#And you are so right about the blue eyed stare ����

[arminsumi]

Ahhh, student!Satoru, who's leaning into the palm of his hand, mouth concealed behind his pale hand, eyes stuck on you. And they've been stuck on you ever since he saw you first walk up the steps into Jujutsu Tech. Bright blue. Heart quivering. Fixed gaze.

He takes any excuse to be near you, even though he knows that you're annoyed by him — he's so cocky and full of himself. But don't you see that he's also just a lovesick boy? Look at the way he follows after you down the halls, long striding legs effortlessly meeting your quick pace.

You're just trying to get a cold soda from the vending machine after a long two hours of practicing martial arts with Satoru, Suguru and Shoko. And since Shoko promptly left with Suguru for a cigarette break, that left an overjoyed Satoru alone with you.

"Which flavor do you usually get?" he asks, grasping at any conversation starter he can think of. He just wants to talk to you, even if it's about something so dumb... even if it's while stood next to a vending machine.

"Uh, strawberry... it's my favorite."

He takes a mental note of that.

He's always trying to get your attention, even if he has to become a fool in order to earn a glance from you. Walking away, looking dumb, even his best friend shakes his head at him and tells him that he's way too downbad for a girl that doesn't even like him back.

But Satoru doesn't listen to anyone when they say that you don't like him back. He knows the chemistry is there, as awkward as it may be sometimes. He knows there's something connecting him and you, like an invisible thread.

He still brings you gifts on V-day. He still pesters you in class. He still shares one earbud with you on train rides. He still gets that accelerated heart beat when you so much as graze your hand over his while walking side-by-side.

So eagerly looking at your lips, Satoru pulls out lip balm and makes eye contact with you while applying it. He's always got chapped lips, he knows because someone made exactly 1 comment about it and now he's never forgotten to put a lip balm in his pocket.

"Whatchya starin' at my lips for? You wanna have a taste of strawberry?" he winks, puckering his kissable lips at you.

"Ough..." you cringe at him, "Satoru, it's no wonder you're single."

Okay, he has zero flirting skills. But he earns a smile out of you right then, so even if he's cringe, he's surely doing something right. Are the cogs turning in your head? Do you think he's cute? Do you want to kiss him should he lean into a kiss oh he's leaning into a kiss now aaand he nearly falls flat on his face, because you didn't notice that he was leaning in for a kiss and now he just has to play it off and look like a dumbass once again.

His feelings grow exponentially as the years pass.

You're always catching him staring and he doesn't even feel ashamed.

Though it's been on his mind all the time, it's not until after three years of knowing you that Satoru kisses you.

It happens one day during heavy rainfall. He runs to you with a grin, no umbrella, totally soaked, and like a bright-eyed bunny he bounces at your side.

He's unzipping his uniform jacket, hanging it over the two of you. The proximity has his heart thumping. Before he knows it, he's leaning down to kiss you, right there as the two of you are concealed from the world in your own little bubble — in reality, everyone knows that you two are liplocking under Satoru's jacket. Duh. His shoes click on the ground as he repositions himself, bending his knees and arching down to meet your lips, 'till his spine gets angry at him for falling for a short girl.

[knottedhearts]

Hand's off: B.E

Backstage is a whirlwind of activity—lights flashing, crew members rushing around, and the distant roar of the crowd echoing through the arena. You sit on a couch near Maggie, trying to calm your racing heart. Billie is out there, performing for thousands, her voice filling the massive space with raw emotion.

Maggie nudges you. “Relax. You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

You laugh nervously. “I’m fine. Just… I don’t know. It’s a lot.”

As if on cue, Billie’s voice echoes through the speakers, soft and playful. “So, um…” She hesitates, then adds in her signature goofy tone, “I have a special someone, and I would like you all to meet her.”

Your heart drops into your stomach. What?

The crowd erupts, some cheering, others murmuring. Heat floods your face as Maggie pats your back. “Go on, kiddo. She’s waiting for you.”

You stare at her, wide-eyed. “Right now?”

“Right now,” she says firmly, giving you a gentle shove.

The stairs to the stage loom ahead, and with each step you climb, the crowd’s energy seems to double. By the time you step into the lights, the noise is deafening. Your hands tremble as you look out into the sea of faces, some smiling, others… not. You catch a few boos, but you can’t focus on them. Your eyes find Billie.

She’s standing in the middle of the stage, her blue eyes sparkling under the lights. The moment you reach her, she gets up from her stool, closing the space between you in a few quick strides. And then, without warning, she kisses you.

The world tilts. For a moment, all you can hear is the thunderous applause and screams from the audience. When she pulls away, her hand cups your cheek, her thumb brushing against your skin as she smiles.

“That’s my girl,” she says into the mic, her voice filled with pride.

The rest of the performance passes in a blur. Billie sings Birds of a Feather, and you stay near the side of the stage, trying to process what just happened. The song ends, and it’s time for you to walk off.

You take the path between the fans, your head down, trying to ignore the chaos around you. Then you feel it—a sharp tug on your shirt. You stumble, panic shooting through you as you turn to see a guy trying to pull you closer.

“Hey!”

Before you can react, Billie is there. She abandons her guitar mid-stage, sprinting down the pathway. The fury in her eyes is unmistakable.

She shoves the guy hard, her voice sharp and commanding. “Keep your fucking hands off her, dude!”

The crowd gasps as security rushes in, separating Billie from the fan. She turns to you, her expression softening immediately. “You okay?”

You nod, though your heart is pounding in your chest.

Billie wraps her arm around you protectively, leading you away from the chaos. As you reach the backstage area, she glances at you, her voice gentle. “I’m sorry about that. I wasn’t gonna let anyone mess with you.”

You manage a shaky smile. “You didn’t have to do all that.”

“Yes, I did,” she says, her tone firm but full of love. “You’re my girl.”

And just like that, all the noise fades away.

[hannahssimblr]

Pretending to be good at driving isn’t as easy as I assumed. It’s not like pretending to be into wine, or classical music, or other such things that allow you to nod along and smile, and make statements bland enough to seem vaguely knowledgeable. Italians drive on the right, and I’m terrified, yet one of my hands is nonchalantly out the open window of the rental car, resting against warm metal, while the other white knuckles the wheel. Tyres toss dust into the air behind us, and I feel like we’re starring in a film about Americans in southern Italy, where the sky is colour graded cyan blue, and the greens bleached out, dulled to bone dry ochre so that you know it is hot and poor. 

I don’t think I have ever been much of a driver, despite the belief of my classmates back at school who assumed I must be, simply because I owned a car. Yes, I could drive it. I could control the clutch, shift the gears and manoeuvre myself into a parking space with semi-accuracy, but the traffic in Dublin was so diabolical that I spent most of my driving career crawling by, metre by metre, bumper to bumper until I’d give up, pull into the train station and get the DART the rest of the way. The other times, I was having disappointing sex in the passenger seat, or eating ice creams from McDonalds, a dead eyed stare over the bay on Fridays after school, just to have a way to unwind. 

The road to Amalfi is a narrow twist of hairpin turns carved from a mountain, climbing above little towns and a verdant landscape which I picture dried to brush by the time July’s heat comes, a landscape in sepia tones.

Warm, dry air kisses my sweat dampened skin as I climb out of the car to the smell of the sea. Salt and seaweed, and fish, from a seafood restaurant by the water. Waves lap against the shore in a gentle symphony as seagulls circle above the vibrant hum of a busy tourist town. 

The first thing Astrid wants to do is take photographs. And so, she perches on a low wall, against a backdrop of azure waters and green capped mountains, and poses for the camera. I take several, in a variety of positions, and indulge her whims by digging her straw hat out from the car boot so that she can pose with it, one hand on the brim as she looks out over the Tyrrhenian sea like it is her kingdom. 

I get her to take some with me, too, using the front facing camera on my phone, then choose one to send to my mother. 

We’re in Italy. Wonderful. Enjoy. 

I suspect it will be weeks before we communicate again. 

“It looks like it did on the website, anyway,” I say, as I unload our cases outside our villa. It is loaded with picturesque, old-world charm, the brick exterior crumbling slightly from salt and age. We decided that a villa with a pool would suit us best when I booked it, surmising we would appreciate a swim before breakfast under the morning sun. I gaze at my reflection now, a ripple of dark hair against the cloudless sky and take a moment to relax my shoulders, and thank God it will be ten days before I have to drive those perilous roads again.

 Our footsteps echo against the hallway tile. Astrid gazes around her as I haul our bags upstairs. 

“It’s quite nice,” she says, an understatement that incites a chuckle from me. This is the nicest place I’ve ever stayed at, including a family member’s desert guest house in Palm Springs. It is perfect. From behind the wrought iron banisters I spy a small living room, white linen couches and a bowl of fresh oranges on the table, and suspect they are from the tree outside. 

“It’s a marvellous view from here,” Astrid says at the bedroom window while I roll the last of our cases across the floor towards the wardrobe. I won’t want to unpack them. I usually live out of my bags while I’m travelling, but I suspect Astrid will like things hung up and put away. With the heat and the exhaustion from travelling, I cannot face the thought. I join her at the window, where we look out upon a small dock, little coloured boats floating in water so serene, so clear that we can see their shadows at the bottom of the sea.

“Woah, yeah. It’s pretty here, huh?”

“I told you that,” she says, leaning into my chest. “I think this is the best place in the world.” 

“Touristy, though, don’t you think?” Across the little bay, the coastal road is traffic jammed, holidaymakers weaving between the cars. A tour yacht glides by, its linen clad passengers pointing their cameras toward the charming little houses that cling to the mountainside, including ours. I raise my hand to wave at them, though I’m certain they cannot see us. 

“We are tourists too,” she points out. “It’s good for the economy. If we weren’t here, the restaurants and craft shops would have to close.”

I hum in vague agreement, caught in between two ways of thinking. Jonas paced my room as I packed my bags for the airport, giving me a spirited, if not slightly manic, lecture about the perils of tourism, from environmental degradation, cultural disruption, exploitation and overcrowding. 

“Shut up,” I said. “You and I are going to Thailand in June.” And he argued it was different, because he had intentions of learning about the cultures and traditions, and being respectful, unlike all the other tourists, trying to take pictures in the temples with their shoes still on and eating in Subway instead of trying a new cuisine. 

Still, the conversation has left me with a vague feeling of nuisance I’ve never experienced while travelling abroad. I look around this bedroom, the voile curtains fluttering in the breeze that floats through the open balcony door, and fear I am gentrifying the town just by standing here. What if they hate me, the locals, and the chino trousers in my suitcase, the way my hair is pushed back, my trendy little sunglasses? I couldn’t even ask for water in Italian if I wanted to.

But Astrid can. Perfect, clever Astrid. She gazes at her appearance in the mirror, and smooths out her dress, which shows no signs of having been travelled in. She combs her fingers through her pin straight hair, and a strand comes loose, floating through the sun rays like a strand of white silk. 

I wrap my arms around her waist and kiss her neck. “This is a great room, hm?”

“Yes, it’s spacious.”

“We could spend a lot of time in here.” I slide my hand over her ribs and cup her breasts. She sighs and lifts them away. “Don’t. Not now. We’ll put creases in the fabric.”

“You can change into another outfit.” God knows, she has packed enough clothes. 

She twists out of my arms and opens her suitcase on the bed, retrieving her toothbrush. “I don’t feel clean after travelling. I’d need time to have a shower and freshen myself up first.”

To this, I laugh. “I don’t really care about that, to be honest. Like, I’ll go down on you no matter–”

“Well, I do.” She pushes through to the adjacent bathroom. The tap squeaks, and water splashes into the sink. “I want to see the town, anyway. I don’t want to waste the day in bed together.”

“I never think a day is wasted like that.”

“Well, we can do it later. Perhaps after dinner.”

“Very organised,” I say, and she doesn’t respond. She’s brushing her teeth. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[seastarblue]

“Portrait”

okay so we’re making a mini series let’s goooo this is part two to Training yippee ✨✌️

Felix made his way down the long hallway, one of many that made up the Azari Knightage’s headquarters. Portraits lined the walls, each of former First Justices.

‘Dame Deirdre, Ser Balliger, Dame Cassia, Sir Pollix…’ he read off the names of each Justice as he passed them by, not to commit their names to memory, but as a way to calm his nerves.

He hadn’t seen his partner-in-justice for a week, and as much as he hated to admit it, the stress was getting to him. He hadn’t known where she had been—or whether or not she was even alive—until a few minutes ago, when a squire came to him in the training yard with a message to make his way to the infirmary, where she was waiting.

He slowed down when he reached a specific portrait, pausing to get a better look at their face. This portrait was the simplest by far, just depicting someone sitting in a barely furnished room, hands in their lap. Their raven hair was down, the curls stopping at their chest and framing their face, contrasting with their light brown skin and pale blue eyes. They were somber, as all the others were, but there was something in their gaze—cold, calculating, and so familiar that it made Felix shiver.

“Ser Sierra… a fine figure, don’t you agree?”

Felix jumped as the voice sounded behind him. The half-fairy turned around to the same portrait staring right back at him—no, his hair wasn’t nearly as long as the painting’s subject. He also looked much older than them, grey hairs starting to form on his temples. Other than that, the resemblance was uncanny. The feeling from looking at the portrait returned, this time ten times worse, and it took everything Felix had to stay still.

“Sir,” he said, standing at attention and giving a salute to the current First Justice: Lloyd Santhuff.

“At ease, knight.”

Felix’s hand lowered and rested at his side, starting to tap the hilt of his wooden sai. ‘Wait a minute… oh shit.’

He’d forgotten to leave his training weapons before rushing over. ‘Way to go, BonaDea, he thinks you’ve lost it now. You’ll never train with them at this point.’ 

Felix didn’t know why he was so intent on going with his partner-in-justice on her excursions with Sir Santhuff. He’d tell himself it was simply worry for his friend, but deep down—though he’d never admit it— jealousy chewed away at him. Green eyed and ugly, it made his eyes burn and his head spin with self doubt: ‘What does she have that I don’t? Why is she so favored? Why isn’t that me?’

Felix snapped out of it as Sir Santhuff continued speaking. “Their skill was unmatched by anyone while they were in Justicehood. Whatever war they fought in, they won. Whatever foe they faced, they were victorious. I wonder if…” here he glanced at Felix, “I wonder if anyone here could come close to that level.”

The half-fairy stiffened. Could Sir Santhuff hear his thoughts…? It would explain the—no, that was silly. Either way, he was waiting on an answer.

Maybe, deep down, Felix thought he could have been one of—if not the—best. But it was silly to think that way, he had plenty of skill already. He didn’t need anything more. Power—or rather, too much of it—would destroy him and everyone around him, he knew. He’d read about the effects in history books, and experienced it firsthand. That didn’t stop him from dreaming, at least. Maybe he could be that good. With enough training, and time, he could.

“Perhaps someone might be,” he replied.

“Perhaps.” Santhuff echoed. He still kept his eyes on Felix.

The silence between them stretched for a few moments. Despite his greatest efforts, Felix felt his thoughts start to wander again. Sir Santhuff would never let him prove himself at this point, he realized dejectedly. He preferred his protégés to be sharp as a knife and deadlier still.

“Say, where were you headed, anyway?”

Felix started. He’d completely forgotten, engrossed in his own thoughts of self-loathing, that Kaiden had asked for him. Stuttering—he never stuttered, maybe he was coming down with something—he backed up a bit, eked out an apology to Sir Santhuff, and waited to be dismissed.

Sir Santhuff looked at him for a moment longer, his normally harsh face softening a bit. “What is on your mind, Felix? You seem troubled.”

Felix blanched. It was strange to hear his name coming from the First Justice’s mouth. He expected a scolding or a peeved dismissal, not sympathy. “It’s, um, it’s nothing, sir. I’m alright.” It took everything in him to keep his loose stance, hands clasped behind his back, but he fidgeted despite his best efforts.

“You are pale, is all.”

“Am I…? I mean—it really is nothing, sir.”

“Hm. Won’t you stand with me for a moment longer?”

Felix blinked. “S-sorry?” The stuttering again. Dammit, he should have kept moving in the first place. ‘Kaiden would have said that. She wouldn’t have messed up. She wouldn’t—‘ he stopped himself before he thought of something he’d regret. Envy wasn’t the answer, it never was. Harboring it would only make things worse. The knight took a steadying breath and refused. “I need to get to the infirmary, sir. Kaiden—”

“She can wait,” he said, face hardening again and voice tinged with annoyance. “Stand with me.” No longer a question. A command.

The knight followed it.

Sir Santhuff looked at the painting, his face unreadable. Felix noticed the little specks of gold in his eyes, betraying his stone cold expression. Felix tried to stay silent—Sir Santhuff could have looked almost mournful, and he didn’t want to ruin the moment or upset him further—but he couldn’t help but ask. “Did you… who was Ser Sierra to you? Sir.” he added quickly.

The First Justice was quiet for some time. Felix thought, with worry, that he had somehow offended Sir Santhuff by asking, but the older man simply sighed and looked at Felix with an almost sad smile. “That… is a very personal and complex question. I will tell you this: they were family.”

“Oh, yes… you look a lot like them, sir.”

“Or so I was told. Ah…” Sir Santhuff chuckled. “You’d think we were twins with how similar we were. But no. Sierra was four years my senior. The best of siblings I could have asked for.”

“Sibling…”

“Yes.” He turned to Felix. “You have two younger ones, no?”

“Uh… yes, sir. Twins.”

“Keep them close, don’t leave them behind.”

“…Yes, sir. I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Good man.”

The hall was silent, Felix just wanting to leave for the infirmary, and Sir Santhuff looking as wistful as Felix had ever seen him.

Suddenly, he said, “How would you like to join Kaiden and I next training session? I feel it may be best for you and her to work together, what with your being partners.”

Felix’s jaw dropped. It took him a few moments to answer, what with that strange feeling rearing itself again, but before he could Sir Santhuff held up a hand.

“Think on it. Really think. I do not want any doubts or concerns on this. Make sure you are with me one hundred percent. Understood?”

“Yes sir.” Felix fought to keep the excitement from his voice. Finally, he’d have a chance to prove himself!

“Dismissed.” Sir Santhuff turned back to the portrait, letting the knight go with a small wave.

Felix gave it one more look, the choice already made in his head. He and Kaiden were going to be as good as Ser Sierra, if not better. He’d make sure of it.

He continued his path to the infirmary, spirits higher than they’d ever been.

~~~

“I will make them perfect for you, Ser. I promise. I will not falter.”

With one last look to his dear departed sibling, Lloyd turned away and went back to his office.

———

very first drafty idk if I’ll rework it but!!! yay

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@fifis-corner @urnumber1star @thebookishkiwi @sunflowerrosy

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@verdant-mainframe @kittrrrr @ruvastuon

[houseswife]

this photo of my nightstand was a beautiful still life painting in her last life methinks. a masterpiece even

[winnie1emon]

✧.* what happens if you see your ex-boyfriend, theodore nott, at a halloween party?

ex!bf!theo x fawn!reader (fem pov)

word count: approx. 2.7k

cw: MDNI!!, smut, dom!theo, innocent!reader, piv, unprotected sex, creampie, tit sucking/fondling, oral sex (f receiving), praise, rekindling

a/n: last minute, sleep deprived, and not proof-read halloween treat ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

You stirred awake as you heard your dorm room's door click shut and saw a glimpse of your roommate's hair disappearing from view. She was undoubtedly headed to the infamous yearly Halloween party in the Room of Requirement.

You had previously declined her offer to go with her, deciding to spend most of your time moping over your ex-boyfriend, Theodore Nott.

Two weeks prior you had your heart broken when you called things off with him. Your peers had convinced you it was the right thing to do at the time as he never paid you any attention, seemingly avoiding you constantly for no good reason, sometimes days at a time. Although you initiated the separation, you wasted no time in mourning the early stages of your relationship; the moments where you would be alone with him, talking to him, kissing him, and the times you guys almost said you loved each other.

You fluffed up your pillows, preparing yourself to lay down and think of Theodore until you slept like you had been doing for the past week when you heard more shuffling outside your dorm room. It seemed like everybody would be attending the Halloween party.

Dreading the idea that he'd probably be wooing someone new, you sat back up and groaned, forcing yourself up onto your feet and into your bathroom. You stared back at yourself in the mirror; puffy-eyed and your nose tinged pink. You felt the sudden urge to go, feeling your time would be better spent seeing a few familiar faces and dancing out your blues.

You had a small problem though.

You vaguely recalled seeing the bustling students leave wearing costumes, but given the spontaneous nature of your new feelings, you had nothing to wear. You tentatively looked around your bathroom and then at your full dorm, hoping for a costume to spawn from thin air. Biting your lip, your eyes landed on a headband of fuzzy deer ears and short plush antlers.

Theodore had bought you the headband in Hogsmeade during your first date as a way to poke fun at your meek demeanor. You contemplated wearing the headband, allowing yourself a quick Halloween if you simply did the makeup. Against your better judgment, you put it on before propping yourself in front of your vanity to do the deer makeup you so saw often on your Pinterest feed. Luckily, your closet consisted of many warm browns with white accents, granting you the ability to not have to freak over finding matching clothing.

You took a final breath before walking out the door, headed towards an evening of branching out.

--------------------------------------------------------

Theodore's gaze lingered around the room, his face stoic, as he seemingly tried to look for someone.

"Someone missing his girl?" Draco teased, pinching his cheek.

Shoving him lightly with his shoulder, Theodore turned his face towards his pestering friend. "Don't smudge m'fucking makeup." He groaned inwardly as he saw no sign of you after his eyes finished their fourth round around the room. "I'm not looking for anyone either. Don't got a girl."

"Ohh yeah, we forgot," Lorenzo snorted beside him. Theodore seemed unamused, brushing past him and bumping his shoulder on the way.

"Seems angry," Blaise said, stifling a laugh.

"Would be too if I lost what he did," Draco shrugged.

Theodore Nott stalked around the perimeter of the large crowd, avoiding the large wings and costumes present. He took a swig out of his red solo cup, about to give up before seeing you walk in.

Seeing your face illuminated in the party's dim lighting, his lips parted slightly, soaking in the way you looked so graceful when entering, yet so lost.

Your headband piqued his interest. His brows furrowing, he tilted his head slightly to get a better view. Definitely his.

You walked around the room, the heel of your shoes clicking. You caught a glimpse of someone with their face completely obscured by their skeleton makeup, but there was no mistaking those eyes.

No way were you going to purposefully talk to him, the sting of your breakup still apparent. You headed towards the drinks, acting as if you were in your element when truth be told, you didn't care for drinking. You stood awkwardly at the table, looking for your friends to no avail.

You saw him striding towards you in the corner of your eyes and quickly scattered to an area with a larger crowd. Planning to circle back to the drinks table to throw him off, you weaved through the people, getting small peeks at different costumes; an American cowboy, a devil, and a very strange furry octopus.

You grabbed a red cup from the table, bringing the emptiness to your lips to fake a sip, your eyes scanning the room intensely, relieved that you lost him.

Your heart was beating faster than usual, a small bead of sweat forming on your forehead. You adjusted the headband to not fall off and straightened your top.

Coming was a mistake. The dark lighting made it difficult for you to locate your friends, Theodore was looking as handsome normal as ever, and the room seemed to shrink with each step you took.

A bit jumpy from nervousness, you started to fill a cup of oddly green punch before feeling a large hand clamp down on your wrist. Flinching, you immediately looked at the one responsible and met their piercing blue eyes.

"Avoiding me?" he said.

The way he said it like he didn't really care, only bothering to use two words like you both hadn't been pretending not to stare at each other for two weeks made you uneasy.

Pulling your hand away, you swallowed before answering. "No."

Your voice made him smile, his face clearly finding humor in your denial.

God, he looked so handsome with the skull makeup.

He placed his hands on both of your shoulders, pulling slightly away from you to get a better view of your face. "I missed you. Did you miss me?"

Unconvinced by him, you looked at him suspiciously, your body taut. "No," you said again. Frowning slightly, he dropped his hands to his side and said,

"I'm serious. I really did."

Your face started to heat up and you bit the inside of your cheeks to contain yourself. You knew that if you didn't restrain yourself, you would immediately jump up into his arms and embrace him like old times.

"Okay," you said quietly. "That's cool." You tried to sound casual, pretending like you didn't notice his gaze flickering to your deer ears and antlers.

"I like the uh, the makeup," he complimented you, gesturing towards his own face.

"Same to you. Skull-- very nice." You nodded slowly, unsure of the conversation's direction.

"Thanks. That mine?" he asked you, pointing at your headband.

Turning pink, you gave a small chuckle. "Uh yeah, just you know--" you said dismissively. "No costume..."

"Ah, I see I see. So, you here with someone?"

"No, no I'm not." You felt a bit surprised by his question, it seemed somewhat bold in a way. You both stood around some more, staring at each other and then looking away only to subtly shift your arms together.

"Alright well, I'm gonna ask you again," he suddenly spoke up. "Did you miss me?"

You didn't want to answer him truthfully, yet you didn't want to just lie to him.

"I did."

It seemed as though those two words were all he needed to hear to do what he did next. Immediately moving his hands to your face, he leaned into a kiss, wasting no time in slipping his tongue into your mouth. It was far more different than the kisses you guys shared before, this time it felt like your mouths were on fire and the other person's was water; the only way to extinguish it. Your hands were still at your side, allowing him to do most of the work.

Pulling away, you swallowed thickly, trying to process what had just happened. He gave a small, amused huff before dropping his head down to face the ground as you stood there dazed.

"I don't think we should..." you started, trying to find the words. "Like just not here right...?"

Theodore looked at the lively party and nodded as he looked back at you. "You're right. Let's find someplace else."

He grabbed your hand lightly, walking you out the door, and leaving the party. You weren't sure why, but you let him, trailing behind him, trying to keep your steps light in the corridors.

"Come on, there's this classroom-- always unlocked," he smiled at you. "Bit far though," he added. You didn't mind. The anticipation and excitement of getting back with Theodore fogged your mind, shooting out every other piece of information that ever resided in your brain.

He brought you to the stairs and you started to descend, but your heels echoed loudly. "Careful, it's past curfew," he said, bringing a finger to his mouth.

"Sorry, sorry!" you whispered. "I can't it's my shoes."

Theodore stopped mid-step and so did you. His head darted around in all directions looking to see if someone was approaching. "Up you go," he said. Before you could possibly protest, he picked you up off the ground, allowing you to wrap your legs around his torso. He placed one of his hands around your back to support you, the other on your ass.

Despite the extra weight, he seemed to have no problem walking at his normal speed, quickly going down the many flights of stairs until you both reached the ground floor. He opened the door to a classroom, shutting it behind you guys before placing you to sit on the teacher's desk in the front of the room. You observed the classroom, your mouth slowly growing wider.

"Theo-- this is McGonagall's room! She's going to fucking kill us!"

He shook his head to reassure you. "She's not going to find out, don't worry."

You looked uncertain and he said nothing, trying to give you some time to believe him.

"Theo?" you piped up.

"Mm?" he answered, leaning on his hand placed on the table you sat on.

"Why did we break up?" you asked him.

He had a smirk on his face, but you could tell he felt as bad as you did. "What do you mean? You broke up with me."

"No I mean, why did we break up? Why did you start acting like that?" You drew invisible circles on the desk, adverting eye contact.

"I was an idiot," he scoffed. "I just- I just got scared. Always felt bad you were too good for me," he said, starting to get agitated with himself. "You're so sweet you know. I'm," he shrugged. He cupped your face with his hands, making you look at him.

"Didn't wanna drag you down with me."

You opened your mouth again to argue, but he brought his finger to your lips before leaning back in for another kiss. You felt his hands all over your body and you brought yours to his jawline. The kisses started soft, clean. But they became sloppy as he went down to kiss your neck.

"I'll be different now," he breathed out. "I promise."

His kisses grew more intense and you couldn't help but let out low whimpers as he reached the top of your chest. He took your shirt off, taking a step back to admire the view of you in your lacy white bra. He unclasped your bra, hanging it on the handle of McGonagall's closet next to her desk.

Never having gotten this far in your previous relationship, he gave a low gasp, cupping one of your tits in his large hands. Fondling you lightly, he then pinched a nipple between his fingers, suppressing his laughter as he watched you squirm on the desk. He bent over slightly taking the other nipple in his mouth.

Having his hand on your tit, combined with him gently sucking the other, you gave out quiet moans, clawing at the edge of McGonagall's desk. Pulling his head away, a string of saliva still connecting his lips to your nipple, he stood back up, bringing his hands to your waist.

He pulled your skirt down your thighs, letting it fall to your ankles. He kneeled down on the ground, shuffling closer to you.

The sight of his face between your legs, his face with the skeleton makeup on, practically had you shaking in excitement. He kept his eyes on you the whole time; as he moved the underwear sticking to your wet cunt aside, lightly trailed a finger over your wet folds, and as he moved his head closer, slipping his hot tongue into you.

"Mmm, T-theo..." you whined as he brought his tongue deeper inside of you. He flicked his tongue around, exploring freely, the sounds coming out sounding far more erotic than what you were used to.

His tongue slipped out of your cunt, and he used it to circle around your clit, eliciting shaky moans from your mouth as you bought your hands to his hair. Your eyes began to water and you felt your orgasm nearing. About to crush his skull with the way you wanted to squeeze your thighs together, your legs shook against the sides of his head.

Theodore placed his hands on your knees, spreading your legs further apart, continuing to travel around your folds with his tongue with increased speed. Before you could orgasm, he pulled away suddenly, making you whine loudly in surprise.

"Theodore..." you said, tugging on his hair. He stood up and began to unbuckle his belt, slipping his pants off.

"Be patient sweetheart," he smiled. His boxers fell down his legs next, his glistening cock springing out. You placed your hands behind your back on the desk to support yourself as you stayed seated and he guided the tip of his cock with your entrance.

You felt a bit afraid, this being your first time having sex with Theodore, and it seemed like he could tell because he tilted your chin up softly and said, "I'll go slow okay?"

You nodded sheepishly, letting him push into you slowly. A tear rolled down your face, some of your deer makeup coming off. He let out a guttural moan as he inserted his large cock fully into your cunt, beginning to move slowly in and out of you.

"F-fuck," you whispered. He found your reaction cute when you looked wide-eyed at him, face contorting with pleasure.

"Got it?" he asked you. You nodded quickly, giving him the message that you were okay. "Yeah, yeah... you can take it," he whispered in your ear.

He went at a moderate pace, not wanting to overexert you for your first time.

"Theo-- Theo!" you huffed out. He stopped, backing away so that only the head of his cock was still in your sopping cunt.

"Yeah, what's up? Are you okay?" he said in concern.

"Faster..." you requested meekly. "Please?"

Surprised but not complaining, he gave a lowly chuckle, practically grinning from ear to ear.

"If that's what my good girl wants."

He increased his pace, thrusting into you quickly. Your soaking folds allowed him back in every time he pulled out. He took your tits into his hands again, twisting and pinching as he simultaneously pumped in and out of you.

Both of your moans filled the room; his low and paced, yours messy and uncontrolled.

You neared an orgasm again and you could tell he was about to come as his hair became mussed and a light layer of sweat glistened on him.

"Shit... Do you want me to come inside? Is that what you want?"

"Y-yes!" you answered desperately. Your legs shook and you threw your head back as your orgasm washed over you, his following suit right after.

His ropes of release filled your insides, beginning to seep out. He pulled out, looking at the mess he made you. He readjusted the headband on you.

"I love you."

You looked at him, mouth somewhat agape before uttering, "I love you too."

He grabbed your head, planting a kiss on your forehead before helping you off the desk and onto your feet. You looked at him hesitantly.

"Does this mean I'm your girl again?"

"Well..." he feigned uncertainty, giving you a gallic shrug.

"Don't tease..." you complained, leaning into him.

"Sorry, y'know I can't help it," he grinned. "And you never stopped being my girl."

―――――――――ʚ♡ɞ―――――――――

[yandere-daydreams]

Screening: Halloween (1978).

Pairing: Yandere!Gojo x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 3.1k.

TW: No Curses!AU, Serial Killer AU, Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Character Death, Oral Sex, Unprotected Sex, Reader is Pregnant, Blood, Age Gap (Reader is 32, Gojo is 18), and No Actual Incest, But The Vibes Are There. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

There was a man in your kitchen.

Which, to be fair, you’d already known. You’d only woken up because you heard something clattering on that side of your house, only gotten out of bed because the noise had gotten too loud to ignore. You figured your husband (as lovable as he was clumsy, unfortunately) had dropped something during a late-night water run and managed to hurt himself while cleaning it up, and knowing him, your pristine house would be in ruins if he tried to handle it himself. You didn’t particularly care about the mess. It could wait until tomorrow – tonight, all you needed him to worry about was keeping your bed warm.

Exhausted and bleary-eyed, you didn’t think to go back to bed when the noises stopped, didn’t notice how eerily silent your home had grown in the absence of your husband’s rustling. No possibility worse than a little broken glass ever crossed your mind, not until you reached the doorway, until your fickle attention caught on the dots of blood splattered across the perfectly white tiles of your floor; not very many and not very big, but still, more than you thought there’d be. Your eyes followed them left until they grew into a trail, then a puddle, and then finally, your husband – lying on his side, crumpled against the nearest cabinet. You couldn’t see where he was hurt. You couldn’t see is he was breathing.

Blankly, you slumped against the doorframe, suddenly feeling both infinitely more awake and infinitely more dazed than you had the second prior. Almost involuntarily, you called out to him, only aware of the sound of your voice after it’d left your mouth. “…Hiromi? Baby?”

“Not quite.” Your eyes shot up and through the unlit space. It seemed unthinkable that there’d be someone else in the room, that there’d be someone responsible for this, and yet, there he was, standing over what used to be your husband – dark stains painted across the material of his black hoodie, a knife still clutched in his right hand. The knife was set delicately onto the nearest countertop, his foot knocking into your husband’s shoulder with a hollow, fleshy sound he stepped over him, and then, the murderer was in front of you, eyes too bright to be completely human prying into you through the darkness. “But, you remember my name too, right?”

You didn’t, but it came to you quickly. His stark white hair should’ve been the first give-away, and yet, it took another second of staring into those horrible blue eyes to fully believe what you were looking at.

“Satoru?”

It couldn’t have been. You knew it couldn’t have been. It’d been a decade since you last saw him – or, rather, since you last saw the starry-eyed eight-year-old who’d cling to your waist and make you promise to teach him how to braid flower frowns after he was done with his daily lessons. This wasn’t your Satoru. This was a grown man, covered in your husband’s blood and holding his hands up in a show of faux-innocence as he approached you, a startlingly familiar smile already contorting his otherwise blank expression. You tried to take a step back, to retreat without turning away from him, but your heel caught on something wet and too terrible to name and you fell, landing with your back against the corridor wall. Your hands shot to your stomach instinctually, but Satoru didn’t seem to notice, dropping to one knee in front of you. “Oh no, did you hurt yourself?” And then, without ever letting his grin falter. “I’m sorry I made such a mess. I was just so happy to see you, and then someone else came to greet me, and I think I might’ve lost my temper. It used to happen a lot after you’d leave, too—”

“Please don’t hurt me,” you cut in, breathless from the very first word. That, at least, got him to stop smiling.

“Hurt you? Why would I…” He spared a glance over his shoulder, then let out a bark of a laugh. “Oh. No, no, I’d never do that to you. It’s just—He was telling me to leave, and I knew you’d be so happy to see me, and I already apologized for the mess. You used to let me off the hook all the time, if I seemed sorry enough.”

He was right, you had. You’d been young and optimistic, and his offenses had been limited to childish temper-tantrums and a few unkind comments made towards his more discipline-focused household staff. But, notably, he’d also been eight, and you’d been fired in less than a year, and he’d never killed anyone in front of you. God, this was bad. This was so, so, so bad. Hiromi was dead, and you were going to die next, and your baby was—

You couldn’t let yourself think about that. It was all you could do to stop yourself from hyperventilating, to drag yourself out of an oncoming panic attack and back to the very real, very present threat in front of you. Satoru had already hurt someone. He could hurt you, too, even if he wasn’t holding a weapon. You needed to call someone. Better yet, you needed to get away from him.

It took everything you had not to let your voice shake, to force your tongue to cooperate. You tried to remember what it’d been like to be an overconfident twenty-something taking care of a kid just a little too eager to soak in your praise, but abandoned the effort before you could make this any worse for yourself. “Does… Does your family know where you are, ‘toru?”

And, just like that, his smile was back in full force. Almost gleefully, he shook his head. “I don’t think they’ve known for a while now, ma’am.”

Fuck. That was right. You hadn’t been fired – there’d been a fire, or an accident, you couldn’t remember the details. You’d heard, months later, that Satoru had been the lone survivor, but you weren’t sure what happened to him after that.

“I’m sorry, Satoru.” It was hard to feign sympathy when the love of your life’s body was still warm, but you managed. “But, you still did something very, very wrong tonight, and I think we should call someone to help.”

“Well, we can’t do that. They’d just take you away from me again.” You bit into the inside of your cheek. So he wasn’t completely delusional, after all. “That’s what my clan wanted to do. They said you were distracting me, and that you’d have to leave. I told them I didn’t want you to, but…” He paused, laughed. “I guess that doesn’t matter, anymore.”

You opened your mouth, but Satoru didn’t give you a chance to speak. Without warning, he surged forward, cupping your face in his hands, his smile taking on a manic lull. “I waited.” He sounded so proud of himself, like he expected you to congratulate him. “I could’ve come to you right away, but I was good, I waited. I knew I had to be a little older. I knew you’d always take care of me, but I had to be able to take care of you, too.”

Something heavy and sharp turned over in the pit of your stomach. “…I really don’t need you to take care of anything, ‘toru.”

“I know.” Impossibly, his eyes seemed to grow even brighter. “I want to, though. Because it’s what you did for me.”

And then, almost breathlessly, “Because I love you.”

You were going to be sick.

You didn’t know what to say. Even if you had, you wouldn’t have been able to spit it out, not with your teeth grit and your throat filled with cotton. Pathetically, you tried to push him away, to stand up, but Satoru only cooed and took your attempts at resistance as a sign to move on, to move forward. You felt his arms snake around your waist only half a second before you felt him straighten against you – pushing himself to his feet and pulling you into a sort-of bridal carry, not unlike something your husband would’ve done when he was feeling sappily romantic, which he almost always was.

Satoru’s embrace was too unwelcome to be romantic, though, too stiff to be comfortable, and worst of all, too tight to fight against as he made his way through your now-barren home. He didn’t ask you for directions or try any doors. Rather, almost too confidently, he found his way to the master bedroom, the door still ajar from when you’d stumbled through it minutes prior. Unceremoniously, eagerly, you were dropped onto the center of your bed and before you had time to get away, Satoru was on top of you; a knee by your hip, a hand by your head, his mouth on yours. His teeth scrapped across your lips and clashed against yours, his tongue forcing its way down your throat as he let out a wavering, pitchy moan against your mouth. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you thought that Satoru wasn’t a very good kisser, then felt repulsed at yourself. That wasn’t something you were supposed to know. Not about Satoru.

He really had been such a sweet kid. It’d been years since the last time you thought about him, but it would’ve been hard to forget how he’d pouted when you told him homework came before sweets, how his eyes lit up the first time whenever you managed to convince his caretakers that he’d earned a fieldtrip, even if you’d never taken him anywhere more exciting than the local aquarium. You’d never planned to spend the rest of your life filling-in for his perpetually absent parents, but your heart had broken just a little when one of the family’s maids let you know that she’d overheard future plans to let you go. He’d gotten too attached, she’d said. He’s been calling you ‘mom��.

…

Maybe you shouldn’t have been so surprised. It wasn’t like this was ever going to end well for either of you.

When Satoru broke away, it was only to pull his hoodie and shirt over his head with all the grace and all the care of an overeager teenager, too desperate to get back to the act at-hand to think about impressing you. He moved to kiss you, again, but you managed to catch him by the shoulders, to hold him off just long enough to find your voice. “Wait, Satoru.” He didn’t, but he dropped lower, his mouth falling to your neck, then your collarbone. You felt his hand graze over your thigh, and were suddenly aware that you’d gone to bed in an oversized shirt and nothing else. “You don’t really want to do this, you’re just confused. You should take a second to catch your breath, and—” You cut yourself off with a pained hiss as his teeth dug into the upper curve of your breast. You couldn’t bring yourself to wonder whether or not it’d leave a mark. “And— Stop.”

This time, you were forceful enough for him to glance towards your face, his eyes just barely visibly through his disheveled hair. Talking felt like choking down gravel, but you managed. “We can’t,” you said, offering your best attempt at a sympathetic frown. “I’m pregnant, ‘toru.”

It was true, as little as you wanted Satoru to be the first person you told. You weren’t far enough along to be showing, but his gaze immediately fell to your stomach. You counted the seconds as he stared at you, the gears turning in his head. Finally, he pulled away, his expression taking on a dream-like quality.

“You’re so perfect,” he sighed, suddenly dazed. “My mama’s gonna be a real mommy.”

“Mhm.” You didn’t try to smile back. If you pushed your limits any further, the strain may’ve gotten to you before Satoru did. “So, you understand why you have to leave, don’t you?”

“Can’t do that, pretty girl.” He ducked lower, his hands shifting to your waist. You tried to sit up, and he let you, too preoccupied settling into the space between your open legs. “Someone’s gotta be there to watch you extra close, now.”

And yet, watching didn’t seem to be what he had in mind.

The heat of it struck you first; damp and smothering, like steam or humidity or the feeling of water in your lungs, drowning you from the inside out. He ate you out as messily as he’d kissed you; never content to be lapping at your entrance or suckling on your clit when he could be attempting to do both. His broad tongue drew aimless patterns over your cunt, fucking into your pussy with every other stroke while the bridge of his nose ground into your clit, leaving no part of you untainted, unscathed. You tried to ignore him and, when that failed, to pretend that it was Hiromi between your legs, but you couldn’t spin straw into gold. Your husband had always been lovingly playful in bed, prone to pressing open-mouthed kisses into the inside of your thighs, to drawing out the letters of his name into your clit as his long, talented fingers split you open. Satoru’s fingers were too busy groping at your hips to be good for anything else, and he couldn’t seem to pull himself away from pussy for much of anything, let alone something as unimportant as ‘care’ or ‘tenderness’. You could feel his teeth ghost over your skin, his saliva pooling at the apex of your thighs, and worst of all, you could feel yourself growing warmer, your core growing tighter, your self-control waning as you fought against the urge to buck into his mouth.

Your hands balled at the sheets underneath you, your eyes soon clenched shut in an effort to convince yourself that this wasn’t happening, that you weren’t here, that this wouldn’t end with you cumming into the mouth of the man who’d killed your husband, of the overgrown child who you’d once considered yourself responsible for. Tears burnt at the corners of your eyes, but if Satoru noticed your distress, he was determined to play obvious to the bitter end; only whining into your cunt as you clenched around his tongue. It was the reverberation that ultimately sealed your fate; as unintentional on his part as it was unwilling on yours. That was where your commonalities ended, though. While you sobbed and thrashed through your orgasm, Satoru basked in it, curling his tongue against the convulsing walls of your cunt, drinking down every moment of your agony.

By the time he pulled away, you were too spent to be relieved – cold exhaustion flooding into the gaps that reprieve should’ve filled. Even that was stripped away from you, eventually, with only the effort it took him to straighten his back, to spread your legs around his waist, to free his leaking cock from his jeans – a visibly damp spot now staining the dark material. You tried to scramble back, to roll over, but Satoru caught you by the hip with one hand while the other pressed the head of his cock to your entrance, the ghost of contact alone hot enough to burn. “W-Wait,” you tried, before things got as bad as they possibly could. “Satoru, the baby—”

“I know,” he cut in, flashing you a reassuring smile. “I’ll be careful. I promise, nothing’s gonna hurt you or my little brother ever again.”

You wanted to scream. You might’ve, if he hadn’t chosen that moment to push into you, only stopping when his hips pressed into yours and he couldn’t possibly make this any worse.

The physical sensation might’ve been bearable, on its own. You already knew you were never going to recover mentally, but Hiromi was thicker with a more pronounced curve, even if Satoru probably beat him for length by an inch or so. If it’d just been the physicality, the dizziness heat, the nauseating stretch from your cunt to your core, but you might’ve been able to deal with it, but Satoru was so damn loud – disassociating would’ve been too difficult to warrant the effort, if not out-right impossible. He whined as he rutted into you, slotting his just chest against yours and burying his face in your neck, his tongue running mindless over the side of your throat. “I—I thought about practicing,” he muttered, forcing himself to speak between raspy groans and hitched whimpers. “I tried to, because I knew you’d be s—so good at this, but I couldn’t do it, not if it wasn’t for you, or—” You felt him twitch inside of you, and everything seemed to turn to static. When you came back to yourself, he was still ranting, still rambling senseless into your jugular vein. “—I love you. You were always so pretty, and nice, and I love you. I love you. I love you.”

He repeated that same senseless mantra until the words began to slur and crack. You didn’t want to touch him, but his pelvic bone scraped over your clit and you lashed out on instinct – your fingers soon tangled in his hair, your nails biting into his scalp. Satoru’s whimpers were immediately replaced by full-bodied moans only slightly stifled by your skin. Numbly, you were aware that similar (albeit, much more pained) noises were falling past your own lips, that your pussy was soaking in the stimulation your conscious mind rejected, but you could only bring yourself to acknowledge what that meant as your second orgasm crested, as you let what you could only distantly acknowledge as pleasure wash over you. Satoru followed in-suit a few seconds later, making no attempt to pull out as something searing and thick and awful flooded into.

You supposed you should’ve been thankful that he couldn’t get you pregnant. Maybe you’d find the energy for gratitude, later on.

Satoru never really pulled away. He only drew back, allowing for enough distance been you and him to smile, to kiss your forehead – the same way you’d kissed his, when he shared his never-ending supply of candy or scraped his knee. He lingered there, nuzzling against you, one of his hands drifting to your stomach and settling there.

“I missed you,” he muttered, with a shallow sigh. And then, for the hundredth time, “I love you.”

Had you not been able to feel every last inch of his wide, fanged grin biting into you, you might’ve actually believed it was true.

[wild-joker-out-pleasures]

OH MY GOD, I literally stopped breathing when I saw this. Amazing job, this is LEGENDARY! 😱😱😱🥹🥹🥹

Thank you, thank you for seeing the vision and making it real! 🥹🥹🥹 Nace and Jan really ARE CJ and Flick! 🥹🥹🥹

Nace and Jan as CJ and Flick from Animal Crossing!!!

Thank you @wild-joker-out-pleasures for pointing this out in this post, you are absolutely correct!

Background and references here and here

[sooniebby]

ఌ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

꧁ 𝙎𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙭 𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 ꧂

w.c. › 4.9k

Plot › if you had told yourself six weeks ago, that you would meet the camboy you’ve been faping for a year, you’d laugh. But meeting Gojo was a curse from God. Part 2 of this post!

Warnings › same as before. Gojo is a little shit and very annoying. A bit of dubious consent at first since reader doesn’t say “yes”. Nothing extreme. How yall not notice the porn I linked in p.1 though? Smh

Kinks › size kink, praise, rough sex, lite dry humping, creampie, manhandling, possessive Gojo, groping, brat behavior from reader, lite dom/sub,

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

“Today’s my lucky day, huh?”

Oh, fuck.

You kinda just… stood there for a few seconds, staring at Gojo in shock. Before you screamed out in fear and ran into the back room.

So humiliating.

“Hahaha!!! Put your glass back on, your blue eyes scared (Name)!” Nobara laughed, walking to join you in the back room. Megumi only rolled his eyes.

Nobara found you in a fetal position on the ground, rocking back and forth as she stared at you in shock.

“Okay, I know his eyes are freaky but it couldn’t have been that bad,” she said, kneeling down to get on your level. She ‘comfortably’ patted your hair, twirling a few strands around her index finger.

It took a few minutes before you could really open your mouth.

“I…know…him…”

“How? This is his first time here.”

You sat upright, staring Nobara right in the eyes.

“Camboy.”

Nobara was quiet, her eyes slowly widening as she took in the new information. Her mouth opened as a shriek left her mouth.

“No fucking way?! Him?! You’ve seen his dick?!”

“Nobara!!!”

She lowered her voice. “Him? Really? The one I called a 4 inch? He’s…. The one you had the call with? Holy shit! Do you think he remembers you?”

“Hopefully… not.. but he said it’s his lucky day.. do you think…?”

“Maybe he’s still mad over the four inch comment.”

“Uhm.”

“Or maybe he’s upset that you were a guy.”

“I dunno…”

“Oh! Maybe he wants to fuck you.”

“Oh c’mon. Now you’re just saying shit.” You stood up with a grunt. “If I’m lucky, he was just saying something about getting a discount. Can you do the cake for him? I really don’t wanna talk to him.”

Nobara frowned but didn’t say anything else. She walked away to go do Gojo’s order. It was silent for the most part, the slight muffled voices of Gojo and Nobara talking. Though it seemed Nobara was talking shit about him.

Hopefully, Gojo wouldn’t come here again due to Megumi’s insistence.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

“So, can you take my order this time?”

You blinked, staring right at Gojo as he leaned on the counter, grinning at you. It was in the evening and the cafe was mostly empty. So you didn’t feel bad about shaking your head. You had hoped this blue eyed freak would leave you alone but he seemed set on bothering you.

He’d even come on days Megumi wasn’t there yet or was off that day!

You didn’t speak to him directly. Too embarrassed. All you could remember was your desperate moans to know his name. Yup, no way in hell were you going to speak to him.

Nobara came over to the cashier and took over—you didn’t even have to ask. This had been happening for weeks now. Just a simple look was all she needed. Even Inumaki and Megumi knew what to do. Though the two didn’t know why you seemed so adverse to speaking to Gojo.

Megumi believed you hated him for being annoying. He could relate to that.

Inumaki believed Gojo must’ve did something because you hardly hated people.

So he did from time to time purposely put salt in Gojo’s coffee.

And would sometimes put jalapeño seeds into his food.

What could he say? A true friend.

Nobara was the only one to know the truth. And while she did think you were overreacting a bit—she knew how embarrassing your actions were. If you didn’t want to speak to Gojo, so be it. She’s not one to force it.

You were in the back room when Nobara came back, sighing to herself. She plopped down on the chair beside you, staring down at the table before looking over to you.

“That blue eyed slut keeps asking for you it’s annoying.”

“Slut?”

“Affectionately.” She said. “‘Why does he keep ignoring me?’ ‘Why isn’t he speaking to me?’ ‘Let me talk to him.’ ‘Aren’t you his friend?’ Blah blah blaaaah!” She cried, her voice rising in pitch out of frustration as her hands dug into her scalp, moving her hair around.

“What would he even want to talk about?” You whispered to yourself.

“Maybe he’s scared you’re going to tell Megumi.”

“What would I gain from that? The only thing I’ll tell Megumi is to ban him from the cafe.”

Nobara let out a soft huff. “Really though… if he’s making you that uncomfortable, tell Megumi.” She said, her voice suddenly serious. She reached out and rested her hand against yours, squeezing it gently. “You don’t even have to tell Megumi the true reason… he won’t judge. If it comes down to it, we’ll tell Boss.”

She pulled away. Your eyes met hers, a bit shocked at how.. caring she was about the situation. You knew you were overreacting a bit and a normal person would’ve just told Gojo straight up to leave them alone. And you knew she was right.

Megumi wouldn’t judge. He would tell Gojo to stop coming.

But…

It was like you didn’t want him to go for some reason.

In the back of your mind, you truly wanted to know why he kept bothering you.

Was he angry?

Scared you’d tell people?

Well… it couldn’t be good either way.

You just hoped he’d get tired of you soon.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

The sound of loud music was beating with your heart as you leaned against the wall. You, Nobara, and a begrudged Megumi were at a newly opened gay club in Shibuya. It was cool for like the first two hours but now your social battery was practically dead.

Megumi was somewhere… you remembered him saying he needed some fresh air.

Nobara was having the time of her life with some girls on the dance floor. Good for her.

You were dressed way more conservatively than most of the people at the club. Just a t-shirt and pants. You weren’t someone to dress up like that. As you drowned your drink and placed it on the bar counter, you asked for some water.

No one was approaching you which was great. You didn’t know if you could handle talking to someone right now.

But that soon changed when someone was suddenly right beside you.

A taller guy, black hair and brown eyes. He seemed to be looking for one thing. You didn’t look his way at first, believing he was just getting a drink until a shot glass was slid over to you.

“What’s a pretty boy like you doing here all alone?”

Typical…

You forced a slight smile. “I’m here with friends. No thanks.” You said, sliding the shot back over to him. He shrugged and took it himself, downing in seconds.

It was quiet for a moment, even though the music still roared in the background. “Would your friends mind if I steal you for a little bit?” He suddenly asked, his lips right near your ears. You flinched but couldn’t help but grin in response.

“Why? Where are you going to take me?”

“Wherever you’d like, baby.” His hand slowly trailed down your shoulders to your hips, lightly squeezing before his finger teased the slight opening in your pants. Since you were so touch starved and the last time a man ever touched you was a hundred years ago, you didn’t push him away at first.

So what? You were desperate at this point.

Dildos get lonely…

“Mhm, I don’t—”

You didn’t get to finish your sentence because suddenly the man was… gone? You blinked rapidly before looking around in confusion. Huh?! As you reeled in shock at how fast a man could just disappear, you felt a tug at the belt loop of your pants before the hand grasped it entirely and pulled you out of the club.

“Who?! Dude, you’re going to rip my fucking pants off! Get—”

The fresh air slapped you in the face before you were harshly pushed against the wall of the alleyway. Your eyes saw dark spots before you could fully open them, ready to scream bloody murder before you saw who attacked you.

Fucking Gojo!

You groaned, rolling your eyes as you looked away. No way he found you here! Did Megumi tell him? Nobara? No, they’d never do that to you. Oh… he was a fucking stalker!

But you didn’t get to accuse him as he grabbed your face and forcefully turned it so you would look him in the eye. No, your cock didn’t twitch. You’re just horny.

You didn’t speak. More so just because you knew it pissed him off that you weren’t. So you only gave him your meanest glare and closed your eyes, knowing he wouldn’t pry them open. Only to be wrong because apparently Gojo has no sense of boundaries.

He did force open one of your eyes and you quickly slapped his hand away. Fuck that felt weird. You looked at him shock, the fuck was his problem?

But you weren’t going to speak first! No way. You were going to be petty until the day you died.

Gojo was silent for a moment before groaning, deciding he had to be the one doing the talking.

“What’s your problem?”

“My—?!” You clamped your lips shut. He almost got you there. You reached up and began pushing at his chest but you didn’t even make him budge. Gojo rolled his eyes and grabbed your wrists, with one hand, and pushed them against the wall, right above your head.

“You avoid me like I killed your entire family. What the hell did I do?”

You pursed your lips and shook your head. For the next few minutes, it was Gojo spouting questions and you acting like a child being asked if they were the one who drew on the wall. It would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so stupid.

It took a moment before Gojo was finally giving up. He sighed as his hand released his grip on your wrists. You watched as he pulled away and suddenly, you didn’t want him to do that.

So without thinking, you grabbed the belt loops of his pants and pulled him close. Gojo’s eyes widened, his hands quickly moving to rest on either side of you so he didn’t crush into you. You didn’t like the sad look on his face.

But you were about to regret it as his signature smirk appeared. He leaned in close, his mouth pressing against your ear. His light chuckle sent a shiver down your spine, making you unintentionally arch your back.

“I see how it is… you’re into being a brat, huh?”

You shook your head violently, biting your lip. Okay, you were certainly playing into it. But it was the reason your ex broke up with you so you didn’t exactly like the word used in regards to you.

Something something ex boyfriends suck

You gasped as his leg was shoved between yours, rubbing right against your crotch. It happened so fast you couldn’t even think straight.

“I asked you question. Answer.” He said, pulling away so you could see his face. His blue eyes stared straight into yours, making you squirm in embarrassment. You kept remembering the incident. Cumming just from seeing his face.

Gosh, who can say they’ve done that?!

The only sense of light in the alleyway was the moonlight and the blinking neon sign of the club. It would occasionally light up Gojo’s face and you felt your cock twitch when you got a clear view. His eyes staring you down. Jaw tight. His lips no longer in a smirk. You didn’t know he could look so serious.

His eyebrow raised a bit when you didn’t answer. You wanted to see what he’d do and he was quick to show you. His leg began to rub your crotch but it was slow—way too slow for you to get anything from it. It felt like a taste to what you could truly get if you acted like a good boy.

As your cock began to twitch, straining against your pants, he stopped. You whimpered, staring up at him with pity as he tilted his head.

You knew what you had to do to get what you wanted.

“N…no…” You whispered, shaking your head. He let out a sigh, a hand moving away from the wall as it harshly gripped your face, forcing you to look him in the eye.

“I don’t like liars. Tell me the truth. What happened to the good boy on the call, huh? The one who listened and put on a nice show for me.”

You bit your lip and closed your eyes, not wanting to look him in the eyes. When you felt his hand squeeze your cheeks, you slowly opened them only to see him looking at you with worry.

“Do you want to stop?” He asked.

Did you?

Did you want to stop?

You reached up and placed your hands on his shoulder, leaning up on your toes to press a soft kiss on his lips. It was soft, way too soft compared to the debauchery you two were just participating in.

Gojo eagerly kissed you back, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you closer. He kissed you as if he was hungry. Like if you were to pull away, he’d miss his chance. You moaned into the kiss as he grasped your ass, gripping it tightly before moving downward to grab your legs and hoist you up.

He slammed you against the wall, never pulling away from the kiss as you gripped his hair for some sort of purchase. The innocent kiss you had given him was leaning to pure lust.

His teeth biting your lips, earning little gasps from you. You’d never kissed a man like this before. But even though it was pure lust, you somehow felt loved.

“Ahem..”

You both froze. Gojo was still biting at your lip as you both glanced to your right to see a pissed off Megumi.

“I called you to take me home, not fuck my friend.”

Gojo pulled away, though his hand still held you up, “Megumi~~ sorry! I just got caught—”

“—fucking my friend? C’mon, I found Nobara.” Megumi stormed away while you felt like jumping off the nearest bridge.

Jesus Christ!! You might as well replace your middle name with “Embarrassment!”

Gojo only chuckled slightly as he pulled out his car keys and placed it in your hand. He gently placed you back on your feet. “Go to the car, I’ll join you guys in a minute.”

“What are you doing?”

He simply smirked. “Taking out some trash.”

He was so weird…

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Nobara was conked out in the spare bedroom while Megumi slept on a futon in the same room. Gojo had driven you three to his apartment. It was actually quite nice. You wondered what his actual job was because you knew being a cam boy couldn’t actually pay that well.

While Gojo was looking for some spare clothes for you, you decided to take a look around. You found his office and instantly knew this was where he did his cams. It was surreal seeing it in person.

As you closed the door, you shrieked when you came face to face with Gojo. He was smirking, handing you a pair of pajamas he found that could possibly found you.

“How was it?”

“How was what?”

He rolled his eyes. “The room. Better in person?”

You simply let out a huff. “Where’s the bathroom? I’ll change in there.”

“No need—change in my room. You’ll be sleeping there anyway.”

And then he just walked to his room. You stood there for a moment, mouth agape. Sleep? Sleeping? In there? His room?!

If there wasn’t two people already sleeping you would’ve screamed.

You slowly followed behind him, unable to stop the steady rise of your heartbeat. Your stomach felt weird, slightly churning as you thought about what could happen. But it didn’t feel like anxiety, more so like excitement. Though you couldn’t fight back the slight feeling of nausea.

You haven’t slept with someone in over a year.

And Gojo was so experienced.

Would he compare you to others?

Would you disappoint him?

You suck at giving blowjobs, haven’t gotten out of the habit of not using teeth. Your ex complained about that all the time.

Has he even fucked a guy before?

All these thoughts rushed in your head before you bumped right into something. You glanced up, grinning shyly as Gojo raised an eyebrow. His hands gripped your shoulder as he leaned down a bit to look you right in the eye.

“What’s wrong? Nervous?”

You couldn’t find it in yourself to lie. So you mutely nodded.

Gojo chuckled slightly, his hand moving up to lightly caress your cheek. “Don’t be. I’ll lead.”

His hand slowly slid down, his thumb lightly teasing your lips. It pulled down at your bottom lip before he switched to his index and middle finger. They pushed your lips apart before inching their way inside your mouth. It took a moment for you to not push them out—getting used to the odd feeling of them.

Slowly, you lightly suckled on them, closing your eyes to try and keep calm. More than likely, he was going to finger you open. And you felt your cock twitch at the thought.

You almost completely lost yourself, not even noticing the stuttered breath Gojo let out. Your eyes opened slightly, looking up at him hooded eyelids. He almost looked possessed. His throat bobbed as his lips pulled into a slight snarl.

You pulled away, taking his fingers out of your mouth. “What’s wrong…?”

“I wish it didn’t take me so long to fuck you.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

“Jeez, you’re tight, (Name), you don’t stretch yourself often?”

The sound of your muffled whimpers was filling the room, moonlight seeping through the curtains as you tried to keep still. You were sitting on Gojo’s lap, your legs spread open as he fingered you. His fingers stretched you deeper than you thought was possible.

Your back pressed against his chest as you had your hand clamped around your mouth. You only imagined his hands inside you. Especially during his streams. It was almost like a fantasy that it was happening right now.

That he actively sought after you.

“If they weren’t here,” he muttered, most likely referring to Megumi and Nobara, “I wouldn’t have allowed you to hide those pretty little sounds.”

You felt yourself blush.

He finds your moans pretty?

If you weren’t too busy moaning, you would’ve been giggling.

His fingers stretched you slowly and methodically, rubbing against your wet walls as if searching for something. You wondered if he was having trouble reaching your prostate. So you shuffled a bit, thinking maybe it was the angle you were sitting in that was giving him trouble.

“Uncomfortable?” He suddenly asked, his fingers stopping.

“Oh.. no… thought you… were having trouble reaching my.. uhm, prostate.”

“I wasn’t. I know where it is.” You felt his finger brush against it, causing you to whimper. “I’m avoiding it on purpose.”

“W..why..?”

A light chuckle left him as he rested his chin on your shoulder, looking down at your nude lower half. He hummed slightly, his free hand trailing downward to tease your leaking cock. It was still taking you some getting used to being fully nude while he was still dressed.

“Because of this.”

Suddenly, his fingers began to harshly target your prostate. Rubbing and teasing it relentlessly. Your body arched against him, toes curling as you screamed out. It was inhumane at how he was able to keep the fast pace with just his fingers.

No wonder those girls in the video practically screamed when he fingered them.

His free hand grasped your cock, thumb lightly teasing your sensitive tip. The constant between the harsh thrusts and slow, sensual movements on your cock was something you never felt before. Your hands gripped at everything beneath you—bedsheets, your leg, but soon found purchase gripping his thigh.

Wow, how often does he work out?

You couldn’t dwell too much on it as you began to feel the familiar sensation in your body. Your cock leaking pre-cum all over your tummy. But just as you almost reached your peak, it was over.

His fingers pulled out.

“Wha…?” You muttered, chest heaving as you glanced over at him.

Gojo only patted your thighs before motioning for you get off. You hesitantly stood up, legs feeling entirely like jelly as you watched him pull down his pants, his cock sprinting out.

It was huge.

That seven inch dildo certainly came in handy…

His cock was possibly close to eight. Seeing it in person was different from any video or live stream. The veins and just how much thicker it was.

“Condom.” He whispered, pointing at the nightstand beside the bed. He began to lightly stroke his cock, spreading the pre-cum leaking from his tip.

You didn’t move to get the condom. He didn’t use condoms when fucking those girls. Why did he need to use one with you?

There was some weird surge of jealousy within you. And it wasn’t because he fucked other people.

It was because he wasn’t going to cum inside you.

Well, what if you wanted that?

“Mhm, no.” You replied, pushing his hand away from his cock.

Gojo raised an eyebrow at this, watching as you moved to sit down on his lap. You grasped his cock and placed it right between your ass, lightly teasing your puckered hole. Your free hand gripping tightly at his shoulder, balancing yourself a bit.

“You cum in all those girls.” You whispered, smirking slightly as you leaned in. “What if I want it too?”

A laugh left Gojo as his hands reached over and grasped your waist, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. You were sure this was going to leave a mark. Any sort of control you just tried to hold was pushed away by Gojo.

“Aw~ it’s okay, baby. You’ll be replacing those girls, no need to think about ‘em anymore.”

“Wh—?”

You screamed out as he pulled you down onto his cock. Your face squinted in pain as you whimpered and squirmed, trying to get used to his cock. It was different seeing it than feeling it stretch you whole. No wonder he spent a good amount of time stretching you out.

Gojo kept his grip on you tight as he bounced you up and down on his cock. You didn’t get no say in how he got to use you. Your voice filled the room, you forgot all about keeping quiet by this point.

“Ngh, sorry, hate this position.”

You didn’t even get to answer him back when you were suddenly picked up from off his cock and dropped onto the bed. You were now on your knees as he got behind you. His cock teased your hole for just a moment before he slammed right back inside.

Your face squished against the bed as his hands moved downward, gripping your ass tightly as he began massaging it. His cock stretched you fool, easily rubbing against your prostate with each thrust.

It was better than any dildo.

“You don’t even know… how much I masturbated to your moans,” he suddenly said.

You almost didn’t hear him at first. “H..hng..?”

“I recorded the sound of your moans during the call. How could I not when it made me cum so fast,” he reached down, pressing his chest against your back. He angled his hips against your ass and began thrusting again, his cock continuously rubbing right against your prostate.

You tried to say something but the only sound that left you was cries of pleasure. The sounds of skin slapping and your whimpers filled the room.

It was weird, totally. But…

You’d look past it.

Dick too good, y’know?

“Then you came from just seeing my face.” He chuckled slightly. “Knew I couldn’t let you get away but you blocked me everywhere.”

He pulled away slightly, his thrusting coming to a pause. You whimpered in disappointment, glancing back at him. Gojo grinned slightly as he grabbed your arms, pulling them back a bit before sliding down to grasp your hands.

The position wasn’t comfortable at all, having your hands behind your back. You couldn’t hold up your face anymore, being forced to just let it lay on the sheets.

“Imagine my luck when I saw you again. You’re prettier in person.” His hips slammed against your ass, earning a scream from you. But he didn’t move again, leaving you to calm down from the harsh thrust.

“But then you ignore me.” He muttered. “Thought I was going to have to give up on you… but today was my lucky day. Just had to throw that guy away and you were mine.”

You felt your cock twitch.

His?

You were his.

He released his grip on your hands and pulled out again. You didn’t even get to whine this time as you were flipped onto your back, staring at him now. He crawled over you, his cock easily sliding back inside. You wrapped your legs around his waist to hold him close.

“Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours…” You whispered, “won’t… run away anymore… promise.”

Gojo grinned slightly as he leaned down to press a kiss on your forehead. His hand patted your head, his finger twirling a strand of your hair. Seeing him like this, so soft compared to his camboy persona was out of a dream.

“I’ll be nice—since it’s our first.” He sat back, his hands reaching down to rest on the curve of your hips.

As he began to slowly thrust inside of you, you couldn’t help but sigh. It felt nice. The soft rhythm of his cock going in and out. But it soon started to pick up, his grip tightening on your hips. You whimpered, gripping at his chest as you wondered how this was going to go.

“G-Gojo?!”

“Hm?”

“H…how is this nice..?!” You managed to moan out.

His hips slammed against your ass, the sound of skin slapping together returning in harmony with your moans.

“This is my nice.” He grinned.

Fucking asshole!

His hand moved up and gripped one of yours, tangling it into a handhold. Your hand was practically engulfed by his. Crap, he was making you feel crazy.

“You know my name now, so scream it.”

You gasped in shock, suddenly remembering when you had whined in the call about not having a name to moan. Your back arched as his pace somehow picked up even more, his hips slamming into you with a force you questioned was human.

If this was his nice… you didn’t want to know what his mean was.

Okay—that was a lie, you definitely wanted to know.

You started to moaning his name which soon turned into screams. Your cock spurted pathetically on your stomach, coating it with your cum. But he didn’t stop. He kept his rough pace as he used you for his own release.

His last thrusts practically took your breath away as he pushed deep inside of you. The only sound left was your gasps as he cummed, coating your insides.

Your hand was still entangled with his and he didn’t seem to want to let go. As he pulled out, cum slowly leaked out of you, coating the bedsheets beneath you. He laid down beside you, wrapping his free arm around your waist as he tugged you closer.

It was silent for a moment, only your heavy breathing as you tried to calm down. Gojo buried his face in your neck, humming slightly. The moonlight shined down on you both through the windows, illuminating his white hair beautifully.

As your eyes felt heavy, you cuddled closer to him and fell asleep with a smile.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

“I can’t believe you.”

You and Gojo sat kneeling on the floor in front of a disappointed Nobara and Megumi.

“I can believe Gojo… but (Name)…” Megumi whispered, shaking his head as he looked at you.

Nobara sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I thought he was killing you at first. Can you imagine the horror of hearing you scream in the middle of the night?!”

You froze, glancing up at Nobara. “Did you…?”

“Head back down!” She yelled, you quickly obeyed. “And yes, I did see Gojo fucking you! So traumatizing.” She whined, wiping at her imaginary tears.

“I wish I didn’t hear it.” Megumi muttered.

“So, were you guys role playing or something?! Why did you act like you hated him for almost two months straight?!” Nobara asked, staring right at you.

You pursed your lips, keeping your head down. “Uhm… I dunno… I just…”

Gojo grinned. “It was a brat tamer role play!”

“I didn’t need to know that!” Nobara screamed, covering her ears as she began to sing to herself as she ran away to the kitchen. Megumi only gave you another disappointed look, one that reminded you of a mother, before glaring daggers at Gojo.

“You still can’t bother me at work.” He said before walking away.

Gojo simply laughed, standing up. He stretched as he held out a hand to help you up. “Don’t mind Megumi, he’ll get over it.”

You nodded with a pout, hoping he was right. As you moved to go join Megumi and Nobara in the kitchen, Gojo suddenly grabbed your hand. He pulled you close, pressing his lips against your ear.

“I wasn’t lying about you replacing the girls, I wanna show you off.” He whispered before releasing you. He gave you his signature cocky smirk before walking away to go bother Megumi some more.

You stood there for a moment, reeling in shock.

Show… you… off…?

Did he mean…?

Holy fuck.

He wanted to make videos with you!

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

No part 3, stop bugging me

Tag list: @teyvat-writer @tehyunnie @the-ultimate-librarian @kiiyoooo @mello-life69 @iwishtobeacrow @remdayz @ofclyde @smellwell @flurrina @tomoeroi @star-3214 @rhetorical-conscience @honey-valentin3 @byul9158 @xiaovrsven7ti @vivian-555 @huboi @a-purple-person

[moonlight-prose]

i’d love to see your take on #15 from the prompt list: “jealous sex in the alleyway behind the bar” w logan 👀 i’m picturing logan in xmen 1 or 2 specifically 😫

have a cigar

a/n: i am such a fucking sucker for the jealousy trope. especially when he's the idiot who doesn't realize he's the only option. the best one in my opinion. but of course he's got his own hangups and his own issues. so i've thrown a bit of angst in here with the spice. enjoy darling! (the title is based off the pink floyd song which gives massive logan vibes.)

summary: everyone knows who you belong to. if the jacket you wore that left you drowning in the soft leather wasn't indication enough, then the claws attached to your guard dog certainly was.

word count: 3.3k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, possessive logan, violence, tw: blood, animalistic tendencies, cigar smoke, alcohol, harassment, spitting, exhibitionism, p in v sex, rough sex, bruising, choking, logan kinda refers to them as an object (out of love), he's literally unhinged.

The bar reeked of spilled beer and shitty cigarettes. A rock song from the seventies blasted from the speakers—crackling every time the front door was jostled open, another patron stumbling in for a night of fun. Raucous cheers erupted from the corner where four men in leather jackets had taken up residence at a pool table; each one betting higher than the other.

You were perched on a stool. A heavy brown leather jacket wrapped around your body, a half finished whiskey in front of you, and a cigar clutched in your fingers. Neither were yours.

Yet you couldn't help but sip at the drink with a happy sigh, the smoke curling down your hand with a familiar scent that twisted your inside.

For the past ten minutes, you'd been staring at the menu. Trying to discern if ordering the mini plate of nachos was worth it before Logan waltzed back in from the bathroom. He muttered about there being a fucking line due to someone locking the damn stall. But you didn't mind.

Time spent with him was worth sitting here alone.

That is until you heard the telltale familiar scratch of a stool being dragged away—someone sitting to your right with a heavy grunt.

You flinched slightly, turning your back towards them, but their knuckles were already rapping on the bartop. Demanding your attention with another grunt. You could smell the alcohol on their skin, the glaze in their blue eyes as you turned, but that isn't what sent fear curling low in your spine. It was the sleazy grin on their lips.

They wouldn't be taking no for an answer.

"What's a pretty little thing like you doin' sittin' here alone?" he slurred, eyes trailing down your form.

Suddenly wearing the simple sundress for Logan felt like an awful idea. Your stomach turned with nausea as he ogled your body without shame. To him you weren't a person. Fuck you'd be lucky if he even asked for your name before he spewed bullshit about taking you home.

The bartender eyed him with a glare, nodding his head in your direction for some affirmation of safety. He recognized you, knew Logan from the countless times he'd been here, and that left you with some peace to cling to. It wasn't much, but you grasped at it blindly. Offering an awkward smile to appease the victim of Logan's fist when he finally returned.

"I'm with someone." You hated how meek your voice sounded; how small you felt sitting here like prey.

He shrugged, leaning close enough for you to smell the vodka on his breath. "I won't tell if you don't babe."

Heavy boots thumped against the floor and you visibly relaxed in your seat as Logan's form filled your peripheral. He stood stiff at your side, hands curling into fists at the sight of a man practically laying across your lap. Your eyes met his, guilt bleeding into your pupil. Only for anger to fill his. His hand pressed to your back, thumb rubbing into your side softly.

"You got a problem boy?" he snapped.

The man sat up too quickly, his body swaying as he met the guard dog attached to your back. "Just talking to the lady man. Fuck off."

You sighed, feeling Logan's hand freeze. Out of all the mistakes that could be made—that remained the worst. The man had dug his own grave. Logan was merely the executioner tasked with bringing this man to his awaited appointment with death.

Who were you to stand in the way of that?

You slipped off the stool, moving with speed to get out of the way of Logan's claws. Slamming the man against the bartop, he set the blades to his throat. A snarl resonated in the place, forcing everyone to go quiet, as you watched in rapture at the sight of Logan pinning a man. Daring him to move.

He cried in pain, blood dripping from the split open wound in his forehead. But mercy wasn't something Logan gave willingly. You felt his love in the form of wrath. A weight against your chest that you sunk your teeth into with a smile.

He was willing to kill for you.

To spill blood for your lips to curve into a pleased grin.

You were breathless even thinking about it.

"Now," he growled, pressing the man down until he heard the snap of a bone. "Wanna repeat that shit to my face motherfucker?"

"N-No." The scent of copper tinged the air, laying on your tongue. "I'm—fuck—I'm sorry! I didn't know she was yours man."

He lowered his face, nostrils flaring at the scent of blood permeating the air. "Touch her again and it's your arm."

Nodding frantically, you watched as the man practically slid to the floor in a mess of tears. Part of you wanted to feel bad for him. A pathetic soul who couldn't find joy unless it was preying on others. Logan's hand wrapping around the back of your neck is what killed those feelings with a swift slice of an axe. The heat of his touch became an anchor against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

Sick, twisted, inhumane. You attempted to label the feelings that catapulted right into your chest at the sight of Logan's red stained fist. There had to be an explanation in the back of your mind. A missing piece as to why you felt such exhilaration in the face of violence.

"Motherfucker," he muttered under his breath, slamming the back door open with his foot, his fingers digging a bit deeper. "Thinks he can take what's mine."

Oh. You liked that.

The click of his lighter and spark of a flame illuminated the shadow of possession that lingered on his face. His eyes watched you, trailed down the form of your body beneath his oversized leather jacket. The soft echo of love was swapped out for something tenebrous—something raw.

"C'mere." He spoke the word as if his hand wasn't still around your neck, leading you into his vicinity.

You stumbled over your own feet, eyes wide with the type of veneration he felt slam into his chest. Such a pretty thing, so lovely and soft for him to caress. To call his.

Perhaps this need to claim you stemmed from an animalistic urge he should have tamped down. He knew he looked like an asshole back in the bar, knew that you weren't a fan of when he got his fists dirty. But the need to sink his teeth into the side of your neck until blood poured into his mouth overtook him on his worst days.

It was fucked to even think about. Harming you, marking you, all to make sure that drunken idiots knew to keep their hands to themselves.

That thought alone was enough to make him feel a hint of disgust over his own fantasies.

Until he smelled it.

Cigar smoke unfurled from his mouth, curling low and falling across your face with a soft brush of air. Your eyes fluttered from the scent, mouth filling with saliva at the thought of him blowing it between your parted lips. All you had to do was ask him—place your hands on his cheeks and press your lips to his. He certainly wouldn't be against kissing you.

But something darker swirled to life in your chest. A hidden truth you felt far too ashamed to reveal that you started to tuck away in the back of your mind.

That didn't stop your scent from growing thick in the air, filling his nose with the sharp tang of your sweetness. He could practically taste it on the tip of his tongue. The ache to see it for himself nearly overwhelmed his body.

Something shifted in the time it took for the both of you to get outside away from the prying eyes inside the bar. Everyone knew you were Logan's. That became clear the second his jacket draped your shoulders—his hand a permanent fixture on your hip as he saw with you at the bar. But seeing him confirm a truth already known.

The spillage of blood was a small price to pay to set his words into stone for those to read. Logan was prepared to do far more than that; the need to bend you over the bar and make you cry those pretty little tears only meant for him growing each time you came here.

"Logan," you murmured, eyes half lidded with lust.

"Yeah you liked that huh sugar."

"I–" What could you say to him? I loved seeing you claim me like an animal in front of everyone. That alone felt too fucking embarrassing to admit out loud.

His thumb pressed into the back of your skull, releasing what tension built up. Moaning softly, you curled your body into his, eyes fluttering shut as he massaged that spot until you purred. You were so pliable under his hold, willing to leap when he said the word, and Logan could feel his cock throb at the sight.

His pretty girl.

"Liked seeing me beat a man cause he touched you." Lips curled into a smirk around his cigar when your mouth parted, breaths coming in harder than before. "You'd let me fuck in front of all of 'em wouldn't ya. Just to show them you're mine."

You went lightheaded, slick pouring out of you, as a soft whine broke through the still night air. Something snapped in your mind at the thought—images of Logan pulling your skirt up and fingering you at the bar. Thoughts of him settling you on his lap to cockwarm him as he smoked his cigar at a table. Entirely at ease with the thought of everyone seeing you leak around him.

They all curled low in your belly, cracking open the door of desires you kept locked shut. Pandora's box was finally about to be pried open and yet all you could think about was his eagerness to show off what belonged to him.

Use me. Mark me. Take me however you want to.

Saying them with a shaky voice and shot nerves would do nothing for that unfathomable throbbing between your legs.

Not when he could see it written across your face with a clarity that should have scared you.

"You're my fuckin' filthy girl aren't ya," he muttered, drawing you close enough to taste the cigar smoke off his lips.

"Uh-huh." The dazed lilt of your words made him smile.

So needy for him even in the proximity of a disgusting alleyway in the back of a bar. How could he resist such sweetness?

His hand moved, closing around your throat, as he plucked the cigar from his lips. "Here's what I'm gonna do sugar." Your open mouth gave him enough leeway to blow the remainder of his smoke past your lips—forcing a gasp past your throat. "'M gonna fuck you right here. And I want you to make them hear it."

"A-Are you sure?"

He smiled, pushing you towards the wall and stubbing his cigar out on the brick. "What? Don't you wanna set those fuckers right?"

Nodding, you let him tug up the hem of your skirt of your dress, fingers delving beneath the lace panties you wore specially for him. With a groan, his eyes fell shut at the feel of you dripping so messily for him. Leaking across his hand even before he pressed the rough calloused pads to your clit—drawing a soft cry from your mouth.

"You get this wet watching me sugar?" he grunted against your cheek, mouth hovering right where you wanted him. "Poor thing. Didn't mean to make ya wait."

"Oh fuck," you gasped, fingers curling into his flannel. "L-Loved seeing you Logan."

He chuckled—degrading yet filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache. "I should fight in front of you more often. Get you nice and ready for me to fuck you whenever I want."

Whatever response you might have been able to form died in the back of your throat. A choking garbled moan of his name pierced the air when two fingers plunged into you knuckle deep. Curling roughly at your walls with a determined flare. This wasn't him trying to get you off. This was him proving he could.

"You hear that? She's singin' for me baby." The wet squelch of his fingers pounding into you left heat blooming beneath your cheeks and down your chest. "Beggin' for my cock."

"Need it Logan–"

A hand hiked your leg up to curl around his hip, lips finally slotting against yours with a stunted groan. Any coherent thoughts you might have had died with his tongue. He licked into you as if he was looking for something. Claimed your mouth with harsh moans and deep hot strokes against the roof of your mouth.

"I'll give it to you," he bit off, sucking your tongue into his mouth until you trembled in his hold.

He was everywhere. Pulling his fingers free and swallowing your whimper, he hoisted you up and shoved you against the wall so hard your back hurt. The pain quickly dwindled into a dull ache when the familiar clink of his belt buckle hit your ears.

Swallowing his harsh growl, you canted your hips against his. The growing heat in your body fanned into a fire you could no longer ignore; his touch echoing with the embers of something disastrous.

You knew you craved him, but this felt like a baseline urge your body couldn't give up. Some neolithic part of your brain that got off on being protected, possessed.

"You've got no idea how badly I wanna give it to ya," he muttered, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. "Gonna drive me fuckin' insane."

"Yes." The word felt diminutive compared to his, but everything else tapered off into garbled moans of his name.

"Already beggin' and I haven't even started." He smiled cruelly, cock sliding through your slickened pussy with a stuttered grunt.

If you were standing, your knees would have buckled. Even now they locked against his waist to keep him from pulling away. Secrets scratched at the nearly open door as he lined himself, fisting his cock with bared teeth and a throaty growl. There became no use in keeping them at bay. Not when Logan shared the fantasy in his own mind—playing it out like a film projected on your heart.

His hand slapped against the brick wall beside your head, the other snuggly resting at your throat. The flutter of your heart pulsed beneath the vein on your neck, directly along the jugular he often nipped and sucked at. The pad of his thumb pressed down against it—tongue swiping at his bottom lip when you moaned. Broken, pitched high enough to bounce off the alleyway walls.

"So pretty when you're needy." His lips caught yours, spit a glossy smear on your chin. "Can't even think straight without it."

You wanted to agree, to tell him you were nothing if you weren't his.

With a snarl pressed into your mouth he sunk into your pussy in one thrust and your mind went numb. You sagged against the wall, a splintered cry resonating in the air when he bottomed out. Your name a harsh groan—his neck strained and eyes squeezed tight.

"Logan," you sobbed loud enough for it to echo back into the bar. You could practically see them sitting there. Eyes wide and they fought the urge to get off to the sound of Logan fucking you within an inch of your life.

Nails scratched along his clothed shoulders in a desperate attempt at getting him closer when he began to pound into you. Hips slapped against yours with each roll of his hips, his hand slowly tightening around your throat. Even now you stared at him with wonder in your eyes. The glimmer he adored finding its way back into your iris as you admired how he looked.

The way his teeth grit together, nostrils flaring as your scent all but drowned him. He was a mythological being who'd come to declare that you had always been his. That this was merely an act of fate; the strings drawing you two together so tight it cut through your skin and bled you dry.

The hand on your throat shifted higher, prying open your mouth. "C'mon baby. Let 'em know who you belong to."

A ragged moan ripped free from the shackles of your chest, your eyes rolling back as his cock brushed against raw bliss. He smiled, forehead pressed to yours and hips shifting to keep the angle. Even when you began to cry loud enough to alert people on the streets Logan refused to give you a chance to breathe.

This wasn't the man you came with. This was the animal buried deep within his heart; the Wolverine snapping at anyone who dared to come near his other half.

"That's it," he bit out. "You gonna be a good fuckin' girl and cum for me?"

"Mm-hm."

He panted against your lips, tongue licking behind your front teeth. "Can feel her chokin' my cock."

You couldn't breathe. Each thrust sent what little air you had out of your lungs in small breathy whines. He fucked into you with abandon until you swore you felt him in your throat—the echo of skin against skin and the scrape of his boots on gravel when he shifted you higher became your gravity.

With a sharp intake of breath, he dropped his hand from the wall to cup your ass. Swiftly dropping you on his cock to force a scream from your mouth. It clawed up your chest, that familiar aching pull in your torso. The burn you clung to as he tipped your head back and messily spit into your open mouth. You swallowed it with a moan, thighs clenching around his hips.

"That's it," he rumbled, thumb finding your pulsing clit with ease. "Give it to me, yeah? Make a fuckin' mess on it."

A harsh thrust sent your head flying to the back of the wall. Logan was quick to slam his hand behind you, giving you a cushion to stop from severely hurting yourself. His mouth sought out yours with a mumble of your name, hips grinding deep as you came apart with a broken shout.

Bliss tore through every nerve in your body; your pussy now coating his throbbing cock in a fresh wave of slick. Logan moaned high and desperate against your tongue, following you quickly. Neither of you could tell if it was from the adrenaline of the fight or taking you out in the open, but he wouldn't stop coming.

"F-Fuck." He gasped, eyes rolling back as his head tipped. He filled you so much you could feel it leaking out, dripping down your thighs and coating the front of his jeans.

A nasty thought of dropping to your knees and licking the fabric clean filled your head—your walls spasming around him hard enough to make him hiss in pain. You quickly stored it away for later. When the feeling eventually returned to your legs.

"I think they know not to touch what's mine now," he mumbled, stealing a chaste kiss as he rubbed a soothing shape in your hip.

"Logan." He cupped your chin, lips curling into a dopey smile that bled warmth into your chest. "Take me home?"

His nose nudged yours in an act so gentle you nearly forgot how he fucked you a minute prior. "Sure thing sweetheart. Kiss?"

You grinned, eyes still shimmering with that love-struck awe; he felt it clench around his heart. "Well come here baby."

In the dark of the alley his lips found yours, sealing the deal of fate with the fulfillment of a life spent in each other's arms.

[fumiliar]

in your dreams - kento nanami

✎... fluff

everyone knew your crush on nanami in highschool. it was a public secret, from your classmates to upperclassmen, they all knew. when you first entered jujutsu high, you saw the most beautiful upperclassmen, kento nanami. ever since you've noticed the man, you followed him like a lost puppy. taking any chance to strike a conversation with him, you had 2 goals in highschool, graduate and most importantly get with nanami.

when you came back to jujutsu high as a sorcerer, their first words to you were:

"you're the one who liked nanamin right?" the blue eyed man asked

"yeah, i can't believe you still remembered," awkwardly looking around, trying to stare at anything but his face. it was a very embarrassing time of your life.

"everyone remembers, but don't worry, nanamin won't come back anytime soon."

and how wrong he was. 3 months after you came back to jujutsu, kento followed your footsteps, joining as another jujutsu sorcerer.

"i heard nanamin was single, you don't wanna try asking him out y/n? maybe you'd have a different fate," gojo winking at you before he went to take his leave.

you contemplated on asking him out on a date tonight. it wouldn't hurt, right?

as you arrived to the field to supervise the students, you saw a familiar figure, kento nanami. you took your time walking there, admiring the man. kento being the observant man he is, noticed your staring, reciprocating it back to you, making you look away instantly.

as you stood beside him watching the students, kento started some small talk.

"how was your day y/n?" kento asked, lowering his body by just a pinch to hear you better.

"good, what about you?" you replied.

"good as well," kento answered.

"wanna go out on a date with me?" you whispered, avoiding his gaze, making sure no one was paying attention.

"of course y/n, i'm flattered that you asked me out," kento replied with a soft smile.

you tried to cover your joy, but it was too much. a smile slowly manifesting itself on your face.

"[Honorific].Y/n, why are you smiling?" yuuji asked.

"nothing.."

when you had entered the break room, gojo and shoko were already sitting, waiting to interrogate you.

"so are you going out on a date with nanamin tonight?" gojo asked expectantly.

"of course, we're literally married," you answered while taking out your lunchbox from the fridge.

"i know he agreed to go on a date with you, but that doesn't mean you're married to him too y/n," shoko talking to you with a tone she would use in a misbehaving kid.

"in your dreams y/n, i love you, but these delusions need to stop," shoko agreeing with gojo for once.

"what delusions?" kento asked. in the middle of your conversation, kento had also entered the break room, only hearing gojo's part.

"i told them we're married, and they don't believe me," a chuckle escaped kento's lips as you huffed. he slowly approached you, leaning down to give you a kiss on the cheek.

"yeah, we are," kento holding up your hand flexing the matching wedding bands you both had. you and kento thought it would be funny to play a game with the jujutsu high people. at first, you wanted to tell them as soon as you arrived at jujutsu high. but due to gojo's incessant teasing, you decided to see how long you could trick him and everyone else. it wasn't like you guys were hiding it, you both wore your wedding bands everyday, it's just kento isn't a big fan of PDA in the workplace.

"what...are you serious..."

[luxaofhesperides]

the lost brother - damian

There is static in his ears.

There is a baby in his arms.

His niece. His niece from a brother dead before he was born. The daughter of Danyal, his mother's greatest regret, the ghost haunting his childhood, the brother he never got to have.

She is so small in his arms. Still. Quiet.

It frightens him, cradling such a fragile life in his arms. He's not good with most people, let alone a baby.

Danyal must have been truly desperate to leave her with him.

"Robin."

The voice makes the world come rushing back into place. Damian moves before he thinks, turning his body to shield his niece from danger, but it's only Red Robin standing before him. He stares, wide eyed, until Red Robin pushes his cowl back and Drake stands before him, expression carefully neutral. He doesn't look at the baby in Damian's arms. He only looks at Damian.

"Robin, come on. The Batmobile is right below us."

Damian hesitates, then follows Drake to the edge of the roof. He takes the fire escape down, landing carefully so he doesn't jostle the baby in his arms, and Drake grapples down a moment later, carefully maintaining the distance between them.

He knows it's to keep Damian from feeling trapped, and he's stupidly grateful, though he'll never say so.

The rest of the family will be a pain to deal with. They will demand answers he doesn't have, invade his space, insist on taking his niece from him. At least Drake is quiet and willing to observe without interference beyond getting them all home.

As promised, the Batmobile waits for them in the alley. Drake holds the door open and Damian slides in, adjusting his niece to make sure she's comfortable. She blinks up at him with dark blue eyes.

How strange. He had expected them to be green.

Drake drives them, speaking in short bursts into his comm. Damian brings a hand up to his own, realising rather belatedly that it's muted. Oracle must have grown annoyed at the barage of questions heading his way and silenced them for him.

He'll have to thank her later, once things have settled down.

For now, all his attention is on his little baby niece. What did Danyal say her name was?

Ellie.

Ellie Ellie Ellie.

She reaches up with a small hand, curious, and Damian offers a finger for her to latch on to. Her grip isn't strong, and her hand is small and barely warm.

He holds her closer for the rest of the ride home.

Father wants to take Ellie away for tests. Damian refuses to let go of her, going as far as leveling a sword at anyone who tries.

Drake is the only one who offers to only draw the barest minimum amount of blood for a DNA test, all while Damian holds her.

This, he accepts.

The others hover in his periphery, muttering amongst themselves, but Damian cares little for their thoughts and judgements. He was given Ellie for the sole purpose of caring for her. He will not fail in his duty. If it comes to it that he has to hide away with Mother for the rest of them to calm down, then he will. Surely she'll want to be involved with her granddaughter.

He'll have to tell her about Danyal, anyways.

Father stays at the computer, watching as the results load. He does not look away from the screen to even greet Ellie.

Damian pushes down his bitterness. He knows well the kind of man Father is, now. This is expected of him.

It's Richard that stays by him, hurrying across the Cave with an armful of diapers and baby clothes.

"I wasn't sure what to get, so I got a bit of everything," he explains, setting everything down on the cot where Damian sits with Ellie. Richard cut his patrol short as soon as Danyal left and made an emergency run to the nearest store with baby supplies, pulling sweatpants and a jacket over his Nightwing suit. The collar of the suit peeks out from beneath his jacket, and Damian is sure that it's only the late hour that kept anyone from asking too many questions while Richard was shopping.

"Thank you," Damian mutters. He sets Ellie down carefully, and she blinks up at him with tired eyes. Her face is round with baby fat, but not by much. "How do I…?"

"I think I know how to change a diaper," Richard offers, already pulling a fresh one out of the pack. He gets a small pack of baby wipes out of his pocket and quickly undoes the diaper on Ellie, wiping her down. Damian watches carefully, committing each step to memory as Richard changes her diaper and makes sure she's comfortable.

They're all out of their depths, Damian realizes. Have any of them actually cared for a baby? Pennyworth might have had some idea, and though he died a few years ago, the loss of him aches sharply even now.

"We'll have to figure out how old she is before we get any food for her," Richard murmurs, reaching out to brush a finger against her cheek. His eyes are soft, sad, and Damian lets out a slow breath, relived to know he can trust Richard with Ellie. "What happened?"

It's the question everyone's been asking him, and Damian has refused to answer each time.

But he will answer Richard.

"I saw a person on the edge of the roof as I patrolled. I went down to bring them to safety. He was… I had an older brother who died before I was born. But I know what he looks like. It was him, on that roof."

"You think he came back to life?"

"He must have. He was placed in a Lazarus Pit, but Mother said it didn't bring him back. Perhaps it just took time."

"What made you think it was him, if you've never met him?"

Damian thinks back. The man on the roof was a few years older than Drake, thin and worn-down. His eyes caught Damian's attention first; al Ghul's have very distinctive eyes, and it seems they both inherited that trait from Mother. Beyond that…

Lazarus Pits have magic in them. They wouldn't be able to do what they did without it. Those revived by Lazarus Pits carry some of it with them; it's not Pit Rage, which fades within an hour, but something else that leaves them on the boundary of inhuman. Damian grew up around the Pits and people who used them. He knows what the magic of the Pits feels like, and he could feel it in Danyal.

"I just knew," Damian answers. "Should Mother ever meet him, she'll be able to tell you the same thing: that was Danyal. And this is his daughter."

"Do you know why he left his daughter with you?"

"He asked if Batman was a good father. If I was safe here. Only then did he give Ellie to me."

"He could have stayed to," Richard says, sadness coloring his tone.

Damian doesn't respond. What could he say? Yes, Danyal could have stayed and joined them. He chose not to, for whatever reason. They have not found him yet, and Damian doubts they will find him any time soon.

Danyal is the first son of Talia al Ghul and Bruce Wayne. He will not be found until he wants to be.

Damian will have to wait until then.

The DNA results come back after eight rounds of testing.

Ellie is indeed Damian's niece.

The closest matches to her in the database are Damian and Bruce, which all but confirms that Danyal is indeed the first blood son of the Bat.

Father stares down at Ellie with an unreadable look on his face. He doesn't try to hold her; Damian doesn't know if he should be grateful for this or not.

"I have another son," he says. "And neither you nor your mother ever told me."

"He was dead," Damian answers, "What use would a dead child be to you? Even I never met him until tonight. He was gone long before I was born."

"He's still my son!"

"He's a stranger," Damian bites back. "Why do you pretend to care now? He has never been a part of our lives before. You won't even hold his daughter."

Father flinches back, just slightly, but it's enough to know that the barb hit. Damian gathers Ellie up into his arms and heads for the stairs. "I will be going to sleep now. Ellie will stay with me. You are welcome to stay down here to search for Danyal, or you can get some rest to join me in shopping for Ellie. I will call Mother. Good night."

The others don't have the decency to wait until he's completely out of the Cave before they begin shouting amongst themselves. Damian clicks his tongue and looks down at Ellie, who's sleeping peacefully.

"Let's hope you grow up to have more sense than them," he says to her.

He lays her on top of the blankets, then curls up next to her. It's a long time before he's able to fall asleep.

Mother calls first thing in the morning. Damian's barely had time to brush his teeth before his phone is ringing, and he has to rush to catch it before the call ends.

"Is it true?" she demands as soon as he answers, "Was it Danyal?"

Damian bites back a curse. He said he'd call her. It would have been best if he had been the one to break the news, rather than anyone else, but it doesn't surprise him that no one listened.

"It's true," he says. "Danyal was in Gotham last night. He left his daughter in my care before disappearing. I was unable to speak to him more."

"How can that be," she says, breathless, "It's been decades since his death. The Lazarus Pit never returned him to me."

"It was him. That's all I know."

There's a pause as his mother gathers her composure. Then she says, "I will be in Gotham in a week. I will not be kept out of my granddaughter's life."

"I will make sure we have a room ready for you."

"Good. Take care, habibi."

The call ends without any other fanfare. Damian drops his head with a sigh and tosses his phone back onto his desk.

On his bed, Ellie is sitting up, watching him curiously.

"You and your father have caused a lot of trouble already," he tells her, and she claps her hands together.

When he goes downstairs, he immediately makes note of Drake and Brown's presence with displeasure. His hopes for a quiet morning are dashed before he even reached the kitchen.

"There you are!" Brown says far too loudly. She bounds up to him, ignoring his scowl, and peers at Ellie. "Hm, I'd guess around nine to eleven months, accounting for FTT and some malnutrition."

"FTT?" he repeats.

"Failure to thrive. If infants aren't care for properly, which includes cuddling, then they just… don't grow as they should. They end up smaller and weaker than is expected for their age."

"I imagine she was not taken care of properly, wherever she was before. She wouldn't have been left with me otherwise."

Brown looks troubled, but she blinks it away and smiles when Ellie reaches up to grab at her nose. "Hello there," she says in a soft voice, "I'm your favorite aunt. Don't forget that, alright! I'm your favorite."

Damian pushes her away. "She has no favorites."

"Not yet, but it'll definitely be me when she does!"

"Don't you have anything better to do than bother me?"

"No. But, in all seriousness, me and Tim are here to help. He gave me a rundown and what happened and I still have a bunch of stuff from my pregnancy classes that can help you. We also got some baby food and milk and formula for the baby, since she'll need to eat and be burped. I can walk you through all of that so you can start getting some experience in baby care."

Ah. He had forgotten that Brown had once been pregnant. That she gave away her own baby.

It must be hard for her to be on the other end of that situation, to watch someone take in a baby whose parent couldn't properly care for her, to muster up a smile and all the information she has to make things better.

"I would… appreciate that, Brown."

"Good! Well, lesson one starts now."

She throws open the door to the kitchen, where Drake is pressing the tip of a feeding bottle against the inside of his wrist. "Come here," he says to Damian. "Hold out a hand."

Curious, Damian does as told, and watches as Drake pressed the warm tip of the bottle against his wrist, where liquid splots out onto his skin. "That's about how warm it should be when you feed her. Here." He presses the bottle into Damian's hands, and it takes some adjustment before he can feed Ellie, who starts off slowly, then with more energy.

Brown tosses a rag over his shoulder, and instructs him on how to burp Ellie once she's finished eating. She coughs up some formula, then settles back into his arms, eyes closing as she begins to doze.

"I'll handle shopping," Drake says. "You need a crib, right? Maybe some toys… Just text me a list, I'll get everything."

"Why are you doing all this?" Damian can't help but ask. "We are not exactly… close."

Drake blinks at him, as though he's confused. "Because a baby is a big responsibility. And just because we don't always get along doesn't mean we're not family. She's my neice too. Doesn't she deserve to have more people in her corner?"

Damian can't argue with that, so he nods and lets Drake go to buy whatever he thinks is necessary. Brown lingers in the kitchen, making breakfast for them both in between sneaking glances at Ellie. Usually being watched so obviously would have him on edge and snappy, but he understands the urge to keep looking; he also can't take his eyes off of Ellie.

For someone so small to go through such hardship already… he doesn't understand how anyone can look at her and not want to keep her safe.

He wonders if anyone is keeping Danyal safe.

As much as he wants to go after Danyal, search for his resurrected brother, Ellie takes priority.

She's the one who's here to stay, after all.

Father doesn't come up from the Batcave all day.

Damian tries not to hate him for it.

He doesn't think he succeeds.

(masterpost for all parts)

[tititilani]

I can't stop thinking about if Simon had taken Edwin's offer

Like Charles finds Edwin in the hallway as ever but this time there's another boy there too, cowering against the wall next to him. Maybe the dollhead spider doesn't care about Simon, too busy focusing on its favorite target, so Charles is left standing in the hallway with Simon when Edwin is taken.

They get out of hell, but Edwin doesn't confess due to Simon hovering behind his elbow. He doesn't want to confess his emotions in front of his killer, who he probably hasn't even properly figured out how he's feeling towards yet.

The Night Nurse is pissed they came out with an extra soul but Niko's same loophole still applies and Simon stays.

"This is Simon," Edwin says when it's all said and done, finally introducing the boy that's been hiding behind him since the door closed. "He was a...classmate of mine."

"He saved me," Simon says, looking up at Edwin moony-eyed and Charles knows that look and something settles heavy in his stomach.

"Glad to have ya, mate," he tells him even though the words taste sour. This other boy knew Edwin when he was alive, the thought is slightly terrifying to him.

Simon settles in fine with the agency even if the agency feels a little crowded now with five people in it but he continues to moon over Edwin and Edwin just...never tells anyone how they actually knew each other. He reasons it just doesn't matter, that he can't find the right time, whatever.

Charles never really warms up to him, though he tries to hide it, but he sees the looks Simon gives Edwin, a soppy smitten look that is somehow worse than anything Monty or the Cat King ever tried with Edwin because of all of them, Simon arguably knows the most about like Edwardian courting. That, like Edwin, Simon has also survived hell. Charles hates the idea that someone could potentially understand Edwin more than he does.

He hates it so much that nothing further happens between him and Crystal because the idea of Edwin being left alone with Simon bothers him so much. He sees Simon adjusting Edwin's collar one (1) time and it makes him feel sick.

And then there's the fortune-teller.

They only go to her sometimes for cases because she never fails to freak Charles out but her prophecies tend to be accurate like 60% of the time which is pretty good for a fortune teller. She looks at the two of them at the end, because it is just the two of them for once, and then looks just at Edwin.

"How kind you are," she says, the words a compliment but the tone snide. "To house your killer. Pray tell it doesn't come back to you."

"What." Charles says. "The fuck."

Charles is furious, of course, and it takes Edwin a long time to talk him out of smashing Simon's face in with the new cricket bat.

"He's like me," he insists in that quiet but firm voice. Charles wants to scream that Simon is nothing like Edwin - that he doesn't have a fraction of Edwin's kindness or pissiness, that his blue eyes are not nearly as beautiful as Edwin's green - but before he can even open his mouth, Edwin continues. "He...He likes boys, Charles. He likes me."

Oh. Oh.

Charles stares at Edwin who is looking back at him, trying and failing to hide the fact he's terrified, and Charles doesn't give one shit that Edwin likes boys because he's his best mate forever. He's still pissed that Simon is apparently staying but he has to hug Edwin at that. "I'm still pissed you didn't tell me about him," is all he says, swallowing back the other words he wants to say.

Charles grows even more paranoid about Simon being around, who has to get used to the fact that Charles takes to swinging his cricket bat ominously every time he comes within ten feet of Edwin. He finds out that adjusting clothing was an Edwardian courting thing and wants to break something. The very idea the very person who killed his best mate is now trying to put the moves on said best mate pisses him off.

It also makes him think of numerous times Edwin had readjusted his collar or jacket in the past and it makes his non-existent stomach flip.

Eventually, Simon decides he's ready to move on to his after-life and Charles keeps his hands from fisting when he looks at Edwin with that same soppy look. He knows Edwin has forgiven Simon by now but Charles has always been better at holding a grudge and he knows what is going to come out of Simon's mouth before he even asks. He knows that if Edwin says yes, he won't stop him.

Charles also knows that if Edwin does, there is no way he is going to find any kind of his own afterlife.

"You could come with me," Simon says hopefully and the moment after is the longest in Charles' life.

"Thank you, Simon," Edwin says kindly and Charles has to keep himself from crying. "But I have no interest in going anywhere without Charles."

He steps back - away from Simon and back towards Charles. Ears suspiciously pink, Edwin links their hands and they watch as Simon follows the Night Nurse.

[wonderjanga]

Billy and the Robins

Marvel has met all the Robins up until now. Like, let’s say Billy has been doing this for like eight maybe ten years. This Billy as Marvel met Dick a year before he became Nightwing, met Jason all the way through until his death, met Tim, and met Damian. He’s also been able to connect them to their new vigilante identities almost immediately. Now, Damian still is Robin and of course, Tim going from Robin to Red Robin isn’t too hard to figure out but I can see him doing this to the other two:

*Nightwing just joins the Justice League and all is looking swell so far. His first mission is with Captain Marvel and he remembers the dude being pretty nice. The mission goes well and they’re on their way back to the Watchtower.*

*Two are talking about whatever*

Marvel: *Pauses mid convo and stares at Nightwing a bit before he does a little finger snap* “Oh! That’s where I know you from! You’re Robin! Dude, it is so cool you became your own hero. The blue’s awesome.”

Nightwing: *Has a mini-heart attack* “Wha? Psshh… Dude, I’m not Robin.”

Marvel: “Uh… Yeah you are? You guys have the same” *gestures to Nightwing*

Nightwing: “The same what?”

Marvel: “You know. The same” *gestures to Nightwing again* Nightwing: “You do know that doesn’t tell me anything… right?”

or

*Zatanna, her father, and Constantine are unavailable to help with a magic artifact. This led Bruce to begrudgingly ask Billy for help. At the scene are Bruce, Billy, Damian, Cassandra, and Jason. Bruce is briefing them on something Marvel isn’t listening to as he stares at Jason trying to figure out why he’s familiar.*

Marvel: *cuts Bruce off* “Aren’t you Robin number 2?” *ignores the stares as he looks at Jason.*

*silence from literally everyone*

Marvel: “Holy moly. You’re like 6’2.” (He says as if his Marvel form isn’t like 6’11. I love freakishly tall Marvel) “You used to be so tiny!”

Red Hood: *Gets hit in the face with a flashback*

//Flashback//

(Recently adopted Jason)

Jason: *sitting on a couch in one of the Watchtower’s rec rooms eyeing a box of donuts on a coffee table.*

Marvel: *walks into rec room with the intent to steal said donuts as food for Billy. Sees Jason.* “Robin?” *Walks over.* “You look… different.”

Jason: *fumbling for words, slightly surprised a hero came up to talk to him* “Oh uh- I’m not Robin- Your Robin. The Robin that you know.”

Marvel: “Yeah, well, that’s kinda obvious. You’re all skin and bones, kid.”

*The joke was met with no laughs and a look of hurt.*

Marvel: “Not- not that I’m saying it’s a bad thing! As somebody who frequently lived on ketchup sandwiches and sugar water at your age,” (as if he isn’t still that age, and still lives like that) “trust me when I say, I’m not making fun of you.” *grabs the box of donuts and offers it to Jason* “Look, why don’t you take one of these, or maybe a couple. I saw you eying them when I walked in. I’m sorry if you got upset at what I said.” *really doesn’t want Jason to cry*

Jason: *grabs two donuts. Chocolate and strawberry* “Why?”

Marvel: “Why what?”

Jason: “Why’d you live like that at my age?” (He finds it surprising this guy, this hero, lived like that at some point.)

Marvel: *contemplates whether or not telling Jason is a good idea for like 3 seconds before he throws it out the window* “I was homeless.” *shrugs*

Jason: “Oh. Me too.” *nibbles on one of the donuts*

*After a while of awkward conversation, Marvel soon gets Jason to open up and they branch away from the topic homelessness and spiral into other topics. Jason goes back to Bruce with a smile on his little face*

*After that, and a couple more encounters between the two, Marvel was the first person Jason bee-lined too at the Watchtower. Of course, not before saying hi to Wonder Woman. Greek heroes hold a special place in his heart for some reason.*

//End of Flashback//

*Under the helmet, Jason’s face slowly reddens in embarrassment and he just facepalms, not caring that he hit the metal of his helmet as he went through memories upon memories of little him following Marvel around like a little duckling.*

[abyssruler]

roses are red, violets are blue, lynette is so done with the two of you

lyney x gn!reader

lynette thinks fontaine’s worst kept secret isn’t how neuvillette wears blue underwear or how the hydro archon loves a good drama, no, fontaine’s worst kept secret is lyney’s massive crush on you and how everyone and their grandmother know except you.

comedy, pining lyney, lynette being so done

Lyney’s frowning.

Most people would find it an odd expression on him, used to having him direct dazzling smiles and playful laughter their way. But Lynette isn’t just anyone, and the sight of Lyney frowning is hardly a rare phenomenon within the privacy of their household.

Freminet’s usually Lyney’s choice of victim for whatever nonsense he’s managed to build himself up in that head of his, but Freminet’s busy doing errands and Lynette is unfortunately the only person within vicinity that Lyney trusts with his secret—which isn’t even a secret by this point, people have been making bets on how long it would take you to realize that Lyney’s been pining over you since forever.

Case in point: Lyney frowning over two identical flowers. She doesn’t need to be a mind reader to know that her brother is having a midlife crisis over which flower to give you.

Lynette thinks he should just man up and confess. Preferably within the next week or so, otherwise she’d lose her bet.

“Lynette, which one is more eye-catching, the crimson one,” he holds up the flower in his right hand, then he raises the other one, “or the maroon one?”

Lynette gives him the deadest stare she can muster. “They’re the same color.”

“Oh, sister, have you no taste?” Lyney tuts, pouting at her for a moment before returning to that constipated look as he squinted at the ‘crimson’ and ‘maroon’ flowers. Talk about being delusional.

“(Y/N)’s not gonna care whether the rose is crimson or maroon or red,” she tells him. You’d probably accept a dead flower if it came from Lyney, with that starry-eyed look you always got whenever he so much as glances your way. Lynette’s not one to judge other people’s taste too harshly, but she does wonder what you see in her overdramatic and annoying brother.

Ah, well. They do say love makes people blind. Hopefully not literally though, Lynette’s not looking forward to performing shows alone because Lyney got blinded by his love for you—though if you asked Lynette, she’d tell you it wasn’t love so much as obsession. Only someone insane would spend hours picking out flowers and calling them ‘maroon’ and ‘crimson’. It’s just red.

Lynette squints at him. “And since when were you interested in the meaning of flowers?”

“Well, I suppose you could say I like to dabble in other pursuits.” Lyney gives her a cheeky grin.

“Right…” He’s clearly losing his mind.

“Red roses symbolize true love, though rainbow roses in particular pertain to passion, and…” He trails off, eyes blinking in astonishment. She can practically see the lightbulb appearing on top of his head.

With a flick of his wrists, the ‘crimson’ and ‘maroon’ roses disappear. Lynette watches him warily, wondering what kind of outlandish idea has formed in that head of his.

But he doesn’t elaborate more, only shoots a wink at her and says, “I’ve got a great idea.”

✧

His great idea, as it turns out, is to corner you in an alleyway and make it rain rainbow roses around you as he asked you out on a date, all while Lynette is crouched on the roof, dumping sacks of rainbow roses and vindictively hoping one of them stabs Lyney in the eye. No such luck.

You, as the ever-crazy romantic that you are, are awestruck and amazed by what he’s done instead of weirded out like how a normal person would be. With an eager smile and a twinkle in your eye, you accept the rose in Lyney’s hand and say yes when he asks you to meet him for dinner tomorrow. Lynette wants to barf, but settles for dumping another sack of flowers on top of the two of you.

And if she uses a little bit of anemo to direct a few petals to Lyney’s face? Well, you removing a petal sticking to his cheek and having your fingers linger there for a few moments wasn’t part of the plan (the plan being: embarrass her brother by having him choke on a petal while he’s speaking), but she can’t entirely begrudge the result. Not when Lyney looks like he’s about to have a meltdown with just one touch from you. Good blackmail material right there.

Lynette’s happy that the two of you have finally gotten your heads off your asses and are actually going on a date. Though mostly she’s happy about the amount of mora heading her way soon.

She’ll have to thank Freminet for telling her about the bet about you and Lyney. Maybe she can start a new bet on when the two of you are getting married—probably soon, if the lovestruck look on Lyney’s face is anything to go by. She hopes he won’t be crazy enough to propose on the second date, because you’d certainly be crazy enough to accept if he did.

Oh, well. Lynette will put a bet on one month just in case.

[yanderenightmare]

Gojo Satoru

TW: implied noncon, yandere, captive reader, blood, knife play

gn reader

Satoru doesn’t have infinity activated around you. You don’t really pose much of a threat, and he thinks you know that too—besides, you’d never actually dare do anything anyway…

The knife in his lung says differently. Your hand around the hilt shakes, unintentionally wiggling the blade.

The surprise is greater than the pain. Honestly, the pain barely matters. He’s experienced so much worse, his body scoffs at the tiny kitchen utensil. Cursed technique stops the bleeding before a single drop even escapes—it works like a well-oiled machine without him even thinking about it.

You seem worse off. Tears fumble down your face as you tremble, wide-eyed and petrified, staring at where you’ve just driven the weapon through the otherwise pale and perfect alabaster muscles of his abdomen. 

He says your name, and it seems to shake you out of it. You let go of the shaft, but the knife remains inside. He pulls it out himself as if it’s nothing—not even giving it the same regard you would have a tiny splinter.

A droplet of blood slips down the blade and splashes on the cotton of your panties—the ones he’d been so eager to remove only a minute ago.

Where’d you even hide the knife? Has he become so comfortable around you that he didn’t notice you holding it?

You’re still in shock. Small whimpers escape your trembling and the erratic nature of your breaths. You’re not really breathing fast or slow, it’s almost like you’ve forgotten how to do it right—hitched both on its way in and on its way out again.

He almost feels sorry for you. But then again, he’s the one who was just stabbed.

“Lick it.” He doesn’t know where it comes from. It’s the first punishment that he could think of.

You blink like you’ve got an eyelash stuck on your lens as you adjust your gaze to look up at him. He holds the knife to your lips.

“Wah—”

“It’s dirty. Lick it clean.”

He can see the gears turning in your head. He wonders what you’re thinking about. Is it how much you hate him? Regret for what you’ve done? Or misery over how it didn’t kill him?

Would you really want to kill him? He would ask, but he doesn’t think you know the answer.

Your tongue trembles as it reaches out, gasping once it touches the blood.

It’s weird, but there’s something really intimate about it. Maybe it’s because he’s horny. He was planning on fucking you just a while ago, after all.

You whimper as you lick along the length of the blade, feeling the fresh blood soak into your tastebuds—salty and metallic and a little sweet. He turns the blade for you to finish the other side as well.

The taste stays on your tongue.

He throws the knife away once it’s clean. There’s no clatter, just a thud as it lands in the white fur of the living room carpet.

Lanky hands hold both sides of your face as he lays his forehead down upon yours. “I know it wasn’t your intention…” he rasps while his thumbs rub into your cheeks, making your lips jut out in a pout. His blue eyes are even crisper than usual. “But that really turned me on.”

♡ GOJO SATORU masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist