#I say all of this but I was still on the edge of my seat to see how it ended

[strwbrrykthv]

pt 2 to this story, but can be read alone. sorry it took so long i have a full time big girl job. and i need like a crazy amount of motivation. this ones big cheesy bc theyre drunk. not proofread!!!

cw: alcohol, sexual tension if u squint

katsuki assumed the group was going to one of those karaoke bars with the private rooms where its just your friend group cheering each other on, so imagine his surprise when sero and denki lead them to this american style bar with a bright led sign that reads ‘open mic karaoke night.’

“you have got to be kidding me” he grumbles as he pushes the door open to reveal an almost filled bar. “theres just a bunch of drunk middle aged people here.”

“katsuki be nice. denks said he really likes this place,” you scold him from his right, still connected to his side.

“yo guys theres a couple of tables up front by the stage. im going to go order a round of shots if you want to head up there and start warming up your voice,” sero winks which causes katsuki to groan again, even louder. as you make your way to the tables, mina pulls you towards her the table she’s sat at leaving katsuki to sit beside denki… again.

as the night continues and drinks are ordered, you finally get the courage to request a song. its a duet and luckily sero agrees to do it with you. your friends are cheering you on as slur through the lyrics of neva play by megan thee stallion.

the only line you say fully is “three things i don’t play about, myself, my money, or my man,” as you point at katsuki who just nods at the proclamation that he is, in fact, your man.

the song ends, and you make your way down to your seat that is opposite his as his eyes follow you. they don’t leave you even as izuku and ochaco sing some love song. he doesn’t care if youre not looking back at him, his favorite thing to do is just watch you, especially when hes got a few drinks in his system. which, honestly, makes him sound like a creep, but you know the difference between feeling his gaze on you and feeling a sleaze balls watching you.

you’re pretty much at your limit when mina orders another round of shots for both of your tables, and instead of being happy you feel your mouth instinctively fill with saliva.

katsuki could read your body language like book, so as they were handing out the shots he quickly took his and got up to go to you. “hey, mama, how about i take this shot, then sing that dumb song with the guys, and then we go home? how does that sound?”

he may not be slurring, but hes very close to being more drunk than hes ever been in public. he knows your shot plus his is what will probably throw him over that edge, but he doesn’t want your night to be ruined by throwing up in the bathroom.

you blink up at him and nod slowly. in your drunken daze you are just so mesmerized by him. his soft red eyes, his spiky hair thats fallen just a little, the scar on his face that only you get to touch, his shoulders…. yeah you really want to go home.

he grabs the glass from the table, but you stop him, “wait, can i give it to you?” you ask as you’re reaching for the glass. he doesnt respond, just lets you take the glass from his hand.

he knows all of your shared friends are watching because they can sense the shift in energy between you two. you stand from your chair as katsuki sinks to his knees in the grimy bar. you hold his jaw with one hand as he opens his mouth for you to pour the shot, never breaking eye contact.

he returns to his full towering height after swallowing the shot and turns to look at all of your friends who just watched the interaction with wide eyes and mouths open in shock. you reach up to swipe away a drop on his chin that managed to miss his mouth with a smile too innocent for what just occurred.

“thank you, suki,” you say as you drop your hand. “now go sing me a song!”

he pats your hip as he moves past you to stand on the stage next to kirishima, sero, and kaminari who picked the song. he feels a little more buzzed than before after standing up and moving, and he’s almost positive he’s going to slur around the words when it’s his turn.

youre halfway paying attention, just watching katsuki as grabs a mic when you hear the first notes of mr. brightside and burst into laughter. you cannot believe they got him up there without bribing him.

the song continues and you drunkenly wolf whistle after the end of katsuki’s turn. he sends you a middle finger that holds no meaning by the way his ears are red.

the song finishes and he makes his way to where youre seated, reaching a hand out to you. you gladly take it and spring out of your seat stumbling into him causing katsuki to instinctively wrap his free arm around your waist, holding you to him.

“you did amazing up there,” you whisper, “you shouldve been a singer instead of a hero.”

he scoffs as he looks down at you. “yeah? then i wouldve never met you.”

your body buzzes when he talks to you like this. “oh yeah. we wouldve found each other some way. were, like, soulmates.”

katsuki closes his eyes at your words to try and keep his heart from beating so fast. he knows you mean more than just friends soulmates, but he also knows right now the only label the two of you can have is “just friends who sometimes cuddle, sometimes kiss, sometimes do more, and are always together if one of them has a break” type of friends in order to keep you safe.

“mhmm, we are. now, whaddaya say we go home and go to sleep?” he hums.

“yes i would like that a lot. we have to talk everyone bye though.”

“no we don’t. they know youre leaving with me itll be okay.” he says still holding you by the waist but moving to your side to guide you outside to call a taxi.

youre already snoring by the time you arrive at katsukis apartment. he carries you from the car to his door before having to regretfully put you down.

“mama, you awake enough to stand up? i gotta get my keys out.” he asks setting you down beside him near the wall. you just hum with your eyes barely open, watching him.

“i had a lot of fun with you tonight ‘suki. and i know denki only came over to me earlier because he said something to you. i like being with you any way i can and i dont care what our friends say.” youre slurring your words and speaking softly during to sleep threatening to take over.

“and what do our friends say?” he asks opening the door and guiding you inside his apartment and to his bedroom.

“that its dumb to call ourselves friends when we dont do anything just friends do.” youre kicking off your heels and removing your clothes as hes digging in his dresser to find you a shirt to sleep in. “but i dont think its dumb…..”

katsuki just shakes his head as he walks over to you and helps you put the shirt on over your head. “its not,” is all he says.

“no!” youre a little more awake now. “its not! because i know you love me and you know i love you and thats all that matters because everyone else can kiss our asses.” you say with a small smile wrapping your arms around his neck.

“yup. thats right mama. youre all mine and im all yours. now, are you ready to go to bed yet?” he asks while leading you backwards to the bed.

you release him crawling into his bed and waiting for him to follow. he strips down to his boxers while you watch before getting under to covers next to you.

he pulls you in to lay youre head on his chest as your starting to close your eyes.

“if you throw up on me in your sleep im going to kill you” he warns.

but its too late. youre already asleep and you werent going to pay attention to him anyway.

DO NOT COPY OR PLAGIARIZE.

hope you guys liked it and it wasn’t cringe!

[ohmy-gojo]

'i just have to go, hey lets eat together! how hard can this be?'

"hey! give me you lunch!" sukuna barked at you

fml

you blinked. the whole class gasped in shock, was this the infamous thing where the delinquent steals a nerds lunch? they were at the edges of their seats

meanwhile sukuna wanted to hit himself. that was not what he wanted to say. every interaction with you only has him looking like a fool in front of you

the reason behind... whatever this was, is him wanting to get closer to you. unlike a normal human being going hi youre nice lets be friends he threatened you to give your lunch to him

"you give me your lunch and ill give you mine!" sukuna rephrased

"wha- wait, your lunch?" your eyes sparkled

heh.. gotcha sukuna thought to himself. he baited you right there, he knew that you knew his lunch was prepared by 5 star chefs.

"hey but wait.. why are you doing this?" you inquired, raising an eyebrow

sukuna furrowed his brows at you, acting like you offended him "because i want to! a dumbass like you should feel honored to share lunch with me, you ungrateful idiot."

"omg is this the enemies to lovers turning arc.." you mumbled

"the fuck are you talking about?!"

"AAAH okay dont make such a ruckus," you looked around you to see people heavily interested in whatever was going on between you two. "fine, ill exchange lunch with you. but.." you paused for quite some time, creating suspense. even the janitor was now invested to see what was happening

"the movie effect you think you are having is not happening!" sukuna busted you

you scoffed. "bru- i bought lunch money today, as in i will buy food." you sassily replied

ugh

"fine," sukuna nodded his head, "tomorrow. me and you. exchange lunch. got it?" he threatened asked you again

"i cant tomorrow either..." you adverted your eyes with a heavy sigh

"AARGH why now??!!" he shaked your shoulders

"tomorrow is sunday!"

sukunas forehead popped a vein.

monday finally came. everything happened normally but the whole class- even the teachers and janitors were anticipating something

the lunch exchange event between ryomen sukuna and y/n.

everyone was peering at the the duo, not even trying to be discreet. it was okay though, sukuna was satisfied. this way everyone will know you are off limits

lunch bell finally rang. sukuna patted your shoulder and you looked at him with a huge smile. he wanted to squeeze his chest badly. he glared at you "i hope you didnt forget our promise you idiot."

"of course not!" you gave him a closed eye smile

"uhuh," as much as sukuna found your smile cute, he found it a little- what was the word you always say- sus

"we are having lunch here." he declared

"oh but i would suggest the rooftop,"

honestly sukuna would prefer that himself but he needed everyone to know that youre his

he cleared his throat, "no. here."

"well.. wherever you wish." you smiled again

everyone was intrigued to see what was gonna happen next. so students who originally planned to eat in the cafeteria or generally outside the classroom were still inside. there should be some witness in case sukuna decided to maul you for not making the lunch properly (they actually dgaf, just want to witness the tea). though you certainly dont look bothered at all

sukuna grabbed his chair and placed it in front of your desk. he then placed his lunch box, a bit larger sized than the usual in the desk "my lunch." he said proudly at your look of amazement

"oh wow, thats a lot.." you said amazed

"well," he smirked "for me its the usual but for a simpleton like you i guess this is probably grand."

"fine anyways! lets eat." you honestly couldnt care less about what he was bluffing about now that theres such a grand meal in front of you

sukuna smirked again at your excitement which he actually found cute. if only you were his girlfriend, he wouldve made sure that you eat food like this for breakfast and dinner too. which then made him annoyed how youre not his girlfriend yet and flick your forehead

"whaff???" you asked, mouth stuffed with onigiris

"idiot."

you rolled you eyes at him. he then proceeded to open the lunch you claimed to make. he could tell by the aroma that it tasted good. everyone held their breath in anticipation at what you could possibly make to appease the mighty ryomen sukuna, as he opened the lid of the lunch box slowly

the well known and strong, ryomen sukuna, whos known for his rough personality, intimidating aura and authoritative presence

one who everyone knows to steer clear away and not mess with

opened his lunch

that revealed

a hello kitty themed lunch.

with everything dyed pink.

sukuna gawked at you. everyone else's jaws were on the floor at your bravery- or stupidity. they were now planning a funeral for you

"what the fuck is this??!!"

"you dont like?" you held a sad expression. though sukuna could clearly see that you were holding your laugh. oh he figured you out, you were trying to humiliate him. he squinted his eyes at you. normally hed be fucking furious but now though

he was.. glad. this means you feel close to him right?

and he also refused to let you humiliate him. hes not gonna let you feel the satisfaction of embarrassing him

so he picked his chopsticks and ate the food you made, without breaking eye contact. like a man.

you were actually shocked. then laughed heartily "you absolute madlad!"

even though you didnt initially find him interesting, you couldnt deny the chad vibes he was radiating right now. being a fearsome delinquent and eating a cutesy lunch? what a chad.

"hurry up and eat your lunch!!" sukuna then proceeded to shove food in your mouth with his chopsticks

everyone still had yet to pick up their hanging jaws. what was happening to the world. not only sukuna ryomen was eating a pink themed lunch but also letting someone go scot free for laughing at him and feed her?? you were now talking about world domination and saving bees while he listened attentively. they couldnt believe it was actually him until he glared at them for staring so obviously

sukuna was now over the moon. not only was he eating lunch with you, he also made you laugh

"we should do this again sometimes," you gave him a genuine smile. sukunas eyes widened in glee

mission accomplished

[alotofpockets]

I want to be with you | Katie McCabe x Arsenal!Reader

5k celebration prompt: “I don’t care what they say, I want to be with you.”

A/n: this contains the red card moment against Chelsea, please remember I'm just writing a fictional version of it.

Woso masterlist | Words: 1.1k

-----

After playing sixty minutes of the match against Chelsea, you were watching the rest of the match from the bench. With the girls around you, you watched the match intensely. It had been back and forth since the starting whistle.

London derbies against Chelsea were always nice to be a part of, because the level of football was so high. It brought out the best and the worst in people, but you loved it. Now not playing anymore, you were sitting on the edge of your seat, nervously watching the ball constantly switching halves.

Watching from the bench might be even more nerve wracking than being out on the pitch. From down there you aren’t able to make any difference. You tried distracting yourself by chatting to Beth and Lia, but all conversation stopped when Chelsea was reaching the Arsenal box.

You watched Lauren James on the ball, and Kim sliding in to stop her from scoring. The referee instantly pointed to the penalty stop, you couldn’t believe what was happening. From the game being equal to Chelsea now getting the opportunity to score from such a close range. 

But, you didn’t have time to focus on that thought long as you saw Katie speaking to the referee. You saw the yellow card come out, but before it was even lifted, she showed Katie a red card. “I’m sorry, what?” you said speaking your mind before you even realised you were saying it out loud.

You watched Katie walk towards the sidelines, and immediately talk to the fourth referee. All you wanted to do was drag her away to not get in even more trouble than she already was, but you were too far away to do anything.

Luckily one of the staff members had the same idea, and guided her into the tunnel himself. You got up from the bench and made your way into the tunnel yourself. Waiting outside of the locker room to let her have the moment with the trainer.

Once he left the room he nodded to you. You stepped inside and closed the door behind you. She was pacing the room, mumbling to herself when you entered, so you said “Hey.” softly, not wanting to scare her. 

Her head shot up at you. “Why did you follow me in?” She asks as she wipes away a tear. Her tone gave you the feeling that she didn’t want you to be here, so you said, “I just wanted to check on you and be there for you, but I can leave if you want me to.” 

You gave her the choice, not wanting to overstep in any way. “I want you to stay, but I also think you shouldn’t.” The statement confused you, so you gently asked, “What do you mean?” While stepping closer but still giving her space. Katie ran a hand through her hair, sighing deeply before leaning against the lockers.

She let out a frustrated groan before speaking. “We both know what happens when I get a yellow. With the red it’s going to be even worse. They will all be saying that I am too aggressive, should’ve kept my mouth shut, and that I am a disappointment to the team.”

Katie takes a deep sigh. “And they’re right, I should’ve kept my mouth shut, but I didn’t and I can’t take it back. But what I can prevent from happening is turning on you as well.”

You frown slightly, wondering what she meant, but she already continued explaining. “You’re here all calm and collected. But, they see you walking in here and they’ll all be saying that I’m rubbing off on you, you know? That I am corrupting you. The next time you get a card, they will blame me for it. I can handle when they talk trash about me, but not if they talk trash about you because of me.”

Now things started to make sense, and you took a few steps closer to Katie. “You’re not corrupting me, and I don’t care what they say, I want to be with you.”

“You’re passionate and sometimes that shows in ways that get you carded. It won’t mean that I all of a sudden don’t want to be with you anymore because of what some people, that have nothing to do with our relationship, think or say.” 

You took the final step and sat down next to her. “You really don’t care?” With a shake of your head you answered, “Not even a little bit. If people want to talk, let them talk. We know the truth, and that’s all that matters.”

Katie studied your face for a moment, looking for any sign that you weren’t telling the truth, but when she couldn’t find one she let herself relax into your side. 

“I hate that I got sent off.” She spoke softly. “I know you do.” You say as you wrap your arm around her, holding her close. You could feel the frustration radiating off of her. Katie was never one to take things lightly, and you knew how much gettin this card would affect her. She felt her emotions strongly, and that was one of the things you loved about her, but sometimes that also meant that things would sting just a little bit more than others.

“I just wanted to stand up for the team, you know?” You press a kiss to the side of her head. “I know, but sometimes standing up comes with consequences.” She lifted her head off of your shoulder and gave you a look that made you smile.

“You sound just like Kim.” She chuckles lightly. “Well, I’ll take that as a compliment. I get that you feel like you are going to get called out for this in bad ways, but people remember that that same level of feeling and love for the club is what gets us going. We can’t have Katie McCabe without cards, but we know that you also come with some amazing bangers, impressive tackles, and a whole lot of love for the club and sport.” 

She leans back into your side. “How do you always know what to say?” Her hand found yours and you let her intertwine your fingers. “Because I know you, darling.”

You feel her smile into your side. “Thank you for being here.”

“Always.” You promised while squeezing her hand softly. 

-----

💗 If you enjoyed this fic, please consider liking, commenting, and reblogging! You can also support me by leaving a tip 💗

[entitled-fangirl]

Dumb football game.

Jason Todd x reader

Summary: it's the little moments with Jason Todd that make it worthwhile

Masterlist

....................................................................

"Stop doing that."

Even from across the apartment, he could tell when she bit her fingernails. She reluctantly pulled her hand from her mouth and set it in her lap. Her eyes still stayed on the chewed nail.

Jason emerged from the kitchen with two bowls of spaghetti in his hand. Was the sauce from a can? Yes. But did that take away from the fact that he can make spaghetti? Never. As he sat down, the couch cushion caved in, making her grab the armrest like usual. He was a large man, after all. And every time he sat down, she all but tumbled into him from the sinking into their soft couch.

"Game on yet?" He asked gently as he handed one of the bowls off. 

The two had bonded over college football. It was dumb. Completely dumb. Neither went to college, nor did they really know all that much about football. But they loved choosing opposite teams every game and making a bet out of it.

She hummed out questioningly and picked up the remote, finding the channel quickly. They had barely missed kickoff. She muted the commentators quickly- the two were always easily overstimulated by the loud voices.

Jason made himself comfortable. His feet rested on the coffee table. He pulled her legs up, forcing her to lay against the armrest and used her legs as a table. She did minimal complaining.

"Blue team wins and I'll do the dishes," Jason remarked passingly.

She sat up. "What if I also think the blue team is gonna win?"

He took a messy bite of his food before giving her a 'seriously' look. "You don't," he spoke through the food pushed into the inside of his cheek. "You always pick the purple teams."

"No, I-" Damn it. "Well, I like the blue team's mascot better."

He chewed and swallowed. "Really?" He asked, not believing her for a second.

"Yeah. Yeah. I want to bet on the blue team this time."

He shrugged. "Alright. I liked the purple team anyway."

They shook on it like always and quieted down to eat and watch the game. She quickly realized that she'd made the wrong choice.

She hated the blue team. Their uniforms were lame and the mascot only stood there. He didn't do anything cool. She opened her mouth-

"No," Jason muttered with a hint of a smirk. Even through his peripherals, he saw her slouch further against the sofa. 

What would be odd silence for a normal couple was absolute domestic bliss for the two- just the occasional rustling of adjusting or the cheer as a side scored. And, of course, when the heater kicked in.

Three quarters and two empty bowls later, Jason sat at the edge of his seat. He gently rubbed her ankle at every play.

They were tied half way through the last quarter. 

"I wanna raise the stakes," he murmured.

"No," she teased back and hid her face in the pillow. 

"Why not?" He laughed, tugging her ankle and pulling her down towards him. "You don't want to lose?"

She giggled as she was tugged towards him. She loosely kicked at him, to which he restrained her legs with ease.

"C'mere, pretty girl." He pulled her up towards him and manhandled her until she was sitting on his lap, her back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, keeping her in place. "What's the matter? Don't want me to win?"

"You practically took my team," she complained. 

"So whiny when you lose."

"Haven't lost yet."

"Right," he smirked. "Yet."

The two continued to watch until she was the one to break the silence. "Dishes. And you have to skip your workout to go shopping with me."

"And if my team wins?"

She shrugged. "Won't happen."

"Okay, princess. If you say so."

…

Final two minutes of the fourth quarter. Jason's team is leading, but the blue team is fourth & goal with 15 seconds on the clock.

Normally, the two wouldn't be so involved in this- but with the higher stakes (Jason only said he'd get a 'favor' from her if his team won), they were on edge.

"My quarterback is just better than yours," she taunted.

"Baby, he's not."

"Well, his name is better."

"You're not wrong about that part."

The ball is passed. They hold their breath.

Caught in the end zone.

"YES!" She brakes the tension, crawling out of his lap with the widest grin on her face. She picks up the bowls off the table and pushes them into his chest teasingly. "Dishes don't do themselves."

"Calm down. There's a flag on the play. Think they're reviewing it."

Shit. She turned, seeing the referee on the field, announcing the play- but with it on mute, they just stared.

Then the points were taken away.

"No. Nah uh. That's not fair. They got the ball-"

Jason laid back with a smirk. "'S not how it works… I think." He holds the bowls out to her. "But like you said. Dishes."

She lets out a dramatic huff and takes the bowls to the kitchen.

"Love you!" He calls back to her with a wide grin.

"Fuck you, Todd!"

His voice lowered. "Yeah, you'd like that."

He'd googled the rivalry before the game.

The blue team never wins.

…

The next day, Jason drug her down the street from their apartment. To a nail salon.

"What is this?" She hesitatingly asked.

He shrugged. "My favor. From winning yesterday. I get to pick the color."

"Jason, I never get my nails done."

"I know. That's the favor. So you knock off.." He gestured widely at her hands, "…the biting stuff. I'm paying."

Her lips quirked up. "You're a softie, Todd."

"Don't let Bruce know."

...........................................................................

[lovedeluxelove]

because i can never just leave an idea alone. here is camboy! jayvik au inspired by my post

-

‘Thank you sooo much for a million guys! Never thought we would hit it so fast :) As a special thank you, I’ve decided I’m gonna do any request (within reason) for my next video. Comment below what you guys wanna see me do, and most popular request gets done! If there’s a collab you guys want, a toy you wanna see, or just anything, I’ll do my best to make it happen. Thank you guys so much again!’ 

Jayce took a deep breath and opened the comment section of his post. It had been a week since he sent it out, long enough for a popular response to emerge, but he was sure he already knew what would be at the top. 

He had half expected, when sending this out—half dreaded and half hoped, maybe—that most people were gonna ask that he collab with Mel again. It had been a long while, and though they said they’d remain friends and keep things professional, working together since their breakup was… awkward, to say the least. It didn’t help matter that whenever chat brought her up during any live events, he squirmed in his seat and changed the topic. His chat always did like to see him flustered. But he could never let down the people who had changed his life so much, so he would muster up all the courage he had to reach out to Mel if a collab was what his chat wanted.

What actually ended up happening was something Jayce couldn’t have expected at all. Someone had posted a comment earlier on in the week, probably as a joke saying ‘haha i’d like to see golden boy try to handle somebody like @ machineherald’ and suddenly, the comment caught like wildfire. It was everywhere and everything people were commenting all of a sudden, to the point where people were already making memes about how Jayce was gonna lose his mind working with him. Jayce hardly had to look far to tell that this had indeed become the most popular request by far, and in resignation, decided to pull up this ‘machine herald’s page to see just what he was in for.

Jayce considered himself relatively professional. After two years working as a camboy now, he felt pretty secure in his ability to handle most things he encountered now, compared to the squirmy, shy boy he was when he started. To be fair, Mel deserved most of the credit for that. Mel was another, incredibly popular online personality who had taken him under his wing when he first started, most of his original supporters being her fans who took an interest in him. She added a softness to his online character that drew in a lot more feminine fans for him and he added a masculine edge that drew a lot of his male fans to her as well. It was mutually beneficial, and when they started dating, a lot of people saw it as perfect, looking forward to their couple collabs and cute interactions on each other’s posts. 

A lot of people would make the argument that their content was ‘tame’, but Jayce found no fault in being a perfect standard. It worked for him, and he never felt like he needed to stray outside of that. He had a loyal fanbase of people who liked his usual content, and it made him enough money to support his living. Trying to get your master’s degree was expensive and the research he was conducting even more so.

That being said, Jayce didn’t get flustered by much anymore, and his fanbase had clearly enjoyed teasing him with whatever could still get him to blush. 

That has to be the reason why they’d recommend a page like this.  

Jayce scrolled through the page of the Machine Herald, a man who, like his title boasted, seemed to specialize in all kinds of devices. His pinned video was him using a sybian and Jayce had slammed his laptop shut in shock before he’d even fully processed it. He closed his eyes, trying to relax. He was an adult man, he made content like this himself, for crying out loud. Well, he amended, he didn’t make any content like this. He tried to relax, steeling himself as he opened his laptop back up and continued to scroll down the man’s page. Jayce briefly remembers the time Mel brought up butt plugs and Jayce blanched, firmly denying the request. As Jayce scrolled past a video of the man using a device he called a ‘fuck machine’, he couldn’t help but feel as his response to butt plugs was an overreaction. 

His fans wanted him to collab with this guy?

He continued scrolling, starting to feel a bit dizzy. Jayce gulped and looked down at his lap, realizing, oh, he was more interested in this than he thought he’d be. He looked back up at the screen at a suggestive photo of the Machine Herald’s stomach that he had posted between videos, something visible under his skin, distending his belly slightly, with a caption reading ‘guess what toy this is’. Jayce shuddered out a breath and very impressively ignored how hard his dick was getting. It didn’t help that this man was so… attractive. 

He kept his face mostly out of frame, though he didn’t hide it either, sometimes ducking into frame to comment on all his favorite qualities of whatever toy he was using. But more often than not, just the bottom half of his face would be in frame, his plush looking lips opening around a moan, or squishing around the bite of this teeth, or warping around the girth of a toy and—Jayce closed his laptop again, trying to collect his thoughts. He needed to focus. He couldn’t just scroll this man’s page forever, he was—he was doing research! Yes. Research. He should be looking at this man’s collabs, not his solo content. He opened his laptop again, redirecting around his page. He just needed to see if the way this man worked with others was able to mesh with his style. 

The Machine Herald was on the same platform Jayce was, more niche content with less followers at around 500k, but a no less dedicated fanbase. In fact, it seemed like most of the equipment the Herald worked with was fan bought or sponsored. Jayce scrolled onto a video of the Herald standing over a large man strapped down into a chair with leather binds and a gag, dragging a vibrating toy in his hand over the man’s nipples, making him arch in the chair. 

Yep, Jayce could work with that.  

Jayce opened his page back up, navigating to the messaging tab and opening up a conversation with the Machine Herald. 

‘Hi! Some of my followers have brought my attention to your work,’ Jayce typed casually like he hadn’t acquainted himself with the Herald’s work very well within the last hour. ‘I promised them i’d do any of their special requests and they seem to like the idea of us collabing together. Would you be open to that?’   

He waited for a response. While idly browsing his page, of course. Jayce had lost track of time by the time the Herald responded, startled back into reality by the ‘ding!’ of a notification received.

‘You’re cute. Sure’ the Herald had replied.

Jayce had a feeling he was in over his head. He found he didn’t really care.

[lilyswritings]

hatchet.

synopsis: my own iteration of the split-second glimpse of frank we got in the 'daredevil: born again trailer' — some angst, some reunion fluff, some heat... enjoy! author’s note: saw frank castle on the screen for the first time in years and... yeah. wow, i've missed my man. this is obviously inspired by the glimpse of him we get in the new daredevil trailer, but as we obviously don't have any context for it, i put my own little spin on it. does it make any sense? probably not, but when have i ever let that stop me. i got a little carried away, oops! wordcount: 2,988

Frank Castle x Reader

Ever since your vigilante boyfriend had to drop off the face of the Earth, you've become something of a social recluse.

Yeah, sure, you still keep in sporadic touch with Matt, Foggy, and Karen, but having to say goodbye to the man you love the most in the world and never see him again definitely dampened your appetite for social interaction.

It also made you paranoid, said Karen over a late-night drink, and though you'd disputed that fact at the time, she had a point. You glance over your shoulder everywhere you go, tuck your body into the corner-most seat at every restaurant as your eyes scan the crowd, and spend hours each night browsing the web for sightings of the infamous 'Punisher'.

That's not paranoia, you muse to yourself. It's desperation.

You look for him everywhere. But you know he's too good at what he does to be found by happenstance, and that when it's safe — for you, that is — he'll resurface.

"You're not safe." The two of you had been arguing for what must have been an hour at that point, with him reiterating the same stupid point over and over again.

You had planted your hands on your hips at that point, sick of feeling told what to do, and not even considering his ridiculous idea of disappearing. "You're not listening to me. I can fend for myself, and, honestly, I don't see how you leaving me will make me any safer than I am when you're—"

"Because they'll be coming after me, and if they figure out that they can get to me through you, then you'll become a target to them—"

"We've been over this already," You throw your hands up in exasperation, sick of feeling coddled. "I don't care, I—"

"Well I do!" Frank's voice had just erupted then, rising to a shouting volume for the first time all night, and you'd held back the retort poised on your lips, recognizing the severity in his expression. "I care if you disappear, or get hurt, or..."

Neither of you need him to finish that sentence, you both understand exactly what he's afraid of.

"I will not let them take you too." His voice cracked, and the anger in your body dissipated immediately, replaced by tears brimming in your eyes.

"So what, I just never see you again?" Your brows tug together, face crumpling as the reality of his plan sets in.

"Hey, no, c'mere," He tugs you into his arms, pressing your head against his chest, and you burrow into him, latching your hands around his torso as if maybe, just maybe, the harder you hold onto him, the less you'll have to let him go. "It's not never." The rumble of his voice in his chest has always been soothing to you, but his words set you on edge.

"But you don't know how long." You keep your face pressed into the worn grey fabric of his shirt as you speak, hoping to hide the devastation on your face. It's not a question. He doesn't answer, and your heart shatters on the spot, tears seeping into his shirt as your world falls apart.

Frank was gone before you even woke up the next morning.

You shake yourself out of the memory of that day, glancing over your shoulder as you turn down the street towards your local gym. Part of your coping mechanism for Frank leaving was proving him wrong, proving that you don't need him to protect you — that you can protect yourself.

That he doesn't need to leave again.

You're grateful for the silence in the gym, having paid the gym owner to let you in after hours, so you don't have to worry about seeing other people while you work out — a pet peeve of yours.

You lose yourself in your routine — focusing on strength, on combat, hitting the sandbag until your knuckles ache and kicking the mannequin until your shins turn red — until finally, red and sweaty and panting, you decide to wrap up for the day.

You've just opened your locker when you hear it — the quietest creak of the door closing, deliberately quiet, like someone is trying to sneak in. Your breath catches in your chest, slipping your hand into your gym bag and wrapping around the handle of one of the weapons you'd brought with you.

Yeah, okay, maybe you'd gone a little overboard bringing a hatchet with you to the gym, but you're grateful for it right now. You spot a dark shape move in the reflection of the metal locker, and you grit your teeth.

This is it, the people Frank were running from have found you. Fear builds in your throat, cloying at your windpipe, but one thought rings through your head that steadies you. He can't lose you too.

And with that, you wheel around, weapon swinging through the air as you go. A strong hand catches your forearm, pausing your attack, and you drop the weapon into your other waiting hand —

And freeze when you catch a glimpse of your so-called attacker.

It doesn't feel real, and for a moment, you panic, stumbling a step backwards in fear that this is some kind of trick, that it's not him, but then he steps into the light from the window, hands raised in a placating motion, and you gasp.

"You gonna put the hatchet down?" The deep rumble of Frank's voice runs through you, achingly familiar, and the weapon slips out of your hand and clatters loudly against the concrete.

"...Frank." You breathe out, the word barely audible in your state of shock, and watch as his dark eyes run over your features, as if mapping out your face. The moment stretches out seemingly infinitely — the only sound in the room your intermingled bated breaths, eyes drinking in the sight of each other ravenously.

"Hi sweetheart." A tentative smile tugs at the corner of his mouth — his facial hair is longer, the rugged look suits him, you've always liked the beard — and as your mind runs a millions miles a minute, the spell is broken, and you catapult into him, your bodies colliding as you fling your arms around his neck and sob against him.

His strong arms — tree trunks, you'd called them once — wrap around you in a way that feels like home, and you breathe in his scent of leather and coffee and gunpowder. The embrace is grounding, as you feel the quickened rise and fall of his chest between your arms and your torso.

"You're real." You whisper into his neck, barely able to believe it.

"Yeah, sweetheart. I'm real." The roughness of his voice feels even thicker, wrought with an emotion you can't quite place — relief, possibly. Regret, maybe. Both, most likely.

You fist your fingers tighter into his shirt, still unwilling to let go of him as your own wave of emotions cascades over you. "You left."

Frank's sharp exhale breezes over the top of your head. "I know."

“I looked for you— I looked everywhere—”

His grip tightens as you speak, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head. “I know, baby. I know. You know I never wanted to leave you. You know that.”

The sound of someone clearing their throat startles you out of your skin, and you break the embrace for the first time to dart down to pick up the hatchet you'd dropped, whirling around to face the noise.

"Matt." You gasp when your eyes land on him, and the lawyer smiles sheepishly in return.

"Just wanted to remind the two of you that you're not alone." He punctuates his sentence with a tap of his cane on the ground, and you sigh out a shaky laugh.

"What're you even doing here?"

"How do you think Frank knew how to find you?" He cocks his head, readjusting his red glasses, and you spin to find Frank.

Frank rubs a hand over his jaw as his eyes flicker between you and Matt, shifting his weight slightly — you can tell he's uncomfortable. "Called in a favour," He admits, eyes falling down to bore a hole into the concrete floor. "Didn't know how to—" He stops short, eyes darkening as he exhales, finally rising to meet your gaze again. "Didn’t know if you'd want to see me again."

Your heart clenches at his words, and you glance over at Matt, who gives you the smallest, knowing smile. "Thank you." You utter, barely a whisper, aimed so only Matt will hear it.

“I’ll, uh, give you two some time alone," Matt says, nodding at each of you. "I'll see you around."

And with that, he turns, cane tapping against the gym floor as he walks away, leaving you and Frank standing in the silence.

This is the time when you should get angry. Yell at him, shove at him, make him truly understand what it felt like to be all alone for all this time. But when you take him in, the lines on his face, the way his eyes dart around the room, you know he felt it all too.

Instead, you sigh, reaching for your boyfriend's hand, and say, "Take me home."

And he does.

The walk home is quiet. Frank keeps a hand on you the whole way, though — his fingers grazing your wrist as you step onto the sidewalk, resting on the small of your back as you wait at a crosswalk, a gentle weight on your forearm as you go to unlock your apartment door. A reassurance — you're here, he's back. The constant reminder is necessary for the both of you, you imagine.

Inside the apartment, the air feels thick, hanging with the unspoken — a possible argument looming on the horizon, the potential reunion of two lovers who've spent time apart, the hazard that this is a relationship ruined beyond repair — you can feel every scenario run through your brain at a mile a minute, and it's making you sick.

You lock your door behind you, fingers lingering on the deadbolt before you turn to find Frank standing in the dim light of your living room. His shoulders are tense, like he’s waiting for you to chew him out, like he wouldn’t blame you if you did.

Your anxiety melts, realizing he's having the same train of thought you are.

“You hungry?”

A flicker of surprise passes over his face, and he nods once, glancing towards your kitchen. “Uh, yeah.”

"Don't get too excited, it's just leftovers from last night." You warn as you pass him, moving the takeout containers from the fridge to the microwave while Frank leans against the counter, watching you.

His presence is heavy, familiar in a way that makes your chest ache. You hand him a container and a fork, and he takes them with a quiet thanks.

The two of you eat in near silence, sitting in close proximity on your beat up old couch. You don’t ask where he’s been, what he's done, and he doesn’t offer. Not yet.

You lean over and place your empty container on the coffee table, watching as he does the same, before turning and capturing his lips with yours, sick of the mutual silent treatment you had both endeavoured upon.

He meets your kiss eagerly, hungrily, getting over his initial shock in record time. You both lose yourself in the embrace, pausing briefly to squeal against his lips as he lifts you up and places you in his lap, straddling his waist, your cheeks blazing at the sudden change in position.

Eventually, the two of you come up for air, foreheads pressed together as silence settles back into the space of your apartment and your heart stops thundering against your eardrums.

“You should get some rest.” You say, softer than you mean to, and he chuckles under you.

"If you want to get me into your bed you can just say so, sweetheart." The rumble of his laugh deepens as you roll your eyes and smack him on the chest, standing up from the couch and placing your hands on your hips.

"I mean it," You raise an eyebrow. "I'm sure you're tired, and we can resume... This, later."

Frank stands with a sigh, smirk toying at the corner of his lips, and you roll your eyes again, suppressing your own wide smile. "Alright, alright." He holds his hands up in surrender, moving toward the bedroom.

You toss the empty containers, taking a moment to compose yourself and tamp down the giddy feeling in your chest at Frank's return. You rifle through a cabinet in the living room, finding the basket of Frank's clothes you'd stashed away, and pull out a worn t-shirt and pajama pants before heading into the bedroom.

When you enter, you frown at the empty room. Glancing into the bathroom to find Frank also not in there, your heart begins to thunder in your chest. He wouldn't, you tell yourself, but doubt begins to gnaw at you.

Suddenly, a hand clamps down on your shoulder, and you wheel around and press your arm to the throat of your attacker.

"We have got to stop meeting like this." Frank's amused smile greets you, and you gasp.

"Jesus, Frank!" You exhale, eyes wide. "You're such an asshole!"

"I'm impressed, is what I am."

"What, you wanted proof that I can beat your ass now?"

"Is that so?" He raises one dark eyebrow, smirking slightly, and your stomach drops.

Before you have a chance to react he's latched a foot behind your leg and sweeps you off your footing, following you down as you crash back onto the bed, his hands encircling your wrists and keeping you down. A breathy laugh bubbles out of you, caught off guard, before you roll your eyes.

"That wasn't fair." You complain, trying very hard not to think about how little you mind being stuck in this position.

Frank makes a 'tsk' sound, leaning down into your space. "You let yourself get distracted." You make a humming sound, lifting your head off the bed to press your lips against Frank's, smiling when he reciprocates, one of his hands coming up to cup your jaw.

Success.

You pull a knee up, tucking it between your bodies, before swinging your weight sideways and causing him to tumble sideways onto the bed this time. You scramble to get on top of him, thighs on either side as you press your hands to his wrists.

"Ooh, don't get so distracted, Castle." A cocky smirk alights on your face, peering down at him, and your heart flutters as a broad smile cracks open his mouth.

      Frank huffs out a laugh beneath you, causing the entire bed to shake lightly as he shakes his head. "I'll give you that one." He admits, his eyes gleaming with emotion — something like pride, but softer, heavier, and your heart melts in your chest. 

      You lean your weight forward, pressing your palms harder against his wrists to keep him pinned (though you're both aware he could break free if he really wanted to) but he doesn't. He just lays there, raking his dark eyes over your face, his expression unreadable now. 

      The air between the two of you shifts, and then slows. 

      You swallow thickly, increasingly aware of the warmth and solidity of his body beneath you, of his eyes on your face, tracing a path from your lips back up to your eyes. Your breath catches in your throat, pulse hammering, and you're grateful when he speaks first. 

      “You missed me.” His voice is lower, impossibly gravellier than usual, and definitive. It's not a question. 

      You nod, throat tightening. "Yes," You breathe. "I did."

      His expression softens, the sharp edges of him melting away as you both take each other in — like earlier in the gym, but with less desperation, less shock. He shifts, tugging one of his hands free from your grip with alarming ease, but instead of pushing you off of him, he reaches up and traces the edge of your cheek with the back of his fingers, leaving them to rest against your skin, rough and warm. 

      You lean into his touch, exhaling shakily. "You're back."

       Frank nods, his fingers drifting down to cup the back of your neck. “Yeah. I’m back.”

      For how long, you don’t ask. You don’t want to know.

      Instead, you lean your torso down, tilting your head as you slot your mouth against his in a kiss that's slower this time, less teasing, releasing his other hand and placing both of yours on either side of his head. He takes his newly freed hands and rests them against your waist, pulling you down even closer against him. 

      You're not sure how long the two of you remain tangled up in each other, pressing kisses against skin as if trying to make up for lost time. Eventually, reality seeps back in, and Frank pulls away to gaze at you with the softest darkest eyes you've ever seen.

      “You ever gonna tell me what the hell you were doing in that gym with a goddamn hatchet?” His voice is gruff, teasing, but there’s something else there, too — concern.

      You huff, rolling your eyes but not pulling away. “I was proving a point.”

      Frank lifts an eyebrow. “That point being?”

      “That I can take care of myself.”

      His expression flickers, something unreadable passing through his eyes. Then, finally, he nods. “Yeah,” He murmurs, thumb brushing against your jaw. “I can see that.”

       A beat of silence. Then, his lips twitch. “A hatchet, though? Really?” 

      You groan, smacking his shoulder as he laughs, deep and warm, and you can’t help but think — yeah. He’s back.

[make1wish]

Gojo fanfic: Secret Affair

Gojo Satoru X Fem!Reader

TW:🔞NSFW, noncon, carplay

Setting: After graduation, I became Gojo Satoru's assistant supervisor. I had a crush on Gojo Satoru during my student days, but after working with him, I broke my illusions upon understanding his true nature.

The night air was crisp and cool as the black sedan glided smoothly along the empty highway. Streetlights cast intermittent shadows across the interior, briefly illuminating the two occupants within. In the driver's seat, I maintained a professional posture, hands gripping the steering wheel at precisely ten and two, eyes fixed steadfastly on the road ahead. The mission had been almost insultingly simple for someone of Gojo's caliber - a mere C-grade curse that he had dispatched with his characteristic flair and minimal effort.

A heavy sigh from the backseat broke the tense silence. Gojo had sprawled himself across the leather upholstery, his blindfolded face turned toward the window though his attention was clearly elsewhere. "So boring," he drawled, stretching his long legs as much as the confined space would allow. "These little errands are hardly worth the time it takes to get there and back."

My grip tightened imperceptibly on the steering wheel, but I kept my voice neutral. "The mission was successful. That's what matters." I could feel his attention shift to me like a physical weight, that familiar prickling sensation across my skin that always accompanied his focused regard.

"Always so serious," Gojo mused, his tone taking on that dangerous playful edge that made my stomach clench. He leaned forward, close enough that I could feel his breath ghost across my ear. "You used to be much more... entertaining back in your student days. Remember how you'd blush every time I called on you in class?"

The car swerved slightly as I jerked in surprise, quickly correcting our course. "That was a long time ago, Gojo-sensei," I replied stiffly, deliberately using his former title. "I've grown up since then."

A low chuckle rumbled from behind me. "Have you really?" His hand came to rest on my headrest, fingers just barely brushing against my hair. "Because I think you're still that same flustered kouhai underneath all this professional facade. Shall we test that theory?"

The implications in his voice sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with fear. I opened my mouth to object, to maintain those carefully constructed boundaries, but the words died in my throat as his other hand settled on my shoulder, thumb tracing lazy circles against my collarbone.

"I know a much more... entertaining way to pass the time," Gojo purred, his usual smirk evident in his voice. "What do you say? Care to help relieve my boredom?"

His suggestion hung in the air between us, heavy with implications. I forced myself to focus on the road ahead, though my hands had begun to tremble slightly on the steering wheel. The traffic light ahead turned red, forcing me to bring the car to a stop. In the sudden stillness, Gojo's presence behind me seemed to grow even more overwhelming.

"You haven't answered my question," he murmured, his fingers trailing down from my collarbone to trace idle patterns along my arm. "Still so shy after all these years? Or perhaps..." His hand drifted to my thigh, the touch feather-light but deliberate. "Perhaps you're just better at hiding it now?"

My breath caught in my throat as memories of my student days came flooding back - the way I used to watch him during lectures, how my heart would race whenever he called my name. I had thought those feelings were long buried, replaced by professional detachment and the jaded knowledge of his true nature. But under his touch, those old emotions stirred traitorously.

"This is inappropriate," I managed to say, though my voice lacked conviction. "We have a professional relationship now, Gojo-san."

He laughed softly, the sound sending shivers down my spine. "Professional? Is that what you tell yourself?" His hand squeezed my thigh gently. "Your heart rate says otherwise. Your breathing too. You're still such an open book to me."

The light turned green, but I remained frozen, caught between the urge to drive away from this dangerous situation and the magnetic pull of his touch. Gojo took advantage of my hesitation, leaning even closer until his lips brushed against my ear.

"I remember every blush, every stammer, every longing look you tried to hide," he whispered, his words dripping with dark amusement. "Did you think I didn't notice? That I didn't enjoy watching you squirm in your seat whenever I got too close?"

His hand slid higher up my thigh, and I bit back a gasp. Behind us, a car honked impatiently at our continued stillness at the green light. The sharp sound snapped me back to reality, and I quickly pressed the accelerator, perhaps a bit too hard. Gojo's grip tightened to steady himself, the pressure of his fingers sending sparks of electricity through my body.

"Getting flustered?" he taunted, making no move to withdraw his hand. "Where should I drive next? Your thigh? Your waist?" His fingers traced a path upward, following the seam of my pants. "Or perhaps somewhere more interesting?"

"Pull over," Gojo commanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. The authority in his tone left no room for argument, and I found myself automatically signaling and guiding the car onto a secluded shoulder of the road, hidden in the shadows between streetlights.

His hand never left my thigh as I put the car in park, his fingers maintaining that maddening, gentle pressure. The engine's quiet purr seemed to match my racing heartbeat as Gojo's other hand came up to brush my hair aside, exposing my neck to the warm caress of his breath.

"Good girl," he murmured against my skin, and I couldn't suppress a shiver. "You always were so obedient when it really mattered." His lips ghosted over my pulse point, not quite kissing, just letting me feel their presence. "Tell me, do you still think about those days? About all the things you wanted me to do to you?"

My fingers clenched around the steering wheel as his hand began to move, tracing teasing patterns up my inner thigh. "Gojo-san," I breathed, meaning it as a warning but it came out more like a plea. "We shouldn't..."

"Shouldn't what?" he asked, nipping lightly at my earlobe. His fingers found the buttons of my blouse, deftly undoing them one by one. "Shouldn't acknowledge how your breath catches when I touch you? Shouldn't notice how you're pressing into my hand right now?"

He was right - to my shame, I had unconsciously arched into his touch, my body betraying years of carefully maintained professional distance. His hand slipped inside my partially opened blouse, fingers dancing across my collarbone before trailing down to trace the lace edge of my bra.

"Look how responsive you still are," he purred, clearly delighting in my helpless reactions. "All that professional facade, and underneath you're still that same eager student who used to watch me with such hungry eyes." His teeth grazed my neck, and I had to bite back a moan. "I wonder what else hasn't changed?"

His hand slid higher up my thigh, bunching my skirt as it went, while his other hand continued its torturous exploration of my upper body. Each touch was precisely calculated to drive me mad - firm enough to send sparks of pleasure through my body, but too light to provide any real satisfaction.

A car passed by on the highway, its headlights briefly illuminating the interior of our vehicle. The flash of light reminded me of where we were, what we were doing, but instead of bringing me to my senses, the risk of discovery only heightened every sensation. Gojo seemed to sense this, chuckling darkly against my neck as his fingers found a particularly sensitive spot that made me gasp.

"That's it," he whispered, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Let go of that control you're so desperate to maintain. Show me how badly you still want me."

His words shattered the last of my resistance. With a soft whimper, I surrendered to his touch, my head falling back against the headrest as his skilled fingers continued their relentless exploration. Gojo's satisfied chuckle vibrated against my neck as he sensed my submission.

"That's more like it," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Now, let's see just how much you remember..." His hand slipped beneath the hem of my skirt, fingers trailing along the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. Each touch sent electric shivers through my body, making me arch involuntarily against him.

The confined space of the car filled with the sound of my ragged breathing as Gojo's ministrations grew bolder. His other hand had found its way inside my blouse, expertly unfastening my bra with a casual flick of his fingers. The cool night air kissed my exposed skin, making me gasp.

"Still so sensitive," he observed, his thumb brushing across my hardened nipple. "I've always wondered if you were this responsive everywhere..." His fingers slid higher, teasing along the edge of my underwear. "Shall we find out?"

I could only manage a breathless moan in response, my hips lifting unconsciously to meet his touch. The last vestiges of my professional facade crumbled as his fingers finally slipped beneath the delicate fabric, finding me already embarrassingly wet.

"My, my," he purred, clearly delighting in my reaction. "Is this all for me? Or do you always get this excited during missions?" His skilled fingers began a torturous rhythm that had me clutching desperately at the steering wheel, my knuckles white with tension.

Through the haze of pleasure, I was dimly aware of his other hand guiding my own away from the wheel, bringing it behind me to press against the growing hardness in his pants. "Feel what you do to me?" he growled, his usual playful tone replaced by something darker, more primal. "All these years, watching you try to maintain that professional distance, knowing exactly what was hiding underneath..."

His fingers curled inside me, finding that perfect spot that made stars explode behind my eyes. I couldn't hold back the cry that escaped my lips, my body trembling on the edge of release. But Gojo wasn't finished with me yet. With a swift movement, he reclined my seat back, giving him better access as he continued his relentless assault on my senses.

"That's it," he encouraged, his voice rough with desire. "Let me hear you. Let me see you fall apart." His thumb circled my most sensitive spot while his fingers maintained their merciless rhythm. "Show me how badly you've wanted this."

The combination of his commanding tone, skilled touch, and the forbidden nature of our encounter proved too much. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me as I came undone under his expert manipulation, my body arching off the seat as I cried out his name.

But even as I shuddered through the aftershocks, I could feel his growing smirk against my neck. "We're just getting started," he promised darkly, and I knew with absolute certainty that this night would change everything between us.

[vividiana]

wip wednesday 📝

(on a wednesday no less, wooo!)

thank you for the tag @obsessedwhyyes 💗 this week I too would like to be horny on main, hope you enjoy this energy 😅 I'm still working on the first draft of the fic I shared last time, a.k.a. "Eve gets her period and Astarion loses his mind." it's slightly nsfw but not explicit (yet 👀)

“Well, all of that’s to say that if you would like to… indulge, this is your one and only chance to do so.” “Oh.” Astarion’s eyes light up at the idea and Eve’s chest tightens as he takes a couple steps closer, his face just inches away when he says: “Then I suppose we better make it count.” There is a moment of tense silence as they regard each other, Eve’s chest rising and falling heavily at his proximity. But then something within Astarion snaps as he pulls her closer, capturing her mouth in a greedy kiss. There is an undeniable sense of urgency to his movements as his lips trail away from hers and slip down her neck, and he breathes in heavily, head nuzzled against her. His voice is low and breathy when he says: “Hells, you smell divine.” Before Eve can register what is happening, Astarion’s hands slip down to her ass and he picks her up, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as if they belong there. His mouth doesn’t leave hers as he takes a couple steps towards the dining table and kicks a chair out of the way. He lets go of her with one hand to push his notes to the side, pieces of parchment flying to the floor as he seats her on the edge of the table.  Astarion breaks the kiss and Eve feels pinned in place under his watchful gaze, the room silent save for the heavy pounding of her heart. “Indulge, you say? Don’t mind if I do.”  And then Astarion sinks down to his knees before her and the sight of it alone is enough to make Eve’s head spin with need, the overwhelming desire to feel his mouth on her skin, to hear those sweet sounds that escape from his throat every time he tastes her blood.  Astarion tugs at her waistband and Eve lifts herself off the table enough to allow him to pull her pants down and toss them to the side. She parts her legs for him and there is a low, guttural sound that rumbles out of his chest as he presses his lips to her plush thigh and starts kissing up, closer, and closer, and– His hands reach up to push her back, guiding her to lay down, and then the rational part of Eve’s mind bubbles up to the surface as she takes in the rough wooden counter beneath her. “Star, wait,” she pants, tugging gently at his hair. “Hm?” It seems that it takes every ounce of self-determination for him to lean away to meet her eyes. “I am loving this energy. But there is no way we’re doing this on a table, my back is killing me.”  “I suppose we can make do with a bed, then.” Astarion wastes no time as he rises to his feet and scoops her up, and in that moment Eve is convinced that she could get used to being carried like this. He makes his way to the bedroom to find Scratch splayed out across the mattress, raising his head curiously as they enter. “Out,” Astarion orders with poorly concealed desperation. The dog whines but darts out of the room obediently and Astarion kicks the door shut behind him.

tagging: @khywren @nerdallwritey @arzen9 @hellethil @verbenaa @roguishcat @xxnashiraxx @bby-bel-art if you have anything you'd like to share this week ✨

[6-epigraphs]

Have we ever seen this old man being affectionate with drivers or other juniors? Or just Yuki? I don't even think I've seen him this close to Max and Seb (off the podium at least)

Brother.

[dusted-star]

I am. 75% through orv we are in the home stretch boys

[nezuscribe]

gojo never imagined an arrange marriage with you, but now you’re all he can think about.

he thinks about you when he’s training, when he’s seated at his round table, when he’s in his bed, everywhere, every time, you’re all he can think about.

and you’re oblivious to it.

you heard the gossip everywhere you walked, about the girl gojo was pleading with his family to marry. how much he loved her, how beautiful she was, how much more elegant she was compared to you. you knew you were never his first choice, not even his fifth, but it hurt even more when everybody acknowledged it.

you stopped wearing your wedding ring, started acting like you were just another person there. luckily gojo didn’t seem to be in any hurry about making heirs, so pretending like you two were working things out didn’t even matter anymore.

you find yourself alone most of the time. your maids were kind and patient, but they had so many things to do throughout the day that you felt awful pestering them to walk around the estate with you.

eating dinners with gojo became normal, but most of your other meals were in silence, always feeling like a speck of dust in the large dining hall.

one day when you’re walking around aimlessly you stumble across the training grounds, the open space below you filled with men swinging wooden swords back and forth at each other.

it wasn’t difficult to find your husband, his white hair hard to miss in a crowd of others. he didn’t notice you watching from above, and so you stayed hidden, not knowing if the men were picky with who watched them.

he was swift and agile. everything he did was precise and with meaning. no wonder he was named the best warrior of the north.

you found this to be more entertaining than walking around the gardens for the tenth time or watching the cooks assemble the next meal, so you didn’t even notice how gojo looked up to see you, somehow slipping away without you knowing.

you were in a state of watching but not really thinking, almost jumping out of your skin when you heard his voice behind you.

“didn’t know i had an audience,”

you yelp, flinching as you look behind you to see your husband all sweaty, panting slightly as he moves his hair away from his face. you eye the stairs that led him up here, wondering how you could’ve missed that.

you laugh sheepishly, giving him an apologetic smile as you pick are your nails.

“i’m sorry,” you scratch behind your ears, feeling heat rise to your cheeks under his intense gaze. it’s unfair how pretty somebody can look, especially after training for an hour straight, “i was just walking around and i saw this.”

he waved it off, shaking his head as he leaned his sword on the wall.

“not a problem,” his eyes shine, “i just would’ve tried harder if i knew my wife was watching.”

my wife.

the words fall so smoothly from his lips you wonder how many times he’s said it before. with malice, hatred, necessity?

you smile a little bit, eyes crinkling around the edges as you look away briefly, not noticing the way gojo chased after your cheerful face.

“how’d you get up here? where are your ladies?” he asks suddenly, looking around at the fact that it was just you up here.

“my what?” you say, looking up at him through furrowed brows.

“you know,” he waves his arm around as if that would help, “you’re ladies in waiting,”

you scrunch up your nose a little bit, something he noticed you did when you were confused.

“oh, well, my maids are working right now,” you tell him, noting that he still didn’t look any less confused.

“no, not your maids, your ladies,” he tilts his head to the side, “the girls your family sent them up to help you around.”

you stare at him, unblinking.

“the girls that are your friends, the ones that help accustom you…” gojo trials off when he realizes he’s not getting anywhere with you.

you feel even more embarrassed than when he caught you watching him, hating the way you were clueless at yet another thing in this life that no one explained to you.

“the girls you hang around with?” he finally lands on, hoping this jogs your memory.

you shake your head, eyes wide as you fidget with the fabric of your dress. his eyes fall onto your finger, lingering on the fact that you’re not wearing your ring.

“who do you spend your time with throughout the day?” gojo seems even more lost than you. he’s seen you with…? well surely that one time…?

“by,” you swallow, embarrassed, “by myself. i walk around a lot.” you admit sheepishly.

“your family didn’t send…?” he answers his own question with his silence.

this entire time you’ve been alone?

he opens his mouth to speak but somebody beats him to it.

“satoru! get down here! we’re still not done!” his friends shouts from below, and you look over your shoulder to see all the men staring at the two of you.

gojo stares at you, unblinking.

“i,” he swallows but can’t find any words.

you can’t either.

he leaves you there, running down those stairs as he shouts at the other guys to resume what they were doing. that entire day he was off his balance because he kept looking up to see you there, but you weren’t.

maybe you were just walking around, like you said.

[writersdrug]

Simon "Ghost" Riley is the kind of man who:

In your shared home, always sits with his legs spread. Manspreading king. Adores it when you cross your arms and give him a disapproving look, saying there's no room for you. "Course there is, luv. Jus' sit between my thighs."

Refuses to let you do simple tasks around the house, like making tea, folding his underwear, or putting away the dishes. One might think it's a sweet, husbandly gesture - but he's just super picky. You made tea in the microwave once, and now you're banned from ever touching his tea stash. Likes his underwear folded in a specific way, and you don't understand the importance of it. He got tired of you stuffing his underwear in his drawer, so now he folds it himself. And the dishes? Couldn't stand how you put them away. "There's no rhyme or reason to 'em." "I didn't think there had to be, Si-" "Just gimme the damn bowl." Fewer chores? You aren't complaining.

Looks like he's always on edge - and he is, kinda. When he's out with you, he can't help but be alert and watchful, and extremely protective of you. You've tried to get him to loosen up - it's the supermarket, what could happen? - but have just come to accept it as his nature. Plus, you get that giddy feeling when you see other men look straight down at the floor, avoiding Simon's stare as the two of you pass.

Is the grumpiest, poutiest, and most indignant man ever when he gets sick. Doesn't want you doting on him in case you catch whatever he has. But, wait - where are you going? "Get your ass back in this bed - 'm cold." Grumbles like a child when you force him to let you get up to grab him soup, tea, or medicine. And no, he doesn't care how sick he is, he's not wearing that stupid, floppy ice pack hat.

Brings Johnny over unannounced, and you've grown used to it. The moment you hear that Scottish yapping out the front door as the key unlocks, you grab a third plate for dinner - he insists you don't need to feed him, but you always make extra for Simon's lunch the next day regardless, and the last time he'd said that, he ended up grabbing an extra fork and picking from Simon's plate. Which, of course, had Simon up at 1 am making instant ramen because he was still hungry, but didn't have the heart to ask you to make him a decent meal. So, yes, Johnny would be fed.

Loves spoiling you on your birthday. What is a man if not someone who spoils his partner rotten? Orders in food from your favorite bakery, sets all your presents neat and nice on the table (the excellent wrapping job done by yours truly, Gaz), flower petals sprinkled on the ground and the table top (also Gaz's idea), and a seat on his lap so for you while you open your presents. Loves watching your face light up, and each little "you remembered?!" fall from your lips as you open each gift. Scoffs and shifts in his seat. "I's not that much of a fuss, luv..." as you squeal excitedly, but you know he's biting back a proud smile. The blush, he can't even attempt to hide.

Is somehow a magnet for your young nephews. Every time he comes along to your sister's place, he's either making conversation with her husband in the living room, or he's interrogated and cornered by her two sons. And, lord help him, he doesn't understand it either. He'd always expected kids to look at him like a monster, but, especially with these two, that was never the case. They'd ask him for stories about "being in war" - half of the time, he'd make up some not-too-gory adventure, sparing them the details of real war. The rest of the time, he'd talk about "Soap, my mate who blows everything up." And they'd listen with wide eyes and jaws on the floor.

Has scared you unintentionally, more than too many times. He'd come home at three in the morning from a mission, and all he wanted was to quietly peel his dirty uniform off and slip into bed with you. His main intention was to avoid waking you up, because you'd force him to shower before joining you in bed - and he was too tired for that. However, you'd been rounding the corner, up for your 3 am glass of water - you screamed as you saw the hulking, dark figure by the front door, launching your phone at him. He'd caught it effortlessly and shoved it into his back pocket. "What've I told ya 'bout using the bat?" "I was just getting water!" "I coulda been anyone." "Well you're not." "Missed ya, luvie." "Missed you too- but you're grimy. Go take a-" "No." He grabbed you and threw you over his shoulder, ignoring your protests as he hauled you back to bed.

[webism]

ᯓ Kento Nanami doesn't even know he has a breeding kink until he cums inside of you for the first time. It's like a flip switches in his brain, and the second that sweet release floods your womb he is plagued with the instinctual need to fill you over and over and over until something takes.

And breeding you doesn't have to mean a baby, but rather the primal possession that comes with having you spend the rest of the day with a part of him inside of you. No other man has the privilege, the right, or the reason to claim you as he has, and it does something nasty to the way he fucks.

He's still the gentleman he's always been: still makes sure you cum at least once on his fingers or tongue before he graces you with the hard-to-manage length of his cock. But rather than in the spirit of purely giving you pleasure, he's trying to ensure you're so wet that he can force himself just that little bit deeper inside of you.

A guilt of his, perhaps, but Kento read that if he were to edge himself between moments of intimacy with you, that his loads would be bigger, more forceful—and the idea of giving you even more of himself than he already had been is enough to get him hard. So, he starts touching himself whenever the thought clouds his mind, which is more-often-than-not nowadays. He fucks his fist to the thought of breeding you out until he's cumming dry and you're so full of his cum that it has nowhere to go other than down your legs. Stopping before he cums is a pain like none other, but his new adopted thought process claims a load spent anywhere other than balls-deep inside of you is a load wasted.

And he doesn't say a word of it to you. You only pick up on it when you realise he won't cum anywhere else. When you're sat between his legs after a long day of work, serving him with your mouth and coaxing those lovely groans from his chest. How his hands try and guide you off of him before he gets close enough to lose control, sys he doesn't want to cum down your throat. Once upon a time he would get hard all over at just the sight of you swallowing his lust.

"I just... want to be inside of you, honey, is that okay?" He says, and you oblige because the way Ken gets once he's finally seated inside of you is nothing other than animalistic, euphoric. But you have to wonder if there's a reason he avoids spilling his seed over your tongue or tits like he used to.

"You know I like the taste, right?" you glance over at him when he bends you over the arm of the couch and slips his aching cock into you. You doubt you'll ever get used to his size—he always has to take a moment to let you settle once he's in.

"I know, love," he claims. "I just... prefer it this way."

"Don't you like fucking my throat anymore?"

"God," he groans, presses his body into your back so that his breath fans over your ear. "No. I love your throat. I love all of you."

A thrust to test the waters— at your moan, another. Kento rocks his hips, drags his cock out of you and then drives forward until you and him are as connected as you can be... almost.

"You wanna breed me, is that it?"

Kento's hips stall. You're not stupid, and he doesn't even realise he's got an arm wrapped around you so he can splay his fingers over your stomach. His wedding band presses against your skin, sets it alight with burning need. Hearing you say it, though, makes him nearly cum on the spot—he wouldn't be so selfish.

"How'd you—"

"You say it, Ken," you drawl your words out, tease him with your tone. "When you cum, you say you're gonna fuck a baby into me, that you're gonna 'breed me like the pretty whore I am'. Don't worry, I like it. I want it."

He can hardly believe it, such words feel foreign to his mind. But they taste familiar on his tongue, like a part of his subconscious speaks on his behalf when he's all blissed out like that. He wonders just how deep the instinct to breed you runs, because his cock twitches and all of a sudden he's thrusting into you at a speed that seems only supernatural.

The snapping of his hips, the sound of skin against skin and the curses that slip from his lips like wine. It doesn't take long for you both to cum alongside each other, Kento, of course, deep inside of you.

And it takes a very strong part of him to pay attention to himself this time, and you aren't a liar: the song of need and primal lust that spill from his mouth are made for porn. Not that he can find it in himself to be embarassed, you seem to like it, what with the way your whole body shakes in orgasm as he fills you up.

Yeah, you'll be throwing out every condom you've got stashed away in the house.

kinktober tags: @medusamara5 @echodead @curiositykilledthecatx3 @hirainne

@plinkuro @sooouth @megumiiiswife @nyxiswrites1200 @yveiscringe

@sharks31 @lenahathunger @aydene @dreamyokai @n0tviv

@chiiinglebells @timetoletmyimaginationfly @nayely45 @waffless-simp-blog

@zoozvie @gothicchildofthenight @repnights @flwerie @soundofraindropss

@ushijimas1simp @aliidarling @aeswin @peachygelic @silvermet

@rinadisapproves @theshxaverse @cipher00 @milkkteary @snackeyalleyjuice

@cvipped @toadtoru @keiette @satosugu4-ever

@sugurubabe @wickedpoison6 @simp-plague @tojis-ball-sack @ventila98

@xxbookdrunkdemigodxx @oikawasthirdleg @yogichi @theycallmesia

@kdrama-anna @vurelliex @anonnieghost @tadabzzzbee

@luvofbows @crywolfix @hhonaoin @gigiiiiislife @aviesnapkindoodles

@ninikrumbs @bijuu-naginata @baekhyunsbestie @grimmshold @dalnimmie

@domainexpansionmypants @5tarx @1depressedsimp @beachaddict48 @jadeis0nline

@sukunasbbygrl @luna-v-roiya @sukunaspillow @starsval @vamqyx

@laaalaaaloooppppsiiieeeee @mermaid-jewels @sugusmonkeyy @sammywo @noyaskneepad

@astrideverstar @lordchula-thagrandrula @chuuminn @angel1of-death @flooftoof

@rumi-rants @dysphoricsanity @coolcephalopod @satoruslxt @xoxo1mira

@whosmarjj @kikosaidbye @iceddragonfruit @amisuh

@veraiku @niinistudies @jexx233 @logoleptic-since-06 @kirishimasboobs

@samaraxmorgan @sweetsformysoul @uranosbaaee @angeleen777

@xixflower @alifromtheotherworld

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

FIREFLIES NEVER CAME ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; your seat is close to the heater. that’s the only reason gojo comes there to warm up.

word count; 4.2k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, teen!satoru, set in a canon au, mutual pining, fluff, a little bittersweet (melancholic winter vibes <3), introvert/extrovert, reader is antisocial and dense as a brick (black cat vibes :3), also kind of self-deprecating, satoru is very shoujo manga coded, just lots of puppy love!! feat. wingman!suguru <3

a/n; this wasn’t meant to be a fic …… it was gonna be really short and sweet ……… (T_T) anyway i am very fond of this reader/character dynamic so i hope you enjoy reading abt my emotionally stunted kids 🫶 biggest mwah in the world dedicated to professor logan (@staryukis) for teaching me about physics so i could find a loophole in satoru’s infinity :3c all for the sake of lore-accurate (kinda) fluff <3

”what are you listening to?”

your seat is close to the heater. 

it was nothing but a lucky draw, really. yaga-sensei was organizing the desks when you transferred, and so he gave you the first choice; one you had no trouble making, latching on to the chair in the very back, right by the window, right by the sole heater of the room. vital for surviving your chilly winter classes. 

so there you sit. a warmth sneaks through your fuzzy socks, tends to your restless legs. your feet tap and tap, on the cold floorboards, in rhythm with your never-ending thoughts, spinning like a planet in orbit.

through the fogged-up, frosted glass of the window to your left, you observe the world. headphones covering your ears, safe and snug, muffling all noise. you watch as snow falls, wholly entranced, eyes stuck on the icy snowflakes descending from the wool-gray sky — blanketing the frostbitten landscape of the courtyard. it’s pretty, all those skeletal trees, glittering and gleaming like they have something to say. sometimes they look like stars.

”… hey. did you hear me?”

gojo is being particularly chatty, today.

out of the corner of your eye, you see him wave his hand right in front of your face. you’re almost certain he doesn’t realize that it’s rude; he must be used to all eyes being on him, from the moment he speaks.

with a flutter of your lashes, you lift your weary head. meeting his gaze, the blurry shine of your own visage, reflected in his circle-frame glasses. a soft tilt of his head, and then his lips are twitching upwards, just barely, snowy strands gliding across his forehead and falling over his face. like an excited puppy.

”what are you listening to?”

you read the words off his lips, all sound muffled by your headphones. quick to lift one of your hands, pulling one of the heavy ear cushions away — letting all white noise in the room flood your senses. the snarls of the wind outside, ieiri’s laughter, the scribbling of geto’s pen against paper. 

it’s overwhelming, but a small price to pay. his voice is softer than usual, during moments like these; there’s a pleasant lull to it.

gojo tips his head to the right, still awaiting your response. all you can do is stare, watching your own reflection, fingers gripping onto the edge of your desk. as if seeking to ground yourself.

with a spoonful of hesitance, you part your lips.

”… do you like music?”

the words seep out into the air, a softly exhaled breath. gojo watches you, silently, for just a moment.

then he gives you a shrug.

”i guess?” he hums, shifting his weight from one foot to another — hand slipping into the pocket of his uniform. ”that’s more suguru’s thing.”

ah.

your mouth forms around the syllable, as if responding, but not making any sound. gaze fleeing from his glasses, crumbling under their weight, straying towards the frosted window to your left. safe, familiar, rotting trees and twitching branches. snow just as pure as the boy in front of you.

silence overtakes you both, once more. 

”... not gonna answer?” he asks, with another tilt of his head, absently rocking side to side as he lets out an exhale. ”is it a secret, or something?”

(it is, you think. but you can’t say it out loud.)

before you can part your lips again, the classroom door slides open — and you know it’s yaga-sensei just by the way his feet hit the floorboards, the decisive weight behind every step. you know even before he’s telling you to get back to your seats. 

on cue, gojo stands up straighter, shooting you another glance. bright-eyed, easy-going, every star in the sky leaping out from the glimpse you get of his eyes when he angles his body. two blue pools, flecked with white, like frozen puddles in the street. 

and then he’s strolling away.

gojo leaves, and you take off your headphones; stretching your legs underneath the desk. reaching for your ballpoint pencil, flipping open your textbook, and indulging in sleepy blinks, as yaga begins to drone on and on. you stifle a yawn with the sleeve of your blazer, resting your jaw on the heel of your palm. eyes inevitably straying towards a head of white hair.

but your name is called before you can get lost in your daydreams. 

”page 27, from the top.”

your chair scrapes against the floorboards, as you sluggishly stand up. holding onto your textbook, flipping the pages until you land on the correct passage. with shaky hands, not enough to notice, you read out loud; voice controlled, almost monotone. all you can think is that you feel his frost-clad eyes on you, from the row straight ahead.

but you continue to speak. you speak until you reach the end of the page, until you’re allowed to take your seat again, happy to feel the warmth of the heater radiate against your legs. it’s this warmth that’s important, the most important thing of all.

without it, gojo wouldn’t bother to stop by your desk.

nearly every recess, as soon as yaga leaves the classroom, he’s waltzing over — leaning against the wall, stretching his arms out, purring contentedly as heat spreads throughout his body. you think he must run cold. chatting with you, just to pass the time, just until your teacher comes back. just to warm up.

then he’s leaving, again.

that’s all it is. a cold boy, and a heater by your desk — a conversation that otherwise wouldn’t have occured. even the strongest is vulnerable to changes in temperature, you suppose.

though if warmth is all that binds him to you, it’s bound to dwindle away.

(you’re sure he’ll stop as soon as spring comes.)

the next day, gojo is nowhere to be seen. you saw yaga-sensei drag him out of the classroom this morning; something about a clan meeting, something you weren’t paying attention to.

but now you wish you had.

(it’s quiet, without him around. eerily so.)

with nothing to lose, and nothing else to do — you push your chair away from your desk, and walk up to your classmate, a question on your mind.

”… music? are you looking for recommendations?”

you nod. 

geto blinks. caught off guard, you’re sure, surprised that you’d approach him without any prior coaxing. he’s usually the one striking up a conversation with you, like a responsible class president, making sure the weird kid doesn’t feel left out. you’re almost certain he doesn’t realize that it’s patronizing.

”hmm... well, that depends.” he gives you a smile, soft around the edges. it never feels as genuine as gojo’s, but it’s calming. ”what kind of music do you usually listen to?”

…

you glance down at the floor. bundling up the cuffs of your uniform, fingers clawing softly at the fabric, bottom lip trapped between two sets of teeth.

”… what kind of music does gojo like?”

silence. your words are barely spoken, just above a whisper, just like always, but geto picks up on them anyway. you can tell he does, can feel the weight of his keen eyes on your face. analytical.

then he parts his lips.

”… ohhh.” a low hum, ripe with meaning, buzzing at the bottom of his throat. the corners of his lips quirk up into a knowing smile. ”i see.”

heat rushes to your cheeks, blossoms under your skin. if he notices, he’s even more composed than you thought he was, because he doesn’t mention it. only continues to speak, in that soothing voice, crossing his arms in silent thought.

”hmm…” you follow his gaze, out towards the window, the same webs of frost as always. it’s not snowing, but you still can’t see the blue of the sky. ”i’ve never seen him listen to music before, so i wouldn’t know.”

you can’t help but deflate, at that.

geto only smiles. exhaling, through his nose, mildly humoured — though he’s good at hiding his amusement. ”… what do you think that means?”

a blink. your lashes flutter, as you gaze up at him. 

”… huh?”

”satoru doesn’t listen to music, but he wants to know what you’re listening to.” he says the words almost coachingly, like he’s listing off a string of numbers. you realize he must have been listening in on your conversation, but it doesn’t bother you nearly as much as his tone. ”what do you think that means?”

…

(you haven’t got a clue.)

geto lets out a chuckle, laced with mirth, no longer trying to hide it. paired with a soft shake of his head, a crinkle to the corners of his eyes. ”why do you want to know about his taste in music, then?”

(… that’s a good question.)

he seems to notice your hesitance, your apprehension, the way your teeth seek to trap your bottom lip; always the victim of your muddled mind. you know the answer, of course you do — but it isn’t something you want others knowing. 

thankfully, geto breaks the silence for you.

”i don’t think you need to try so hard, when it comes to him.” his voice is soft, almost sincere, something warmer than usual. glancing away when you meet his eyes. ”… he isn’t worth the effort, anyway.”

but that’s where he’s wrong.

satoru gojo is a special case. a special person. in the orbit of your life, there’s no star you’d rather keep — no one quite as ripe with colour. 

geto couldn’t possibly understand, because gojo is always with him — always orbiting around him. he always will, until you graduate, probably even beyond that. geto has him. they’re the strongest, a pair, always matching their steps to one another. but you only have these quiet days, these chilly classes in between never-ending missions — and that’s all.

when the frost outside the window thaws, gojo will surely stop visiting your desk. your lonely little world. 

that’s exactly why — you need to find a song. if you just teach him about something wonderful enough, if you can give him something other than warmth…

(… maybe he’ll stay with you even after spring comes.)

”next time, why don’t you say what’s on your mind?” 

geto’s suggestion breaks you out of your thoughts. when you raise your head, to meet the warm pools of amber in his eyes, he gives you a smile. there’s nothing patronizing about the way he’s looking at you now — if anything, you think it may even be slightly fond, but you can never tell what he’s actually feeling. he’s frightening, like that, always a mirror to his circumstances. a chameleon, tilting his head at you.

… though you can’t help but fall victim to the kindness in his eyes. the velveteen purr of his voice.

”i’m sure he’ll appreciate that.”

a nervous pit opens up in your chest, an empty space that gnaws incessantly at your heart. will he?, you want to ask, but it feels like the words are made out of lead. you can’t get them out of your throat.

”… okay,” is all you end up whispering, a soft lull of your tongue. ”i’ll try… thank you.”

geto rewards you with a full smile.

”don’t mention it.”

spring is closer than you thought.

it’s all you can think, when you step onto the pavement, when you feel the morning air gnaw at your frostbitten cheeks. it’s freezing, it’s winter, but the signs of changing seasons are still there — a lonesome snowdrop, the crackle of an icy puddle beneath your feet. the frost is beginning to thaw. 

in a month or so, spring will be here — there’s no stopping it.

”did you bring your card?”

your headphones rest around your neck, allowing you to listen in on your classmates' conversation. all four of you are together, for once, all first-years, walking towards the nearest konbini — at gojo’s insistence. 

it’s been a week since you had that talk with geto, but you still haven’t made any progress with him.

”huh? was i supposed to?”

”… are you kidding me?”

you glance up at the pair. always walking just a little bit ahead, their tall statures obscuring the view in front of you; shoko lags behind, with lazy steps, a trail of tobacco drifting out into the crispy air. all while snowflakes fall from the sky, gently, landing in your hair, on your shoulders, melting on the inside of your palm when you hold it out to catch them. watching as they turn into droplets of water, slip through the gaps between your fingers. 

someone taps your shoulder.

geto has snowflakes stuck in his hair. they’re melting, in the strands of ink-black framing his face, matching the colour of the thick polo jacket he’s wearing. a bright red scarf is tied around his throat, and there’s a weighty look in his eyes — something telling.

a silent cue.

he falls back, slowly but surely, into ieiri’s lazy pace. not before murmuring something unintelligible to gojo, and shooting you a wink — one that makes you frown, confused, a low heat blooming at the base of your spine and crawling up your neck.

and then you realize what he’s done.

gojo is looking right at you, through the black glass of his specs. only wearing a baseball jacket, no gloves or scarves to keep him warm, despite the harsh bite of the open air. for a guy who runs cold, he must not put much thought into his clothing. 

more importantly…

it’s just the two of you, now.

you blink at him, silent as a mouse. it only takes a moment for him to start moving, for you to follow, taking your place beside him while staring right ahead. if he’s bothered by geto slinking away, he doesn’t show it — only continues to walk.

”… that’s so unfair.”

gojo’s voice breaks the silence. you turn your head to gaze at him, the way his lips wrap around the vowels, haphazardly hanging onto every word he speaks.

”just ’cause i have clan money,” he kicks at a pebble on the side of the road, wisps of white hair swaying with a shake of his head, ”suguru thinks i should pay for our snacks. isn’t that unfair?”

you hesitate. then you nod along, absently.

he seems to take that as a yes, because it makes him brighten — as if gleaming with your approval, standing a little straighter, puffing out his chest with an exhale that turns into white smoke.

”right? they only give it to me because they want me to come back to kyoto, anyway…” he trails off, holding the tip of his tongue between his lips. ”… not that it matters. anyway, i just think he’s oppressive.”

”… mm.”

from this angle, you can see a sliver of his eyes. can see the way he steals a glance at you, without even turning his head — hands slipping into his pockets. there’s a moment of silence, until he’s parting his lips again. 

”… i can buy some for you, though.” 

(you barely pick up on the words, spoken almost in a whisper — as if an afterthought.)

he clears his throat.

”… if you don’t have the money, i mean.”

you can’t help but blink, at that — lashes fluttering in rapid succession, wondering if you heard him correctly. he doesn’t seem keen on elaborating, though. walking on, ignoring all snowflakes descending from the sky, eager to nuzzle in between his locks. his infinity keeps them out. 

”… why?”

it’s all you can say. all you can verbalize.

(in a story like this, why would the brightest star of all orbit around someone like you?)

gojo gives you another glance. his iris cuts into your skin, observes you on what you’re sure must be a molecular level. he lets silence linger, for a moment, tipping his head back to look up at the sky.

gray, and more gray. flecks of white. you’d see the same thing he does. 

”hmm…” he lets out a breath, head falling forward again, snowy strands ghosting against the skin of his forehead. ”let’s call it a trade.”

another series of blinks. 

gojo turns towards you, then — a fresh grin blooming on his lips. white teeth, pink gums. it makes him look boyish, innocent, just another city boy with too much time on his hands.

”i buy you snacks — and you tell me what music you’re always listening to.” he bends his body forward, tilts his head at the same time, all lanky and charming, like a big cat. ”deal?”

you stay silent.

he’s looking at your headphones, still left neglected around your neck. your gaze falls down to the icy concrete, the thin layer of frost, waiting to be melted by the first sunrays of spring. whenever that will be. 

geto and shoko are still behind you — you can hear their low, muffled chatter, smell the remnants of tobacco in the air. and you swear you can practically hear geto’s words, echoing through your head.

(why do you think that is?)

gojo is still looking at you. expectantly, lips curled up into a lazy smile. he’s waiting, you know he is, and you also know he isn’t very good at that. you know a lot of things — what you don’t know is what to say. you don’t know if you can believe in whatever geto was insinuating, don’t know if you can grapple with your own longing to do so. 

(next time, why don’t you say what’s on your mind?)

geto doesn’t get it. he doesn’t know what your feelings towards gojo truly look like. doesn’t know that what’s on your mind when he’s around is always something horrifically embarrassing. something like, i want to know more about you, or maybe i wish i could tell you more about me. something awfully cheesy, like — i’m jealous of how bright you shine, but i can’t help but like you anyway. 

if i become your friend, would it be okay to say i understand your loneliness? that i notice it, even just by a fraction?

would that be okay with you?

(words that should be left unspoken.)

”… well, it’s not like you have to.” gojo exhales, again, the words a heavy weight seeping past his throat. his shoulders slump, as he turns forward, fingers trailing up to scratch at the back of his neck. 

all you can think is that he’s getting ready to leave. that nothing will change, at this rate, that spring will wash winter away. that geto should be more direct with his advice, and that if it’s not the music itself that gojo is interested in knowing more about, then surely —

” — i don’t listen to anything.”

gojo stills. the words have flown past your lips before you can reach out and grasp them, slicing through the open air.

he spins around, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose at the sudden motion, exposing his widened eyes. those white lashes, fluttering softly, like a pair of doves eager to get above ground. you grip onto the insides of your pockets, warm and cozy against your freezing hands — it grounds you, keeps you tethered down to earth, down to him. 

”music,” you continue, sputtering slightly, as if your lungs don’t quite know how to work under pressure. winter air seeps into your windpipe, cuts the skin there. ”i don’t listen to music.”

you lift your hands, fingers curling around the soft earmuffs wrapped around your neck, hesitantly meeting gojo’s gaze — an overlapping sequence, blanketing his view. then you’re gazing down. 

”it’s just… comforting,” you try to explain, speaking softly. ”to wear them. white noise.. tires me out, so…”

the sentence trails off, unfinished. you feel silly. silly for saying anything at all, for building it up so much. silly for being the way that you are.

but when you look up at gojo, he’s brightened like a star.

white teeth, pink gums, that breathtakingly boyish grin. his blue eyes gleam with colour, almost spilling over the corners, like watercolour paint on a too-small canvas. he tilts his head, looking at you carefully, as if truly seeing you for the first time; absently swaying side to side. 

if he had a tail, you’re sure it’d be wagging.  

”i see!”

a silent breath spills into the air. your lips part, but no sound comes out, only vapour; heart pumping blood through your writhing veins, warming you up from the inside, a co-conspirator to the heat blooming in your cheeks. gojo continues to speak.

”i guess that counts,” he nods, crossing his arms with a satisfied hum. ”alright. i’ll get you any snacks you want! you can be greedy, it’s okay.”

a murmur of thanks escapes you, although you’d like to tell him there’s no need. something tells you denying him this would be like taking another step backwards, in this budding connection between you.

(… if you can even call it that.)

geto and ieiri catch up to your unmoving figures, finally, and only then does gojo spin on his heel and pick up his previous pace. calling back to you over his shoulder, a smile you can’t see but still hear.

”just don’t give any of it to those two, yeah?”

”cheapskate,” ieiri calls back, lone cigarette hanging between her lips. geto lets out something like a chuckle, his shoulder brushing up against yours.

you watch gojo’s back as he moves forward. unbothered, untethered. you think of him a snowflake in the breeze.

spring is almost here, now. it’s a bittersweet feeling, to know your conversations during recess will surely dwindle out — but at least you’ll have had this. one normal conversation, the knowledge that he was curious about you, even if you may just be the classmate by the heater in his eyes.

you’re too cold to keep him warm all on your own, so there’s no helping it. you’re willing to accept that some stars only show from the surface during winter. 

you’re willing to accept this. it aches, a little, but you’ll be okay. 

”i’ll take it things went well, then?”

geto is wearing his signature smile, when you look up at him. an expression of carefully concealed composure, lips curled up, but a knowing look in his eyes — something that borders on teasing.

you give him a nod, a bow of your head, to silently convey your appreciation. chameleon or not, you don’t really mind his ways. it’s hard to fake the warmth in his voice, when he speaks.

”i’m glad.”

the two of you watch gojo’s back, like birds gazing out at a body of water. silence lingers.

”won’t that moron get cold?”

ieiri’s voice cuts through the mold of your mind, low and gravelly, right beside you. she’s pointing towards gojo — the flimsy jacket he’s wearing. 

you’re wondering the same thing.

geto casts her a glance over your head, before gazing down at you, seemingly noticing your curiosity. he lets out a low hum; reaching a hand out to brush away the snowflakes on his shoulders. 

”temperature,” he begins, slipping his hands into his pockets; that familiar coaching tone to his voice, purposefully slow. ”is just a measure of atoms in rapid motion.”

you tilt your head, in tandem with ieiri — looking to your classmate for further elaboration. he seems to enjoy your confusion, lips curling up just a bit. gojo calls out to you, in the distance, waving both his hands, and geto returns it with a wave of his own.

an amber eye flicks towards you, an explanation on his tongue. ”his infinity can regulate that motion.”

… another tilt of your head.

geto lets out an amused breath. it scatters out into the air, a cloud of smoke, almost a chuckle.

”basically…” he sighs. ”he does just fine, in the cold. don’t worry about it. he’ll keep himself warm.”

ieiri mutters something, beneath her breath, something like you could have just said no, but you don’t really hear it. you think your heart must have climbed up, somehow; got caught in your windpipe. 

ah.

gojo can keep himself warm.

the thought spins inside your mind, over and over, a realization that makes your inner palms feel clammy. stupid, silly, this pitter-patter of your heartbeat. but what else could it mean? if the cold doesn’t bother him, if he doesn’t run cold, then…

(he wouldn’t need it. he wouldn’t need it here, wouldn’t need it during recess, within the chilly walls of your classroom. he wouldn’t need it to stay warm.

gojo isn’t after your heater. if that’s true, then…)

…

you bury your nose in the soft wool of your scarf. breathing in the fading scent, vanilla and cinnamon, grounding you to earth, lingering in your nostrils. distracting you from the rush of warmth, that blooms in the frostbitten apples of your cheeks. 

as if sensing your thoughts, or maybe just noticing your embarrassed expression, geto laughs — soft and breathy, shoulders shaking to your left. you hear it, only nuzzling deeper into the comfort of your scarf. feeling your heartbeat spin out of orbit.

in the distance, gojo continues to wave, yelling out something unintelligible. you could mistake him for a star.

spring is almost here, now. in just a month or so, it’ll be at your doorstep — waltzing right in. 

(but you aren’t worried.)

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC "Pick Me Up"

The stream goes live on the first day of the school year. It's the usual song and dance - mad laughing, threats, poor jokes, terror, and about thirty kids huddled together in a classroom behind Joker's back. Tim recognizes it as one of the Gotham Academy classrooms. Dick can't imagine the horror those kids' parents must be feeling right now. Jason jokes about middle school traumatic experiences. Damian is feeling very justified for skipping classes today.

Bruce, all suited up in his Batman garb, is making his way to the Academy as fast as he possibly can. Those are kids.

Gotham is once again anxiously kept on the edge of their seats, watching as Joker decides to interview the kids on their learning experience so far. Something about leaving a good first impression on the new generation or some other bullshit. Most kids stutter over their words - it's true that Gothamites are way more composed when facing life-threatening events, but those kids are only fourteen or fifteen for the most part. They are not old enough to keep their cool in the face of a murder clown.

That is, until Joker points his camera at one of the girls. Black hair in a high ponytail, blue eyes without a trace of fear, a slightly displeased, even bored expression on her face. She looks straight into the camera, not even waiting for the laughing madman to finish his question, and deadpans:

"I don't think I like school. Pick me up, please."

Joker sputters.

"Not so scared, I see," he sneers, and, in the next moment, a comically large gun painted in purples and greens is pointed to the girl's forehead, "How about now?"

The girl scrunches her nose and makes a so-so gesture.

"It's kinda meh," she admits, "Like, yeah, points for style, but you know, size doesn't matter. It's all in the technique."

Dick snorts over the comms. It's a bad time for laughing, sure, but the phrase caught him off-guard. This is not what you'd expect to hear from a teen, and definitely not something you'd expect anyone to say to the Joker. Jason's comms are muted, but Barbara knows he also laughed a little.

"Technique, you say?" Joker hisses, pressing the gun closer to the girl's head, and she winces, leaning away from it, almost as if she is disgusted by the touch.

"Yeah, I mean, guns are not that scary anyway. What are you gonna do with them, blast my brains all over the floor? Been there, done that," the girl shrugs, "Kinda nasty, but overall, it's just like slime, only sticky." She pauses and looks to the side, seemingly lost in thought, "Huh, maybe we should have added Borax to it. Or was it baking soda?.."

"Listen here, you little brat," Joker's fingers catch the girl's chin, and his voice becomes sickeningly menacing. Bruce is almost there, just two more minutes. Tim is already grappling onto the wall.

But none of them get to finish.

"Put your dirty fingers away from my sister," a low, cold, and even in a way that speaks of barely contained fury, voice comes from out of the screen.

The camera spins, like whoever is holding it turned really fast, and everyone watching the stream sees a fairly normal guy standing by the window - a turtleneck and ripped jeans, same black hair as the girl, same blue eyes... Wait, they are not blue.

And that's not a guy.

The camera falls down to the floor, and there are a lot of panicked screams coming from the broadcast now, but none of them sound like children's voices. It's the screams of adults, of grown-ass men, and later, someone even claimed they heard Joker's scream among them, too. The picture on camera glitches a few times, and the angle is awkward, but everyone still gets to see how shadows in the room morph into eyes, wide open and green, and how the darkness grows sharp teeth, countless grinning mouths that don't belong to any faces.

Screams turn into gargling and then to quiet whispers, filling the ears of all those listening with countless words in languages they don't know.

Red Robin turns off the recording and looks to that same guy from the levestream, sitting across him on the couch. The guy - Daniel, or Danny, as he introduced himself - looks him in the eyes and raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, and?"

"How did you do it?" Tim asks for the third time this evening. Danny blinks.

"Did what?" He asks, completely incomprehending. Tim groans. He's been trying to get his answers, any answers at this point, from the guy for thirty fucking minutes already. So far, he's got nothing. Danny, whoever the fuck he is, proves to be the most annoying human being on Earth.

"Seven people in a coma, including Joker himself, with no physical injuries and none of the children remember a thing! How?!" He demands, and a girl's face peeks from around the corner:

"I remember!"

Tim snaps his head at her, "What do you remember?"

The girl pauses, blinks, and looks to Danny. Then shrugs, "My brother picked me up from school."

Tim drops his head down and breathes out in frustration. He can't force the information out of civilians, he is a vigilante, not a mafia.

"Would it make you feel better if I promise not to do it again?" Danny asks, and his voice is way too innocent for Tim to believe him. He raises his head to look the guy in his shameless, amused eyes.

"I hate you."

"Thanks," Danny grins.

[carebearbussy]

ᥫ᭡ thinking about heian era! sukuna destroying your swollen pussy while uraume talks you through it.

you were being absolutely manhandled at the mercy of sukuna, who was currently indulging himself in the sharp thrusts of his hips ramming up into your cervix. all that was audible in the large bedroom were your whimpers and pleas for him to slow down, and at this point, you could not keep up with your king, so he had to call in reinforcements.

with a loud yell, he calls for uraume to come to his quarters, and assuming it is for the usual of helping you take sukuna, they come prepared. holding a tray, consisting of a glass of water, a fresh robe, and a warm towelette for your forehead. sukunas harsh movements on your body can be seen from outside the shoji doors of your large bedroom, the noisy sounds of your pleasure coming closer with every step.

uraume opens the door, unfazed by the way sukuna was completely crumbling your exterior as well as interior walls. your body shook as each thrust made the bed rock. sukuna would revert his attention to uraume with his bottom set of eyes. "make sure shes doing okay. i dont need her passing out on me now." he said, his eyebrows furrowing as you grip onto him tightly. "at once, my lord."

walking over to the opposite side of the bed, uraume feels the vibrations of the bed creaking with each step on the floor. they place the trey on the nearby nightstand, as they sat up on the bed, propping their legs below their knees, seating in a criss cross position, your head resting on their lap. your head bobbed as sukuna forcibly moved you in and out on his cock. "hold her head still- shit-" he groaned, as uraume held your head still, each of their hands on either side of your head.

you whimpered as you felt him rearrange your insides, your eyes rolling upwards to look uraume in the eyes, barely holding eye contact due to the pleasure bubbling up inside you. you felt sukunas cock hit your sweet spot repeatedly, making your forehead bead with sweat, your mouth agape, at a loss for words at the fulfillment sukuna is handing you. but you manage to mutter a small, "please... need towel..." you say in a short whimper, shaking your hand in the direction of the trey. uraume grabs the moist towelette from the nightstand, placing it on your forehead.

you reach out to grab uraumes hand, squeezing onto it for dear life, shaking it as uraumes thumb brushes over it .you look down at sukuna, who is amused by your reactions, whereas uraume is not the least bit worried. "hmph. looks as if she's enjoying the attention, huh uraume?" he says, an evident smirk crossing his face. uraume reaches down with their free hand to brush the hair sticking to your sweaty forehead off of your face.

"yes, my lord, she does seem like she enjoys it." they say, focused on the way your nose scrunches, and the way your eyelashes flutter with embarrassment, the same feeling etching across your face. you move your free hand up to try to muffle the sounds you are making, making sukuna unhappy. he grabs your wrist with his upper left hand, the control over it leaving your body. "m'close, 'kuna- please"

"hold it, im about to- fuckkkkk-" he groans as he fills your cunt to the brim with his seed. the warm feeling of his cum inside you pushes you over the edge, making you see stars as your orgasm hits you like a truck. you practically lose vision at the pleasure you are given. sukuna pulls out of you, making you whimper.

"uraume, get her cleaned up, and run her one of her 'bubble baths'. 'dont need to carry a limping brat the next day."