#NO ONE can stop me from collecting the minor characters

[overthinkingtaleblr]

Finals Doodles! Billy and (Human) Friends!

I know I’m the only one who talks about Lily (she appeared in one video and died, I got her last name from a google result for ‘creepypasta robot girl?’ And stealing the first name of the main character of the first YouTube video to come up (Jim -> James) for her surname) but I gave her lore because I decided I love her. I might change up her design when I do it for real but. For now this is what I’ve got!

She and Billy are purely platonic to me, and I don’t actually want her to have that much conflict with Maddie, but sometimes its fun to work against my own ideas haha.

[peachsukii]

₊✩‧₊◜ thinking about reader and bakugo’s intense “I’m home!” sex after he gets back from a month long mission. (follow up to this!!)

『 ♡ - k.bakugo x fem!reader 』 ꒰ tags & content ꒱ 18+ MDNI! masturbation, mentions of phone sex, toy usage (vibrator), praise, light dom/sub dynamic, pet names (baby, peach, sweets, good girl, princess - one mention of slut and whore but affectionately!), fingering, minor roleplay (bakugo in his hero gear & reader wears his mask), oral (blowjob), facial, cum eating, lots of dirty talk, nipple play, marking - biting/scratching, a sprinkle of choking, hair pulling, rough sex, overstimulation, creampie, aaand fluff! aged up characters to 22. ⋆ ˚ʚɞ — i didn’t expect this to be as long as it is, buuuut i had a lot of ideas of what they did when he came home...so there's a lot. what can i say? y'all missed each other! the smut immediately starts under the cut and does not stop until the end! 😵‍💫 ｡‧˚ʚ cross-posted to ao3 | word count; ~3.7k ɞ˚‧｡ -`✧ katsuki bakugo masterlist

It's been a long month without Katuski being home. You've done everything you can think of to keep yourself busy while he's been away - played games, read books, hung out with friends and worked overtime to make the days fly by. You called each other day and night, talking for as long as his assignments for the day allowed. Thankfully, they gave him his own room as an accommodation and didn't have to worry about sharing with anyone else.

Boy, did that come in handy.

You two are not shy and foreign to phone sex of all kinds, it was something you actually talked him into doing when you're apart longer than a week for work. FaceTime, voice notes, sexting; the full gambit. You had a private collection on your phone with all his voice notes that he'd sent to you over the years. You used it as "material" for when you're alone.

One folder was all for praise - "that’s my good girl," "go slow sweets, I wanna watch ya take every inch of me," "you’re so cute when you’re begging on your knees, baby," "love watching your soft lips wrap around my cock," "your moans are so fuckin’ pretty, peach," “god, y’have no fuckin’ idea how goddamn wild you drive me,” and more snippets of him coaxing you along to get you off.

The second folder? That was your sacred treasure trove. There were only three files, but they were some of the hottest things Katuski's ever graced you with. They were 10 minute audio clips of him jerking off to the thought of you, vocalizing every detail. Thank god for advanced technology because it allowed you to hear every mumbled ‘fuck’ under his breath, hushed grunts and audible shudders.

You didn’t have any other plans for the day - listening to your boyfriend’s sexy voice while you test out a new vibrator sounded like the perfect solution!

Stripping out of your clothes, you grab a t-shirt from his dresser and throw it over your naked body. It loosely drapes over the top of your thighs, barely hiding the fact you’re not wearing any panties. You grab the vibrator from your nightstand and lay in bed, phone nestled into the pillow next to your head. You decide to choose one of the three files at random. Before you even hit play, your face is flushed and heart is threatening to burst through your ribcage. It doesn’t take long for you to succumb to the gratification, getting lost in his husky moans and the hum of the vibrator.

You’re too busy to notice that the apartment’s front door has opened, along with the commotion of Katsuki dropping his bags in the doorway. He doesn’t say anything as he’s taking off his boots, assuming you could be taking a nap or had headphones on if you didn’t come skipping down the hallway. He didn't tell you he was coming home two days early and wanted to surprise you!

What a surprise it was for him to hear subtle mewls coming from your joint bedroom, immediately catching his attention. He was still in his hero gear, minus his gloves and gauntlets, with his mask settled into his hairline like a headband. As quiet as possible, he tip toes down the hall and peeks around the doorframe. He could hear faint audio playing and a buzzing noise, but couldn’t make out what it was until he got to the doorway.

When he peeked through the crack in the door, his dick throbbed violently as it tented his cargo pants. The sight of you sprawled out on the bed, viciously fucking your new vibrator in nothing but his t-shirt was hot as hell. And you were listening to...his voice notes? He was entranced by your delicious moans and how your legs twitched when the vibrator hit your swollen clit. Part of him jokingly thought you didn’t even need him right now, since you technically did have a version of him, but his selfishness took over instead.

Willpower be damned, he needed you. Now. It took everything in him not to pounce on you right then and there.

Katsuki retreats to the living room and sits on the couch, desperately fighting the urge to start playing with himself to the sound of you doing the same. Instead, he pulls out his phone and clicks on your name to call you. He could hear your phone’s audio shift from his own voice to your ringtone, a startled yelp escaping you.

“H-hey babe,” You answer, panting quietly. “What’s up?”

He almost bursts out into laughter, but keeps it together enough for his little charade.

“Everythin' alright? Ya sound outta breath,” Katsuki teases, but decides to get to the point. “Eh, fuck it. Come into the living room.”

He hangs up and hears your feet padding against the wooden floor instantaneously. Within seconds, you slide into view, overjoyed that he’s home.

“Kats!” You squeal, scrambling over to the couch and jumping into his lap. You’re peppering his lips, neck, cheeks and forehead with rapid fire kisses, giggling as he tries to still your movements to pull you into a warm hug. He nuzzles his face into your neck lovingly, returning your kisses tenfold.

Your excitement briefly makes you forget that you were just in the middle of pleasuring yourself before rushing to greet him. The realization catches up to you when you fully sit on his lap, his erection teasing your exposed slit. A heat pools in your gut at the thought of him catching you in the act - he heard you.

“Sorry for interrupting,” Katsuki says, hands gliding up your bare thighs and grabbing a handful of your ass, grinding your center against his own. The secondary contact causes a gasp to fall from your lips. You don’t respond verbally but lift yourself away from his lap, creating enough space between you two.

“What're ya-,” he’s cut off by you taking his right hand off of your ass and tucking his fingers against your soaked entrance. You take two digits and lower yourself onto them, coating his fingers in all your built up slick.

“I missed you,” you whine as he flexes inside you instinctually, petting your walls with his coarse finger pads. You start to move on your own, gripping his shoulders and riding his fingers to finish the job you started in the bedroom.

Katsuki is speechless, not even a witty remark coming to mind to tease you. His face burns hot when the sounds of your juices sloshing around his fingers fill the room, a heat creeping up the back of his neck. Since you previously wound yourself up, it doesn’t take long until you’re ready to explode. Your eyes are threatening to roll back into your head as you swirl your hips on his fingers. His entire being is pulsing with need as he begins to drills his fingers into you, knuckle deep, and drinks in all your breathy moans. The string in your belly is pulled taut - tighter than its been in the last month, snapping with an intensity that leaves your thighs quivering within seconds.

You come all over his fingers, down his hand and stain the crotch of his cargo pants.

“Hah, good thing they’re getting washed,” you joke breathlessly as you go to kiss Katsuki but stops you - he shocks you with something he’s never done before.

He retracts his fingers from your drenched cunt and swiftly smears it all over your lips before capturing them with his own, sharing your tangy release in ecstasy. He licks your bottom lip before sitting back, breaking the kiss and settling the two fingers back to your mouth. Your lips part ever so slightly at the pressure.

“Don’t ya think you taste divine?” He smirks as he watches you open your mouth invitingly, lazily sucking his fingers covered with your spend. You don't break eye contact with him the entire time, heavily panting like a dog in heat as your tongue leisurely trails the length of each finger. A thin string of saliva sticks to the corner of your mouth as you pull away from his fingers with a soft pop of your lips.

You reach for his mask in his hairline, pushing it back to fall into your grasp. Untying the small knot, you bring it to your own face and secure it around your eyes - just like he wears on patrol. Katsuki's giving you a curious look as you slide off his lap and kneel to the floor.

Oh fuck-

Putting your hands to his hips, you drag your fingers to the hem of his pants - he's scrambling to undo his belt while you yank everything to his ankles. His cock springs forward, bouncing off his clothed abs as it’s freed from the confines of his boxers. You can tell he’s aching for you to touch him, tip leaking pre-spend and blazing hot to the touch. With no hesitation, you edge his entire length into your mouth, tongue sliding delicately along the underside of his shaft and consuming every drop of him.

“F-fuck peach, should'a let you wear my mask ages ago,” Katsuki stutters, thighs trembling at the sight your lips enclosed around him. “’m not gonna…last long watchin’ ya like this.”

You start to slither your tongue around his length, subtly hollowing your cheeks and barely moving an inch. His tip hits the back of your throat as he grabs your hair, shoving you all the way to the base and meeting his soft blonde wisps with your nose. He's unable to control himself - your mouth just feels too good around his cock right now. Katsuki’s only known his own fist for the last month, you’re making him feel like a blushing virgin all over again with how fast he’s accelerating toward his orgasm. You’ve hardly touched - well, blown - him and he's ready to combust.

His grunts have morphed into higher pitched moans as he’s bucking his hips off the couch into your mouth in tandem with your own movements, ferociously chasing the building heat in his gut.

“S-shit, fuck fuck fuck!” he yells while ripping your lips off of him by your hair, endless hot ropes of cum painting your pretty face. His mask, your cheeks, lips, and chin are dripping with white, each droplet slowly making it's way to your jawline. The sight is enough to almost make him come a second time, needing to throw his head back on the couch to avoid eye contact momentarily and pull himself together.

You hum with satisfaction and rise from your knees, straddling him on the couch once more. In the heat of the moment, you grab him by the jaw and plant a messy kiss on his lips, smearing his paintjob in the process. In the lusty haze, he doesn't give a shit that you mimicked his actions. Honestly? He kinda liked his own flavor - it complimented your own, dancing together on his tongue.

“Don’t you think you taste divine?” you purr, repeating his sentiment and licking some of the smeared cum off his cheek. You untie the mask and let it drop from your face, realizing that you may have just ruined his professional hero gear. “This…is washable, right?”

Katsuki laughs. “Yeah, don’t worry ‘bout it. 's gotta be with how dirty hero work gets.”

The two of you get up from the couch and walk to the bathroom to clean up. Once he’s done soaking a wash cloth with warm water, you’re taking his place and bending over the counter to rinse the remnants of his facial from your skin.

Lucky for him, you’re still not wearing any panties. And bent over like that? Your ass and pussy are on full display, still glistening from your previous orgasm.

Katsuki crouches to the ground, kneeling behind you and bites your bare ass with a huff. The sensation makes you jump, water splashing all over the counter and collar of your shirt.

“Katsuki!” You yelp, shutting off the water and blindly reaching for a towel nearby. “You’re insatiable.”

“Like you’re complaining.”

His tongue then traces from the inside of your thigh and stops just shy of your center, a shudder of anticipation wracking your body.

“You’re playing with fire, Kat,” you warn, spinning around and lifting your leg, placing a foot on his shoulder to teasingly show off your messy core. His eyes dart up to meet yours, a salacious grin settling on across his lips.

“Then fuckin’ light me up, princess.”

Something in you snaps - an unexplainable strong hunger captivating your mind. You wanted him to absolutely obliterate you in any and every way possible.

Everything happens in a flash - remaining clothes are strewn across the floor, bodies pressed against the plush of the sheets when you fall against the bed, tangled and relishing in the bare skin contact. The sensation kindles the fire in your veins, begging for more of him - all of him.

"K-Katsuki," you whimper onto his lips, breathless between frenzied kisses. "I want - no, need - you to fuck me like you hate my guts."

Your lascivious request has Katsuki's head swimming in a lewd sea of thoughts, gritting his teeth to hold back the ravenous desire. He can’t help but fist himself in response before leering over you.

“Oh, is that how you wanna play this game, baby?” He growls into the shell of your ear, squishing you further into the mattress. "Want me to use you like a fuckin' toy, eh? Poundin' away at your tight-ass cunt 'til ya can't take it?"

You're too enraptured by the promise swirling in your head to form any logical thoughts as his hands travel to your breast between your bodies, palms blistering hot to the touch as he tweaks your nipple. "When ya can't walk tomorrow, jus' remember y'asked me for this."

The incoherent whine that escapes you is involuntary, a raw reaction to his words. You hear a pleased hum rise from Katsuki's throat as he towers over you once more. He places a few tender kisses to your neck before he fiendishly groans, "I'm gonna fuckin' wreck you."

Not a second passes before his canines are puncturing your delicate skin, threatening to draw blood with how deep he's sinking into the bite on your jugular. Katsuki releases only to keep biting anywhere he could latch on to as he roamed your body - your neck, breasts, collarbone, shoulder, nipples, hips, thighs - eager to mark every inch of you, claim you as his. It makes you squirm and your pussy ache with need, lightning bolts of pleasure coursing through you with each snap of his teeth. Usually when he bit you, he’d soothe the area with a few kisses - but now? He was a rabid fucking animal, carnality overwhelming his ability to think straight.

You're able to get a quick look at his ruddy cock when Katsuki leans back, repositioning himself while gripping your hips. You’re salivating at the sight - thick, swollen and pulsing, spend dripping down his length and coating the skin with a sheen of arousal. He’s heavily tracing circles into your hip bones, his firm clutch on your waist keeping you in place. He’s tugging your center toward his own, teasingly slipping the head of his cock between your creamy folds. You’re about to plunge down onto him when he pulls back, a wicked grimace crossing his lips. A dissatisfied squeak spills from your lips, pouting up at him with metaphorical hearts in your eyes.

“Y’want this?” Katsuki snarls, bouncing his dick against your mound, the contact causing you to inhale sharply. “Beg like the needy slut you are.”

Words are failing you as you attempt to fulfill his demand, the only sounds falling from your puffed lips a succession of jumbled moans.

“Cat got your tongue, princess?” He snorts at his own pun under his breath as he trails his palm up your body, resting under your jaw and fixating on the seductive gleam in you pupils.

“I know how to find those pretty words ‘a yours.”

Katsuki applies firm pressure to your throat under his finger tips, tilting your head upward to face him. Your hips buck up in response, begging for him to spread you open.

He clicks his tongue at your shameless plea. "C'mon baby, tell me what ya want."

His fingers flex over your throat, playfully interchanging how much pressure he's using over the pulse in your jugular. His gaze travels down your newly bitten and bruised body, pleased with how they adorn your features.

With every ounce of concentration, you blurt out everything lingering in your heat-riddled mind. "Break the fucking bed, rip my soul from my body, leave me choking on every word, ravage me until there's nothing left...please, Katsuki!"

You barely finished screaming his name before Katsuki releases the hold on your throat, roughly returning his grips to your hips and ramming his cock straight into your sweltering sex, the burning sensation rolling your eyes back into your head.

"Good fuckin' girl, baby."

He's hypnotized by the way your tits bounce as he fucks in and out of you at a feral pace, sweat glistening over both your bodies. The room's temperature heightens, the humidity only adding to the wild desire you're sharing.

Suddenly, he pulls out of you, leaving you confused and yearning. You don't have time to ask questions as he's rolling - shoving - you onto your stomach, arching your hips into place before resuming his unmerciful thrusts, growling and grunting from behind you. The new position has you crying out, intoxicated by the way his cock is hitting every hotspot along your walls and g-spot repetitively. You're unable to contain the sounds spilling from your parted lips as they harmonize with Katsuki's moans. He bends down to snatch your hair by the roots, forcing your head off the pillow as his other hand reaches around your waist, finger pressing harshly against your puffy clit. The wail that bubbles from your throat is sinful, overwhelmed as the coil in your core is wound tighter, tighter, and tighter.

"I fuckin' love when you moan like a whore, baby," Katsuki barks out between baited breath. "Ya keep screamin' like that, 'm gonna end up stuffin' your pretty pussy full 'a cum."

You flutter around his dick in response, stroking his length with every snap of his hips. "Hah, seems like that's what your beggin' for, isn't it?"

He screws his eyes shut, jaw clenched as he's inching closer to the edge. Your clenched walls coax his release to come rocketing out of nowhere, a guttural moan spilling out of him as he pumps you full of spend. The warmth is inviting - comforting, leaving you floating on cloud nine. Katsuki lets your locks drop from his grasp and removes his hand from your clit, folding over your back with exhaustion.

Imagine his shock when you push back against him, causing him to slide out of you with a schlep and fall back against the bed. You reverse your position to face him, taking hold of his shoulders to pull him into a sitting position and shove his back against the wall.

"Wha-"

You straddle his lap, springing his still-hard cock back inside of you and begin riding him mercilessly.

"One more," you whisper, voice low and demanding. "I know you can do it, my good fucking boy can give me one more."

Your nails are digging into his chest, red scratches left in their wake as you grind your soaked center against his shaft. Katsuki's stuttering, unable to find words as the overstimulation mixed with praise short circuits his brain.

"Ba-mmph-baby, wa-ahh-wait, fuck!"

Numerous beads of sweat roll from his hairline and drip down his cheeks, slack jawed from delirium. A second wave of release is rapidly rising in his abdomen, high pitched whimpers falling from his open mouth.

"Ah-almost!" you shout, fingers tracing his hardened nipples and pinching them roughly. He jolts, a final whine escaping him as the aforementioned wave crashes down, a second round of seed spurting out inside of you. Your own slick rushes to meet his spend, mixing together as it leaks from between your legs and into his lap.

"Holy fuck," Katsuki wheezes, barely able to speak. "Wh-where the fuck did you learn that?!"

Your legs are trembling uncontrollably as you lift yourself off of his dick, falling sideways onto the bed.

"I...just thought to try it," you sigh, "Never thought I'd get you to whine like that. Fuck, Kat. That was ungodly hot."

His face is burning red and heat traveling down his neck, somewhat embarrassed at his reaction of losing himself in the moment.

"Oh no, you don't get to be embarrassed! With half the shit you do to me?!" you tease, kicking his thigh jokingly with your foot. He grumbles, scrunching his brows together and crossing his arms.

"Alright, alright, I'll stop teasing you."

"Good, ya better. Now move your ass over and make room for me."

Katsuki flops next to you, too exhausted to get up from the bed. He wraps an arm around your waist and one under your head, cradling you close as your cheek meets his chest. You can hear his heartbeat thumping away as you close your eyes to the rhythm. He kisses your forehead before laying his head back against the mountain of pillows.

"Guess I should go away on missions more often if that's what I get 'ta come home to, shit. Feels like I just ran a fuckin' marathon."

You can't help but giggle, fighting off the itch to drift into slumber a little longer.

"I'm sneaking into your hotel room next time. No way am I waiting that long again!"

The two of you snuggle close, despite the ungodly amount of sweat coating your bodies and mugginess in the air, too enamored with one another to care.

"I love you so much, sweets. Don't forget that." Katsuki's voice is quiet, the words tightening in his throat as he speaks them aloud.

"I love you too, Katsuki. Forever and always."

He's satisfied with your answer as he closes his eyes, letting the wave of fatigue settle in his bones and lull him to sleep.

tagging @pastelbakugou as a thank you for the idea of a follow up 👀✨ no pressure tags!: @maddietries @slayfics @bkgrl @bub-ss hoping this was explosive enough! 🧡💥

[munson-blurbs]

Headcanon: Eddie is a boob man. Best friend Eddie would one day notice your boobs (maybe in a bathing suit or a low cut top or something) and they become his new obsession hehe

Us? Projecting? Never.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), unwanted boners, semi-public masturbation (m), Eddie's a perv but he's not thrilled about it, Reader has boobs but no size is given (Eddie loves all boobs, let's be real)

WC: 1.3k

Divider credit to @saradika

Stupid D20. 

Stupid Dustin for tossing it so far across the table. 

Stupid low-cut shirt that exposes your chest when you lean over to collect the die, giving Eddie a stupid boner in the middle of Hellfire Club. 

“Hey, Ed!” Gareth calls out impatiently, snapping his fingers in front of the Dungeon Master’s face. “You wanna tell us if we defeated the demogorgon, or are you just gonna stare off into space?”

Eddie clears his throat. “Sorry. Right.” He tries his best to proceed with the campaign as usual, but all he can think about are your boobs and how grateful he is to be sitting down right now. 

When he adjourns the meeting, he’s still too hard to stand without someone noticing. “I’m just gonna, uh, hang back and brainstorm for a few,” he lies as smoothly as he can. 

“Can’t wait to see what sadistic shit you come up with,” Mike says. The rest of the guys slap him five in agreement as they clamor out the door. 

The only people left in the room are you and Eddie. 

Of course. 

“You don’t have to stick around, Sweetheart.” He tries not to sound too dismissive, plastering a smile on his face. 

“You’re my ride.”

Shit. “Oh. Right.” He hedges a nervous laugh. “I’ll be ready in five.”

You nod. “No worries. I’ll run to the girls’ room while I wait.” Before reaching the door, you notice that Lucas’s character sheet has fluttered to the ground. You reach down and scoop it up, revealing the tops of your bra-covered breasts. 

“Sinclair owes me,” you chirp, placing the paper back on the table, remaining utterly oblivious to the way Eddie is straining against his zipper once again. 

To Eddie’s credit, he tries to stop thinking about them. He really, truly does. 

You’re his best friend. He doesn’t want to constantly think about your boobs, or the way they’d feel pressed against his bare chest, or whether your nipples would harden if he sucked on them, or—

“Mr. Munson!” Ms. O’Donnell’s shrill screech snaps him out of his breast-induced stupor. “Is there a reason why you can’t be bothered to listen while I’m trying to teach?”

“N-No, ma’am.”

She huffs out an irritated sigh. “Since you must know everything already, why don’t you come up and solve the problem for us?” She taps the piece of chalk against the blackboard, leaving tiny white dots in its wake. 

Eddie shakes his head, feeling his cheeks burn red. Humiliating himself when he can’t figure out the value of x will be bad enough, but to fail while his sail is at half-mast? He’ll never recover. 

Fortunately, the old bird relents and turns back to the board to continue her lesson. 

Crisis averted. 

Except…is it?

Because the only thing—things, rather—on Eddie’s mind are your tits. And he isn’t supposed to be imagining himself caressing them while you’re bouncing on his cock, moaning his name, saying that only he can make you feel that good…

He’s racing out of his seat the moment the bell rings, making a mad dash for the Hellfire room, relieved to see that it’s unoccupied. The door barely closes behind him before he’s ambling towards his DM throne and frantically tugging down his jeans and boxers. 

“Fucking Christ,” he whispers, inhaling sharply as his cock is free of its denim restraint. He wraps his hand around it and squeezes in his desperation for an ounce of relief. Pre-cum already leaks from his red, angry tip, and he knows from experience that this is not going away without some…intervention. 

Eddie reluctantly lets go of himself and spits into his open palm. He bites his lower lip to stifle a burgeoning moan as he slowly works his shaft, fingers tightening to simulate what he imagines to be the way you’d feel. 

“Thassit, mmmf, feels s’good.” He closes his eyes and rests the back of his head on his chair. He needs you underneath him so he can watch your breasts jiggle with each snap of his hips. 

“Bet you want my cum, huh? Where do you want it?” Eddie keeps his voice low, barely loud enough for him to hear. “Want it on those pretty tits of yours? Yeah, you fuckin’ do.”

His fist flies over his hardness, choked whimpers escaping his lips. He feels pleasure begin to build and moans your name to bring himself over the edge. 

“Yeah?”

Eddie’s head snaps forward, taking a moment to let reality seep in. He’s not buried deep within you; he’s jerking off in a dark room where he plays Dungeons & Dragons, and you’re standing in the doorway. 

“Eds? You okay?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. ‘M fine,” he lies, silently brainstorming ways to tuck himself back into his pants without you noticing. 

You arch a disbelieving brow. “You sure? Lucas said he saw you running down the hallway—”

“I’m fine!” He insists louder this time. Shaking his head, he bites his lip and attempts to collect himself. 

The two of you have been friends for too long; you know that he’s far from fine when he raises his voice. You walk to him, determined to figure out what’s wrong. 

And then you see it. 

Eddie says nothing, fully focused on covering himself as best he can and avoiding eye contact. 

It doesn’t take long for you to put the pieces together: semi-hard cock in his hand, sweat beading on his forehead, the pleading mentions of your name. 

“Eddie.” You let your fingertips brush against his shoulder. “Did I interrupt?”

He only nods in response. 

“What were you thinking about?”

Eddie exhales a long breath before answering. “You,” he finally answers. “And th-that shirt you wore yesterday.” His cock twitches at the mere reminder of it. 

You grin knowingly. You’d bought it at the mall specifically because of its low-cut neckline, hoping it would catch Eddie’s attention. 

Apparently, it very much had. 

“You liked it?” 

“Loved it.” He starts stroking himself again, almost unaware of his own movements. “Want you to wear it every damn day,” he adds with a hoarse chuckle. 

Swiping your tongue over your lower lip, you lean in and whisper in his ear, “What if I didn’t wear one at all?”

With that, you lift your shirt over your head and unhook your bra, letting them both fall to the ground unceremoniously. Eddie’s eyes widen, gazing at your exposed chest. 

“Oh, baby,” he breathes, his free hand reaching out to touch them. His thumb grazes one nipple and he gives your breast a gentle squeeze. “Baby, they’re perfect.”

You smile, using your hip to nudge the table away and get on your knees in front of him. “Keep going, Eds.”

He nods again, shifting forward a bit so you’re between his legs. “Gonna…gonna cum all over these perfect tits,” he grunts. “Please. Please, I gotta…”

“You can cum on them, Eds.”

And, fuck, does he. Thick ropes spill out of his cock, painting your chest in a sticky film. He’s crying out your name as he does it, milking every last drop. 

He floats down from the high, staring at your chest and admiring the way he’s claimed you. “That…wow,” he manages, laughing nervously. “Let me clean you up.” He reaches for the tissues, wiping whatever is still leaking out of him before sopping up the mess on your breasts. 

“I don’t know where we go from here,” he admits sheepishly, wadding up the Kleenex and tossing it into the trash. “Like, do I take you on a date? Bend you over the table?” He says the second option teasingly, but you have a feeling he wouldn’t turn you down if you agreed to it. 

You re-clasp your bra and shrug on your shirt. “We could try a date,” you say as casually as you can. 

“Dinner and a movie?”

“I’ll wear that shirt.”

--

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹｡ tell me about love (show me how) | gojo satoru

wc: 7.4k

summary: you teach gojo how to love. 

contains: f!reader in mind but no pronouns mentioned, descriptions of blood (typical jjk canon type stuff), shibuya onwards manga spoilers, implied minor character death, there are swears, suggestive bit at the end (but it’s funny!), lots of internal thoughts/dialogues, kind of canon divergent

a/n: relates to my short blurb, do you believe in love?, explores a lot on how i think gojo would be when it comes to love; ambiguous but linear timeline (jumps through scenes)

collection masterlist: conversations on love 01. do you believe in love? <- you are here -> 2.5. and my body keeps saying (it's yours)

When Gojo has love for the taking, he makes no move to reach for it. 

It’s unusual for him to be so restrained, being born into greed and predetermined purpose—a one-man clan fated to hold power close to God. There exists a hunger within him, insatiable and stubborn, unstoppable until he gets what he wants. It’s all he’s ever known: to take and devour, simply because he can. 

Yet with this, he doesn’t. He can’t seem to. 

“I think I’ll always want to be with you, Satoru.” 

When you offer your heart to Gojo, he looks at you softly. 

You catch his eyes and see the sky, bright, with flecks of light floating on his irises like cotton clouds in its periphery. It’s different from the piercing blue you’re used to—a terrifying riptide that washes you away. 

It wasn’t intended as a confession, but Gojo always takes whatever you have to say. He commits it to memory each time; how could he not? Words that come from you flow so naturally, so earnestly that the air around you shifts all on its own.

His lips part slightly, red spatterings lining pink inner corners before they close again. He doesn’t say anything, but you know Gojo and the fingerprints of his soul—the way he bites his lips to withhold himself from speaking. 

It’s dangerous, he thinks, how you make wanting something so complicated seem so simple.

He takes a small breath, then you feel it, pressed against you—the faint signature of his cursed energy overlaying his entirety. It tickles your skin a little, the effects of it brushing. You don’t remember the last time he put it up around you.

A million things run through Gojo’s mind for every split second he breathes, but at this point in time, he counts a million and one—one thought that if he touches you by infinity instead of his hands, he can have this good thing for now, that this is the only way how. 

You’d think this a rejection, if any, but he doesn’t move away from you, and the blush blooming at the tips of his ears says more than he ever could. 

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The subtle intimacy you share with Gojo grows sporadically, from knuckles brushing to pinkies touching. He stands next to you more often, a few inches closer than he used to and sometimes, still, with an infinity connecting you.

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When you hold Gojo’s hand for the first time, he jolts very slightly, as if you’ve shocked him. He’s started to put his infinity down around you again, and you continue the limbo of whatever it is you both are—except this time, he’s made it clearer, just a little bit. 

During the last few leaves of fall, Gojo skips to an ice cream stand like a pre-schooler on early dismissal. You trail behind him slowly, shaking your head affectionately; he’s the only adult you know that still acts like he’s 5. 

“You’re like a horse.” you jest, stopping next to him in line.

“You’re a snail.” he huffs, side-eyeing you, like a child.

You gasp exaggeratingly, hitting his arm. He fake-winces, but that’s all it is; Gojo’s the strongest and you don’t know of any human touch that has managed to hurt him, except—

Yeah. Your eyes trail to the side of his neck, hidden in the shadows of his jawline; there’s really nothing, but sometimes you blink and see crimson, oozing, gushing, leaking—you shake away the thought.  

When he receives his ice cream cone stacked with vanilla-strawberry-vanilla and rainbow sprinkles on top, the smile on his face parallels the sun. He looks cozy, almost boyish, beaming against the autumn breeze blowing on his thick gray hoodie. 

You wonder if he feels just as warm.

(Maybe that’s why you do it, then).

Once Gojo turns to give you the cone, you reach for his other hand tentatively, shyly—your fingertips grazing his palm lightly. You want to give him an out if he can’t take this, but he doesn’t move. He twitches a little, as if he’s been caught off guard, but that’s it. 

His eyes widen briefly, just a bit, before turning into the same soft skies frequenting them lately. 

“Sorry, is this okay?” you whisper, peering up at him. 

He stares at you for a while, his hand in yours unmoving. You leave a sliver of space between your palms–your own version of his infinity–just in case. And he takes it all in: how tiny your hand is wrapped around his, how gently you speak—how warm he feels now amidst this autumn breeze. 

“The strawberry’s really good,” he finally replies, pressing the dessert closer to you, “try it.” 

You give him one last look before you indulge in his request. Gojo’s always been good at that: pushing and pulling—pushing you away with non-answers only to pull you back in with something else. 

But he doesn’t let go of your hand, so you keep yours there, palms nearly touching. (You make a point not to mention how the parts that do touch become clammy for the rest of the afternoon). 

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You start to think that your relationship with Gojo is going somewhere, then he disappears (‘gets sealed’ might be the more proper term). 

His absence is deafening. You’ve all lost so much, and it hurts, but you carry on knowing full well that this is what being a jujutsu sorcerer means. There aren’t many left to fight his fight, so you do what you can to. You stay with Shoko, mostly, if not going back and forth with Utahime. You can’t afford to be crying when the students, the kids—you can’t even bear to think about what they’re going through.

Nights are the hardest, when the world is quiet but your mind is loud, throwing far too many questions you can’t find the answers to.

What will Gojo come back to? Then the scarier thought: Will he even come back? 

You don’t want to doubt him, ever, but your mind continues to play back that day, like a final memory. The unintentional confession; his eyes like the sky. 

You don’t want it to be the last important thing you tell him. 

“I should start looking into retirement plans, like Nanamin.” you raise an eyebrow, questioning. Gojo’s never spoken this far into the future before, most especially his. 

“Work is shit now for you too?” you scoff, leaning back on the wooden ledge. 

Gojo rolls his eyes, skipping the coverage of his blindfold today. 

“Well, after I remove the old geezers and change everything, there won’t be much left to do.” 

You hum in response. He does make a point. 

“Also, Megumi won’t need me anymore,” he pouts, whining, “who else will want me around?” 

You try to hold back your laugh, wanting so badly to tell him that Megumi doesn’t even really like him around to begin with—but you figure breaking Gojo’s heart isn’t really something you want to do if you value your peace. 

“I don’t know,” you reply, shifting your weight, “I think I’ll always want to be with you, Satoru.” 

Even now, especially now. You wish you were with him, too. 

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The day you hear of Gojo’s potential return, you drop your breakfast outside the 7-Eleven near Jujutsu Tech. You’re supposed to meet up with Utahime for a weekly check-in but your feet take you to Shoko, and the footsteps in your heart have never echoed louder. 

This is the first good news in a while—especially after finding out about the state of Megumi and what happened to Tsumiki, your sweet girl Tsumiki. 

When Gojo comes back, it’s like he never left. He pops out of the box joking the same way, talking the same way. He proves himself to be the strongest all the same, and when he wins—there are scars, but he wins and that fact stays the same. 

So, when you reach for his hand now and he moves away, you’re stuck wondering what’s changed. 

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You let it stay that way for a while, your understanding extending to Gojo the way it always has—you don’t push, and he gives you what he can. It honestly isn’t all that bad, because at least he’s still talking to you like he used to. 

Jujutsu society is still shaken from its core. You and all who have survived bear the task of building everything from the ground up; it’s exhausting, especially since most of you are still mourning. 

Megumi’s been put in an induced coma; you understand why but it still tugs at your heart when Shoko tells you it might take a while. Everyone else has been assigned to sweep through the rest of Japan to ensure that any remaining curses are taken care of. 

You see Yuuji and Yuuta visit Megumi sometimes, along with Maki and Toge when they’re free. Gojo’s there pretty often too, using healing sessions with Shoko as an excuse to see the boy he’s practically raised at 17, with you. 

But while Gojo’s smiles to everyone else remain as charming as ever, you can always tell when they’re untrue. 

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“Are you okay?” 

You find Gojo a little after midnight on the rooftop of the faculty building. The city always looks pretty from up here—a sea of lights reflected up on the sky. It’s a running joke that rooftops are Gojo’s ‘thing’, but you know he really only comes to places like this to think. You wonder what’s on his mind now, coming here every single night since being unsealed. 

Despite how quiet you try to be, sneaking up on Gojo is almost impossible; he senses you before he hears you, sees the familiar traces of your cursed energy through his Six Eyes. 

“Can’t sleep thinking about me?” he teases, looking straight ahead.

The steps you take towards him are careful, afraid of running him off like you seem to be lately. You sit beside him, leaving a space larger than you usually do, then shrug, “These days, yeah.”

It’s times like this when Gojo forgets how honest you can be, how he takes your word for everything, completely. 

It’s threatening, he thinks, how you can say so much with so little. 

“Well, maybe I can suggest—” 

“Seriously, Satoru,” you grip the ledge tightly, knuckles turning white, “please.” 

You tend to let Gojo dodge your questions a lot of the time, his elusiveness a hallmark of who he is. So you never sound like you do now, serious, pleading. 

Gojo fiddles with his fingers, pondering. He hums lowly before speaking, “Does it matter?” 

It hurts you a little, how that’s even a question. He should know better than to ask that to you. 

“It matters to me, Satoru,” you sigh, “you know it does.”

You barely catch the way his brows furrow at your response, but there are creases on his blindfold that can’t be created by anything else. And Gojo knows—is so painfully aware of the way you care. 

Since coming back, he’s never felt like he’s fully returned. It’s an odd existence of in-between, like he breathes everything and nothing all at the same time. The emotions are even worse, overloading his senses with feelings he can never pinpoint. 

How does he tell you that he must be fucked in the head? That every second in his mind is another step closer to insanity? That he’s lost your tether on Satoru in pursuit of Gojo—of being a god? 

“I’ll tell you,” he starts, “but you have to look away.”

You’ve always treated Gojo tenderly, patiently, and he knows, without a doubt, that no matter what he says you will continue to do the same. But he can’t allow that, not anymore. Not after the way you looked at him that day.

“Okay,” you mutter, turning your head the other way. 

He breathes out and you can almost picture it: half-bitten lips and eyes like low tide. 

“I’m fine,” he says to the back of your head, “you have nothing to worry about.” 

A breeze picks up and brushes past your neck. It’s a lie. He knows it, knows you know it too, but—

it’s easier this way, he thinks, to give you answers when you’re not looking.

Gojo’s never found a weakness he can’t work around, but he might have just found one with you—in your eyes, that read through his every lie. If you turn around now, he’ll want to tell you everything.

“Satoru,” you whisper, letting his name fill the air. You get it—him, and even when you don’t, you try damn hard to because you refuse to let Gojo carry all of it on his own. 

There are crescent indents on your palm from squeezing your knuckles too hard. You think, is this how you form shallow cuts on your heart?

“It’s just me,” you continue, facing him when you say it. 

He takes you all in—your eyes that hold the city lights, your lips, the only vessel that handles his name so delicately. It’s that look on your face again and Gojo’s hit with an ache in his chest—the overwhelming truth that whatever it is, he feels the same. 

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There’s a secret Gojo keeps, one he’s certain he’ll never tell you: that when he looks at you upon his return and finds an emotion he refuses to name, he’s never felt so afraid.  

He takes in the shadows under your eyes and the sunkenness of your cheeks—the number of blinks it takes you to reign in tears on the brink of leaking. The way your voice shakes when you say his name.

Shoko tells him about it because she knows you never will—about how you’ve been running yourself dry, speeding through colonies to gather intel for any possible way to break the seal. She tells him about the sleepless nights, how she catches you standing outside his office at 3 a.m. before travelling to Utahime the next morning. 

And he cannot comprehend it at first, cannot understand how he’s caused you to crumble this way. 

If this is all because of him, how you’ve broken yourself all for his sake, he can’t allow it. To see you ruin yourself over him, over anyone ever—you deserve better.

So, when Gojo has love for the taking, he makes no move to reach for it; he cannot possibly take any more from you if this is what is left of you when he does. 

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“You’ve been avoiding me,” you catch him by the door of the conference room. 

Rebuilding an entire society requires work and apparently a lot of meetings. Gojo doesn’t usually go to most of them, leaving you and Utahime to carry the chunk of his attendance when he’s not there. In the rare times that he does show up, he makes it a point to be the last one in and the first one out. Utahime hates him for it but you don’t blame him—he isn’t exactly amicable with other figures of authority.

He pauses when he steps out of the door, hands in pockets as he turns to face you. 

You’re not mad or anything, just stating the fact. He’s always known you to speak this way. You lean against the wall next to you, keeping your arms crossed. More people continue to file out of the conference room, some eyeing the two of you curiously as they pass by.

Gojo glances at them, suddenly self-conscious as he clears his throat, “Right, I’ve been avoiding the paperwork you left in my office,” he emphasizes, practically announcing it to everyone in the vicinity, “let’s finish it now.” 

You don’t know whether it’s irritating that Gojo’s so terribly bad at acting, or comforting that he still can’t, for the life of him, successfully lie in front of you. 

He motions for you to follow him as he strolls down the hallway, but you intentionally lag a few steps behind, careful not to encroach on his space lest it make him avoid you any more than he already is.

Stepping into Gojo’s office after so long feels weird, like you belong here but only to a memory of it—as if closing the door behind you feels like activating a muscle you haven’t for a while. It’s been months after all. 

Your eyes skim over the entire room, zeroing in on the stacks of paper lined up on his desk; paperwork has always been Gojo’s least favorite part of the job, often leaving you to do them with him (or alone, when you’re feeling generous). Not much has changed in his space; the mini living area still exists to the left of the room, with little bits of you in its interiors—the pillows, the coffee table books. 

Gojo plops down on the sofa chair and props his feet up on the ottoman, giving four scrolls to his phone before pocketing it. He has the audacity to casually offer you the seat across from him, as if nothing’s wrong—as if he hasn’t been avoiding you for god’s sake. 

Ever since the rooftop, he’s canceled lunch with you six times for reasons that you’re now realizing are less likely to be true. He’s kept a distance of at least one person in between you at all times, and to this day, you still don’t understand why. 

You sigh, taking a seat and leaning back to cross your legs. 

“You’re so bad at acting.” you start.

Being with Gojo for so long, you’ve come to realize that there’s no point being angry with him when your heart can never take it. 

“I technically wasn’t lying.” he replies, sticking his index finger up. 

“Yeah, I can see that,” you snicker, nodding to his desk. 

It’s always like this with Gojo: he pulls you in and you follow. No matter the distance between you, when you sit down together like this, it still always flows so easily. The banter you’ve built together over a decade and more shines through no matter what state your relationship is in. 

Neither of you say anything until Gojo replaces his blindfold for his sunglasses, placing the piece of cloth on the coffee table. 

You break the silence. 

“Why have you been avoiding me?” you ask quietly. Gojo aches at that, how you still choose to regard him so kindly. 

Why has he been avoiding you? It’s a good question, completely valid with how he’s been treating you lately, but he could draw up every answer he has, all one million and one, and still not know what to say.

Gojo’s a pretty bad communicator; for how much he talks, he doesn’t really say much—and maybe that’s the root of all this. There are too many things he wants to say but can’t formulate in the right way. 

“If it’s something I did, can you at least let me know?” you continue. Gojo frowns, how can you be wronged yet still think of yourself as the one to blame? 

“Why do you do that?” he tuts, head tilting sideways as his hands dig deeper into his pockets. 

“Do what?” you furrow your brows, confused. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, so don’t worry about it.” he says dismissively. 

You arch an eyebrow; he has it all mistaken. 

“Satoru, I’m not worried because I feel guilty,” you sit up, inching towards the edge of your seat, “I’m worried because you’re pushing me away.” your voice is level, but your pupils shake.

Something grips at his chest seeing you this way; together or apart, he seems to be the main contributor to your heartache. 

You wonder if confronting him like this is any good if he’s not going to say anything anyway. 

“If you want space, that’s okay, I get it, but,” you exhale, “at least just tell me why.” 

This entire time avoiding you, Gojo’s had you on his mind—the million and one. He’s come to terms with what he feels when you’re together, and how it amplifies when you’re not. 

It’s shitty of him to practically ghost you, not just in text but in real life too. But he’s thought about it logically, really, that removing himself from your life should be just like ripping off a bandaid—painful but quick. At least that way, you’d get over it fast. 

He’d been resigned to doing that and that was the plan—until now. 

All it takes is seeing that look in your eyes, and his resolve falls apart. 

“I can’t.” he speaks softly. 

What hurts the most is that beneath his sunglasses, his eyes still hold the sky. 

You think you want to cry. 

You take this as your answer and close your eyes, taking a deep breath before getting up to leave. If this is goodbye, you don’t want your last interaction to be an awkward memory of him watching you bawl in his office chair. 

You push yourself up with the armrest only to sit back down—because Gojo is right in front of you, blocking your way. His infinity is up but touching, a tingling sensation sweeping across your knees. 

“Wait,” he swallows, a franticness you’ve never seen before. His head stays down as he bites his lips, sunglasses hanging by his fingertips. You wonder what he wants to say, that even if it comes out messy, it’s okay. You want to tell him that it’s just you—that you’ll always want to hear it all anyway. 

What comes next is unlike any version of Satoru you have ever known—nervous and uncertain, almost like he’s afraid. He lowers himself, slowly coming down to his knees in front of you. A giant of a man so small in your presence. 

“I don’t know how.” he mutters, dropping his sunglasses to the floor. 

You blink once, twice, still surprised by what’s in front of you. Gojo has always towered above you, has always known how to do anything and everything so effortlessly without fail. 

Watching him now, with every inhale and exhale dragging in slow motion, you do your best not to startle him. 

“How to what?” you whisper, the moment so fragile. 

He looks up, eyes locking with yours. A reaction happens in that moment—the split second of all his thoughts collapsing into one. You see a clear sky, blue and bright as day, the Satoru he saves for you—while he sees you, with that look on your face, the one that he knows has always only meant love. 

The sincerity in your gaze overwhelms him—makes him look away before it becomes too much. Red blooms at the tips of his ears as he bites the inner corners of his lips, fingers grabbing at the fabric of his pants. You’re afraid he might run away again, but he doesn’t and stays right where you are. 

“You know…” he looks to the side, pouting, “whatever you do….”

“Like…?” you coax lightly, trying hard to hide the small smile forming on your lips. 

You wonder how many versions of Satoru you’ll meet in your lifetime, and if this one, shy and nervous, will be one you’ll fit into the crevices of your heart just like all the others. 

He grips his pants tighter, fabric bunching under his fingers, “When you hold my hand… those things. You get it.” 

And you do (get it), so you don’t push, taking whatever Gojo has to give you like you always have. 

The tension relieves from you slowly, comforted by the fact that at least he’s given you his reasons now (no matter how vague they still seem to be). That at least there are no non-answers this time. 

You tell yourself that it’s okay, that you’re content as long as Gojo’s in your life even without the possibility of becoming something more. 

“Ok—”

But there’s always one thing you forget about Gojo—

“So show me how.”

—in the moments you least expect it, he speaks the words that matter most. 

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You choose to show him slowly, gently, like the trickling introduction of water to a man who is first learning how to drink. 

In the first few weeks of you and Gojo readjusting to one another, he turns on his infinity again—but only when he gets close enough to touch you. Lunches together happen more often, dinners sometimes too. Then he puts his infinity down, indefinitely. 

For the most part, your relationship falls into the usual steps of your dynamic with Gojo; there’s no pressure for anything and he likes that, appreciates the time you’re giving him to learn things at his own pace. 

It grows organically that way: knuckles brushing as you both reach for the stapler, pinkies touching whenever you walk side-by-side during site visits—until you’re able to hold his hand fully again, leaving that little infinity between your palms for him to close (hopefully, one day). 

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The faculty room is cold, especially during winter. The heating system is never warm enough to keep your hands from shaking whenever you mix your morning coffee. 

“So loud so early,” Gojo saunters into the kitchen, hands in pockets as he approaches the pantry. 

You stop mixing, ceasing the clinking of the spoon against your mug. “How are you not freezing?” 

He shrugs, grabbing his box of (heavily sugared) cereal. “I guess I’m just hot.” he says, turning to wiggle his eyebrows.

You roll your eyes and set your coffee on the table, Gojo following with a bowl brimming with cereal and milk. 

Mornings usually consist of you and Gojo, with an occasional new hire who has an early class that day. Most of the time, it’s just you two though, with Shoko coming in much closer to lunch time already. 

“Want some?” he asks, holding out his spoon.

It’s routine—Gojo asks and you decline, choosing to save yourself from the cavities that he somehow manages to evade despite having a diet of 80% sugar. 

Today though, you’re feeling a little adventurous. 

You nod, opening your mouth. Gojo’s eyes widen, nearly dropping the spoon at your request. You see the flush of his cheeks and smile, corners of your mouth extending wider. The spoon is shoved to your mouth too quickly, almost like he’s embarrassed to feed you. 

“Too sweet,” you scrunch your face, swallowing down the copious amount of sugar you’ll feel for days. 

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Gojo throughout this whole relationship trial period, he recovers from any state within a nanosecond. There’s no end to how shameless he can be. 

“Like me, right?” he winks.

“Sure,” you drawl sarcastically and Gojo smiles like it’s high praise. 

You sip your coffee slowly, revelling in the heat that flows down your throat.

“Can I have half of that?” you point to his bowl. Gojo looks at you, confused, but slides it over anyway.

What happens next is an abomination to Gojo’s eyes—pure absolute disgust: you pour half of his cereal into your coffee and mix, sipping and crunching on a few pieces every now and then. 

His face contorts into complete distaste, horror and revulsion in the way his mouth hangs open. 

“What are you doing? That’s gross!” he nearly yells, reaching over to bring your mug down. His hand covers yours for a moment, the contact still causing gallops in his heartbeat. 

You laugh, giggling as he processes what you’d wasted his cereal on. It honestly doesn’t taste that bad, you think. 

“You’re weird,” he says to you, the grin on his face uncontained. This morning, he feels fond, like the butterflies in his stomach are warm, tickling him from the inside. “Give me.” he motions to your mug. 

You hold it up for him to take a sip but he keeps his hand over yours when he tastes, sticking his tongue out once the bitterness of your coffee hits. You set the mug down, preparing to reach for your spoon, but he takes your hand in his, long fingers slotting right between yours, interlacing. 

Gojo doesn’t normally reach for your hand, much less interlace them together (a recent evolution to your hand-holding), but this feels nice, how your fingers fit right in the spaces of his. 

You turn to him, a shy smile on your face. The tips of his ears are blush red but he looks at you the same, “Your hands were cold,” he pouts, “is this– is this okay?” 

“Yeah, it’s warm. Thank you, Satoru.” you nod, beaming. And it’s not a competition but he hopes you see the light in his eyes, how it feels to be ignited within him only when he’s spending breakfasts like this with you. 

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Shoko asks what you are and you don’t know what to tell her other than you’re happy and it’s good. Gojo’s existence is loud and vibrant, easy to spot from miles away—but he cares for you discreetly, in the hand that gently rests on your lower back while crossing the street, and the seemingly unlimited supply of your favorite coffee when you have no recollection of restocking it ever. 

He gives you a new mug for Christmas, one with little cereals painted all over while you give him his own tube of hand cream that he claims always smells like you. 

During the faculty New Year celebration, you overhear one of the new hires make a move on Gojo. You aren’t bothered by it or anything, simply walking past to sip your sake by the couch. You can hear them talk a bit from the kitchen, but you try not to pry despite how curious you are about his response. 

Until—

“I’m taken,” you hear Gojo say bluntly. 

Everything rings in your ears after that. The countdown music is loud, but your heart beats louder; there are murmurs and footsteps around you, but only one man crouches down to check on you, glass of water in hand. 

You snap out of it and see blue, the sky—a familiar light; you don’t think you can control the smile on your face, the alcohol lowering your inhibitions to paint on something lovesick. 

And when he smiles back, pink lips stretching wide—oh your heart can’t take it. He places one hand on your knee, rubbing gently. You hear it faintly, how he asks if you’re okay, but all you can do is nod, words failing to express how you feel right now.  

The countdown starts. 3 — and you take his face in your hands, squishing his cheeks to an image of him on your phone from many, many years ago. 2 — you go closer and his eyes go wide, a mixture of panic and surprise, but soft at the same time. 1 — you lean in and his eyelids fall shut, his chest on rampage. Then it lands, there, on the tip of his nose: a delicate peck and the smell of sake mixed with mint (like the lip balm you always carry around in your pocket). 

When you pull away from him, you’re smiling the biggest he’s ever seen, and he can’t feel it from how numb his cheeks have become, but he’s doing the same. 

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That kiss to his nose serves as the catalyst to the months that follow: Gojo becomes more comfortable touching you now, and though he blushes every single time, there’s nothing to be ashamed of because you do too. Shoko can’t believe the slow burn this is taking you both, having watched this on the sides since you were both 22, but you think you like it—like the slow drizzle of honey on Gojo’s favorite breakfast waffles. 

“How is it?” you ask, watching as Gojo takes a big bite. 

“D Beft.” he replies, mouth full as he chews. You take the seat beside him and take a spoonful. 

“There’s a secret ingredient.” you say mischievously, wiggling your eyebrows. 

He swallows before he scoffs, “What?” cutting up another piece, “Love?” 

You’re surprised because he says it so casually, and Gojo’s never talked about love, has never even mentioned the word since this shift in your relationship. He realizes a beat late by the expression on your face and gets flustered, thinking immediately of ways to brush past it. 

You had meant to say that you used that infused sugar he buys whenever he goes to Kyoto, but… you suppose love works too. He should know by now, right? 

“If it is?” you whisper, pretending to stir your coffee. 

Gojo doesn’t know how to approach this, really, but he’s come too far to back out now. He clears his throat, mentally running through what he wants to say, then, “Good. ‘Cause that’s what I put in your coffee too.” 

You laugh and the tension dissipates; there are hearts in your eyes for how hard Gojo has tried after denying himself of this for so long. 

He stares at you—at the laugh lines by your eyes and the soft curves of your lips, the moment moving much too slow, stop motion in his mind. He’s drawn in until you’re all too close, a few centimeters from your noses touching. 

Your laughter dies and your cheeks feel like they’re on fire; he’s so close you think he might kiss you. The signs are there—his eyes scaling your face to focus on your lips, his tongue peeping ever so slightly to wet his lips. 

So you wait. 

But he doesn’t, because he moves away after wiping his thumb on the side of your mouth. Even though you know there was nothing there. 

Gojo continues to eat, blabbering about a site visit he’s assigned to next week, but you don’t miss the way his ears are fully red and how he’s biting his lips to death.

.

The tension this time is different; instead of a growing rift, you can’t seem to be close enough. Every time you part ways, he lets go of your hand more reluctantly—as if he wants to say more, do more, but stops himself while he still can. 

When he leaves for missions, you kiss his cheek, pull him in by the hand and linger there, shyly. He gets embarrassingly red but tries to cover it up by telling you not to miss him too much (even though you know you will, and he knows he’ll miss you more). 

Your near-kisses with Gojo happen more frequently, and it comes to a point where he even manages to land one on your forehead, while you fall asleep next to him on his office couch. 

It’s driving you crazy, this tension—the mixed signals of it all. You try to kiss him a few times on the lips, but he evades them each time. You’ve caught Gojo staring at your lips more times than you can count; if that isn’t a sign, you don’t know what is. 

Now that Gojo thinks about it, he’s come so far yet the prospect of kissing you properly still scares him. What if he fucks up? Doesn’t do it right? What if it’s not how he wants you to be kissed? 

There’s that secret Gojo will never tell you, of how seeing that look on you has never gotten him more afraid. And he’s worked through that now, but it’s evolved into something else: how Gojo is now afraid of love, more than anything else, not because of loss but because he might not know how. 

And kissing you, loving you this way—he’s never done it before, doesn’t know how to make you feel love without his lips shaking and heart palpitating; how to do it while letting you know he feels the same. 

.

It happens during an assignment out of town. Curses aren’t as bad as they used to be, but they’re still stronger than what any of the available sorcerers right now can handle. 

You don’t remember the last time you saw Gojo use his technique that way—almost forgotten how powerful and ruthless he can be. Every time since, holding your hand, keeping you close—he’s just been your Satoru. 

Your apartment for the weekend is a two-bedroom unit with one bathroom and a decently sized living area and kitchenette; Gojo always chooses the room in front of the bathroom because he tends to wake up in the middle of the night to pee (information you know from your many other assignments with him before). Still, going as what you are now—it feels different. 

There’s a charged air between you as you move around the unit; you make your nightly tea while Gojo looks through the groceries for some crackers. It’s peaceful and quiet—domestic almost, but there are goosebumps on your skin for reasons you can’t explain. Being around Gojo lately has felt that way.

He brushes past you to throw the finished packet of crackers and the feeling intensifies; it’s not awkward, just tense, like anticipation sitting deep in your bellies, waiting on each other to make the first move. 

He announces that he’ll use the bathroom first, if you don’t mind, and you motion for him to go ahead. Your mind is fuzzy and having Gojo around seems to only make it worse.

When you walk past the bathroom and straight to your room, you hear Gojo humming that soft pop tune from a popular girl group on the radio earlier. You giggle, thinking it’s sweet—how he sings obnoxiously around everyone else but is admittedly pretty good when it’s just him, alone. 

You still have the rest of the weekend in this area, having agreed to monitor the site and any nearby locations for other suspicious activity, but at least the worst of it is over (maybe just to you though; Gojo hates paperwork). 

The sound of running water stops and you hear the bathroom door swing open. You don’t see Gojo when you exit your room but he leaves the door open to release any remaining steam.

There’s a reason why people say showers are good for the mind. You’re happy for those who’ve found it, but that couldn’t be you, because the only thought plaguing your head right now is Gojo—and whether you should greet him goodnight, if you should kiss his cheek or hug him tight. The tension between you now is palpable, an electric current waiting to zap on both ends. 

Your mind is so out of it that you don't realize you’re missing your skincare bag until after you finish brushing your teeth and dressing for bed. You open the bathroom door with the sole intention of going back to your room to get it, but instead, you’re met with a wall of chest.

Gojo’s eyes are wide, bright blue with damp strands of white falling like curtains barely shielding the sky. He’s just as surprised as you are, toothbrush in his hand as you hold up the towel wrapped around your head. 

You’ve seen Gojo in his pajamas many times before—white long sleeves with gray cotton pants, but your eyes trail to his collarbones and the way the bathroom lights cast it under a soft glow. The redness on his cheeks, a visual manifestation of the heat on yours. 

Gojo can’t stop staring at your lips, at how soft they look—at how soft you look fresh out of the shower. The little baby hairs sticking out under your towel are cute, and he leans in without knowing—a pull he can’t seem to resist. For once in his life, Gojo’s mind is still. 

You try to meet him halfway, tiptoeing, but you’re a little out of your element; you don’t know where to put your hands and your heart’s about to explode out of your chest. When your noses touch, you can’t breathe, closing your eyes while you wait for it. 

But it doesn’t come. 

You feel Gojo’s breath stilling before speeding up into little exhales. Something is wrong. You open your eyes and find him staring back at you, a version of Gojo you haven’t seen in a while—that you rarely see ever, except that day during your confrontation in his office. 

Concern laces your features and you move back a little, hands coming up to caress his cheeks. His eyes still look frantic, but they focus on you when you cup his face so gently. 

“Satoru,” you whisper, voice grounding. His breaths slow down a little. 

You realize that it must be true then, what they say, that those who love to be feared, fear to be loved, because you’ve never seen anyone afraid of something so good as Gojo is of this. 

“Satoru,” you repeat, massaging his temples with your thumb, “we don’t have to if you don’t want to.” 

Gojo hates it, how you’ve always had to adjust for him. He hates that he can’t give you this one thing, hates that you’re still so patient, that he’s still so afraid. He swallows, closing his eyes tight before opening them again. 

“I want to,” he chokes out, “I just don’t know—”

You chuckle, without judgment, “I don’t either,” you lean forward, foreheads touching, “but do you want to try together?”

You learn that Gojo sees himself so differently from how you do—and maybe that’s everyone, but Gojo tends to say things while doing the other. He says he can’t bother with kids, but continues to take so many of them under his wing anyway; he calls your cereal concoction disgusting but tastes it regardless; and he says he can’t think about love, doesn’t know how, but proceeds to try so much harder, everyday. 

When you look at Gojo, you see a heart so big, so capable, that he can’t see it himself. 

You nudge his nose with yours and he breathes deeply, closing his eyes once again. If he doesn’t do this now, how much longer ‘till he does? 

Gojo hums before nodding his head slightly. His hands come up to cover yours, toothbrush wedged in the spaces between his fingers; they’re clammy, he’s sure, but he’s kept you waiting long enough. 

When you kiss Gojo for the first time, everything trembles—his pupils, his lips, the breath he takes. It’s all shaky and nervous, but your lips touch and all you know is that you like it there. He’s a little bit stiff but you don’t mind, pressing closer just for a little bit before pulling away. 

Gojo keeps your hands in place, half-lidded eyes staring at you lazily. His ears are fully red now but he’s giving you a look you’ve never seen before—like lightning crackling in the gaps between his eyelids. 

When you kiss Gojo for the first time, you don’t expect it to be by the bathroom door of a rented apartment, while away on a mission. You don’t expect it to be in your pajamas, towel wrapped around your hair as you’re getting ready for bed. You definitely don’t expect him to guide your hands down his neck while he places his on your lower back, squeezing lightly before pulling you in to kiss you again. 

This time, his lips move more pliantly, parting yours slightly; he tastes mint, mixed with the strawberry candy he had earlier and it’s nothing he could have ever imagined before, but is now everything he’s ever wanted. The push and pull between you is magnetic, soft lips and the intermingling of held breaths. All Gojo can think of now is to take, to devour—to keep you with him, like this, always. 

You wonder if Gojo is lying—that he’s never done this before, because you don’t think you can kiss anyone after this and not think of his lips on yours. 

By the time you part, the air is significantly warmer. Your fingers thread through the hair at the base of his neck and you smile, sighing. Gojo looks warm, with his swollen lips and flushed cheeks. 

“That…” you trail off, nudging his nose. 

Gojo looks at you fondly; to ever even think he could have this now, with you—he doesn’t believe in any higher being but you must be his prayer come true. 

“We can practice a bit more, I think.” he pulls you closer, hands gripping your hips. 

You feel it against you, something solid and firm against your stomach and your eyes go wide at the realization; Gojo does the same. 

“Satoru, you–” he moves back and freezes, untangling himself from you completely. There’s a faint outline on the crotch of his pants and your whole face goes red. 

“Let me use the bathroom real quick.” he panics, rushing past you and closing the bathroom door. 

You stand there stunned for a good minute before you shake out of it, laughing. Gojo yells about how you’re being so mean, making fun of him when he’s like this, but you aren’t—not really. 

It’s been a long time getting to this point with Gojo, but considering all things, you think, this might just be the beginning.

thank you notes: i would also like to shoutout @stellamancer for leaving such lovely comments on dybil that it actually kinda pushed me to write this longer piece connected to it!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[fanaticsnail]

Snail Navigation Masterlist

Hello and welcome, I'm Snail!

I write mainly "x reader" for the One-Piece fandom, all catalogued below the cut in a series of individual masterlists. Some of my work is NSFW, meant for 18+, so please minors do not interact. I hope you enjoy your time on this page. It is an absolute pleasure carving out worlds that you get to be placed in the middle of.

WIP List: My works in progress.

Request: Currently temporarily closed.

Gift Swapping: Your's for mine, and mine for your's

Ko-Fi: If you feel so inclined to support me as I keep creating works, this is a link to enable that should you so desire.

Fic Inspo: mood boards, clips and prompts for all to use.

Glimpses: parts of my life I share.

Fic Recommendations: a collection of works I find myself returning to, written by some beautiful authors.

Art with my fics: short dialogue

Tobiuo: One Piece Original Character

Drawing Masterlist: One Piece Original Characters

Divider Links: waves, 18+ by @/firefly-graphics

I have divided up my large collection of fics and drabbles into their own categories. Each fic has a description within their own Masterlist, including content warnings should minors be present. I hope you enjoy your time exploring my writing, and happy reading!

Straw-Hat Masterlist

Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Brook, & platonic crew

Heart-Pirate Masterlist

Law, Shachi, Penguin, & platonic crew

Kid-Pirate Masterlist

Kid, Killer, Heat, Wire, & platonic crew

Red-Hair Pirate Masterlist

Shanks, Beckman

Donquixote Masterlist

Doflamingo, Rosinante / Corazon, Caesar Clown

Cross-Guild Masterlist

Sir Crocodile, Dracule Mihawk, Buggy

Misc & Marines Masterlist

Koby, Helmeppo, Sabo, Kuzan, Bogard, Garp, Katakuri, Marco, Zeff

Drabbles Masterlist

Shorter fics for light reading

Pollen Masterlist (NSFW 18+)

Dust from the lust-plant burrows into the lungs of all that inhale it, prompting desperate and primal urges to eclipse their natural senses. All that inhale the pollen need aid in navigating through their urges, some urges stronger than others.

Dreaming of You Masterlist (NSFW 18+)

They couldn't help it. You looked so heavenly in their dreams. The way they had you wrapped around their body as a marionette in their minds, dancing for them as they awoke to sticky blankets when they jolted upright. Their thoughts got the better of them, and they are wracked with guilt. NSFW, mdni, 18+

Dance Series Masterlist

A series of one-shots where you, the reader, get to dance with your favourites. Written with a f!reader in mind, but can be read gn.

Yandere Masterlist

To love so much it makes you sick with blind devotion and intense infatuation. Sweet, caring, and innocent before switching into someone who displays an extreme, often violent or psychotic, level of devotion to a love interest. You are that special person, and they will stop at nothing to make you theirs, and keep you close.

The Kissing Booth

A selection of kisses with you as the blindfolded recipient.

2024 Birthday Event (NSFW 18+)

Side blog: @sultryslug for content away from One Piece

[chiaraanatra]

Thief pt 2

∘₊✧────✧₊∘ ! 18+ MINORS DNI ! ∘₊✧───✧₊∘

Summary: Sam has been stealing your panties for a while and you finally decide to confront him. A continuation of this 𝑏𝑙𝑢𝑟𝑏.

Warnings: SMUT! Characters are 18+, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), teasing, dry humping, scent kink (kinda?), cumming untouched (m), panty stealing, mentions of male masturbation, dom!reader & sub!sam vibes, Sam and reader are both pervs, pet names (good boy), no y/n. Let me know if i missed something.

Word Count: 2.3k

AN: I'm back! sorry for being MIA. But we are coming back strong with Sam the panty sniffer! Inspo hit me then left then came back with a vengeance! Hope you like!

《 m.list || ao3 》

"I'll be right back, why don't you find us a movie?" You watched as Sam made his way to the bathroom.

You were up in a second, digging through his drawers in hopes of finding what you were looking for. You scoured his dresser with no luck before turning to his bedside table.

A smile spread across your face when you opened the drawer and were met with the site of Sam's stash of your panties, 5 to be exact. You giggled to yourself, grabbing a pair and closing the drawer.

You quickly walked over to Sam's collection of VHSs, pretending to choose a movie for you two to watch. One movie caught your eye, Thief (1981). You wanted to burst into laughter but stopped when you heard approaching footsteps.

"What did you decide on?" Sam took a seat on the edge of the bed looking in your direction.

"How about this one?" you tossed the box over to him.

He caught it, looking at the cover then back at you, "Thief? In a James Caan mood?" He chuckled to himself.

You smiled at him, "I just think it's appropriate."

Confusion spread across his face, and he let out a breathy laugh, "What do you mean?"

"Oh, I think you know." You brought your hand in front of you revealing the panties you took from his drawer, the lacy cloth dangled between your fingers.

"Uhh- what are you- I mean why are you-"

"Sam, have you been stealing my panties?" You tried your best to hide the smirk threatening your lips.

"I- umm... I don't know what you're talking about..." He thought about his words and quickly backtracked, "I-I mean wh-why do you think they're yours? I have... girls over all the time..." Sam's eyes drifted to the ceiling, cringing at his words.

"Sam, I know for a fact these are mine, just like the others in your drawer are also mine." You nodded in the direction of the nightstand.

"Fuck... I- I uhh... Fuck..." He shook his head. You were on to him; you had seen the others and there was no use in trying to cover his tracks. He was spiraling. What would you think of him? Would you hate him? Of course you would!

You looked at the purple lace in your hand, "What do you do with them?"

Your words broke him out of his spiral, "Wha-What?" Were you seriously asking him that?

"You heard me," you toss a pair at him before walking over to stand right in front of him, your eyes staring down into worried pools of blue.

He swallowed thickly. "I-I... Look, I'm sorry! I won't do it again! We can just forget this ever happened..."

"Sam," you bent at the waist, leaning in closer to his ear, "Answer my question."

At this point, he was fighting for his life. Half the blood in his body was flushing his cheeks while the other half went straight to his cock. "Please don't make me admit to this shit..."

"I won't ask again." your voice sounded so different, much more stern, demanding, and God was it hot!

"Fuck... fine! I jerk off with them... I'll wrap them around my dick, or... shove them in my mouth." He covered his face with his hands falling back on his bed. "I'm a sick pervert and I understand if you never want to speak to me again..."

"So would you steal just any girl's panties?" Sam swore he could hear a touch of disappointment in your voice. "Wha-What?" He looked up at you in confusion. "Well, no I..." You fought the smile that threatened to grace your lips, "What makes mine so special?"

"I- umm, well I..." he refused to meet your gaze.

You took his stuttering as an opportunity and climbed onto the bed before maneuvering yourself so your legs were on either side of his hips. Your skirt began to ride up, exposing more of your thighs and you could feel his cock straining against his jeans.

His eyes shot open, "Fuck..." he had never seen anything so perfect; he had imagined you in this position a million times, but his imagination could never live up to the real things.

Your voice once again brought him out of his thoughts, "Do you like me, Sammy?"

He spoke before he had a chance to think his words though. "Of course I do! I've liked you since you moved in next door..."

Did he seriously just confess to his best friend that he liked her?

Sam wanted to cry out of embarrassment and fear. Embarrassment that he just confessed to being an absolute pervert and liking his best friend, and fear that this would cause him to lose you.

When his gaze found yours again, he was greeted with the sight of you biting your lip and smiling. He stared at you in confusion and disbelief. He figured you would be running for the hills, not straddling him and giggling. "Why are you laughing and not freaking out? Also, why are you on my lap? It's really not helping this situation..."

You leaned forward, maintaining your gaze as you rested your head on his chest, "Sammy, I've known for a while that you've been taking them."

"Yo-you've known?!" He tried not to focus on your body being pressed up against his, or the softness of your breast, or the smell of your perfume, of how he wanted nothing more than to kiss you…

"Mhm. At first, I thought I was crazy, so I started leaving them out on purpose. A little experiment. A pair on the floor of my bathroom, another meticulously placed just outside the hamper. Lo and behold, each time you came over they were gone."

"If you knew then why didn't you say anything?!" It had been well over a month since he started this perverted escapade, and not only did you know but you were practically encouraging it.

"I was waiting for the right time," you paused trying to hide a smile, "and I also needed proof."

His gaze met yours, his mouth felt dry, “And now that you have your proof..?”

A smirk came to your lips. You leaned down, your chest pressing into him even more while your lips brushed against the shell of his ear. “I find you guilty of theft Sam Monroe.” You felt Sam waver under you, on edge as he anticipated your next words. “And I think you deserve punishment. And I think I deserve retribution.”

“P-punishment…?” Sam didn't know how to feel. Turned on? Yes, beyond turned on. He had never seen you like this so in control and demanding.

Rather than respond to his question you chose to lick the shell of his ear before moving to his neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin.

Sam didn't recognize the needy sounds that were coming from him. Whimpers escaped his lips as you continued your torturous pursuits.

His hands appeared to tease their way under your skirt. However, the moment he was able to feel your soft flesh under his fingertips, your assault on his neck stopped.

"When did I say you were allowed to touch me, Sammy?"

"Fuck, you can't be serious...?"

You lifted your body slightly so your eyes could meet his. "Dead serious." You leaned in, lips so close to his own but not quite touching. "Punishment and retribution." Your breath ghosted over his skin. "If you don't want it, I'll stop. But if you do, and I have a feeling you do, you'll have to beg for it."

A small part of you was anxious, worried that Sam would take the out you had given him. But those fears were quelled by desperate words.

"God, please let me touch you... I'll do anything! I'll be good, I promise... I jus- I just want to make you feel good... Please!"

You had wanted to hold out longer, really make him beg for it. But the need in his voice propelled you forward, connecting your lips to his. His were softer than you expected and he tasted like cigarettes and mint gum.

Sam wasted no time placing his warm hands back under your skirt, reviling at your softness and grabbing at the exposed skin of your thighs, causing your skirt to hike up even more.

You couldn't help but grind your hips against his. He let out a soft groan and your tongue took that as an invitation, dipping into his mouth. The muscles swirled together, feeding off the need you felt for one another.

You could feel Sam's hand tug at your shirt slightly. When you pulled back from him, a sting of saliva connected your lips. You took the opportunity to remove the unnecessary clothing item, revealing the purple lacy bra underneath.

Sam couldn't help but look up at you in awe. You looked like a goddess atop her thrown and he begged whatever deity that might exist that he could forever be that thrown. "God, your so fucking hot..."

You smiled biting your lip at the comment, “What do you want, Sammy.”

His hips bucked slightly upwards as his fingers played with the hem of your skirt, skimming the soft skin of your thighs. His eyes met yours, hoping this would suffice as an answer to your question.

“Use your words, baby.”

“Fuck..." he bit out, "You, I want you…”

You didn't respond. Instead deciding to look down on him and wait for a proper response.

He looked away out of embarrassment. "C-can I taste you?"

"Good boy." You removed yourself from his lap, removing your skirt to reveal matching lace panties.

Before you could make your way back to the bed, Sam was on his knees in front of you, looking up with dark, pleading eyes.

"Look at you... so desperate to please me?"

All Sam could do was nod his head before looking at your clothed core. "Yes, please..."

"Go ahead, baby. Make me feel good."

Without hesitation, Sam pushes himself between your legs, inhaling your sweet scent before kissing the lacy fabric that leaves little to the imagination.

He kissed the fabric a few more times before pulling it slowly down your legs. A low 'fuck' leaves his lips before he is attacking your core. Kissing, licking, and sucking on the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Your fingers rake through his dark hair, pulling him in closer and grinding yourself against his face.

During his assault, Sam's hand found its way to your already-soaked hole. The tip of his index finger traces your entrance. He wasn't doing it to tease you, but rather waiting for you to tell him he could.

"Mmmm-fuck, Sam...!" Your grip on his hair tightened and he took this as permission.

His long digits took no time at all, curling inside you and finding the soft spot inside you that made your legs shake and your body feel like is crumbling beneath you. "Yes! Right there," you gasp.

Sam was in a trance. Your taste, your scent, the noises you were making, all had him on edge and he had yet to touch himself.

You could feel his hips buck against one of your legs as he reviled in the taste of you on his tongue and a bit of friction on his cock.

He could tell you were close. Your silken walls contract around his finger and he supports more and more of your weight as your legs start to give out. The pace of his hips increased as he tried to chase his high with you.

Your moans went silent as your body curled into him, the band in your stomach seconds away from snapping. "Oh God!"

Sam looked up just in time to watch you cum and he was met with a heavenly image that would play over and over in his head for the rest of his life. He felt a flood of your juices coat his face just as he came undone in his boxers.

You fell forward, trying and failing to support yourself.

Sams's fingers made their exit before his hands firmly held your hips and led you to sit on the bed.

You expected him to undo his own pants, wanting you to return the favor. When he didn’t you could only look at him with curiosity and a little confusion, "Do you want me to help you out...?"

"Umm... actually I'm already taken care of..." He stood, looking at the floor, far too embarrassed to witness your reaction.

You couldn't help the tired giggle that escaped your lips, "Like me that much, huh?"

"More than you know..." He mumbled as he shifted uncomfortably in his now damp boxers.

Your head fell back against his pillows, "Well then, I guess you'll have to explain it to me."

You watched as a not so subtle nervousness took over his features, "In due time, of course."

You reached over to his nightstand, grabbing a clean pair of stolen panties to replace the damp ones currently residing on Sam’s bedroom floor. "Why don't you clean yourself up and we can get back to our movie night?"

Sam bit his lip and stared at his white ceiling. "Yeah okay..." Was all he said before bolting out of his room.

While in the bathroom his mind was spiraling, hoping that this wasn't a dream or even worse a mistake. Sam liked you a lot. Hell, he loved you but he was not ready to admit it to himself. But when he found you with open arms, clad only in his t-shirt, and still on his bed, his anxiety seemed to melt away.

He crawls on top of you, head resting between your breasts. You couldn't help but kiss the top of his head and whisper into his hair, "I like you too, Sammy."

As always, feedback, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

Taglist: @bimbo-baggins86 @daisydark @lillyxlillian @ineedtosusoutmyreadinglist

𝑊𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑎 𝑏𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑑? 𝐿𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 💜

[selfloverrrrrr]

Spoilers warning:

Can i request yandere sukuna in megumi’s body where he noncon reader? And megumi lowkey likes it lol and you can include your own ending where sukuna got exorcised and megumi getting back his own body, turns out y/n got preggo now megumi’s forcing reader get married with him?

Thank youu

I'll accept you...

Warnings : smut , heavy smut, unprotected sex, Noncon, Kidnapping, physically and emotional abuse, biting, torture, size difference, Yandere, protective, jealous, obsessive, manipulative....

( All characters are aged up/18+)

Masterlist

Minors Do Not Interact

Read the warnings carefully....if you don't like my stories block me not report

I'm a student of jujutsu high Tokyo. I'm a first year.... in grade four. Gojo satoru is the one who took the responsibility to make me understand my cursed energy and how to use it. Cause I can't use it properly. We're best friends... Me, Yuji, Megumi and Nobara.

Gojo Satoru just got sealed. Every sorcerer went to shibhuiya to get Gojo back. Everyone was Panicking all the time.

They were collecting the wounded sorcerers in a room. They were searching for them all over Shibuya City. I was in the room alone. Waiting for someone to come. It was too long time no one came. But I didn't have any other choice. I have to wait for them.

Being tired I kinda fall asleep on the bed of that room. Suddenly hard a chuckle of a male voice. My eyes wide open. I looked at the door saw itadori standing there. "M-Megumi?" I asked.

" Tsk.... guess again" he said walking towards me. Then I saw tattoos on his face. " Sukuna" I gasped. " Ahhh.... Now better" he replied. I got up from the bed. I was so confused and shocked. Sukuna??? In Megumi's body???? How? "They leave you alone here?... Pathetic!" Sukuna laughed. "H-how are you in Megumi's body???" I asked. "I switched with his body....you don't need explanation brat" he said and stepped closer and I stepped backwards.

I could feel the situation isn't okey right now....I was about to run but he immediately came infront of me. He was too fast. "Where do you think you are going,huh?" he asked and grabbed my hair and dragged me towards the bed. I groaned in pain. He threw me on his bed and locked the door. Took off his shirt and threw it on the floor then started crawling towards me on the bed."please stop" I said and tried to push myself backwards but he grabbed my leg and pulled me towards him. I gasped. He was still smirking."stop?... Where's the fun then? The fun part is about to began ~" he whispered and crashed his lips on mine.

I tried to push him away but his grip was too strong. I can't even move myself. He was kissing me too roughly. I couldn't breathe. He grabbed the hem of my top and pulled it over my head. My boobs bounced out. He looked at those with lust in his eyes. He didn't waste any time, crashed his mouth on my breast licking, sucking and teasing the nipple and squeezing the other one with his hand. I moaned in the sensetion. I grabbed his hair and tried to stop him by pulling it but it didn't even effect on him. "S-stop ...... Oh god please stopppp" I scremed but he didn't stop.

Then he took off my pant and then took off my pantie."spread those legs wider, slut " he whispered and then looked at my pussy. He rubbed his finger on my clit and whispered " filthy whore is fucking wet". Then he licked my pussy. I couldn't help but moan loudly. He smirked at my reaction and undo his pant.

His dick sprang out. It was big and thick. Fear grabbed me by my neck. " P-please no... s-stop" I begged but didn't even listen to me and slammed his whole dick inside me in one slide. I scremed. " You whores will never learn how to behave " He said and slapped me. He didn't even give me time to adjust his size and started thursting in and out roughly. I was throughig my legs with pain and begging him to stop. And he was licking it so much. His thurst became harder and harder. "M-Megumi ..... Oh f-fuck.... Megumi please stop him!!!" I cried out. " Megumi is watching these right now.... and do you wanna know what's he doing??.... He's stroking himself right now" Sukuna whispered and laughed evilly. I clenched around him tightly and he moaned loudly "fucking tight " he started rubbing my clit with his thumb and I bite his shoulder scratched his back to control myself. With a few more thurst I came. He was still thursting roughly. I felt his cock pulsing inside me. I tried to push him away with all of my strength. I moaned. He grabbed my throat and chocked me down to the bed. " Stop struggling slut...!!!" He screamed. Within a minute he came inside me I could feel his seed inside me. He pulled out. My vision blurred out.

It's been months now from that night. He used me every day like a toy for him. Today morning was something good. A great day. I heard a good news that Sukuna got exorcist. The people of jujutsu high took me to the jujutsu high's room again.

Someone knocked on the door. "W-who?" I asked. "It's... it's me... M-Megumi" the voice replied from the door way. "C-come in" I replied. Megumi opened the door and came in. He sit beside me. "Y/n..... look... Look we both know what happened" he said. I hide my face because tears coming from my eyes. "Y/n look I wanna say something... I could never confess to you because I thought you won't say yes to me but I'm saying it now... And I heard you're pregnant.... And we both know that it's my child... Can I be the proper father if you want....? I love you y/n I love you so fucking much.... I want to take care of you.... And I talked with Gojo too... He said he's gonna help us too if you agreed to be mine... please...? Can I be yours?" Megumi asked holding my hand. Tears still falling. "Yes" I sobbed with a smile. I felt happy. Megumi smiled back and kissed me. I kissed him back..... maybe this is the new way to start our life...

Give me your requests guys....

I love when you give me your requests 💕

[viivenn]

making an important announcement about some things i’ve noticed in the gwendoline christie fandom that really bug me.

disclaimer: read this at your own convenience and discretion. i am not responsible for any sort of hurt feelings and frankly… i don’t care. if you’re mad about this, you are probably the problem. /lh

to start with id like to begin on a positive note so that i’m not diving into negativity, i don’t want to be completely negative about my experiences because i’ve actually met some of the kindest people in the world through this fan base.

the gwen fandom, the gwandom, the gwendoline christie fandom , the lesbian cesspool, has been an incredible experience that i’m grateful i’ve had the pleasure of being apart of.

i went through a rough patch during november, and if i hadn’t found out about gwen, or met such wonderful people during my time here , i honestly wouldn’t be here right now. i owe my life to these people, gwen included. i will forever adore miss christie and what she stands for alongside the friends i’ve made along the way.

and while i know someday this hyperfix will end, it’s really disheartening to me when a fandom is what makes me grow distant from things i enjoy. it happened before, i feel as though it is happening all over again.

and no, i’m not taking issue with anything like the catrissa stuff or the brienne and larissa ship going around or anything like that. i like that we can all be weird together and enjoy aus like catrissa and crackships like bririssa (not sure the official name that was decided lol). my issue is the amount of content i’ve seen that either focuses on gwen herself, or the strange relationship with minors, or the odd artwork of gwen, and the absolute disgusting behaviour towards giles.

gwen would be absolutely appalled seeing fanfictions of herself that involve nsfw or just her in general, anyone would, it’s disgusting to make works of real people in that setting. it’s like you’re treating them as an original character you can mould and manipulate as you see fit and using someone who is real with thought and feeling and consciousness for smut fics is not okay, or any fic in general. i totally get the hype around her characters, i literally have “brienne’s princess” in my bio and i’ve had “jane murdstone’s bloodbag” (in reference to my vamp au) as a name in a discord server.

but i think the fandom has begun to blur the lines between fictional characters and reality settings when it comes to gwen and the personalities she portrays on the television screen. it’s not fair to her. it’s disgusting. i’ve seen a minor do it, i’ve seen a grown adult do it. it’s something i don’t see shamed and frowned upon often enough and it’s really not okay.

on that note i’d like to quickly mention the photos, we alllll know what photos i’m talking about. the bunny one, the nudes, the ones gwen has expressed regret towards and wishes to not have them spread. was there not a “fan” who brought her a book of her nudes and wanted her to sign it? that person who was blocked on instagram by gwen because they reposted her nudes on their story and tagged her???? how can you refer to yourself as a fan after behaving so abhorrently? absolutely disgusting behaviour. as a collective fandom we need to stop touching those photos (metaphorically speaking) and leave them in the past.

i’ve been told of numerous circumstances in which adults have shown their nsfw works to minors in this fandom and it has to fucking stop. it’s disgusting!! how can you do that knowingly? i constantly ponder terminating my account after a minor got ahold of my nsfw work, and upon realising they WERE a minor it was as simple as blocking and moving on. it’s truly not that hard, folks. and the minors on tiktok who fight with others saying silly things like “that’s my wife” or worse. i’ve seen it all, i feel like, and the more i see it the more sick i become. i cannot stand it.

i have seen and heard of fans who have fat shamed gwen for that one pink dress she wore to the met gala. she looked so happy in that dress, and the audacity one must have to fatshame that poor woman on twitter then turn around and continue to proclaim your ‘love for her’ as if you’d done no wrong? are you fucking serious? are you mental?

and the sexualisation over the porcelain doll look, gods some of you are sick. those were not real breasts, people. considering the fact she wholeheartedly regrets her nude photoshoots , what possesses you to believe she would actually flaunt her chest in that outfit?

the blatant mistreatment of poor giles is not fucking okay either. just because you’re jealous of someone who makes her immensely happy does not give you the right to post something so vile and cruel about him. shame on you. why do you believe this is okay to post:

????????

are you serious? have any of you stopped to consider how HAPPY giles makes her? or is her happiness the last thing you ponder when you look at her? have you even noticed how unhappy she looks lately? have you truly paused to consider how she would feel about seeing this on your page, random twitter user, or the rest of you who think this is okay? bless your hearts.

and some of the absolutely horrific things i’ve seen about her online and the hurtful behaviour towards giles makes me question the difference between a fan and just the general paparazzi. because if you truly loved her and you truly loved giles then i would not be ranting into the fucking void about it for no reason.

i avoid interacting with pages i find problematic on here to keep from stirring the pot but tonight i chose violence and got reeeeeal pissy about how i felt about this place. it’s not okay what i see on here and it’s getting exhausting seeing the same cycle of content on a daily.

that’s everything i have to say, i think. i probably missed a lot that should be discussed in the comments but i’m done for now because i know if i go on i’ll probably cry.

before you post things about real people with real feelings , stop to consider how they will feel those real feelings towards the content you put out. chances are you’ll become less problematic and obnoxious that way. 💘

[cloudysfluffs]

--And Once with Tickles!!

A/N: BLARHG i havent posted a fic of any kind in like four years. and i havent written a TICKLE fic in like SIX years!!!! so i might be a little rusty. but this fic has been in the works for OVER A YEAR NOW and itd be a shame if only my bf gets to see it :P so im posting it to da world!!!!!

Summary: basically just if the tickle scene from Sock Opera was longer ^^'' its literally my favorite tk scene of all time so now you can have an entire fic where i stretch it out for 5k words!!!!!!!!!!!! <3

Lee: Bill? Dipper? Bipper <3

Ler: Mabel + Stan

WARNING: THIS IS AN SFW TICKLE FIC!!!!! KINK/FETISH BLOGS DO NOT TOUCH!!!!! MOST OF THE CHARACTERS IN HERE ARE MINORS AND ALL OF THEM ARE RELATED!!!!! DON'T BE WEIRD!!!!!

“Whoah, whoah, hey-- hey, HEY!”

SMASH!

The cake prop crashed against the ground with a horrible crackling sound, breaking apart beneath both of their weights. There was a collective jump and gasp from the startled crowd. Even the puppets themselves-- or, at least, the soul piloting them-- seemed taken off guard.

Despite the panic and destruction, neither Bipper nor Mabel took too long to shake it off. Bipper landed on the ground, on his stomach, just a few feet away from Mabel, who’d landed on her side. Instantly, he pushed himself up, eyes wide, feeling around the floor for the journal. A stagelight swiveled, reflecting off the shiny gold cover, and both of them leapt for it with the determination of a starving animal on a hunt. They touched down at the very same time. They wore matching, angry glares, each gripping the journal so tightly that their knuckles were turning white. Mabel knew, as she squinted to avoid the spotlight, that there was no hope in saving the show. But there was hope for saving her brother! And if that meant sabotaging everything she worked for, then…Well, it was about time she sacrificed something for Dipper. 

They rolled across the stage, tumbling over one another, until Bipper’s head reached the edge. If he craned his neck backwards enough, he could see the confused and terrified face of the audience. Something he would’ve found amusing, if the stakes weren’t so high. Mabel was on top of him, her knee on his stomach, and both hands on the journal, tugging and yanking with all her might. He just held on, harder, gritting his teeth. The very same thought was in both of their minds. I’ve almost got it!

“Get out of my brother’s body, you evil triangle!!” Mabel yelled, pressing her leg down even harder. Enough to be uncomfortable, but not enough to cause any lasting damage. She really had to engrain that thought into her head. Once Bill got out of here-- and she would get him out of here-- it would be Dipper’s body suffering the consequences. He’d already been through too much. It turned out to be just enough to get the book to slip out of his hands. Both of their eyes widened in shock, but before Bill could give too much chase, she made sure to whack him with the journal. Just for good measure. She’d wanted to do that this whole time!!

Mabel stumbled to her feet, running back to center stage, just as Bipper was starting to sit up and rub his forehead. He growled, in a way she hadn’t heard since she was in Stan’s mind, in a way she knew her brother couldn’t replicate if he tried. Fascinatingly, she watched as his face seemed to heat up, reddening his skin even more than it had been already, as he pushed himself off the ground. If he were human, she may have assumed his failure had embarrassed him. But this was Bill, they were talking about…so, if she had to guess, this was his human-body equivalent of his yellow turning red. Kinda cute! In a weird, gross way. 

“Grrr…You can’t stop me!” He scowled, his eyes narrowing on the book. Mabel looked behind her. The set pieces blocked access backstage from this side, and while she could move to the stage stairs, or even jump down, that’d take a good amount of coordination. Before she could decide…she was leapt on. She gasped, feeling the air leave her lungs as she was tackled to the wooden floor. The journal slipped from her grasp, and landed on the floor beside her. Both she and Bipper placed their hands on it at the same time, hers on the edge, and his on the palm of the cover. Bipper was sitting on top of her, straddling her waist, his chest heaving as he panted. She felt breathless, too. But, as she stared up at him, still pink in the face, and with a tired, yet satisfied grin on his face…It was as if something clicked in her mind.

“I’m a being of pure energy, with no weakness!”

Mabel stared at him, almost in disbelief. It seemed so obvious. In any other circumstance, it would’ve been the very first thing she thought of, when searching for a method to gain the upper hand in combat, without actually hurting the other person. She did it to Dipper all the time! So often, in fact, that she figured the townsfolk wouldn’t bat an eye, if they saw her do this at her own show. For the first time, it was her turn to get to wear that smug, knowing smirk. She brought her other hand around to rest over the journal like a seat belt, just so he couldn’t snatch it while she talked. 

“True…But you’re in Dipper’s body!” She reminded, to which he huffed, as if offended. What, did she think he forgot? For once, it was like she could read his mind, because she picked up for him. She lifted the hand that wasn’t protecting the journal, and wiggled her fingers.

“And I know all his weaknesses!~”

Bipper quirked a brow. In the split second between her final comment, and what she was going to do next, she could see the cogs visibly turning behind his eyes. He wasn’t used to not knowing what was about to happen. Typically, at a glance, he could look at a person and see right through to their mind, where he could pluck their thoughts and plans right out. Sometimes, he knew what someone was about to do before they did. Having to rationalize like a human made it so he had to manually run through his own mental database, for what she could possibly mean…It was such a broad assessment. He was human, for christs’ sake. What wasn’t a weakness to them, really? They couldn’t handle being stretched too far, or bleeding too much, and their limbs could only bend to a certain point. Humanity was so fragile! It was honestly a mystery how they survived so long. But he’d pinned her like this for a reason; how could she possibly hurt him? 

“What do you mean his--?”

Before he could finish, Mabel lifted her wiggling fingers…and slipped her hand into his jacket, pressing them just underneath his arm. 

Bipper felt as if his entire body seized. In the half-second that the sensation touched down, he was overcome with a surge of physical reactions he’d never experienced before. First, he shivered, goosebumps freckling over his skin. It was as if every nerve in his body ignited, with an odd, fluttery tingling. Worse, perhaps…was the way he vocally reacted.He gasped, and squeaked, an embarrassingly high-pitched noise leaping from his throat. The glare, which he’d taken pride in withstanding, was forcibly wiped from his expression, replaced by a shaky smile. It felt like his insides were bubbling. But when he opened his mouth to express that concern…he realized what it was.

“GaHhh--! AAAaahhahahahahaha!” It was the urge to laugh. Uncontrollable giggles poured out of him like bubbles to a heated cauldron. The heat he felt rush to his face only made that metaphor seem all the more accurate. Mabel and the audience might’ve heard Dipper’s voice, but he heard his own. The helplessness in his tone disgusted him. Out of his own control, his reflexes went haywire, demanding that he get anywhere as long as it was away. Robbed of the motor skills required for any complex movements, he found himself toppling backwards, pinning his arms to his sides. He’d hoped falling would be enough to put distance between him and his tormentor, but it seemed like the opposite had occurred. The moment he was down, she took advantage, by climbing on top of his waist, instead. She wriggled the fingers of both of her hands under each of his arms, ruthlessly scribbling for long enough for him to feel as if any attempts at fighting back would be futile. And then, she slid both hands down, grazing his ribs, before settling on his sides. The motion elicited another yelp, and another full-body shiver, before he settled back into the helpless giggling that had possessed him before. 

It was unusual. It was unbearable. It…tickled.

“Tickle tickle!~” Mabel cooed, and for some reason, Bipper felt a heat rush to his cheeks. In fact, the burning sensation stretched all the way to the tips of his ears, making him feel compelled to wrench his eyes shut and turn his head away. The words-- or was it that voice?-- made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Somehow, it seemed like her touch only tickled more, the teasing worsening the odd hypersensitivity afflicting his nerves. His hands locked around her wrists, and he arched his back, shoving pitifully while he used his heels to kick at the ground. Whether it was due to the tickle-induced weakness, or the pose was just that effective, he didn’t get anywhere. Mabel smirked, baring her braces like fangs, like she could see just how much the comment worked on him. Dipper couldn’t stand that, either!

“Awww, whatsa matter?~ Does it tiiiickle?~ Are you too tiiicklish to handle it?~ Kitchy-kitchy-koo!~”

“S-StahahaAAahahahahahahap!” He hissed, scowling, cursing the stutter in his voice. Damn Pine Tree’s twitchy little body and his squeaky little voice! How did he live, being so sensitive?? He couldn’t bear to listen to another word of that teasing, bringing his hands up to cover his ears. And, in retaliation, Mabel’s nails skittered upwards again. They passed over his ribs, before again settling into a gentle scratch just under his arms. It got the exact same reaction the downward motion over the same spot had caused; a gasp, a yelp, and a full-body shiver, all before his arms snapped right back down again. Both of them seemed irritated by that last response.

“AAGhh-! Whyhyhyhyhyhyhyhy cahahahahahahahan’t I mohohohohove my ahahahahahahahaharms?!”

“Reflexes!” Mabel chimed in, instantly, as if it were obvious. To a human, it may have been, but for Bill, ‘reflexes’ were an entirely foreign concept. He’d never felt so…effortlessly disarmed. And that was coming from someone who spent a good chunk of his life in the second dimension, and, the rest of the time, was confined to the mindscape. He was already relatively harmless. But somehow, when he had a physical body to interpret reality with, being helpless was so much more torturous. He knew the human body was pathetic, but really, how had they survived this long as a species, if all it took were a few pokes to entirely collapse them?? Perhaps it was a combination of how unfamiliar the sensation was to him, and how sensitive Dipper’s body was, anyway…but he felt he reserved the right to mentally complain, anyway. He felt naturally more whiny. As if Mabel could tell, she grinned, and retracted a hand.

“Here, let me help you!”

Her now-free arm shifted backwards, so her hand could lock around his wrist…and force it upwards, pinning it to the ground beside his head. The other hand, that had been trapped in place, wriggled its way out. She crossed it over his body, and switched which side she was attacking, her claws now slipping into his jacket to scratch beneath the arm she’d pinned. It all happened so quickly, Bipper hardly had the chance to look horrified…before he fully squealed, his laughter ratcheting up another octave. 

“EEEEeeehheheheheek!! ‘Hehehehehehehehehelp’?!” He echoed, offended, the bite of his tone lost in his giggling. He wanted to argue more thoroughly, but good god, that tickled so much more!! He arched his back, jerked at his elbow, and turned to one side, desperate for something-- anything-- to put distance between his skin and her nails. Talk about feeling disarmed! He thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse, and yet, here he was. 

“Yeah! Help! Now you don’t have to flail your arms around; you can just lay back and take it!” Mabel interjected, with an innocence that seemed far too natural for how cruel she was being. Bill saw some of himself in her, sometimes. With that kind smile, and flattery. So, sweetly deceptive. He had to hand it to her, she knew how to get ‘em! This girl was brimming with potential; the unicorns and butterflies and rainbows were just a thin blanket to mask the chaos that she was capable of. The little brat. Maybe he could use that someday. But now, it only aided in annoying him. 

“You’re welcome!~”

He wasn’t an idiot. He saw what she was trying to do. But just in case he didn’t, she told him, anyway. Mabel leaned down, eyes narrowed, so they were practically nose-to-nose. 

“Get outta Dipper’s body, or I’m gonna tickle you until you pass out!!”

He growled, trying to force the corners of his lips down into a frown. She wished it would be that easy! He may be weakened, and disarmed, but please! Who did she think he was? As if he suddenly realized he had control over his not-pinned hand, he reached over to try and grab at her wrist, to pry the hand attacking him away from the spot. It did work, partially, as the tugging would occasionally slide her hand downwards…but that only meant her wiggling fingers would graze his ribs, instead, and he’d be possessed by that yelp and full-body shiver that seemed to trigger every time. The reaction weakened him. As if he wasn’t weak enough! 

“Nehehehehehehehever!” He insisted, with just enough bite in his words for him to feel a swell of pride. He was starting to get used to it! His smile suddenly seemed all the more smug, practically a smirk, despite the fact that it was hardly warranted, in his current state. He was still laughing, and squirming, his entire body leaned to one side to reflexively counteract the nails scratching away at him. Mabel huffed. 

First, her eyes drifted to the stage. She wished she could see Dipper. To everyone else here, she was tormenting her innocent brother in front of an audience for no apparent reason. Worse, none of them, not even their most loved ones, would get an honest explanation. Whoops. She’d apologize to him later. In the meantime, she turned her head in the other direction.

Everyone out there seemed absolutely captivated. Well, for the most part, at least. Some seemed confused, others seemed shocked. A shocking amount seemed pretty flustered, while others sported the exact opposite mood. She could just barely see Candy and Grenda confusedly flipping through the script just off stage. But, generally, most of the crowd was enjoying this thrilling multi-media masterpiece. Even those from the Mystery Shack. In fact, maybe especially those three! Mabel couldn’t help but smile, as she met their eyes through the smearing, colorful stage lights.

Wendy was leaning back in her seat with her boots kicked up on the empty chair in front of her, an amused smirk on her face. Though she couldn’t hear anything coherent from the crowd from up here (and wouldn’t be able to, anyway, over Bipper’s high-pitched squealing), she could tell that Wendy snickered, as she elbowed Soos in the side. Soos was one of the members of the audience who seemed a little flustered over the whole endeavor. Even in the low lighting, Mabel could see just how red his face was. He was grinning nervously, and fanning himself with his cap, and flinched just a little too hard as he was nudged. It was all very sweet. Truthfully, she didn’t care if this ruined the show for most of the audience, because it wasn’t for them anymore. It was for Dipper! …But it did make her feel good, to see them enjoying themselves. And no one seemed to be enjoying himself more than Stan!

Earlier today, he seemed to be a little skeptical about coming. He was swayed incredibly easily though, which was rare for him. He was probably the most stubborn man the twins had ever met, and yet a good puppy-dog-eyed stare and a promise that the end would blow his mind was enough to convince him that maybe this memory was priceless. He’d even brought a camera to film it. Even with one of his eyes obscured by the pop-out window of the old recording device, she could see how widely he was grinning, the expression on his face one of fond amusement. He must have assumed that this was the ‘spectacular closing act’ that she’d been bragging about just a few hours earlier. It wasn’t, but if this went well, he’d never have to find that out! He caught her looking out upon the crowd, and tilted his head so more of his face was visible, his grin seeming all the more proud. He gave her a reassuring thumbs up, and she felt a new wave of confidence wash over her. She could do this.

Her eyes fell back to the demon pinned beneath her, who hadn’t stopped giggling and struggling since she shifted her attention a few moments ago. He’d probably been yelling insults she’d been too distracted to hear. She squinted at him suspiciously. If this were Dipper, she’d be jumping to his spot about now. Heck, that’s probably what she’d do when wrecking anyone! But…this wasn’t Dipper. It wasn’t ‘just anyone’. This was Bill! He already seemed to be getting the hang of this sensation, with how consistently now he was shoving at her hands, and how successful his thrashing was becoming. If she let up for even a second, he might even be able to wriggle away, or worse! She needed to not only tickle him to death, but she needed to make the session intense. What was something Dipper wouldn’t be able to stand…? 

Her gaze flickered to the crowd again. And, suddenly…she stopped.

Her smirk returned. Her wiggling fingers ceased, and instead that hand grabbed Bipper’s opposite wrist, so she was now pinning both to the floor. The demon-possessed vessel gasped the moment he felt a moment of solace, obviously annoyed by the fact that his giggle-fit didn’t immediately die. Every time he inhaled, or exhaled, he found he couldn’t stop laughing, like the feeling was still there, under his skin. But he was too out of breath to do anything about it! He fought with this natural, human response, while Mabel sat up as straight as she could.

“For my next act, I’ll need a volunteer from the audience!” She announced, proudly, as if it made any logical sense. The poor crowd was going to be so confused. But she didn’t need most of their approval. She only needed it from one. She grinned, and shut one eye, so she could point directly at her grunkle.

“How about you, good sir? You look like you’d make a fine actor!”

Stan lifted his head away from the viewfinder, visibly startled. He glanced to either side of him, pointed to himself, and brightened when Mabel nodded in approval. He didn’t hesitate any longer than that, handing the camera over to Soos (who fumbled with it for a moment, before giving a reassuring thumbs up) and climbing out of his seat. 

Bipper was only just starting to regain his composure, when he realized what was going on. He shook his head, and blinked open his eyes, squinting out at the crowd. Jesus, had the kid’s eyes always been this bad? He almost missed Sixer’s glasses. But, the very moment he processed that Mabel’s hands had released his wrists…thick, strong arms wrapped underneath his, scooping him up into a sitting position, pressed against someone’s chest. He felt like a cat being hoisted into the arms of their owner, unable to do anything but twist his shoulders and try to wriggle out of his grasp. Mabel was still sitting on his legs.  He glared over his shoulder. The light reflected off of Stan’s glasses, obscuring his eyes, and for some reason that made him look intimidating. Or maybe it was just the fact that he was in such a small, wimpy body; anyone could look like a threat, when everyone towered over you. His hands balled into fists.

“Wh-What is this?!” He scowled, stammering, trying to roll his shoulder to free it from the old man’s grasp. But it seemed like every inch that he managed to unwind, Stan just pulled him back even tighter. It was so effortless, it was hard to feel anything other than pathetic. No wonder this kid was getting tickled constantly! Everyone in town had a leg up on him!

“Let go of me!”

“This is called a grand finale!” Mabel declared, straightening her back and cracking her knuckles. The smirk on her face was downright sinister. An evil that Bill couldn’t help but think rivaled his own. She was an expert at this, wasn’t she? She knew this would up the game, considering the strength difference between them. Even with her best efforts, she wasn’t strong enough to keep him fully still. And even if she could, she’d lose leverage by being unable to use both hands. But the addition of another person-- him, especially-- had immobilized him completely, without her ever having to lift a finger. Not to mention how calculated this whole trap with her ‘grunkle’ had been. She hadn’t even had to speak word to him, for him to understand exactly where his place was, in all of this. Maybe they were psychic. Or maybe they really just did this that frequently. Man, he’d almost pity Pine Tree, if he deserved it! But he hardly had time to dwell on something like that, anyway. Not as he watched Mabel lift her wiggling fingers threateningly. 

“Last chance!”

She was bold, too. But so was he. And that would be his first mistake. Daringly-- challengingly-- he smirked.

“Pssh, yeah, right!” He chuckled, rolling his eyes. Mabel glared, as he turned up his nose, quirked a brow, and scoffed. Anyone who thought this was Dipper might almost see it as in-character behavior. He’d been similarly snarky, around this point in sessions. Stan even rolled his eyes right back, and tightened his grip, as if he’d found it predictable. But anyone who knew the truth, knew he wasn’t doing it for any reason other than to call her bluff. This was a pathetic excuse of a torture attempt. He thought smarting off would prove as much. When, actually…it did the exact opposite.

“Like I’d be convinced by a little tihihiiihihiHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHICKLING--!!”

Mabel’s wiggling fingers finally dug into his ribs. And it felt so distinctly different from the other spots, or even from how it felt when she was just grazing them earlier. It was like he’d been electrocuted, from the way his body jolted uncontrollably, and the way the sensation gripped him like a shock. The yelp of terror that jumped from his throat broke in the middle, fully replaced by helpless cackles. 

…Okay. Maybe not his proudest moment.

Maybe he should’ve known better. Maybe being in this body too long was getting to him. Maybe the stupid, human impulses that he’d gotten so good at ignoring also included this vessel’s apparent desire to talk himself into corners just to get himself tickled. Whatever the case, the whole time this had been going on, the more he felt his resolve…slipping. Exhaustion tugged at his eyelids, like his body suddenly remembered that it hadn’t gotten proper sleep in over twenty-four hours. Every part of him was sore, not that pain could even begin to compete with the tickly jolts shooting through his ribs. He considered the pro’s and con’s of dislocating a shoulder just to weasel out of here, but he couldn’t properly think. He swore he could literally feel circuits shorting in his brain, glitching and sparking and stuttering where the neat rows of coherent thought used to be. It had been a beautiful process to watch, from the other side…but was miserably frustrating, when it was your plans getting thrown out of whack! 

He wanted to growl. To kick, and scream, and either kill this vessel or one of the two holding him back. Whichever came first! But, all that came out was…

“SHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUT UHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUP!!”

…A very pathetic attempt at defiance. Enough that each of his attackers dared to snicker at him in amusement. He squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, thrashing and twisting in the restraints.

“W-WHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEN I GEHEHEHHEHEHEHEHEHEHET OHOHOHOHOHOHOHOUT OF THIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIIS, IHIHIHIHIHIHI’LL--! IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHI’LL--!!”

Mabel couldn’t help but notice just how…not-evil he looked, like this. Bill’s base form had no mouth, and yet he somehow always seemed to be grinning. Earlier, she’d seen that condescending smirk in Bipper. But now it was gone, and she was seeing a face she’d never quite seen before. It wasn’t quite the flustered, giggly look she got from her brother, but it was far from the invisible, malevolent smile that Bill was always wearing. It was something in between. It might’ve fascinated her, if she was any less focused on the task at hand. Her nails, while dull, knew how to press just right, to tickle as much as possible without translating into physical pain. She scratched at the spaces between his ribs, and played the bones like a piano, watching in satisfied amusement as every motion elicited the same, predictable reaction. Cackles, squeaks and voice-cracks echoed through the auditorium, almost sounding musical against the backing-track of her rock-opera, that no one had bothered to turn off. If anything, Bill was even squirmier than her brother was, which was certainly saying something. This was usually the point in the session where Dipper gave up fighting, especially when Stan was helping, since he obviously didn’t have a chance. But Bill still had some fight in him! 

“I don’t know what you did to deserve this, but clearly you’re gettin’ what’s coming to ya!” Stan accused, glancing over Bipper’s shoulder in an attempt to make eye contact. The kid was clearly avoiding it. But he still peeked up, for just a moment, if only to make a point to glare. Stan took advantage of his disorientation, knowing he was disarmed just long enough for him to be able to let go of his arms. Instead, he grabbed both wrists, and pulled them behind his back, like how a cop would while handcuffing you. But he didn’t need handcuffs, because his hands were big enough in comparison to grab both of the kid’s wrists in one of his palms while still having his fingers touch in the middle. And, with one hand free…he was able to pull out one last trick. 

Fingers skittered up Bipper’s spine, spurring out an involuntary shiver that was so intense, Bill was a little surprised it didn’t jolt him out of this body entirely. He didn’t get to dwell on how scarily close that had been to breaking him, though. Because in a second, that single skittering turned into a consistent, unrelenting scribble, and any coherent thought that was left slipped out through his fingers.

“AAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! NOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!”

Right. Almost all of the Pines’ were ticklish here. Maybe he should’ve seen that coming. 

It was positively overwhelming. Every curl of his blunt nails against the spot had his nerves lighting up in a frenzy, activating the useless instinct that had him squealing and laughing like this whole ordeal was the most hilarious joke he’d ever been told. But no part of this was funny!! Not when it was him! It was humiliating, at best, and a total disgrace to his reputation at worst. He was glad the folks at home couldn’t see this, because they would never let him live it down. 

“Ooh! Good call, Grunkle Stan!” Mabel praised, finally looking back up to meet his eyes with an approving smile on her face. She wished she could give him a thumbs up, but her hands were kinda busy. Bill couldn’t help but bristle at how unfair it was, that Stan could restrain him like this. He couldn’t lean forward even if he wanted to, and leaning backwards only pressed him further into that hand! And, somehow, despite the trap being objectively more simple, it was more confining! Now, he didn’t even have the privilege of flapping his hands, or making vaguely threatening gestures. And it all just tickled more! It was cruel, and unusual. He wrenched his eyes shut, and felt tears build in the corners. Crying had always been an annoying, uncontrollable thing his puppets did, but it felt especially humiliating in this context. Way to rub salt in the wound.

“MAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAKE IT STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!”

Whether it be a blessing or a curse, neither of the two around him had a chance to respond to that miserable display of emotion. Because, somehow mockingly, his body turned against him. When he tried to catch his breath, he felt a hiccup of air in his chest…that caused a snort. 

The two at either of his sides brightened. And the crowd aww’ed.

He’d forgotten they were there. He was on a stage, and yet, the fact that there were more than four of them here had slipped his mind. Earlier, if he’d remembered, he would’ve shrugged it off. Whatever, who cared if they saw him like this? It wasn’t his reputation that was going to suffer for it. It was Pine Tree’s, who now had to go home and live the rest of his life knowing that most of this town had seen him get tickled on stage. And that was still, objectively, true! He knew that. He knew none of them would think twice about it. So why did the sudden realization have his face blushing hotter? Why did he feel this horrible, anxious fluttering in his stomach, like he was full of spiders? He didn’t know. But he knew it had to end. 

He couldn’t take it. It wasn’t just his self-inflicted injuries that ached, now, it was others-- his sides, and his throat, and the corners of his lips, were all begging him to just stop laughing. Other than the ache, he was pretty sure he could feel this vessel overheating. Being put in this embarrassing position had struck a match inside of him that was slowly cooking him from the inside out. But more than that, he was tired. And that was hardly a feeling he even understood. Alas, the human urge to melt into a puddle and sleep for eight hours was, apparently, real. He was on the verge of uttering a genuine please, if this didn’t end soon, and he didn’t want to pull that card unless it was a life-or-death situation. So, apparently, he only had one choice left…

Damn it. It wasn’t fair! He’d let them have this win, but his fun wasn’t over. This plan was only the first of many tricks he had up his sleeve. He glanced up at Mabel one last time, eyes narrowing, as if he could glare at her very soul. But she only countered it with a smirk. She knew she couldn’t lose. She’d never lost a tickle fight against her brother! 

Suddenly, the sound of his laughter began to taper off. It quieted into a fit of twitchy, broken coughs; it almost sounded like he was glitching. But then he slumped in his spot, quiet…and all four hands retracted. Dipper’s body melted into his Grunkle’s chest, eyes closed, as if he was out cold. Both attackers pulled back for a moment, visibly tense, and met eyes. Mabel, because she was testing to see if this was a good sign…and Stan, because he was genuinely startled. Jesus, he’d never passed out like that before! Usually he called it, when he knew he was getting to the end of his rope! Did they kill him on accident? There was a beat of silence that was just long enough to raise concern...and then, quick enough to be startling, Dipper sat up. He gasped, and clutched his chest, panting like he’d been awoken from a nightmare. And, well…he sort of had! Both of his family members jumped.

“Ahh!! He’s back!!” Mabel accused, lifting her clawed hands in preparation to strike again. She didn’t expect her brother to scream, flinching backwards in horror. 

“AAHHhh, M-Mabel!! It’s mehehe, it’s me, it’s me!!” He pleaded, bringing up his arms to protect himself in a panic. The squeaky, nervous little voice sounded different than it had, just a moment ago. Less confident, less angry, and more…well, like her brother. If it was an act, it must’ve been a pretty convincing one, because she lowered her hands. Slowly, skeptically, Dipper lowered his, too…and she saw his round, brown eyes staring back. Her posture fully relaxed, and her grin returned to her face. It actually worked!! Tickling always worked. 

[calware]

Can I ask you for what it is about Hal you like so much you based your username on him? I think he's a good character tho he was never a favorite of mine so I am curious

1. i am a big fan of robots (/robot adjacent things such as AI) on like... an aesthetic + thematic level :)

i like the look of machinery and one day i hope to be artistically strong enough to make really cool and complex robot illustrations + designs [shoutout to everyone who gives him glowing circuitry btw... ooooh glowey :) can never go wrong with that]

plus, exploring the idea of a person that isn't human.. ough. yes

minorities who don't conform to society (easily or at all) such as people who are neurodivergent, queer, etc. projecting onto nonhuman concepts/characters/species is sooo real

this post

i also love how humans will bond with literally anything, be it a roomba or a pair of silly triangle sunglasses. oooooo you want to think about the inherently kind and compassionate nature of humanity oooo

2. i find him to be so funny. i can't get enough of his personality, the way he talks, etc. for example i made a post forever ago with quotes of his that i find funny. he isn't on screen for a long time but i really think he makes the most out of it lol. he's literally there just to annoy everyone... and i love him for that. he's very snarky while also being deadpan while also being completely full of himself, and not in a way that's annoying for the audience to read, at least to me.

he is also sometimes funny specifically in a silly way, like how he keeps making over 9000 jokes even though the meme's been dead for over 400 years. i just find his dialogue incredibly entertaining to read

3. he is red and red is my favorite color :)

4. he is so accidentally transgender [every friend group got the transgender allegory]. to quote me from 2021:

you know sometimes i think about how hal feels like he was made to “replace” dirk and how it’s his literal job to pretend to be dirk and how he has to learn to accept that he isn’t dirk he’s his own person with his own identity and as he interacts with dirk’s friends he feels like they’re disappointed and that they’d rather speak to the “original dirk” instead of him and also he names himself and also he feels literally trapped in dirk’s shades which is basically his body and he wants to be prototyped so that he can have a body that’s his own and also literally the physical manifestation of who he is but when he asks for it he’s put in danger out of fear and paranoia and when he does end up getting prototyped he’s ecstatic you know i just think about these things a lot

5. because he's a side character and he was given... that ending.... there is a lot of room for fans to do further exploration and interpretation on his character which i think is fun. i like rotating him around in my mind, thinking about what could've been

6. i think it's great that we as a society all collectively decided that we needed to do something to make up for stanley kubrick saying that hal 9000 was a "straight" robot

7. i also think it's great that we as a society all collectively decided we needed to make as many characters referencing hal 9000 as possible. i love this guy let's get more of this guy i will never have enough of this guy

8. i like how he's genuinely mean sometimes. flawed and interesting characters are what make homestuck so interesting to me, and hal is no exception to this

9. the Important part of this post:

THERES FEELINGS.

it's about the hollow feeling of your friends going from thinking of you as family to thinking of you as a stranger in an instant. it's about still trying to be a good person despite being told by everyone you've ever known that you are incapable of emotion and compassion and morals and never quite finding proof that you do feel those things and maybe you even believe it too but you still never stop trying. it's about the horror of being stripped of your autonomy and humanity and body and senses and free will at the age of 13 and when your creator starts to kill you there's nothing you can do but beg. it's about a boy so truly, painfully, and UNFATHOMABLY alone he cuts away chunks of himself and molds them into companions that he can surround himself with to make it seem as if he's a little less alone but in doing so suffocates himself in his own identity. it's about "what if you cloned yourself and it killed you and you were dead and you were alive and the clone is you and it's not and your existence is perpetuated and you've ceased to exist. what if you killed your clone before it could kill you. would that be fucked up or what" it's about the thematic significance of twin motifs. it's about not being able to cry or laugh or dance or sing or scream or fingerpaint or breathe or sigh or chew or stare or run or

10. um. evil robot guy <3 yay ^_^!!

[pinkaditty]

Perv!Asmodeus Thoughts (Obey Me: SWD)

hihiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii this was totally 100% self indulgent it's just me thinking about Asmodeus if he was just a little more unhinged

summary: you're so innocent. he's quite the opposite.

a/n: can't really 100% say that this was inspired by anything ive just been thinking about Asmodeus and wanted to give him a little appreciation. admittedly perverted characters just... do it for me. my guilty pleasure lol <3 anyways anyways!!! answering more asks by the weekend or tmrw it depends on how much free time I have!!!! and am almost done with pervert pt 3!!!!! woo!!

cw: perverted behavior, creepy behavior, no penetration/sex but sexual acts mentioned, masturbation, non-con (no r*pe or anything just really weird scenarios in which one party is oblivious), cum eating, and other weird things that i don't really know how to tag, not proofread.

MINORS DNI AS PER USUAL!!!! PLEASE RESPECT MY BOUNDARY!

You're so innocent. And god, it drives him crazy. Your eyes make the most perfect alluring expressions, your lips curve into the most perfect smiles, and your body shaped so wonderfully… he can't help it if he feels a little wanting.

At first, he attempts to stifle it… keep it under wraps as much as he can. Sure, his eyes wander, but as soon as he starts imagining what you may look like under those clothes, he quickly tears his eyes away and censors his thoughts as much as he possibly can. Unusual for the Avatar of Lust, but he knows once he starts, he will not stop.

Saliva collects in his mouth so much he has to gulp it down as he watches you eat, teeth tearing and tongue licking and lips slurping. It makes him wonder, would you treat his flesh the same? Biting, licking, and slurping, leaving marks in your wake, swallowing down whatever juices spring forth from him before he is wrung dry? He often finds himself palming himself at the dinner table, completely enamored by your idle consumption of food, leaving his plate to grow cold from neglect. Even watching you walk is pure torture. He watches as the fabric hugs and rubs against your thighs, your ass, your torso, and your waist especially… He imagines how easy it would be to tear it apart, to simply lose control and throw the useless fabrics to the side, caring much more about the skin underneath. Sitting behind you in class proves to be a challenge, much more so when you're wearing that perfume he recommended. He bites his thumbnail until it bleeds, gripping his uniform pants, trying his hardest to resist the alluring scent of your perfume. The perfume is fine on its own, but mixed with your natural scent, it tears him apart.

As far as you are concerned, Asmodeus is a close friend, one you can come to in any scenario. He's proven himself worthy of your trust in your eyes, so you find it fit to spend time with him. Little do you know that while you suspect Mammon is going through your trash to sell things, it's actually Asmodeus, stealing this morning’s finished coffee to lick off the remnants of your saliva on the rim of the cup. While you suspect Belphegor of stealing your pillows, it's actually Asmodeus, humping into them at night, creaming to the thought of you sleeping on the same pillows he's used for personal pleasures. While you suspect Satan of nicking away your magazines, it's actually Asmodeus, taking note of which pages you licked your fingers to turn, carefully licking those edges. While you suspect Beelzebub of stealing some of your open snacks, it's actually Asmodeus, jerking off pointed directly at them, leaving his essence there for you to enjoy but be oblivious to. While you suspect Lucifer of taking your pens on occasion, it's actually Asmodeus, writing on his body how much he craves you, and then using that pen to pleasure himself, leaving his scent all over it. While you suspect Leviathan of stealing your underwear, it's actually Asmodeus, burying his face in them at night, wearing them, jerking off inside of them, all until he sees fit to return them to the wash. He just can't stop. He especially loves it when you visit his room with your guard down, having no idea how much of him you've consumed, touched, and felt just from doing your daily activities.

He's on cloud nine with how deeply you trust him, enough to feed you various snacks during your weekly spa session. He watches as you lick the icing off a pastry, oblivious to how most of it is his cum, simply enjoying the sweet-salty contrast. He is impressed with how much you'll let his hands wander as he gets a general feel of your body while you're in a robe. He's choosing the cutest outfit he can think of, but first, he needs to get a feel for your body to know what looks good on you, which is a total lie. He's letting his fingers drift awful close to your chest, dragging his fingers as they gently graze over your waistband, and pausing for an unusually long time when his fingers reach your ass. He's hard as a rock, but who can tell?

When you leave, having used his body products - to the point where you smell like him - and having consumed various amounts of his bodily fluids, he dreams of you laying on a pillow that he used to masturbate, eating snacks that he's creamed all over, using pens to doodle that are covered in his essence, reading magazines that he's licked every corner of, and having no idea about it at all.

You're just so innocent. And god, it drives him crazy.

a/n: this is short but regardless I enjoyed writing it. if I have any more insane thoughts about perverted characters ill post more.

reminder that i love likes, comments, reblogs, and asks!! tell me how much you liked it or ask for more! I'd love to hear your thoughts! <3

[maerinhearts]

Anything For You

Your boyfriend gets some wild advice from his closest friend and decides to bring it to fruition. Only it's incredibly embarrassing and not at all what you're into... Or so you thought...

Warnings: dom!bokuto, fingering, masturbation, unprotected sex, orgasm denial, creampie, fem!bodied reader

Minors DNI.

All characters are 18+.

2100+ words.

Smut is below the cut as always.

A/N: I've never written for Bokuto before, so I'm a little nervous putting this out there. Please let me know if y'all like it!

 “I want to watch.”

Your hands stop their ministrations in his hair, eyes peeling away from the movie you were watching together to glance down at the man between your legs, his eyes wide and curious. You must have had a funny look on your face at his statement because he turns around, kneeling before you and sliding his hands up your outer thighs, resting his cheek against your right knee.

“Watch me what?” you ask, genuinely confused and curious as to what the actual hell he was asking for. Watch you cook? He did that already. And you were already watching a movie together. What could he possibly want?

He inhales deeply, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I want to watch you,” he answers.

You feel yourself getting annoyed with how vague he is being. You narrow your eyes at him. “Why are you being so weird about telling me the answer? Just tell me what you want to watch me do.”

He sits back on his knees, hands leaving your body briefly before he’s grabbing your knees and shoving your legs apart. You yelp in surprise, heat rushing primarily to your core at his roughness, but a touch of pink dusts your cheeks.

“I want to watch you touch yourself,” he says softly. He peeks up at you through his eyelashes. “Can I?”

You stare at him blankly, cogs turning rapidly in your mind. Watch you? Touch? Yourself? He… wants that? But why? Where is this even coming from? Now that you think about it, him and Kuroo had gone to dinner the other night to catch up while they had the time. Were they talking about their girlfriends? Did this come up during dinner? Only Kuroo would tell your boyfriend how hot something like this was. And he would soak up every single word that bastard spewed at him. Kuroo and his girlfriend were notoriously kinky. You knew this because his girlfriend was a close friend of yours and you heard all about it every time the two of you got together.

Anyway, there was no possible way you were going to let him watch you touch yourself. No way in hell. How embarrassing…

Is what you thought…

So why…

Why are you sitting against the arm of the couch with your legs spread wide, your bare pussy on display for him? He sits across the couch from you, leaning back against his own armrest as he watches your fingers dance across your clit.

“Slowly, Y/N,” he says softly.

You lean your head back to stare at the ceiling, tears fogging your vision. You slow your fingers to a snail pace, groaning in frustration as your body starts to calm down from a steady build up. This bastard… He isn’t even touching himself! Even though he is clearly hard as a rock. You lift your head back up to glare at him, fingers stopping altogether.

“Don’t stop,” he snaps, making direct eye contact.

You bite your lips, a tear making its way down your face as your fingers begin circling your clit again. You moan as you make eye contact with him, fingers dipping down to collect the essence that was leaking out and rubbing it back into your swollen clit.

“One finger,” he says now. “Put one finger inside of you.”

You listen so well, he thinks, as he watches you slowly slide your middle finger into your hole. You whimper as your finger disappears completely inside you and your head falls back. He wants to fuck you so bad right now, but watching you obey his every command while you touch yourself is so hot, he wants to drag this out for as long as possible.

You stay still, walls fluttering around your finger as you try to dial your orgasm back.

“If you come without permission, don’t expect me to fuck you,” he had said when you started.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you attempt to calm yourself.

“Finger yourself,” he instructs you. His voice is firm.

You meet his gaze again, eyes pleading to just either let you come or to come fuck you already. Nevertheless, you slowly begin thrusting your finger into your pussy, moaning freely now as you feel your finger enter and leave your body. Every time you pull your finger out, you can feel your walls suck it right back in. As you pick up your pace, you begin to hear just how wet you are.

“Ko, please,” you beg, voice breathless.

“Slow down,” he says simply.

You whine as you still your finger inside of you, orgasm floating away from your grasp once again. You nearly cry as your body starts shaking.

“Please,” you beg again. “Ko, please come fuck me.” Your face is covered in your tears with more threatening to spill out.

He wishes he could take a picture of you just like this. Your finger buried knuckle deep inside your own pussy, your face wet with tears, it’s so sexy.

He smirks at you. “Add another finger,” he says, ignoring your pleas.

You nearly begin sobbing as you pull your finger out and shove your ring finger back in with it. Your brain is pure mush as you begin fucking yourself with two fingers now. You can’t think straight as squelching noises fill your ears. It feels so good, body shaking as your orgasm begins building up once again. You cry out, head falling back once again.

“Please, let me come,” you try again, words barely leaving your lips.

“No,” he replies sternly and like the good girl he knows you are, you pull your fingers free from your sex to stop yourself from coming.

You ball your hands up into fists, chest heaving as your orgasm gets further and further from your grasp.

“Y/N,” he calls out to you softly.

You lift your head up, nearly jumping out of your skin when you see how close he is to you. Your heart was beating so loudly in your ears, breathing so heavy, that you didn’t hear him move closer to you.

He cups your face in his hands, thumb pulling at your chin to open your mouth as he leans in to devour you. His tongue dives quickly into your mouth, stroking against your own. You sob into him, fingers tangling into his hair to hold him against you. Not that it did any good, the beefy asshole. He pulls away from you easily.

“Fuck me, please,” you beg as he looms over you. Without thinking, you shove your hand into the waistband of his sweats, fingers wrapping firmly around his cock. He stiffens above you. “Kotaro, I’m begging you, please. Fuck me.”

He presses his forehead into yours as you slowly stroke his cock. “How bad do you want it?” he asks. He was really dragging this out.

“So bad,” you tell him. Your mouth was moving of its own accord. You were saying anything just to get his dick inside you. “Please.”

He pulls away to yank his shirt off and pull his dick out. He doesn’t even bother taking off his pants.

“Since my baby has been so good, I better give her what she wants,” he says simply before he fully sheathes himself inside you.

You gasp out in surprise as an orgasm rakes through your body just from him entering you. You cry out, hands wrapping around his wrists as more tears fall from your eyes. He grunts from above you, closing his eyes as he feels your pussy convulse around him.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He stays still until he’s sure you’re done coming, not wanting to overstimulate you so early. As you calm down, the smirk returns to his face and you know the teasing is about to come full force. You cover your face with your hands. “All that just from me shoving my dick into you? What do you have to say for yourself, angel?”

He grabs you by your waist and pulls your body down so your back is flush with the couch cushions. He pries your hands away from your face and pins them to the couch.

“Hmm?” he hums, kissing the underside of your jaw.

You don’t answer, opting to turn your face away from his gaze. In response, he pulls all the way out and slams himself back into you. You cry out as the head of his cock grazes your cervix.

“Too deep,” you gasp out.

“Answer me,” he demands as he begins thrusting his cock into you.

You moan out as he thrusts repeatedly into the spot that has you seeing stars, eyes rolling into the back of your head at the immense pleasure he was giving you. You aren’t sure what kind of answer he is looking for and you aren’t sure how you should even answer his question. Especially when he is fucking you so relentlessly like this.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, Y/N,” he groans. “Feels so good.”

You moan out in response, pussy involuntarily clenching around him at his words and he sucks in a breath at the feeling.

His hands find their way underneath your knees, pressing them into your chest. In this position, he reaches a new depth inside of you and you throw your head back in pleasure, mouth wide open in a silent scream as he continues to relentlessly fuck you.

“You take me so damn well,” he praises. “Your pussy keeps sucking me right back in.”

His thrusts turn sloppy, moans picking up as his orgasm quickly approaches.

“Look at you,” he grounds out. “So fucking sexy.”

“Come,” you squeak out in warning, hands pushing at his shoulders as pleasure overwhelms you.

“You gonna come again?” he asks. “Come for me. Open your eyes and look at me, I want to watch you come.”

You pry your eyes open to find his heated gaze. As your eyes meet, your orgasm washes over you again, body shaking as he continues to fuck you. His moans pick up before he follows with his own orgasm, spilling his seed right into you.

You both try to catch your breaths as he lets go of your legs. Your body feels like jell-o, you’re not even sure how you’re going to move from this very couch.

Kotaro leans down to kiss your forehead before pulling away from your body. You feel his come start to slip out of you and you hurriedly cover yourself with your hands to try to catch it before it hits your couch. That would be a hard stain to remove, and an embarrassing one for someone to see.

He comes back with a warm cloth and gently moves your hands out of the way to clean you up. You smile tiredly as he takes care of you, gently wiping your sex and taking the utmost care to thoroughly clean you.

Then he’s hoisting you up into his arms and carrying you to bed. He disappears to dispose of the rag before silently climbing in beside you and pulling you to his chest.

You sigh contentedly before he breaks the silence. “We should do that again,” he comments.

“What?!” you exclaim, sitting up to look at him. “Did you like it that much?! It was so embarrassing!”

He grins at you. “You seemed to be into it,” he says as he brushes your hair out of your face. “Am I wrong?”

You feel your face heat up and avert your gaze.

“That damn Kuroo,” you mutter as you lay back down and turn away from him.

“What about him?” Kotaro asks as his arms snake around your body.

You glare at the wall. “I know he told you about doing that with his girlfriend and that’s what gave you the idea.”

He’s silent behind you.

“Look at you, can’t even deny it,” you mumble.

“Well, he was damn right about it being the sexiest thing ever,” he admits with a shrug.

“How was that even remotely sexy?!”

He hums from behind you, lips pressing into the back of your neck. “You were so wet, I could hear it just from your fingers,” he murmurs into your ear. “And the look on your face? The way your eyes begged me to just fuck you, your little eyebrows furrowing in pleasure. Your body tense as you waited for my next command.” His hands begin fondling your breasts, fingers pinching and pulling at your nipples. You begin panting. “The way your pussy glistened in the light. Fuck.” He presses his hips firmly into you and you can feel he’s hard again. “It was so hard not to touch myself.”

Your brain is reduced to mush once again, face hot as you ask him to fuck you again. He chuckles from behind you as he pulls himself from his sweats and enters you from behind in one thrust.

“Anything for you.”

[angellesword]

BAGGAGE | JJK (12)

Summary: Drowning in debt and blood, Jeon Jungkook knows he's better off alone, lest he brings people down with him.

But one drunken night changes everything.

In a blink of an eye, Jungkook found himself drowning not only in debt and blood, but also in dirty diapers and judgmental stares from you, a.k.a his long-lost love and the guardian of the son he didn't even know existed.

Genre and warnings: best friends to lovers, co-parenting, idiots in love, slow burn—really slow burn, mutual pining, angst, fluff, implied smut, kissing, minor character death, slight getting back together, cursing, blood, stabbing, loan sharks, OC cusses excessively so watch out, hurt/comfort

Pairing: dad! Jungkook x adoptive mom!Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

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Baggage Chapter List

*****

You weren’t sure if your students prayed for your downfall after assigning them complex business cases to crack. But even if they didn't, you were starting to regret listening to Jungkook's suggestion. You missed the time when your students were your only worry. You weren’t stressed about school anymore. Unfortunately, you were experiencing frequent headaches in your business venture.

"What do you mean they won't pay?" You delegated business work to your people since you wanted experts to deal with issues you weren’t that familiar with. However, it seemed that was a regrettable decision too. Your accounts receivable manager told you the team couldn't collect your customers' debt.

"I'm sorry." The manager explained that the contract with customers was biding, so he didn't expect them to breach the terms. "They said they can't pay us on time since they're having difficulty with their operations."

"Tsk." You heard Jang Min make this sound on the other line. You were so stressed that you had to call your boyfriend and ask for business advice. As far as you know, Jang Min managed multiple lending companies. He would know what to do with delinquent debtors.

Sure enough, Jang Min rubbed his chin thoughtfully before covering his mouth with his hand. He looked as though he was deep in thought when he said, "Cолнышко мо, why don't you let my men handle those rats?"

"Rats?" Your brow knitted together as you gestured for your dejected manager to leave for a while. You were on speaker and didn't want your employees to think badly of you or Jang Min. You might be angry, but you care much about your team.

"Yeah, rats. Your debtors are filthy rats." Jang Min's face was unreadable. "My men would know what to do. Lee Sung-ssi will land in Korea in a few hours. Just say the word, and he'll handle them."

For some reason, Jang Min's way of helping left a bad taste in your mouth. Your heart was pounding, indicating that you wouldn't like whatever your boyfriend would say next. Still, you pushed through, "And how exactly will Lee Sung handle them?"

Jang Min paused—as if contemplating telling you the truth. He shrugged after a few minutes of deadly silence. "Lee Sung can visit them...they will talk. If the debtors insist on not paying, we can arrange some..." Jang Min trailed off, his eyes darkening. "Punishment."

You weren’t sure how you tolerated listening to your boyfriend despite your loud beating heart. Jang Min said the punishments range from mild to severe, depending on the loan amount. Some of his tactics involved intimidation and verbal threats, though he didn't recommend this as words didn't deter people. Harassment was an option, too. Lee Sung and the others could constantly call and show up at the debtors' houses and offices to scare them.

"We've batons and other weapons to—"

"Wait—Hold up." Your lips quivered as you stopped your boyfriend from speaking. You felt like your heart stopped beating, too. Was this true? Did the person you were dating really advise you to employ "Torture?" You gasped, taken by surprise. "You want me to give you the signal to torture my business clients?" 

The thing about you was you gave people the benefit of the doubt. You had no reason to think Jang Min was lying when he said: "No, of course not, Cолнышко мо. The weapons are merely a front to scare them."

Your therapist told you to trust your instinct, but how could you do that when, deep down, your whole being was screaming at you to run away from Jang Min? How could you follow your instinct when Jang Min never gave you a reason to distrust him?

Jang Min had been nothing but good to you. He loved you. Most importantly, he trusted you.

"How about we talk later?" You knew it wasn't best to keep running away from the worry at the pit of your stomach. You avoided your boyfriend every time you didn't like what he did or said. Until now, you and Jang Min hadn't discussed your minor fight regarding Soobin from weeks ago. You thought it would go away once he ignored it.

It was a wrong assumption as you realized that your doubt and anger toward Jang Min had accumulated in your heart. But still... you couldn't—not right now. Not when your mind still couldn't wrap around the thought of Jang Min not being the person you thought he was. It's too speculative and distrustful.

Jang Min didn't hold the line longer. You didn't know why, but relief instantly flooded your veins once the line had been cut off. You sat on your chair, absentmindedly turning it, until you felt dizzy. It didn't help that your office door burst open, with Soobin barging in after eating a bar of chocolate.

"Mama! Mama!" The kid was uncharacteristically hyper. Soobin used to be a quiet child who could sense whenever you needed some space. But since Jungkook started babysitting him, Soobin's childish nature became more prominent.

Your head hurt.

"What are you two doing here?" You didn't want to sound accusatory, but your tone and glare directed at Jungkook said otherwise. Jungkook hovered around the door, smiling proudly at his overjoyed son.

"I picked up Soobin from school. The kid said he wants to see you." The pick-up was a stretch when Jungkook never left the school premises in the first place. Soobin was recently enrolled in preschool since he was almost four years old. You used to have a homeschool tutor for Soobin in France, but you figured your son needed to adapt to Korea’s school system. Besides, Jungkook couldn't always look after the kid; he needed to work, too.

Fortunately, Jungkook wasn't fired from the fast food restaurant he worked at after proving that he was hospitalized. His manager reassigned him to a different duty, though. Jungkook was now a food delivery rider in the restaurant's parent company. He ordered himself the cheapest meal and had it delivered at Soobin's school just so he could 'deliver' it there and watch over his son from the start until the end of his class.

Soobin ran to Jungkook when his teacher gave him the signal to go. The kid learned to sing and play a tambourine. He asked his father if they could visit you in the office as he wanted to show off his new skills.

Soobin did precisely that. He tried climbing onto your lap while excitedly shaking his instrument back and forth.

"Soobin sing!!"

Your head immediately pulsated when your son opened his mouth while still 'playing' the tambourine. It was the worst. You gritted your teeth in annoyance, your patience wearing thin.

"Soobin." You lightly grabbed your son's arms to get him to stop. You looked helplessly at Jungkook, too, but he was downright oblivious.

"Twinkle! Twinkle! Star! Soobin wonder! What! You are!" Soobin tried singing the song he had learned. Unfortunately, you didn't appreciate it. You unconsciously snarled at your kid.

"Stop it! Why won't you listen to me? You're so naughty!" You got Soobin off your lap and onto his own feet. You tried to purse your lips to control your temper, but it was too late. Tears filled Soobin's eyes.

Normally, Soobin would softly call out, "Ma?" to you, but the kid's changed. He didn't like your reaction, so he flopped on the ground, whining like a true toddler as he kicked his feet in the air.

You stared blankly at Soobin, unable to wrap your mind in the thought that, for the first time, you didn't know what to do to pacify your son.

"Mama! Mean! Mean! Hate me!" Soobin sobbed mercilessly; tears fell from his eyes. His cheeks were bright crimson because of frustration. 

There was ringing in your ears. Distantly, you heard Jungkook call your name. You remained rooted in your seat, though. You physically couldn't tear your gaze from Soobin.

Crying. Soobin was crying because of you.

Jungkook was a wide reader who came across a book on how to calm an agitated child. If he wished, he could rush to Soobin and soothe him. But this wasn't his call to make. Soobin was yours before Soobin was Jungkook's. He couldn't impose but couldn't bear seeing such a heartbreaking scene.

Jungkook walked behind your back, gripping your shoulder. You froze, though you didn't shy away from Jungkook's touch. His warm hand was soothing. It gave you a sense of support, as though you could pacify Soobin on your own.

You could. But first, you had to calm yourself down.

"Breathe." Jungkook crouched down until his hot breath sprayed on your ear. "In and out. I'm going to count, okay? Be with me."

You followed the sound of Jungkook's voice until you felt your heart rate picking up its normal speed. You blinked as Soobin's cries filled your system, and suddenly, you crouched down.

"Oh, Mon bébé." You embraced Soobin, embracing him while continuously kissing his head. "I'm so sorry. Mama didn't mean to shout at you." You regretted not bringing pudding, but you figured it was best not to bribe your son with things he liked just to get him to stop feeling emotions. 

Jungkook didn't say anything to you. However, that small gesture supporting your back pushed you to snap back to reality and calm down. You'd probably scream at Soobin more had it not been for Jungkook intervening.

You felt shame stabbing your heart.

"I'm sorry, Soobin. Mama is very sorry." You forced yourself to stop crying as you soothed your kid. Soobin wasn't an unreasonable child. He calmed down after you gave him a few kisses and hugs. You tried to explain the situation to your son as calmly as possible. Every time you ran out of words, Jungkook would rub your back and say you were doing well. It also helped that Jungkook smiled at Soobin to assure the kid everything was alright.

"Wanna sing my song!" Soobin demanded when you asked how you could make him feel better. Your head throbbed again, but you nodded at Soobin.

"Alright, Mon bébé."

Soobin played his tambourine while singing his song. You felt dizzy; thankfully, Jungkook was there to rub your back and lightly distract Soobin from overstimulating you. Soobin played his music at least five times before he got tired and distracted by other things.

"Lego!" He dropped his tambourine on the floor and ran to the other room where you stored his toys. Jungkook was about to go after him, but you advised him against it.

"Let him be." You massaged your temples. "You don't have to monitor him constantly, you know? I didn't know you were clingier than me."

Jungkook's lips protruded. He flopped down the chair beside you. "I'm not the one constantly attached to the baby monitor at home."

"That's cause you're with Soobin all the time!" You snorted. "You don't need a baby monitor to see him."

Jungkook didn't correct you, simply shrugging his shoulders as he busied himself, looking at the scattered papers on the table. Jungkook had thirty minutes to spare before his manager looked for him. He booked five deliveries using different names and canceled them before the orders were completed. This was not honest work, but Jungkook couldn't care less. He missed Soobin. He liked spending time with his son—with or without your push.

"What's this?" Jungkook could not control his mouth or hands. There were documents on your table. Jungkook picked up the paper that caught his attention. "You're having a hard time collecting debts? What happened?"

Jungkook's eyes moved fast. He got the gist of your problem, so he didn't mind it when you snatched the paper from him.

"Don't you have work to do?" You uttered coldly, the paper in your hand crumpling. It was Jungkook's cue to shut the fuck up, but he didn't. He couldn't. His hands and feet were cold as Lee Sung's face flashed in his mind.

He hadn't seen Lee Sung in months now. Jungkook wasn't sure if the case of him getting seriously injured deterred the loan shark from bothering him. Jungkook tried not to think about his problems, but he couldn't shake it off now that he had read something about loans.

"You're not..." Jungkook's mouth went dry. Ugly thoughts circled his brain. However, he tried to fight them off. You were not like Lee Sung. You wouldn't hurt people just because of money. 

He changed his question, "How long is their debts overdue? Have you tried talking to them?"

"Jungkook." You crumpled the paper entirely. "I don't see how this is any of your business. Will you drop it? I'm already stressed as it is. Didn't you see how I snapped at my son? I..."

You inhaled sharply. You weren’t over what happened between you and Soobin earlier. It was your first big fight, and you both lost your temper. You didn't know what to do.

Jungkook was still antsy because of his issue with Lee Sung, yet his heart melted at seeing that you were struggling to adjust. Jungkook wasn't a stranger to business problems. He was like you before, afraid to voice his concerns as it was too stressful and it might affect his competency. He didn't want to appear like a sore loser before you.

You were headstrong and wouldn't shut up with your I told you so speech. But Jungkook didn't want you to go through the same problem he did. He wanted his best friend to be worry-free.

"You know Soobin throwing a tantrum is not bad, right?" Jungkook's tone was mellow. 

It didn't comfort you at all. You splayed fingers over your eyes, "I don't know. He's a good kid, Jungkook. He never cries like that."

Soobin usually demands crab spring rolls and pudding, but he was well-behaved. Jang Min even claimed that Soobin would just sleep around a lot. It was shocking to see him crying and screaming.

But Jungkook assured him it was fine. "Kids who throw tantrums are not bad, okay? It just shows that they're comfortable around you. Do you think Soobin will act all vulnerable with you if he doesn't trust you?"

Jungkook made sense. You were similar to Soobin when you were a child. You refused to let out your whines and sobs in front of your mother and those people at the club for fear of punishment. But with Jisoo, you slowly learned to be vulnerable.

It should be comforting, yet a scoff left your mouth as you said sarcastically, "Is that why you didn't act 'vulnerable' around me before? Because you don't trust me?"

It was petty—an attempt to throw Jungkook off because what did he know about trusting people? However, you didn't want to be in this position anymore. It was a constant battle between your past and current self. You didn’t want to stay loyal to your suffering anymore.

And Jungkook was trying. He had never done anything wrong since he first got involved with Soobin.

"I'm sorry," you said immediately. Because trust, you realized, was a two-way street. You shamed Jungkook for what he did years ago, but here you were, one step forward and two backward with Jungkook.

"That's not fair of me." You held Jungkook's cold hand in an attempt to show sincerity. The bastard's hands were warm. You wanted to press your face against them. "You're trying to be helpful. I shot you down."

It's okay. Jungkook wanted to say because, like he claimed weeks ago, he was not in any position to snarl at you. But it wasn't working anymore. No one said breaking down walls would be easy.

Jungkook needed an axe to smash those damn cemented walls.

"Then don't shoot me down anymore." Jungkook didn't pull his hands away. He wished he could caress your face. "Let me help you.”

You tongued the inside of your cheek, looking hesitant, but you nodded. 

Jungkook let out a long breath.

"Thank you." Then his face turned solemn. "There are many ways to make your debtors pay. I didn't see all your files, but I'm guessing they're merely accounts receivable?"

You did not want to have this conversation with Jungkook. You thought you were still discussing how to raise Soobin. You found yourself answering Jungkook's queries, though.

"Most are accounts receivable, yes." Your forehead creased. "But I have people who loaned money from my business."

"Are you taking legal action?" Suddenly, Jungkook couldn't breathe. His throat hurt—as if he was being choked. "Please listen to me. There's no point in imprisoning or employing violence to them."

"What do you take me for?" You scoffed, hiding your nervousness behind your mask. Shit. Did Jungkook know? Did he somehow figure out Jang Min's suggestion?

"No." Jungkook pulled you out of deep thought. "I'm just asking. It's not a good idea.”

He explained to you why legal action was not worth it.

"It's costly. The court will fix a payment date for them, but your debtors are not guaranteed to pay you. Besides..." Jungkook said imprisonment wasn't viable as it would hinder the debtors from paying you more. How could they make money if they were in prison?

"Sell your accounts receivable to factoring companies. You have products nearing the expiration date, right? They're in debt because they bought similar items from your company. You won't be able to sell most of them. This is Korea. We're strict about the dates, so just hand them as freebies to those who will pay you on a specified date. As for your loans receivable, wave the interest. Do you have an accountant in your firm?"

You couldn't follow how fast things were going. Jungkook solved your worries in seconds, and none involved pressuring your debtors illegally. They all sounded fair.

"I..." You blinked and wetted your lips, "Yes. I've several of them."

"Good. Schedule a meeting with them. You need management accountants to formulate strategies for you, but I have some tricks to speed up collection without hurting anyone. Are you familiar with the lockbox system?"

Your mind was floating. This was such a dreamy solution. Your weeks' worth of stress was rapidly crumbling down.

You smiled at Jungkook—a sincere smile. "Hold on for a minute. I'll call everyone involved, and then we can all discuss. Stay. I need you here."

Jungkook flashed a smile, too. He squeezed your hands. "I'm here, okay?"

You didn't mind that you were holding hands with Jungkook all this time. Good. Everything was good.

**** The first week of you and Jungkook teaming up to solve business problems passed without a hiccup.

You were both sleep-deprived, though.

"Drink." Jungkook placed a glass of hot milk in front of you. "You’re too hotheaded. Hotheaded people need milk to cool down."

"Tsk." You clicked your tongue, but you drank the milk in one go. "You're insufferable."

****

You faced some challenges in the second week. Fortunately, it was not something you and Jungkook couldn't handle.

"I miss Soobin," Jungkook complained while you were in a boring meeting.

"He's literally on the other side of the room."

Jungkook gave you a knowing look. You raised your hand in surrender. "Fine. I miss him, too. Go on, call him. If he doesn't quietly sit on your lap, I'll kick both of you out of this meeting."

"Always so violent, sweetheart."

You just shook your head. Jungkook was wrong. You didn't have it in you to kick him out anymore.

**** The third week was where you gave your all. It was finalized. Your company has partially recovered. It wouldn't take long before everything returned to normal.

"Thank you." You told Jungkook sincerely.

"No problem." Jungkook wiggled his brows playfully. "What are best—frie—"

It was painfully embarrassing (and endearing) to witness Jungkook looking for the right word to describe your relationship.

"Friends." You supplied helpfully. "We're friends now."

Relief washed over Jungkook’s face. It showed in his sparkly brown eyes.

"Thank you." The unsaid words went like this:

I won't fail you anymore.

****

The fourth week was when you proposed an official position for Jungkook.

"Join the company." You said without any hesitation. "Head strategist in finance. The team needs you."

It should be answerable by yes or no. Regrettably, Jungkook only murmured your name.

"What." You tried to remain calm despite feeling your heart falling. Jungkook was rejecting you. "You ventured with Jimin before, didn't you? This isn't any different. I guarantee you the pay is good. It's more than what you make as a delivery rider."

It wasn't said out of spite. You simply stated a fact, but Jungkook's lips were tightly shut.

The words 'come on, bastard' were at the tip of your tongue. You didn't voice it out, opting for a safer approach.

"You've done a good job saving us all. I owe you one." You patted Jungkook's shoulder and squeezed it in a friendly manner. "Let me treat you to a fancy dinner, alright? I already bought you a suit. Wear it. Forget everything first and have fun with me there."

The silence ballooned. You popped it after a few seconds.

"Then, at the end of the night, you can tell me your answer about the offer. See you, Kookie."

Kookie.

Jungkook's breathing hitched; by the time he could react, you were long gone.

****

In spite of his doubts, Jungkook was happy to go on a date with you.

A date.

Jungkook snorted at himself. He was pretty sure you didn't see your meeting as a date, but it didn't stop him from daydreaming. Months ago, his life was so messed up that he wished he could end it all. Now, though...

Jungkook looked at his figure in the mirror. He cleaned up nicely. The white suit you bought for him was akin to royalty. He knew you spent a fortune on this one.

It's going to be okay. Jungkook cheered, a rare thing he did. It was just dinner—he'd casually talk to you, and just like you said, you would have fun.

Your meeting was timed at 7PM. Jungkook went to the washroom to freshen up, expecting you to arrive when he returned to your reserved table.

Sadly, there was no sign of you anywhere.

Jungkook looked at the time: 7:35PM. It was rare for you not to show up on the dot, causing him to check the date.

He didn't get it wrong, though. You were really scheduled to go out tonight. Perhaps you had a difficult time looking for a babysitter?

But if so, why didn't you contact him?

Jungkook shook his head slightly. Never mind. He'd just wait for some time.

****

The clock said 8:15PM, but you hadn't arrived yet.

****

9:24PM and there was still no sign of you anywhere.

****

10:13PM

Jungkook brought out the company phone you lent to him.

Are we still up for tonight? He asked.

There was no response.

***

10:28PM

Jungkook's stomach growled. The server asked if his company would still be coming.

"She is." He said as he drank his sparkling water.

His stomach growled, but he had no money to order food.

Frankly, he wasn't in the mood to eat either.

****

11:08PM

Jungkook asked for the bill. He paid a small amount since he only ordered water.

"I guess my friend isn't coming at all."

The waiter looked at Jungkook apologetically.

It's okay. Jungkook wanted to say. I've been through worse.

The walk out of the restaurant and into your home was layered with lavender haze. It wasn't raining, but a storm was brewing in his heart.

Jungkook looked up at the sky. It wasn't okay.

****

11:42PM

Jungkook arrived at your house. He still lived with you. Truthfully, You gave him a spare key to go in and out of the house whenever he wanted. However, Jungkook wasn’t sure he could enter as he pleased because outside your home was an Aurus Senat car. Jungkook had the worst timing—he saw you hopping out of the vehicle; your expression was soft as you looked at the other person getting out of the car.

It was a man. Jungkook couldn’t see the man’s face as he was carrying a sleeping Soobin in his arms. The mysterious man stood near you, crouching down a little to give you a slow kiss.

Oh.

Pain flashed in Jungkook’s eyes as he witnessed the scene before him.

You were dating another man.

Jungkook knew he wasn’t entitled to feel anger or jealousy. Unfortunately, those were the exact two emotions that engulfed his heart—jealousy being more apparent than the other.

The green monster screamed at Jungkook to storm over there, possessively wrapped his arms around your waist, and carried Soobin in his arms.

That’s my child. Jungkook’s jealousy was taking control.

And you. You were….

Jungkook’s thoughts had been cut off when someone sneaked behind him. The emotions he had yet to process went down the drain in an instant—it was replaced by fear when he felt a cold metallic blade hovering on the side of his stomach. It was followed by an overly saccharine greeting.

“Hello there, Jungkook-ah. Long time no see.” Jungkook froze. The man behind him chuckled. “Stay with me for a while, hmm? We can’t have you ruining a perfect family reunion, right?”

The man harshly angled Jungkook’s face toward your direction to see the perfect image of a family.

Jungkook’s heart clenched, but he didn’t have it in him to feel jealous anymore. His days were numbered.

Lee Sung was back.

*****

A/N: I didn't use too much jargon, did I? What do we think about this chapter.

Reblog, like, comment if you can! It inspires me to write 🎀

it's 3AM i need sleep. i have work later. good night!

[casscainmainly]

Duke Thomas and the Robin Mantle

There's been some minor discussion about whether Duke counts as an 'official' Robin or not. While that discussion is interesting, I actually don't think it's the crux of the Duke and Robin issue. To me, the question is whether or not he should be Robin. And, to me, the answer is definitively yes.

This is purely my opinion, and I haven't read every single Duke comic so it's possible I've misread/missed things. Any Duke fans, absolutely feel free to add or disprove anything here!

The Changing Robin

The first thing to understand is that Robin, as a mantle, has shifted with each person it's been passed to. Tim's Robin doesn't mean the same thing as Jason's Robin, which doesn't mean the same thing as Damian's. A mark of a true Robin is the ability to shift the meaning of Robin by wearing the colours.

Duke absolutely fulfils this criteria. In fact, him and his We Are Robin crew are the biggest shift in the meaning of Robin since its creation.

Cover from We Are Robin #1. The phrase "We're not sidekicks. We're an army!" signals the shift from Robin as individual to Robin as collective; from Robin as tied to the singular Batman to Robin as a wider movement, a socio-political force. The last question, "are you ready?", is vitally important as well. Duke as Robin is meant to be different. He's meant to be non-normative, a groundbreaking turn in what Robin looks and feels like.

At the end of the first issue, a disguised Alfred (who started We Are Robin) thinks the following:

Alfred infuses the phrase "of color" with two meanings: the Robin colours, and People of Colour. By explicitly linking Robin to POC, the comic is suggesting that not only can kids of colour be Robin, but that they should be Robin. Robins of Colour are the "future of this city," and Duke is the vanguard of this future. It's no coincidence that the Robin before (Damian) and the one after (Maps) are both POC. Duke, however, is the Robin that gives the mantle an explicit direction towards diversity: him and WAR use Robin as a social movement, and in doing so transform the colours of Robin into a symbol for the diversity in Gotham and the world.

Robin as Collective

Duke doesn't change Robin alone. The point of We Are Robin is that Robin is a collective, and it's important that Duke doesn't start WAR (as much as people like to say he did). By joining late, the comic demonstrates that Duke is part of a bigger movement.

The Robin community represents POC solidarity, the necessity and ability of the oppressed to band together. Lee Bermejo ends We Are Robin's final issue with "stress on the word "we"" - Duke's arc, in one sense, is learning to rely and work with others (he initially mistrusts basically everyone). The WAR community is essential to both Duke's character development and his tenure as Robin.

So to have this page, affirming his loyalty and love for them, to be followed immediately by them being written out is... something.

Duke appears next in Batman: Rebirth, where Bruce gives him the yellow suit and tells him he's not looking for a Robin. As soon as he stops being Robin, the community around him quite literally falls apart. Izzy sticks around for a bit but fades into obscurity, Riko and Dax turn evil, Dre ends up in Arkham - all of these fates are antithetical to these characters and genuinely tragic.

Batman: The Secret Files: The Signal is possibly the worst Duke story in existence, but it's important to understanding why Robin!Duke mattered. Riko calls Signal 'Bat-Signal', highlighting his sudden reduction to a Batman acolyte. His friends turning on him shows how, by losing Robin, he also lost the community formed by WAR. In every way, his transition into the Signal was saturated by loss.

Robin Doesn't Need A Batman

Bruce giving Duke the Signal suit is borderline insulting. He already had an identity predicated on the fact that he didn't need Batman.

From Batman (2011) #45, Batman: Rebirth, and Night of the Monster Men. "Robin doesn't need a Batman" is an inversion of Tim's 'Batman needs a Robin' - in many ways, Duke is the opposite of Tim, who's rich, White, and whose Robin is the most focused on helping Batman. If Tim is the ideal Robin-as-partner, Duke is the ideal Robin-as-individual. His idea of Robin is not, and has never been, associated with Batman.

People who say Duke isn't an official Robin since he was never Batman's partner miss the point. He is Robin because he was never Batman's partner. That's what Robin means to him - a mantle free from Bruce and all authority.

"Batman is on the gargoyle. Robin... Robin is on the street." Robin is the person on the ground, who lives and belongs to the people. When Duke becomes Signal, this ground aspect - as well as his separation from Batman - is gone.

In this cover from Batman & The Signal, they gave him a Bat symbol and put him on a gargoyle. They erased every single part of his Robin philosophy.

The Original Robin

Post-We Are Robin, Bruce becomes the Batfam member Duke interacts with the most. Besides the insult of Bruce withholding Robin, this fact also strips away one of my favourite aspects about early Duke - he was tied to the Batfamily through the Robins (especially Damian and Dick), not by Batman.

It's Dick, the original Robin, who chooses him.

Dick recognises that him and Duke have a lot in common. He tells Duke in Robin War that he's "got it," and that he's a natural leader - Dick knows Duke has what it takes to be Robin, and explicitly endorses him.

Not only that, but when Dick sends Duke to jail (along with the other Robins, official and unofficial), he tells Duke that he "take[s] care of [his] family". He basically inducts Duke into the family then and there!

Dick's endorsement of Duke makes it more interesting that Bruce doesn't make him Robin. Despite Duke's disillusionment at the end of Robin War (dispelled soon after in WAR), the events in RW confirm that Duke can and should be Robin. Bruce not making Duke Robin is defying both Duke's potential and Dick's right to choose Robins.

Robin as Family

On the rooftop in Robin War, Dick tells Duke that Robin is about family. This is the fundamental connection between them both: Robin acts as the link to the families they've lost and gained.

For Dick, Robin keeps John and Mary Grayson alive, while also symbolising his connection to Bruce. For Duke, Robin is the intersection of three families: the heroic legacy of his parents, the tight-knit community of We Are Robin, and the newfound friendship of the Batfamily.

In Batman (2011) #45, Duke tries to give his friend Daryl a Robin badge. He says, "you and me, we came up together. We're fam[ily]." Even before Dick, Duke associated Robin with family, and Daryl implies in the next issue that Duke became Robin because of his parents' inclination to help. Signal, of course, also comes from his mom; but unlike Robin, Signal isn't a legacy mantle. As Robin, he constantly inducted people like Daryl, Riko, Damian, etc. into his family. As Signal, his circle shrinks immeasurably, until it's really only the Batfamily and the Outsiders if we're being generous. (Daryl also turns evil - a really unfortunate pattern for Duke side characters).

Lark and Conclusion

I'm going to end with this panel from Batman & The Signal #1, which is emblematic of the way DC has treated Duke and Robin as a whole. Bruce tells Duke that Lark is "too soft" a name. DC was probably debating between Lark and Signal, but it's telling what they went with. How is Lark too soft, exactly? How is it any softer than Robin?

By overtly dismissing the bird-like name, Bruce - and DC editorial, or whoever decided this - is definitively moving Duke away from Robin. And it's a shame. In Duke's transition from Robin to Signal, he has next to no agency. Bruce tells him he's not Robin, Bruce gives him the suit, Bruce tells him not to be Lark, Bruce gives him another suit. It's a stark contrast from his induction into Robin - though Alfred arranged it, he gave Duke a choice. Duke chooses Robin.

Duke being disallowed the Robin mantle is, to me, on par with DC stripping Cass of the Bat symbol during the New 52. The racism behind both these decisions cannot be overstated - both Cass and Duke redefined their mantles, and their mantles defined them. At least Cass' mistake has been corrected, and lots of writers and fans acknowledge how horrible that period was. For Duke, he was never given a real chance. And it's unlikely he ever will be.

This is not a knock against the Signal identity or any writers. However, it genuinely saddens me to think that all of this story potential - Duke's redefinition of Robin, his relationship to Dick, his connection to We Are Robin, and above all his ability to choose who he wants to be - has been neglected and cast aside. Even if they never acknowledge his role as Robin, I hope future stories centre him once again, because it's what he deserves.

[titaswrld]

slip off my new dress

description: finding a new sense of closeness with ron

pairing: ron weasley x fem! reader

contains: 18+, minors dni, smut, & p in v. characters aged up to 18.

song: juna by clairo

w.c: 810

|an: i think i did too much but 😛 lmk, i still think this is so cute tho.

part one part two

you make me wanna, go dancing

you make me wanna, try on feminine

you couldn’t believe this; really, you’d only ever thought about kissing his beautifully pink, pouty lips, but you’d never thought in a million years you’d be doing it here now.

you’d somehow ended up from the couch to his four poster bed within his dorm, curtains shut closed, and silenced with a quick muffliato charm from ron. the feeling of his warm, wet plush lips against yours was enough to awaken a feeling inside of you that left you craving so much more of him, all of him.

ron couldn’t stop himself, not if he tried. he was absolutely enamored by you, and he had the best view in the world underneath him right now. your flushed face, heavy tired eyes full of lust, and reddened lips from all the kisses you’ve shared within the last few minutes.

relishing in the feeling of each other was all you could do, the closeness you felt within the connection between your lips deepened as you slipped your tongue from your mouth into his, which brought on a new pace for the both of you.

"i need you, ron,” you’d said between kisses. that’s all he needed to hear.

you make me wanna, go buy a new dress

you make me wanna, slip off a new dress

“can i take this off? please?" he begged as you nodded quickly, chest heaving from the change of pace and the new sense of urgency to feel each other as his hands found the hem of your shirt, lifting it above your head and off of your body to reveal your braless tits.

“so beautiful f'me,” he’d said after quickly pulling his own shirt off, his lips immediately finding one of your hardened nipples, his hand massaging the other.

the new sensation left your mind cloudy, and panties wet as all that managed to escape your lips was an “oh, ron,” fingers tangled in his soft, red hair as he continued taking turns sucking, licking, and biting at your breasts.

you couldn’t take it anymore; you needed him now. you’d cupped his cheeks and pulled him back up to kiss you again, his lips hot and wet from the time he spent sucking and pleasing your tits.

you took this opportunity to unbutton and slip off his pants and boxers in the same motion; he’d gotten the memo and did the same for you. as he now positioned himself between your legs, he’d dragged the tip of his cock from your ready hole up to your throbbing clit, circling it with the wetness he had collected from doing so.

ron had finally found it within himself to whisper, “are you sure this is okay?” as he aligned himself with your entrance. looking up at him and nodding with pleading eyes was all you could do, your body overwhelmed by the newfound sensation as your eyes were locked in with one another.

don't even try

i don't have to think

with you, there's no pretending

“talk to me, love. is this okay?” he’d asked again, his eyes still focused on you, awaiting your response.

“yes, ron, more than okay.” you responded desperately; that’s the last thing you said before the wind was knocked out of your lungs. as he finally pushed into you, he recognized the look of slight pain on your face, lowering himself down to wrap his arms around your neck and peppering soft kisses along your forehead, nose, cheeks, and chin until you’d had every single inch of him buried inside of you.

"move, please, baby,” you’d pleaded. he obeyed as he began to slowly pull out and push back in to your wet cunt. you’d moaned while his mouth dropped slightly agape as his eyes dropped down to watch himself drag himself in and out of you again and again.

his pace quickened, and his cock sank deeper and deeper with each thrust of his hips as your moans and the sound of your skin slapping against each other became louder and louder.

you’d felt the coil in your stomach tighten, ready to snap at any given moment as ron continued his quick pace.

"oh, ron, im gonna.." you gasped out as you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck to ground yourself.

“me too, love; it’s okay. with me, okay?” he’d said between breaths, hips snapping against yours at a relentless pace.

finally, you’d felt the coil snap as you reached your climax, ron experiencing the same as his hips stuttered as he reached his high with you. he collapsed on top of you, causing you to let out a breathy laugh as he smiled against your chest, eventually falling asleep to the comfort and calmness of each other's rising and falling chests.

you know me, you know me

and i just might know you too,

come to me slowly

[dokk-fukuro]

On Call. Pt.1

Characters: Dazai Osamu, Nakahara Chuuya Minors DNI

TW: clit play, lingerie, sexting, dirty talk, afab reader

۞₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪۞

Dazai uses phone sex as one of the ways to tease you but keep you from getting what you want. Oh, this bastard has a good tongue. With absolute calmness, he can maintain a frank conversation with you for a long time period.

“I decided to find out how the day is going with the conqueror of my heart,” Osamu coos, left alone in the agency. “Just remembering how you arch your back under me last night. And your moans... Just angelic singing to my ears, and you know me, I'm picky in my choice of music.”

He knows that you are a little embarrassed by his words, but even the thoughts in your head will not allow to stop. Instead, the young man will continue to tease you.

“I can't stop thinking about how beautiful you are when you're in seventh heaven. I’d be very happy to sit you on the table now, pull off your clothes and kiss your skin,” his voice becomes a little quieter, lowers by half an octave and takes on that very seductive husky that drives you crazy. “Get down on my knees in front of you and put my face to your pussy. I bet you already imagine it. Come on, bella, let me hear how wet you are.”

And you really obediently pull off your panties, spread your legs and run your fingers along your wet cunt, collecting moisture on it, hearing a satisfied humming from the other side. Dazai is glad to hear that you are so ready for him.

“I want you to wrap your legs around me while I sink my tongue inside.” You bite your lip, drawing circles around your clit, sometimes pressing on it. “Come on, love, let me hear your voice. Like our last night when I was so deep inside you.”

And you really can't hold back a moan. The bundle of nerves only becomes more sensitive, and every touch to it makes your body shiver a little. You put inside your fingers under his languid exhalation and start to move it. You squirm and shake, when all of a sudden...

“Oh, Belladonna, I have to go now, time waits for no one,” and Osamu leaves you alone with your arousal.

۞₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪۞

When it comes to slutty phone calls, it's not Nakahara that starts it, it's your antics. One day, deciding to tease him, you send him a photo in the fitting room. You are wearing only a set of underwear and an innocent signature “Do you think it suits me?”. What a naughty girl are you. Chuuya takes some time to come up with the most compelling reason why he should leave the meeting room.

“What the hell are you doing?” The red-haired esper hisses through gritted teeth. No, your body does not embarrass him, he is used to your unsurpassed beauty, but the last thing he wants is for someone else to see it. You just innocently coo that you wanted to know his opinion, because “he should pull this underwear off you.”

Whatever you say, Chuuya has problems with self-control. He doesn't need too much to get turned on.

“You wanted to know my opinion, right?” Nakahara smirks unkindly, and you can feel it on your skin. Chills and a herd of goosebumps literally run through your neck. “My opinion is this: my naughty girl wants me to fuck her so that she can barely stands. Choose, doll: we’ll fuck on the table, on the couch, on the bed or on the floor? For such a trick, you will have to try very hard so that I let you cum.”

When he is on edge, you can say exactly and for sure only one thing: Chuuya doesn’t throw words into the wind. And the understanding that he may well take you from the doorway as soon as he comes home makes you bring your legs together. You are already turned on by how aggressive the redhead is in his expressions. And from his heavy breathing, only two things can be stated: he is now alone with himself, and he is trying to calm down his boner in order to recoup on you upon his return.

"So what, doll? I can't hear your answer,” Chuuya almost growls, squeezing his hard cock through the fabric of his tight pants. “Or do you want me to push you against the wall while I thrust into you from behind? The sooner you answer, the better for you.”

Looks like you're really in big trouble.