than what she is. She is the Darth Vader of jealous exes. She is ICONIC. They should have retired the type after Su Jin. They should have named the type after Su Jin, and then put it up on a shelf where no one can reach it. Some people will probably have issues with her, and I understand this! However I love her in the sense that I want to roll her in a felt carpet and have a herd of horses trample over it, in the ancient Mongolian style of execution of a worthy enemy. The protagonist Bai Qin is interesting because she herself is a fairly atypical xianxia female lead—she’s a seventy thousand year old alcoholic war veteran who grew up in a frat house, and her two favorite hobbies are lying about her identity and dumping people. She has a kind of self-assurance and rooted authority I find pretty noteworthy in a female character (admittedly she is also the queen of a politically significant country, this is not coming out of nowhere) and maybe even more worthy of note is that the show is very comfortable with this and there’s no narrative push to soften her edges or take her down a peg.

Anyway I’m genuinely hesitant to push you in one direction or the other because while I think, for instance, that GMP is a better show, the death rate of major female characters is VERY high, and even the ones who make it out alive don’t have what I’d call happy endings. (Even Mi Luo! Although she comes the closest.) After all, it IS the tragedy show. Whereas TMOPB…well, uh, it does have some bummer outcomes in there, but it is a very happy ending for the main pairing, and I think narratively speaking it’s a very satisfying experience for Bai Qin overall.

[tonycries]

Unhoneymooners!? - G.S.

Synopsis. The universe was surely playing a joke on you. Here you were, trapped on a luxury getaway with your - dangerously handsome, extremely obnoxious - ex. Either you were going to kill each other or end up pinned beneath him, split apart on his cóck. You just didn’t know what would come first.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, exes to lovers, unprotected, argument as foreplay, slight enemies to lovers, more like annoyances actually, cunnilingus, oral (male + female), spitting, creampié, one bed trope, rough, Satoru is still EXTREMELY down bad for you, and unfairly hot, forced proximity, cúmplay, pet names (sweetheart), swearing.

Word count. 8.5k

A/N. It’s impossible to not write Satoru without bullying him at least a little bit.

You broke up with Gojo Satoru exactly 5 months, 2 weeks, and 16 hours ago - not that you were keeping count, of course.

So why was he outside of your resort room blasting “Kill Bill” by SZA like he’s auditioning for the world’s most dramatic comeback tour? On what should’ve marked your fourth anniversary, no less.

Well, given you were the one to lock him out, but still - the stubborn bastard could at least have some decorum. 

With an exasperated sigh, you throw yourself onto the king-sized bed of your honeymoon suite, trying to will away that annoying, grating voice - not SZA, no, more so Satoru singing along at the top of his lungs to the chorus. 

How did you even get here? And with Satoru of all people - your Satoru. Or at least he was this time a little over a year ago. 

You first met Satoru when you were in university, back when he wore those pretentious circled sunglasses and waltzed around those halls like he owned the place. And after a single literature assignment together, he wasn’t just your (self-proclaimed) best friend; he was the reluctantly favorite thorn in your side. 

Like the rest of him, Satoru’s introduction into your love-life was anything but subtle. It wasn’t like he strolled in, gave a polite nod, and blended into the background. Oh no, he bulldozed his way in and dragged you to dance with him on the tables of some dingy frat party in what you could only assume was some joke from the universe at your expense.

And damn him, you think bitterly, you couldn't resist him that night. Spinning you into a dramatic dip, silver chain brushing your face as his half-lidded eyes bored into yours. You couldn’t not kiss him after the way his hands were just searing into your skin. 

God, you’ve never been able to listen to “Gasolina” the same way ever since.  

Satoru was in love as he was in the rest of life - a force of nature, and it was too easy to find yourself caught up in him.

That night at the frat party was just the beginning. From then on was a rollercoaster of everything from heated debates over the best flavor of ramen to impromptu road trips where you’d end up under a carpet of stars. Wrapped in each other’s arms and sharing whispered secrets for an unpromised future - oftentimes where Satoru would crack a joke or two about running away to Tokyo with him. To which you’d laugh it off with a “Yeah yeah, I’d leave everything I’ve known behind in a heartbeat for your dumbass, Toru.”

You just didn’t think that it would be the downfall to your relationship. All the empty promises. 

Because as those heavenly days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, eventually two years had gone by. The whirlwind romance settled into a comfortable rhythm, but with it came the looming promise of graduation and Satoru moving to work under his family company in Tokyo.

Under pressure, it wasn’t long before the cracks began to show, the arguments more frequent, and the silences more deafening. And as your relationship slowly turned into nothing more than a husk of what it used to be - so did the both of you.

Long story short, graduation was a bittersweet goodbye - and you think both of you knew long before it was actually over. Neither of you attended the afterparty - with Satoru on a flight straight to Tokyo and you at home to stuff your face with chocolate. Hey, at least you could blame your tears on finally leaving university, right? 

You had meticulously erased his name from your phone, your social media, and even your dreams - well, almost, the bastard still came around to bother you occasionally. It was messy, painful, and final.

But “final” really didn’t explain your current predicament. Because if there’s one thing you’ve learned about Satoru is that he’s always there - whether you liked it or not. He was there when you needed a partner for that literature assignment, and he was there to turn your world upside down at that dingy frat party.

Hell, he was even there to help you stubbornly chug mountains of ice cream and win that raffle for this five day-long getaway trip to the Maldives. Though, you think he might’ve chugged the ice cream without the promise of a vacation anyway.

But, when ultimately those shiny tickets came in the mail - Satoru wasn’t there. Oh well, it might’ve been a couple’s trip - but you could have a hot girl summer, right? Maybe you could even snag a hottie by the end. You’d almost forgotten that he’d be getting his copy of the tickets as well.

Yet, unfortunately - as the beginning notes of P!nk’s “So What” bursts through the heavy wooden door - you were inevitably reminded of the fact that he was here. Right now. Goading you into coming outside.

You find yourself groaning inwardly (and outwardly) because of course, why wouldn’t he come back even more obnoxious than before? You haven’t seen him in ages, yet here he is, crashing back into your life with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Or - you furrow your brows at his purposefully off-key singing carrying over the sounds of the waves outside - with the subtlety of a manchild with a JBL and a premium account on Spotify.  

Rubbing your temples in frustration, you contemplate how much longer of this it would take before you’re both kicked out of this resort. And after you ate so many ice creams to win this getaway trip? No chance.

With a resigned sigh, you rise from the bed, smoothing out the bathing suit you’d just put on before the devil incarnate showed up knocking at your door. Something hot and prickly pools in your stomach as you approach it, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at the sheer absurdity of the situation. So like Satoru.

Taking a deep breath to steel yourself, you shakily reach for the handle. It’s fine. It’s not a big deal actually.

…

What’s the worst that can happen?

Slam! 

The door swings open, and there in all his smug glory stands a very shirtless Satoru. Gojo pain-in-your-ass Satoru, the same asshole you’ve blocked on even Gmail. 

Except, you’re momentarily struck by how high you have to raise your eyes to meet his. Are growth spurts even a thing anymore? You didn’t have a chance to take a good look last time before slamming the door shut at the first flash of white hair and a smug grin.

But right now, traitorously, your gaze catches on just how broad his shoulders look and…since when was he so chiseled? Damn you, Tokyo - you were doing him too good.

His hair is slightly longer too, curtaining those slightly more mature features, stopping just above that ever-immature grin. One which moves as he hums, “Well, happy fourth anniversary to me, If I knew this came with the suite then I’d have swam here myself.”

You scoff, suddenly feeling strangely self-conscious as he wiggles his brows, striking blue eyes sweeping your figure from head to toe. “I’d prefer if you swam back. What are you doing?” 

“Why, just showing up to our room on our lil’ honeymoon, sweetheart.” Satoru sing-songs, leaning against the doorframe to fully prevent you from slamming the door in his (admittedly) pretty face again. “And before you try to break my nose with that door again, I won that ticket here fair and square, y’know. I ate just as much ice cream as you did for it.”

“You ate most of those before you knew about the getaway raffle.” you sigh over his nonchalant shrug, pinching your nose, “And stop calling it our honeymoon, I dumped you five months ago.”

“Well aren’t you just the gift that keeps on giving. Keeping count?”

“No. Don’t be a pest.”

“Always thought you had a thing for pests. After all, you did date me.” As Satoru grins impossibly wider, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. He winks, “And if I’m a pest then you’re an itch that just won’t go away.”

“At least I’m not the itch that shows up uninvited to someone’s honeymoon suite.” you hiss. And with that you start shutting the door ever-so-slowly, delighting in the panic that overtakes Satoru’s features as he reaches out frantically.

“Hey!” he sputters, “I didn’t know you’d be here! And besides this ‘pest’ forgot his slippers all the way in Tokyo and can’t stand on flaming-hot boardwalks for too long so let me in.”

And sure enough, you glance down to see that Satoru isn’t wearing any slippers on the scorching boardwalk. The realization almost brings a smirk to your lips. This idiot. 

“Wow.”

“‘Wow’ at my feet or-”

“I should leave you here to rot just for your pure idiocy.” you deadpan, eyes locked on the way he’s burning his soles off yet still has the audacity to flash you a cocky smile.

“But you won’t.” he hums.

A beat passes. One. Two. And Satoru’s grin almost falters, before you finally relent - opening the door just a crack, cursing his entire bloodline under your breath. “You’re incorrigible” you mutter as he saunters inside victoriously, dragging his hefty luggage behind.

“Why change perfection, sweetheart~” he calls out, heading straight for the bedroom, only to let out a delighted “OooOOo” at the sight of the king-sized bed in the middle. The only bed. “How scandalous, maybe you’ll even fall in lov-” 

“Don’t. I’d rather gouge my eyes out with a seashell.” you warn, holding up both keycards threateningly, “I get the bed, you take the couch.”

“But-”

“And I’ve got the keys, so slippers or not you’ll be back out on that boardwalk.” 

A slight smile tugging at the corners of your lips at the way Satoru looked so dramatically crestfallen, you continue - just to be petty, “And no more ‘Kill Bill’ that’s on my angry ex playlist.”

With a heavy sigh he sulkily makes his way to the bathroom, calling out as he does, “Fine. But I’m showering first.”

As he disappears from sight you throw yourself onto your bed, basking in what little peace and quiet you’ll have because of your unwanted guest. This was going to be a-

“And I’m using all of your body lotions.”

“...”

“I will use one of your body lotions.”

Groaning, you sink into the plush mattress, just wishing it would swallow you whole and spare you from this torment. And this was only Day 1? This was going to be a very long five days. 

---

The first night with Satoru, honestly, wasn’t too bad. 

You don’t know what you expected exactly - maybe for him to pour hair dye in your shampoo or something. But he actually stuck to his word, slept on the couch after only a bit of taunting, and used only one of your body lotions. Your best-smelling, most expensive one, but one nonetheless.

Feeling slightly more optimistic, you spent most of the second day at the beach, meanwhile he stuck to lounging by the pool. Add in a bit of pretending you didn’t know him by the salad bar at dinner and that made for an almost-perfect hot girl summer. 

Well, considering that you were rooming with your insufferable longtime ex - in a honeymoon suite of all places. 

The only catch came that night, fully content at the burning soreness from being pushed around by the waves outside. You got ready to splay out on your bed, humming along to the tunes of your playlist and…Satoru’s lamenting?

“I swear my back feels like it’s been run over by a truck. Five of them, and a zoo.” he complains from behind you, dramatically draping himself over the couch - his impromptu bed. 

“Good.”

“What if that was my last straw?”

“Even better.”

His exaggerated, disappointed whine is both embarrassing and almost-endearing as you roll your eyes, resisting the urge to suffocate him with a pillow. “Maybe call your chiropractor guy.”

Satoru shot you a pointed look, his expression a mixture of faux innocence and irritation, which you knew too well. “I wish but he’s trekking through the Himalayas. C’mon~ Don’t you think that lovely king-sized bed is too big for just one?”

“No, but the boardwalk sure is. Maybe you should try it out.” you monotone, getting ready to end this conversation once and for all. 

But when has Satoru ever let you off easy? He sits up abruptly, a devious smile curling his lips. “Ohh, I get it.” he taunts, batting his long lashes mockingly, “You’re scared to sleep in the same bed with me.”

Huh?

“Out of all the idiotic-” you cut yourself off by whirling around to face his smug grin, “Why would I be scared to sleep in a bed with you. I’ve done that far too many times already.”

“Exactly,” he chuckles. “And all those times you could barely last an hour before without keeping your hands off of me. Scared you’ll end up pinned underneath me and stuffed full like old times, sweetheart?”

You narrow your eyes at him despite the heat burning your face. “The only thing I’m scared of is your icicle feet on my side.”

He laughs, a sound that’s equal parts irritating and endearing, and stands up from where he was slumped on the couch. Making his way slowly, but surely towards you, “Oh, c’mon. For old times’ sake, admit it, you miss me.”

"Yeah, missed the peace and quiet I don’t have because of your big mouth,” you scoff. Finding it hard to meet his twinkling gaze as he comes close enough that you’re toe to toe with him. Your cheeks burn at the proximity - hot enough to match the heat radiating off his body. 

Satoru shakes his head, undeterred by your threats. And suddenly you get the overwhelming urge to throw him out the window and straight into the ocean. “You can deny it all you want, but you still have feelings for me.”

Your jaw clenches at his audacity. “You wish. I’d never.”

“Then prove it.”

Damn, he was good.

Which is probably how you found yourself lying in the same bed as Satoru, with a wall of all the pillows in the room erected between you two - and a few extra from room service just in case. 

“Sweetheart, this is a king-sized bed. Is the fortress really necessary?”

You wrap your blankets tighter around yourself, trying to ignore the figure radiating warm right next to you. Muttering out a muffled little, “Yeah, so you can keep your mitts off of me.”

Satoru groans dramatically, bed creaking as he shuffles what you can only assume to be closer to you. “You keep your mitts off of me, you lecher.” he quips, voice dripping with sarcasm as he inches closer.

You stiffen at his proximity, feeling his warmth seep through the layers of blankets and pillows as he chuckles softly, the sound sending shivers down your spine, “Oh, come on, don’t be like that. We used to share a bed all the time.”

“That was before,” you interject. God, you didn’t like where this conversation was going. 

“Before what?” Satoru presses, his voice low and insistent. 

Now, you might’ve let yourself be goaded into sharing a bed but these were old wounds better off left alone. You hiss, tone firm, “Before. Now sleep” 

Before when you didn’t have to make a wall of pillows. Before when he would hold you tight and whisper sweet secrets into your ear. That he’d buy you the biggest ring he saw and promise you the world. Before- 

“I missed you, y’know.” Satoru breaks the silence barely audible over the sound of your own thoughts. The word pangs through your mind and claws at your chest. And at your silence he continues, tone a little lighter, “And stop hogging all the blankets, I’m gonna freeze to-”

“Boardwalk.”

“My apologies, ma’am. Goodnight, ma’am.”

And he sinks back into his pillow with a huff, you let out a sigh of relief. Something hot coiling in your stomach as you close try to catch as much sleep as you possibly could with the bane of your existence laying right beside you. The suddenly taller, dangerously handsome, still as-obnoxious-as-ever bane of your existence. 

You just wonder if he remembered “before”.

Oh, how Satoru remembered “before”. So much so that he had sixteen different playlists dedicated to you even after the breakup.

It’s divine punishment - it has to be. Satoru thinks there’s no reasonable explanation for the series of unfortunate events happening to him other than punishment from his ancestors above for being such a pussy and losing the love of his life.

First he forgets his slippers, then he ends up locked out of his own honeymoon suite by said love of his life. Granted, all thoughts of his poor burnt soles went out the window the moment he caught a glimpse of you in that positively sinful bikini. God, were you glowing. A goddess upon Earth - he could really give the Gojo Satoru of five months ago a good, hard kick.

And now he’s stuck in a - very comfortable - prison with you just inches away, tossing and turning in that way he knows means that you can’t sleep either. 

Honestly, very funny universe, the great Gojo Satoru demands a refund. Way to punk’d him into confronting the feelings he’s desperately been trying to bury these past few months - ever since he got on that plane to Tokyo and contemplated faking a heart attack just to get off. 

Realizing just then that he lost the love of his life - and the only woman who’d tolerate his karaoke nights. But with that realization came another, more jarring one: he was too late. 

Every touch, every laugh, and even every time you rolled your eyes was etched into his very soul, and it felt like a montage from a sappy breakup movie directed by a sadistic screenwriter who had it out for him. 

And it really didn’t help that this was the exact suite he was planning once upon a time to propose in. God, how you’d feed him to the crabs if he said anything about that - nevermind the fact that he was actually one that booked this-

But still, some traitorous, annoying part of his heart interrupts, she still hasn’t made you sleep on the boardwalk yet.

Maybe - just maybe - he’ll wake up to a second chance?

…

Ha. As if.

“I can’t sleep.” Satoru groans out loud, more so to drown out his own thoughts than anything.

“Well, I can. Goodnight.”

Ah, his girl was such a lil’ liar. Undeterred, the mattress creaks as he shuffles his weight to excitedly face you, taking a moment to admire how pretty you looked under the dim moonlight. He plows on, “Hey, if you promise not to make me crab food, wanna walk along the beach and watch the stars?”

A beat of silence. One. Two. so deafening and tense that Satoru was half a second away from obnoxiously laughing it off as a joke and pulling out his Emo Times™ playlist. 

“Or I can go back to the couch and-”

“Shut up. Let’s watch the stars, Satoru.”

But what do you know - maybe the universe hasn’t given up on him just yet. 

And, well, if he woke up the next morning breaching your fortress - your warm breath tickling his neck and his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, like the lifeline he never knew he needed - then, neither of you mentioned it.

---

“Hey, Satoru. You think we’ll always be like this?” you hum into your boyfriend’s chest, barely a whisper as the looming fears of, well, everything ring in your mind. 

He pulls you close, flashing a mischievous grin before planting a dramatic kiss on the top of your head. “Duh, I’ll always be around to drive you dangerously close to a stroke, sweetheart.” 

You roll your eyes, yet bury yourself closer to his warmth anyway.

“Besides, it doesn’t matter if I have to drag you by the leg to Tokyo. Wherever you are is where I belong. ”

---

You’ve come to learn that a resort island is only so big when you’re actively trying to avoid your 6’3 manchild of an ex.

Now that you were rooming with Satoru, sleeping with Satoru (in a literal sense only, of course), and just-so-happening to bump into him at the beach - somehow, talking with him is a little easier, his presence just a bit more exciting than you’d care to admit. 

If the you of four days ago could see what had become of you, then she’d probably slap some sense into you faster than you could say “Kill Bill”. Sleeping in the same bed (still only literally), having dinner, watching the stars - with Gojo Satoru? You’ve gone completely off your rocker. 

But could you really be blamed? These last few days have you feeling like maybe you’ve been dropped into an alternate universe, where you and Satoru never broke up. 

Yet, reality is a persistent little bastard. And with the end of your trip looming dangerously closer, the past you would be cackling mockingly in your face, flashing a large sign in big, red letters reading “I TOLD you so.” 

Whatever. Maybe by this time tomorrow both of you could laugh this all off as a silly little adventure and call yourself somewhat begrudging friends. Maybe you’d even end up unblocking him by the end - on Gmail, at least.

At the very least, dinnertime was a solace - both from your thoughts and the smug bastard talking your ear off about how he could “make that spaghetti better than a thousand Italian grandmothers.”

Until the fourth - and final - night, that is. When the resort, deciding that your current torture wasn’t already enough, arranged a special candlelit dinner. A romantic one. By the beach. With Satoru of all people. 

Great. Wonderful. Perfect, in fact. Going out with a bang. Was this really part of the all-inclusive package? It was like the universe was playing some twisted joke on you - or some awful version of wingmanning. 

You grit your teeth silently as you’re ushered to the beachside table, thoughts barely audible over the waves crashing against the shore and the soft, romantic music drifting from the band nearby. 

The complete opposite of Satoru, who was already seated at the table and enjoying himself far too much for your liking. He lounged back in his chair, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he watched you sit opposite him uncomfortably.

You hated to admit it - but God was he dangerously beautiful in that crisp white button-up, one that you knew was from his overpriced collection for special occasions. You found yourself fighting to avoid the amber hues twinkling in his eyes as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting warm shadows that bring out his pretty features.

Pretty? So frighteningly pretty - until he speaks, that is.

“And here I thought our honeymoon couldn’t get any worse. You’re sweating bullets, sweetheart. This your first date with me or something?”

“We’re not on a honeymoon, Satoru. And no, it just brings back memories.” you scoff. Relishing in the way he inches his chair closer to listen, clearly not expecting this sudden sentimentality. “Memories of why I blocked you on every social media.”

All but slamming his head down on the table, Satoru whines out, “Ouch, straight for the jugular. That mouth is still as bitchy as ever, huh? Though I do prefer it choking on my-”

“I’m going to throw you into the ocean.”

“Ooo, kinky~” he hums, swirling his wine glass, “But you know what this reminds me of? That one time we had dinner under the stars.”

You froze, the memories suddenly flashing back to you despite your best efforts to suppress them. “Oh yeah,” you muse. A chuckle leaving your mouth despite yourself, “Wasn’t that where you spilled ketchup all over your shirt and then insisted it was a fashion statement?”

He leans in closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Hey! It worked, didn’t it? I got compliments from everyone including you.”

“I was just trying to stop you from bursting into tears.” you roll your eyes, shaking your head at the memory. 

“Exactly, sweetheart. Like moths to a flame.”

“More like to a bug-zapper.”

Satoru throws his head back and laughs, loud and unabashed. A sound that echoes across the beach and makes something warm and sticky strum at your heartstrings. And at that moment, that stupid, little part of you didn’t even mind that you were at a special candlelit dinner. A romantic one. By the beach. With Satoru of all people. 

And he didn’t even have to goad you into it with SZA this time.

As the orange glow of the setting sun melded into the cool blue of the night, it almost felt like slipping back into an old routine. The food had long since been finished. Jabs and shared memories flowing through the air like the gentle waves lapping at the shore.

The cool air was now thick with contentment and something so unknown yet so familiar that it made your heart race. 

 “I swear.” you groan over Satoru’s loud cackles, “He tried to charm his way out of the bill by flirting with the waitress. In front of me.”

Satoru doubles over, clutching his stomach as he laughs uproariously. “Classic move! If he’s going to be a cheapskate then he should’ve at least been successful with it.”

Damn, was he eternally grateful for these dim candles. Otherwise you’d surely have caught the rosy flushing tinting his cheeks. How dare you sit there so gorgeous and perfect in front of him. Perfect for him - you haven’t changed one bit.

“Right? She looked ready to fling us both out.” You chuckle, eyes catching on the little dimple just at the corner of his mouth as Satoru shoots you a sly grin. “Mhm, I know if it were me I would’ve charmed us out of the bill successfully.”

You raise a brow, retorting, “Oh please. I’ve had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of that ‘charm’. You’d probably end up charming us into washing dishes in the kitchen.” 

Ah, right now, he doesn’t think he wants to be anywhere but here - bickering with you. 

“Ouch, you wound me, woman!” Satoru feigns offense, placing a hand over his heart dramatically before leaning down to whisper, low and conspiratorial, “Besides, I doubt you even remember what pleasure feels like since being with me.”

A thrill goes down your spine as you realize the insinuation of his words, steady and searing - matching that of  Satoru’s fingers on yours - which had snuck their way across the table, lazily tracing patterns along your skin. 

When did they even get there? Sly bastard.

Your mouth drops into a soft oh! at the dangerous glint in his eyes. But you refuse to back down, “Don’t flatter yourself, Satoru. I’ve had other guys make me cum much harder than you have.”

Touch burning. Mapping every curve and dip he’d known so well, and this time - you graze them back. A challenge. God, you missed that warm little flutter in your chest. 

That seems to catch him by surprise, as those darkened blue eyes widen. But there’s a dangerous edge to his grin as he purrs, voice low. “Is that so?” 

And with that, Satoru’s chair is scraping softly against the sand as he stands up, “C’mon, you’re gonna regret that, sweetheart.”

Oh. 

Satoru knows that it’s been 5 months, 4 weeks, and 8 hours since you two lasted an entire dinner civilly - not that he was counting, duh.

So when he begged the resort staff into setting the two of you up on this special candlelit dinner, he was expecting you to drown him in the lobster tank halfway through or at least end the night with a slap. 

What he certainly did not expect was to end dinner with you shoved against the closed door of your suite, legs wrapped impossibly tight around his waist, and lips trailing hot, openmouthed kisses down your neck. He angles your neck, body pressing so impossibly close to yours.

Inwardly, you curse his button-up for being so goddamn thin that you could feel his abs rub against you with every little movement. Toned chest rumbling as he groans at your hands tugging at those soft locks - just a tiny revenge, for your body lotion. 

“S-Satoru,” you whisper, and he breathes it in with an almost-pained sigh - not wanting to part for even a second. Because fuck it took so long to get you back and he wasn’t going to waste a single moment. 

Pulling just a hair’s breadth away, “Tell me what you want. Always knew we’d end up-”

“Just shut up and kiss me, you smug bastard.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And, well, who was he to deny you? So he does. 

His lips are searing on yours, hasty and greedy. With a tinge of something so painfully familiar. Your hands make their way onto his chest, feeling the thundering heartbeat against your fingertips - matching that of yours. 

Sweet. You tasted so sweet. Just like honey, and all the dreams where he didn’t leave you behind. Where he didn’t get on that damned plane but instead ran to you all the way from the airport like those sappy romcoms you love. 

He licks at the seam of your lips, drinking in your gasps as he intertwines his tongue with yours. Kissing you like he’ll never be able to again. Because, God, knowing his luck - he probably won’t. 

One hand cups your cheek so gently - a tenderness that doesn’t translate to his lips as he kisses you deeper. Meanwhile the other wanders the expanse of your body, leaving a burning trail of fire in their wake.

Satoru parts with a playful nip to your bottom lip - and before you realize what’s happening, the zipper hits the ground. He’s ripping your pretty dress off - mumbling something about “buying a new one” before large hands surge forward, groping and kneading your tits.

His mouth waters at the sight of your bra. Light blue - to match his eyes. “You evil, evil woman.” he mutters into the soft valley of your breasts as you giggle delightedly. Oh, how he couldn’t get enough of you.

And if there was ever a moment that Satoru thinks he could cream his pants right there, then this would be at the very top, followed very closely by the sight of that withering glare you shot after opening that suite door to him just a few days ago.

He unhooks your bra with one hand, throwing it blindly across the room as if it killed him to see you clothed. 

Immediately, Satoru drops to his knees with the desperation of a madman, coming face-to face with the heavenly sight of your clothed cunt, soaking through your thin panties. 

“Didn’t specify where I had to kiss, sweetheart.”

Your gaze pierces through him, as it always did. “What are you-” Your words get choked up in your throat as his tongue darts out. Licking a long, languid stripe over your clothed cunt. 

“Shit. So sweet f’me, jus’ like I remember. Just one taste and I feel like m’gonna cum in my pants.” Satoru groans, urgently sliding your wet panties down your quivering legs. 

“F-flattery won’t work.” you stammer out as his hot breath fans your quivering entrance as he waits just a second - one, two.

Drinking in the view of your pretty pussy with dazed, half-lidded eyes. Wet - so wet, he almost wants to tease you - just a bit, to see if you’ll get even wetter. Ah, he doesn’t have enough time to take in this view - probably never will. Would it ruin the mood if he took a picture?

“Oh, I’d say it worked pretty well.”

Cock twitching carnally, Satoru needed to taste you now. He immediately surges forward. Breathing you in so sinfully, pooling your juices on his tongue. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he tips his head back back back to let it slide down his throat. 

Shit, if you were the forbidden fruit then he would gladly be cast out of the garden of Eden. 

Half-delirious thoughts running through his mind, Satoru flattens his tongue across your swollen folds. Leisurely sliding between them, catching on your throbbing clit up and down up and down up and-

“Oh- hngh, Satoru faster-”

“So bossy.” he hums prettily around your swollen clit, the vibrations stimulating it just right. But of course, what his girl wants, she will get. 

Lewd squelches and your mewls of his name ring in the heady room as he speeds up his ministrations. Rolling his tongue harshly along your clit, sucking so sensually. Licking at your sweet cunt, dipping just into your sloppy hole. 

You almost miss the long fingers that deftly slide their way up your thigh, spreading your folds with his thumbs. A low groan sounds at the back of his throat as your walls flutter so sinfully around nothing - aching for more friction. 

Urgently, Satoru bullies his fingers past your folds, sinking deep into your plushy walls as his tongue continues its abuse. So warm and wet around him. Curling his fingers just right.

“Ah- fuck, Satoru- Feels s’good.” you gasp as he starts thrusting his fingers back and forth. A ruthless pace that has tears stinging your eyes, hitting that spot over and over and-

“Oh yeah? Thought you didn’t like my ‘big mouth’?” he purrs, muffled around your clit, “Look at you, sweetheart, now falling apart cos’ of it.”

You scoff, fingers tangling in his silky hair, pushing him deeper into your dripping pussy - mostly because you needed it, but somewhat because you really needed him to shut up. “Yeah, I like it better when you shut the fuck up.”

And with a dark chuckle, his mouth is back on your cunt. Your slick glossy and dripping down the corner of his mouth as he alternates between sucking unforgivingly on your ravaged clit and fucking into you at the same time as his fingers. 

And in the delicious stretch of your cunt, you barely register the metallic clinking of a belt before Satoru presses his clothed erection into you.

Shit. You clench so obscenely around his tongue at the feeling of his clothed, painfully hard and throbbing against your leg. Fuck - as big as you remember. You weren’t gonna be able to walk for a while.

“You like this, huh?” he murmurs, speeding up the rhythm of his fingers. Vibrations sending white-hot jolts of pleasure down your spine.

Cracking an eye open you risk a glance downward. Greedily eyeing the hand wrapped tightly around the base, moving up up up. Pumping in small, jerky movements at the same pace of his fingers fucking into you. “Like the way m’getting off to tonguefucking my girl?”

“Like thinking about how this is what I thought about all those lonely fucking night without you?” You arch into his touch, fingers searing on his scalp and angling Satoru just right to make your knees weak. 

He’s so close that you can feel the precum smearing onto your leg. Mouth fucking you in a way you knew he wanted to with his cock right now. Rough and unrelenting. 

“Like thinking about how you’re all I can fucking think about.”

“Hngh- Yes, Satoru! Yes-” 

You see stars as you cum - or maybe those were the tears in your eyes. Pulling Satoru impossibly closer to your quivering pussy so that you could ride out your high on his pretty face. And he readily accepts it - letting himself be handled roughly with the conviction of a man that wouldn’t mind dying if it was suffocating in-between your pretty thighs. 

Your vision is hazy, blood still roaring in your ears as Satoru stands up. Not even bothering to wipe away the wet trail of your slick prettily glossing his lips before capturing yours in a searing kiss. 

“Y’know, sweetheart,” he gasps in between heated kisses. “We got a king-sized bed so we better make use of it, hm?”

Your back hits the mattress before you can even react. Reeling from shock and the audacity as you bounce at the sheer force of his throw. 

“Next time you do that you’re-” 

Whatever insult at the tip of your tongue melts away immediately at the purely pornographic sight of Satoru stalking his way towards you from the foot of the bed. Eyes hooded, cock rock-hard, kiss-bitten lips parted slightly in a way that was so fucked-out.

Unhurriedly approaching you with such a predatory glint in his darkened eyes as he fucks his fist slowly - so agonizingly slowly. Eyes locked on you.

Despite cumming not even minutes before, your pussy jumps in anticipation. Immediately reaching over as soon as he’s close enough - as if in a trance - to replace his hand with yours. 

He was big - so mouthwateringly big. Flushed your favorite shade of pink at his leaking tip, pulsing veins glistening in the dim light - every part of Satoru was so unfairly pretty.

So hot and heavy in your hand as you pump him at a steady, methodical pace. Precum smearing on your palm, trailing down your wrist as you pump. Tighter on the base, thumbing teasingly under his slit the way you knew he used to like. 

“Oh fuck, sweetheart. Still remember, huh?” he hisses lowly. Ah, the way he still likes. 

“Mhm.” you hum absentmindedly, thighs clenching together at the way his hips grind in shallow, mindless little motions into your soft hand. Meeting your strokes as if trying to fuck something so delicious out of him.

And, well, you just couldn’t resist a taste. Bending down in one, fluid motion to delicately lick at his angry, hard head. Slightly salty taste on your tongue as you swipe at the droplets of precum pooling on his tip. Tracing lightly - ever-so-lightly - down his prominent veins. 

Satoru groans, low and hoarse with desire, “Shit, hah- you don’ ngh- have to-”

“Shut up, Satoru.” 

And with that, you’re shoving down as much as you can of his throbbing erection down your throat. Cunt clenching at the way he hardens impossibly as you choke and gag around him.

“Shit, oh- Oh fuck, m’girl. Yes yes yes-.” Satoru lets out a guttural moan. Fingers threading through your hair as he uses it as leverage to fuck himself slowly, deeper and deeper into your heavenly mouth. Hips stuttering and jerky with pleasure. Yeah, he definitely missed this. 

Half-delirious and cock-drunk, you take him all the way till your nose was buried in the tufts of white at his toned pelvis, already so wet with saliva and precum. 

Still got it, some smug, utterly debauched part of yourself titters. 

It was dizzying, the way he was pulsing in your throat, his heady scent filling your senses. Beginning to move up and down up and down in hasty, desperate bobs of your head. Pulling such lewd gasps and moans from his lips. 

You moan around Satoru’s thick cock, clawing at his toned hips for some semblance of stability. Some truly animalistic part of yourself relishing in the neat, red lines down his milky skin. The sight hazy through the tears that spring to your eyes at the way his fat tip hits your abused throat. A relentless, sinful tempo you were steadily losing your mind to.

Messy.  It was so fucking messy.

You just wondered if his orgasm would be the same…

But, alas, one can’t always get what they want. Because Satoru pulls you off of his achingly hard cock with a lewd pop! that rings in his ears and makes your cunt twitch. 

“Shit, sweetheart. Any longer and I’ll have to start thinking about ol’ Prof. Gakuganji to not cum.” he pants through ragged breaths, flashing you a deceptively innocent grin. “Now, lay back and spread ‘em f’me and let me see if your pretty pussy can still handle me.”

And that you don’t argue with. 

It’s almost embarrassing - the way you scramble desperately to sink back into the mattress. Letting Satoru manhandle your legs open so shamefully for him, throwing them over his muscled shoulders. But that’s a problem for the future, not lust-drunk you. 

Right now you couldn’t give less of a fuck as his hungry gaze locks on your glistening pussy. Pausing for just a split-second before spitting once. Twice. Thrice onto your waiting cunt. Making you feel more and more like an object as the warm saliva mixes obscenely with your slick, trickling down to form such a sinful pool on the sheets below. 

And you liked it.

Almost as much as you loved the way Satoru drags his tip along your swollen folds, catching so maddeningly on your clit. Teasingly pooling your slick on his leaking head. It was so sloppy. And too slow. 

“Satoru, I’ve waited five months too long for this. If you’re going to fuck me then fuck me like you mean it.” you grit out, frustration and pure need boiling over within you. 

“Oh? So it’s like that, huh?” 

And maybe you were a mastermind, maybe you were an idiot - probably both. Because Satoru immediately pushes in one, long thrust into your dripping cunt. Your words catch pathetically in your throat as he loses grip on whatever semblance of restraint he had - or his sanity - whichever one would break you first. 

Fuck, it feels so heavenly. Oh, how you missed him.

Bowing his body down down down till his damp forehead met yours. Folding you completely underneath him in the way you’ve found that only the smug bastard, Gojo Satoru can. 

You could almost sob at the stretch as he presses in - deliciously painful, borderline insane, and exactly what you’d been trying to deny that you’d been craving all these past five months. Being split apart on his throbbing cock, feeling like you were about to be absolutely devoured underneath him. 

It seems Satoru was just as needy for you, hot and throbbing agonizingly inside you, each little bump bump bump against your walls matching that of your heart thundering against your chest. 

Or was that Satoru’s? At this point you couldn’t even tell. 

“Oh, god yes-, jus’ like that ah shit shit shit-”

“This what you wanted, yeah?” A low growl leaves his throat at how sinfully your walls were milking him as he pulls back. All the way till his leaking tip was just innocently kissing your sloppy hole - only to ram his cock all the way back into your snug cunt. “To be split apart on my cock?” 

Shit, he could just about pass out right now with the way your cunt was sucking him in so greedily like she never wanted to part. 

Guess she missed him too, he thinks deliriously. Not even having to think about it as he starts fucking into you in shallow, mindless little thrusts. Pushing himself deeper and deeper into your plushy cunt. 

“Äh- fuck, yeah. S’all I’ve wanted.” you mewl, feeling so vulnerable and exposed under the hungry eyes boring into yours. A dark gleam in them as he grins, “Then take it back.”

Disoriented, you gasp out a strangled, “What?” before Satoru’s hips become rougher, chasing his high as much as yours. 

“What you said at dinner.” your lips fall into a soft oh! as you realize just what he’s talking about, “Admit that no man makes you cum as hard as I do.”

God, you don’t think you could answer even if you wanted to, choking on the harsh, purposeful movements of his hips just to fuck your soul out. 

Heavy balls stinging your skin, the lewd sounds of skin-on-skin fills the heady air. Driving you to insanity. An absolutely unforgiving cadence that has the bed creaking in protest. Ah, whatever, he could buy them a new one anyway if this one just so happens to break.

“Take it back yet?” He had to break you first though.

Slick gushes out of your heated cunt, dripping down his length and pooling at his heavy balls, stinging your ass at each merciless thrust. “No.” 

A large hand hastily makes its way down to draw rough, frenzied little circles on your throbbing clit. Voice strangled, sweat beading on his forehead, thrusts becoming increasingly sloppier. “How about now?”

“Ah- hngh- oh fuck. Satoru!” You could only moan softly in response, broken whimpers leaving you each time his tip kissed your cervix. Angling his hips just right to expertly brush against that one spot he knew so well would have you keening and bucking up into his cock. Your face almost burns at the sheer familiarity of it all. This bastard knew you too well. 

And something about that made such an uncomfortable, prickly feeling pool in your stomach. 

Something which you knew would only be sated if you looped your arms around his neck. Nails digging into his sculpted back as you pulled him impossibly closer.

Kissing his flushed cheeks as he murmurs, “Take it back, sweetheart.”

Despite the thick cock splitting you in half till you probably couldn’t walk tomorrow morning, you find it in yourself to huff out a soft laugh at the way Satoru’s tone teetered on just that endearing side of sulky. “Fine. You win, Toru.” you whisper into his lips,

And then you’re cumming. White-hot pleasure flashing behind your eyes and Satoru’s lips gently slotting against yours as he fucked you through your high. Acting as if the fucked-out whimper of his nickname is one he’ll never forget. 

As if he couldn’t cum simply from hearing it leave your pretty lips. And he does, shooting thick, hot ropes of cum painting your plushy walls white with a raw groan of your name. It oozes out of your cunt and onto the mess of sheets below as he fucks his seed into you as a lover would. As he would. 

It was intoxicating - everything from the way you milked his cock so sinfully, to the arms tight around his shoulders. Pulling him close, running soothingly along his skin as Satoru collapses onto you with a final, fucked-out thrust. 

And despite being a lightweight, Satoru’s never been so easily drunk off of something than he was off of you. God how he missed this - how he missed you. 

So much so that he can’t put it into words - and probably won’t ever be able to. But it’s alright, because your sticky body snug against his, and Satoru arms tenderly around your waist - but you didn’t mind. Both of you understood.

Satoru traces his fingers lazily along your side, neither of you bothering to tackle the mammoth task of cleaning up for now. Each movement slow and gentle, as if any sudden movement might shatter the delicate balance between you. 

All is quiet in your little haven, and you could almost fall asleep. The most contented one you’ve had in a while - 5 months, 3 weeks, and 7 hours ago to be exact.

But, of course, Satoru can’t keep his mouth shut for nothing. You jolt out of your reverie as he hastily tries to stifle the startled laugh that huffs out of him. Your dazed eyes meet his in the dim lighting, raising a brow in question.

“It’s just…” he starts, voice soft, “You still call me Toru. Feels like home.”

Ah.

You find yourself chuckling softly with him. Heat rushing to your cheeks, burying yourself deeper into his warm chest, to hide the embarrassingly flustered smile breaking out across your face if anything. 

Chuckling, Satoru shifts closer, touch now feather-light against your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw with his fingertips. Faltering ever-so-slightly as you mutter out, “Happy anniversary, by the way. I didn’t say it earlier because someone was being a public menace.”

“Hey! It’s not my fault that someone locked me out of my own honeymoon suite.” he laughs, drinking in your pretty lil’ smile. 

Ah, you were perfect. As you always were. Satoru can’t help but utter out a little, “Hey, if I tell you something absolutely stupid, would you promise not to make me fish food?”

“Absolutely not.”

He knew you’d say that. So he flashes you an easy grin, a hint of nervousness in it that he’s sure you see through - you always do. 

“So…” he begins, “First thing’s first, I’m thinking of expanding my father’s company further overseas and it might just so happen that I’m leading the branch development and get to pick where exactly.”

God, you made him feel like such a teenager. At your stunned silence, Satoru could barely raise his eyes to meet yours as he plows on, stumbling so uncharacteristically over his words, “You, I picked where you are.”

You’re breathless, words barely audible as his sinks in. “What? Toru that’s-”

“And don’t be mad but you kinda sorta didn’t-win-the-raffle-so-instead-I-planned-this-getaway-when-we-were-together.”

Any and every trace of breathless euphoria leaves your tone as you narrow your eyes at the very guilty Satoru beside you. Fidgeting under your intense scrutiny. Finally - after what seems like an eternity - you find your senses after his whiplash-inducing information dump. 

A hand immediately shoots out to squeeze his side, right where you knew he was dangerously ticklish.

“You sneaky little-” you scold over his laughed out yells of, “Mercy! No murder on our honeymoon!” squirming helplessly beneath you.

“I can’t believe you let me chug all that ice cream.”

“Exactly- hah- help! You w-would’ve been so sad that you ah- didn’t win.” he manages to choke out under your attack.

Finally relenting, only once you’re sure he’ll be feeling the burn of laughter until your flight tomorrow, you release him from your grasp. A satisfied smirk playing on your lips as you lean in close. “You’re lucky I still love you, you smug bastard” you deadpan.

“Aww, you beat me to it.” Satoru whines. Yet he reaches out to cup your cheek, “And I love you,” words hanging in the air like a promise. “With every fiber of my being.”

You let yourself be begrudgingly pulled into his embrace again, hands caressing along your skin like the highest form of worship. Satoru sighs out a contented, “Best honeymoon ever.” 

But of course, you couldn’t help but bully your idiotic boyfriend. “This is not a honeymoon, Toru.” you mutter into his heated skin.

He only presses you closer to him. Yeah maybe not, fingers deftly dancing along your left hand. But maybe next time. 

“Wanna watch the stars and tell me all about that branch development?”

“Of course, sweetheart, but first can you at least unblock me on Gmail now?”

“...”

You broke up with Gojo Satoru exactly 5 months, 3 weeks, and 12 hours ago. And as for how long it’s been since he won you back - well, you think it might just be one of the few things you didn’t keep count of.

A/N. Based on my vacay at Lily Beach except I didn’t meet my future husband there :0

Plagiarism not authorized.

[sphoenix79]

People have genres, not genders.

can’t stop thinking about my friend’s cishet partner who said last night that he doesn’t think anyone is the same gender. god-tier take.

[catboybiologist]

“As a biologist, the terms biological woman and man don’t make any sense to me” okay then you’re an idiot and a terrible biologist. I swear to god, morons like you only become biologists just so you can hold it over others, when in reality, if biology deniers like you can become biologists, then being one really doesn’t mean much anyway. But this probably just gave an autogynophile like you a boner to read, anyway.

Oh fun! Haven't gotten one of these in a while. Disregarding the fact that you somehow think the qualification for being a biologist entirely hinges on defining womanhood, I do need to ask some clarification. I know I'm feeding the trolls here, but here we go: does your definition of "biological woman" mean:

Sociological woman? Eh, context dependent, I'm not fully out of the closet, but oftentimes, I am and present femme. So let's call that one 50/50.

Psychological woman? Because I am one.

Neurological woman? Because I am one [1].

Physical woman? My soft tissue redistribution is handling that well.

Hormonal woman? My blood tests are within cis female ranges.

Transcriptional woman? As a signalling molecule, the downstream effects of estrogen have broad transcriptional effects, completely changing the profile of gene expression and functional genomics of my cells. [2]

Genetic woman? I mean, see my above point- as far as my genes that are actually active, I have all of the same transcripts being produced, controlling which genes are expressed.

Karyotypic woman? I actually have a few signs pre-HRT that might point to a non-XY chromosome pair, but I haven't had a karyotype. We'll put that down as unknown. And hell, even if its XY, there's plenty of cis women who are karyotypically XY, with suppressed sry or complete androgen insensitivity. Interestingly enough, a completely androgen insesitive woman can go her whole life without knowing- and functionally, is very similar to a trans woman, actually. Fancy that. [3]

Reproductive woman? I can't produce an egg cell, but neither can significant fractions of cis women. Also, this is all gonna change soon, which is fun. [4]

There's also a lot of understudied aspects to the biology of HRT and even pre-HRT that are emerging, largely demonstrating widespread cellular and genetic remodeling of trans individuals undergoing hormone therapy. The field is a bit behind due to constant political pressure to revoke funding, but a lot of the results are extremely exciting in both testosterone and estrogen hormone therapies. I'm sure that, as a self professed biology As someone who presumably has a lot of expertise in biology, I'm assuming that you're aware of all of this cutting edge research, and are keeping up with modern papers, including but not limited to these cool findings:

Trans men on HRT exhibit significant genetic and transcriptional changes that make them biochemically male. [5][6]. It's a good hypothesis that the same happens with estrogen treatment, but those studies don't exist yet- I'm sure you're reserving judgment until more publications exist, of course.

Trans men on HRT develop male cell types and tissues. [7]

Trans women experience muscular and blood cell changes that align with cis women moreso than cis men [8]

And many, many more! This is an exciting, underserved, and groundbreaking field of research, and I'm sure you're keeping up with the latest in scientific journals about it.

I'm sure, of course, that you understand that it becomes impossible to draw a distinct line anywhere in here, and that words like "woman" are shorthand for the myriad of traits that invisibly synthesize in our mind and in society to represent a concept? I'm sure you understand that science is fundamentally descriptive, not prescriptive? I'm sure that you understand that these findings, while really cool and interesting, actually don't mean jack shit about what the word "woman" means or not?

As someone who is the ultimate decider in what a biologist is, I'm sure you know that bioessentiallism is a childish mindset that completely ignores and disregards the constantly changing, dynamic nature of biological systems, something that extends well beyond biological sex and its relation to gender.

I'm sure that also, that you understand that beyond just this, that the role of science in society is to advise how to achieve our moral principles, not create moral principles in themselves. And I'm sure that understanding means you know that trans affirming healthcare and supportive societal treatment leads to reduced mortality and increased happiness for everyone, right?

So great to talk to someone who is surely a scientist on this. You are a biologist, if you're talking like this, I assume? I assume you're not going to spit complete misreadings of scientific language from the background sections of these papers that only reveal you've never read a scientific paper in your life if you're thinking this way? I assume you have experience interpreting data like this?

Also, imagining my genitalia while writing this? Ew. Please stop projecting your fetishes into my inbox.

Works cited:

Kurth F, Gaser C, Sánchez FJ, Luders E. Brain Sex in Transgender Women Is Shifted towards Gender Identity. J Clin Med. 2022 Mar 13;11(6):1582. doi: 10.3390/jcm11061582. PMID: 35329908; PMCID: PMC8955456.

Fuentes N, Silveyra P. Estrogen receptor signaling mechanisms. Adv Protein Chem Struct Biol. 2019;116:135-170. doi: 10.1016/bs.apcsb.2019.01.001. Epub 2019 Feb 4. PMID: 31036290; PMCID: PMC6533072.

Gottlieb B, Trifiro MA. Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome. 1999 Mar 24 [Updated 2017 May 11]. In: Adam MP, Feldman J, Mirzaa GM, et al., editors. GeneReviews® [Internet]. Seattle (WA): University of Washington, Seattle; 1993-2024. Available from: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK1429/

Murakami, K., Hamazaki, N., Hamada, N. et al. Generation of functional oocytes from male mice in vitro. Nature 615, 900–906 (2023). https://doi.org/10.1038/s41586-023-05834-x

Pallotti F, Senofonte G, Konstantinidou F, Di Chiano S, Faja F, Rizzo F, Cargnelutti F, Krausz C, Paoli D, Lenzi A, Stuppia L, Gatta V, Lombardo F. Epigenetic Effects of Gender-Affirming Hormone Treatment: A Pilot Study of the ESR2 Promoter's Methylation in AFAB People. Biomedicines. 2022 Feb 16;10(2):459. doi: 10.3390/biomedicines10020459. PMID: 35203670; PMCID: PMC8962414.

Florian Raths, Mehran Karimzadeh, Nathan Ing, Andrew Martinez, Yoona Yang, Ying Qu, Tian-Yu Lee, Brianna Mulligan, Suzanne Devkota, Wayne T. Tilley, Theresa E. Hickey, Bo Wang, Armando E. Giuliano, Shikha Bose, Hani Goodarzi, Edward C. Ray, Xiaojiang Cui, Simon R.V. Knott, The molecular consequences of androgen activity in the human breast, Cell Genomics, Volume 3, Issue 3, 2023, 100272, ISSN 2666-979X, https://doi.org/10.1016/j.xgen.2023.100272. (https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S2666979X23000320)

Xu R, Diamond DA, Borer JG, Estrada C, Yu R, Anderson WJ, Vargas SO. Prostatic metaplasia of the vagina in transmasculine individuals. World J Urol. 2022 Mar;40(3):849-855. doi: 10.1007/s00345-021-03907-y. Epub 2022 Jan 16. PMID: 35034167.

Harper J, O'Donnell E, Sorouri Khorashad B, McDermott H, Witcomb GL. How does hormone transition in transgender women change body composition, muscle strength and haemoglobin? Systematic review with a focus on the implications for sport participation. Br J Sports Med. 2021 Aug;55(15):865-872. doi: 10.1136/bjsports-2020-103106. Epub 2021 Mar 1. PMID: 33648944; PMCID: PMC8311086.

[rafesangelita]

rafe watching kook sweetheart!reader touching herself from her open bedroom window… he’s just on his room, palming himself inside his pants as he tries to squint into a better view of her body.

warnings: bsf!rafe, voyeurism, male and female masturbation, slight guilt, mutual pining, size kink, small time skip, sexual tension, suggestive ending

a/n: i loved this request, anon!! tyyy <3

being your neighbor had it’s perks. considering you and rafe were like two peas in a pod, being so close together meant you spent every waking second with each other. felt bored? all you had to do was walk across the lawn and you’d be at your best friend’s house. wanted to rant? both of you were one locked door away. just wanted some company? rafe was bursting through your bedroom door in record time.

felt horny? all you had to do was leave your curtains open..

it all started one night when rafe was working out in his room, his curtain left ajar as you curiously watched his shirtless form. at first you were just going to leave him be, but then he started curling weights, his biceps and arm veins on full display. you couldn’t look away. his skin was slick with sweat, his muscles rippling under his flesh as he went through his workout with ease. you found yourself thinking about what else he could lift easily, your mind wandering off to him throwing you around and pinning you down for his pleasure.

he was much bigger than you.. so much stronger than you’ll ever be. you were a wet mess by the time rafe was done, your phone chiming with an instagram notification.

[Instagram] rafecameron posted on his story for the first time in a while.

clicking on the notif, your eyes nearly bulged out of your head when a picture of his sweaty abs illuminated your screen, his v-line peeking out of his sweat pants. you liked the story, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as you wondered about how the ridges of his muscles would feel under your fingers. screenshotting the picture, you settled under your pink sheets, fighting yourself mentally before giving in. “here goes nothing..” you whispered, hesitantly trailing a hand down underneath the waistband of your sleep shorts.

you stroked your clit imagining your fingers were rafe’s instead, small moans and whimpers emitting from your throat as images of your best friend flashed behind your eyes. despite always feeling something for him, you valued your frienship too much to chance in ruining it with your feelings if they were one-sided. you came the hardest you ever cummed before that night, not knowing rafe was just a few steps away fighting the urge to cross that line with you himself.

that was approximately a couple months ago.. and now the sexual tension between you two was flying through the roof.

the lingering touches, the stares that were once platonic had now softened into something much more. both of you could feel it. rafe used to watch you walk home to make sure you made it in okay, and now he was doing so much as walking you inside, hugging you goodbye once you two were in your room, pressing his lips into the crown of your head before leaving. you were giddy with butterflies after each visit with him. a particular day came where he was extremely busy with his dad, neither of you getting a chance to meet up.

it wasn’t until later in the night when you saw the light in his room flicker on that you got the idea..

dressing out of your original pj’s, you slipped on your see-through robe with pink, fluffy trim, and opened your curtains a little wider.. just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your naked body. you turned on the small lamp in the corner, the soft light illuminating your skin as you walked around aimlessly. rafe was looking something up on his laptop when one of your messages popped up on his screen.

[11:05 PM] y/n ♡: missed you today..

he smiled, getting up from his bed to see if your bedroom light was on. when he looked, he was met with a sight that never in a million years would he be able to prepare himself for. there you were, laying on your bed as the sheer pink material of your robe did nothing to conceal your pretty tits from his view. his lips parted, a shaky breath escaping his mouth as he watched you touch yourself. ‘i shouldn’t be watching this’ he kept repeating in his head like a mantra, a dark cloud of guilt forming over his conscious. whatever he told himself was deemed pointless once he grew hard in his boxers.

“fuck.” he palmed himself over his shorts, his cock aching just for you. there was nothing rafe wanted more than to have you underneath him, looking up at him with those sparkly eyes of yours while he filled you inch by inch with his length. he watched your mouth fall open in a silent moan, wishing so bad that he was there to hear it. rafe nearly died when you moved your hand and exposed your glistening folds. craning his neck to get a better look, he groaned when you turned to the side and arched your back. rafe continued palming his erection, his forehead now resting on the glass of his window.

just then, a knock sounded on the other side of his door. “rafe, do you have the truck keys?” ward’s voice pulled him out of his lust-filled trance, the sound making him scramble away from his spot. “what?!” he was frustrated now, his eyes scanning his space for the keys. “here.” rafe didn’t waste a second, locking his door shut once he tossed them in ward’s hands. by the time he went back to his window, you were standing there in nothing but one of his t-shirts, a soft smile playing on your lips before you decided to call it a night and close your curtains.

the night was far from over.

[11:20 PM] rafe ♡: still got that house key under the welcome mat?