#OR even more infuriatingly :

[sarah-yyy]

cannot believe i've been put on god's green earth to experience horrors

[raspberryjellybrains]

Morpheus is a truly fascinating character to look at from a moral perspective because he's such a dick but about 50% of the time it's on accident and the other 50% it's on purpose, but not because of any genuine hate or malice just... poorly directed sadness. Neither of these reasons make it okay, but they make it damn hard to see where the lines are regarding guilt, blame, and forgiveness. As if this isn't enough, hearing Morpheus' take on things (or appalling lack thereof) along with some others makes it even harder to grapple with.

When I'm analyzing this first 50%, I often come back around to asking whether someone should punished for something they didn't know was wrong, which is a normal hard and fast 'no', but this someone has had millinea to find out it is wrong and correct it and hasn't, which then pulls me into questioning where the ignorance becomes willful. Especially when the individual is so blindsided by the idea that there might even be something wrong. Morpheus is cold and aloof, which I put down to a general temperament thing; the problem is that he can't afford to be. This is, quite literally, a major reason why the series ends the way it does. He wasn't particularly mean to Lyta, just not very kind or understanding. He was busy and distracted and hurting and didn't explain what was going on or offer much sympathy (none in the comics). Is it okay that he did that? No. Do I understand why and feel sad that a trait that is innocuous to most was deadly to him? Yes, of course always, yes.

The other 50% where Morpheus is trying to hurt people, it's born out of his own hurt, as most cruelty is. He is not a malicious being; cruel, but not malicious. The way he treats Destruction is from his own wish to escape the weight of their existence and a frustration that someone did it, someone did it and he couldn't stop or join them. He doesn't actually hate Destruction, Dream clearly blames himself at least in part for his leaving and seems to miss him as much he wants to respect or exile him for the deciding to do so. He's on the fence about how to act and overcompensates by being desperately terrible, which is what he always fucking does. That's the worst part! I chose Destruction specifically as an example because the situation lays bare the core of his cruelty very, very well. Nada and Orpheus are good examples as well. Dream doesn't like not knowing what to do, doesn't like being scared and can't stand the idea of being thought of as anything less than perfectly confident and controlled at all times (wow, so healthy!). He doesn't want people to look at him and see someone who needs comfort so he doesn't let them look at all, and ensures they don't by pushing them away at the slightest offense. If they brush against an insecurity or hurt, he's trained himself to lash out rather than lick the wounds. He condemns Nada to Hell when she sees who he is and rejects him for it; He leaves Orpheus on an island for a thousand years because he reminded Dream that he can't fix everything, or even keep those he loves safe; He's so unforgiving and rude towards Destruction because he did what Dream desperately needed to do but couldn't.

Thing is, these are both fixable flaws with obvious sources, but he has spent so long living by them that he doesn't know any other way to do so. Maybe it makes me an apologist—I'm willing to acknowledge that I can tend to hold a warped perspective on things—but I see his core personal moral failings as holding himself to an ordinary standard of behavior when an extraordinary one is needed and feeling that somehow his power and suffering makes him better than just about everyone else (now think about that and Lucifer and lose your mind briefly.) He isn't, on the whole, awful and irredeemable. He's flawed and he's trying, but when one is endless there is very little room for such a thing.

Then I end up asking the question: did he deserve it? does anybody? And that's... hard. Morpheus caused real hurt and damage, intentional or not, across space and time. Does he deserve to die for it? I would like to say no, but I would also see reason in saying yes. The questions get big, applicabilty of death penalty and impact of intention on action big, and that's usually when I stop the train. The point of Morpheus' weird and complex morality is to drive the train straight into the sunset, which I fully encourage those who can do it safely to do but if I did, we would be here until tumblr was ash.

So I can't offer an answer with a neat little bow, or even a particularly persuasive argument as to the final moral determination of Morpheus as a character, but that wasn't necessarily my goal. I can tell you one thing for sure: he would majorly benefit from one (1) positive and healthy friendship.

[oneknightlight]

2 months of improvement dude. That’s fucking insane I’m so proud

[lexpressobean]

Friendly reminder that no matter how much you think you like a celebrity or a popular tumblr user or someone in close proximity to you irl

Being Good at Something

does not mean

that person is Inherently a Good Person.

They are still a stranger. And if you don’t know someone personally, you cannot honestly judge their character. Just their actions and appearances.

If you do not know someone personally, you cannot honestly judge their character. Just their actions and appearances.

[elftwink]

been reading fanfiction at the front counter at work as of late because our fiction selection that's available to read online is sparse, there's only so much academic non-fiction a man can read especially when he's just blindly in the catalogue looking up random keywords in the hope of finding something even mildly interesting, and i haven't been able to get out to my local library to fix my library card that doesn't let me log in and possibly has no associated email to access their ebook collections. and i can't do anything at the front desk that doesn't look work-related so i've been downloading pdfs of fics and emailing them to myself to pass the yawning void of hours between the 3 whole patrons who are there during the semester break.

anyway im telling you all this because i sent a few to myself and all but one (1) fic i was like oh my GOD he Would Not Fucking Say That. but i had nothing else to do not even work related tasks so i read them anyway. woe is me. i will learn nothing from this and do the exact same thing tomorrow probably

[tonycries]

R U Mine?

Synopsis. Does he really count as an éx if he’s fúcking you this good?

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, éxes, mating press, they’re REALLY down bad, jealousy (Nanami’s, Sukuna’s), bréeding, marathon séx, recording (Sukuna’s), creampíe, cúmplay, pússytalking, possessíve boys, oraI (fem receiving), thígh ríding, fíngering, proposals, HEINOUS things, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.2k

A/N. I love men groveling hehe. Hope y’all have a great week!

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - 1 week

Oh, it’s around the fourth orgasm when Toji can’t think - can’t even breathe.

Can’t do anything but spit out little profanities into your swollen lips while he rams his messy cock deeper into your sloppy entrance. Body moving before his mind to savor the sweet sweet cunt that’s been plaguing his mind all week.

Again. And again. And again and again and-

“A week.” you hear that familiar mantra from behind you, whirling your teary eyes to stare over your shoulder at your utterly wrecked ex-husband. Gaze glassy, cheeks flushed, lips sagging open as he pants, “A whole week, n’ you’re sure she didn’t m-miss me, doll? Didn’t crave me fillin’ her up?” 

And Toji takes your pitiful little whine as enough of an answer, reaching down below to thumb apart your folds greedily - all puffy and sensitive where he swipes at the seed trickling down your poor, overfilled slit. “Or do I just hafta prove it to ya?”

So mean with the way he’s shoving each and every thick spurt of his cum back inside your gummy walls. Sloppier. Languid, as the exhaustion sets in - and honestly, Toji doesn’t even know if he can cum again despite the long, calculated strokes into your snug cunt. 

But he has to, even if it fucking kills him. 

Moaning messily, your knees weaken at his renewed vigor, “T-Toji I-” Laying your body limply over the lewd little pool of cum below you, you claw at the damp sheets. “D-didn’t-”

But he doesn’t hear - doesn’t even care when he brings up his shaky fingers -  glossy, and covered in the mess of your juices and his cum - up to your swollen lips. 

“Ah ah-” he tuts, pushing the pads of his thick fingers between them amusedly. Dick swelling up further inside you at the way that smart mouth of yours sucks on the salty taste like such a slut. “These mm- sheets were expensive since ya ngh- threw out all mine, y’know. C’mere, come to your husband.”

And in a split second, two, strong hands are pulling you back up by your forearms. Arching your body back like such a slut, bending you in half against Toji’s sculpted front. And fuck this new angle makes you keen. 

He’s pressing a chaste kiss into your quivering shoulders, “Or- we could just mm fuck- share the same ones again?”

That only makes your hips fuck back against his, messily trying to meet his ruthless tempo - one that has you depending on Toji holding you up like some ragdoll. One that has him pistoning his hips faster, more purposeful, so infuriatingly familiar with the way he glides his aching tip along your ravaged g-spot. 

“Y-you’re too much-” you meet his amused, half-lidded gaze. Letting him lick and kiss at the big fat tears rolling down your cheeks, grazing your lips against that tiny scar of his. “Should’ve ngh- never-”

“No.” a groan bursts from his lips. Fingers tightening - sure leave marks around your arms, using the gravity to bounce your body deeper into his cock. “No no no no- was a- fuuuck stop squeezin’ me s’tight- was a joke, doll. Already waited a week, don’t go takin’ this ah- pussy away from me again.” 

For all his cockiness, Toji sounded worried - so genuinely concerned as he drags his sensitive length along your plushy walls. Tears pricking behind his eyes with each painful squeeze of his twitching balls, smacking your skin with each rough, depraved thrust inside

Scoffing, “Wh-what if I mmpf- do?”

And he’s slamming his hips into you so mean that you could almost feel the overabundance of cum sloshing inside you, claiming you from the inside out. Hips sloppy in a way that told he’s lost whatever sanity he had left.

“Said m’sorry, right? C’mooon-” Dancing an open palm up to press down on your lower stomach, hard. Letting Toji’s cum ooze down his length, pooling at his heavy balls. “She missed me too- look how much she’s ngh- takin’. How much more she wants.”

Toji’s free hand comes up to squish your cheeks together in an embarrassing pout, forcing your head down just enough to look at the heavenly sight below. And what you’re met with has you mewling out his name embarrassingly louder. 

Your poor pussy stuffed to the brim, just bulging with the struggle to take your ex-husband. 

But still trying so needily to milk him as much as possible, clenching and quivering every time his fat head kisses all your sensitive spots. 

And despite all that, you still stupidly lie, “Didn’t- didn’t miss you.”

It’s like he expected that - was waiting for it even, as an excuse to go harder.

“Well then…” a slow, dangerous smirk spreads across Toji’s features - one that definitely didn’t bode well for you. He presses a hot peck against your wobbly lips, cock twitching knowingly against your g-spot. “Guess I’ve gotta f-fill her up again to prove it.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - 3 weeks

“Look at me.” you hear from above you, two long fingers gently tilting your head up to meet Nanami’s hardened gaze. “Look at who’s fucking you, my love.”

You squirm, thighs trying to clamp around where he was positioned between them. “K-Ken–”

“Yeah, that’s it.” Nanami hushes you gently - the exact opposite of those languid, heavy grinds of his aching cock into your already-stuffed cunt. Shoving you further and further up those silky sheets of his with each smack of his hips, “S’me. I hah- I got you, darling. Finally, I got you.”

It’s been a whole three weeks without your pretty touch, without those sweet sweet moans spilling from your lips. Without you - sprawled out all prettily like this on Nanami’s king-sized bed, being fucked into the mattress by him like you deserve. 

And he’ll be sure to make up for those three weeks.

Nanami pushes away the bouquet of roses he’d gotten you earlier today, throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders to bend you into such a mean mating press. 

He’s murmuring against the underside of your jaw, “I missed you, my love. Missed my cute cunt.”  Rolling his hips deeper into yours, fat head kissing at your poor g-spot with each little movement. Nosing down the sweet spots on your pulse, “Missed those sweet noises for me. Missed-” Biting down on the crook of your neck, hard. Enough to break skin if Nanami really wanted to. “-this. This one’s for that douche at the club.”

You’re gasping at those neat little indents on your skin, fingers twitching upwards to feel the deep, purposeful mark. Never has Nanami acted this feral. Never has he left embarrassing marks to admire for later. 

“Ken- what-” you whine - but you don’t get very far with that dazed little sentence. 

No, because Nanami’s dragging his lips so searingly across the print, hips stuttering forwards while he kisses away the dredges of pain. Only to turn his head to the other side of your neck and give you a sinful, matching mark on the other side. 

Murmuring into your skin, “That one’s for the hah- cashier that looked at you wrong. N’ this one’s-” Pretty lips sucking a tiny mark right above, “-for the security guard that was too nice to ya.”

Fuck.

No sooner are you actually realizing what is happening, Nanami’s pulling out with a pained grunt - like it killed him to be apart. Even if it was just for all of the two seconds it took for him to flip you onto your stomach like some ragdoll, strong arms supporting your weight. 

And if you were in any better state of mind you’d have questions. Literally anything but those fucked-out little moans he was dragging out of you, rock-hard cock molding your walls to him with each mean, possessive stroke. 

“This one-” Nanami kisses up your curved spine, biceps bulging as he wraps them around your middle. Biting down on the small of your back, “-s’for Higurama a-asking for your ngh- number.” Onto your shoulder, tough. Meaner than the rest, in fact, “N’ this one’s for Gojo.”

Fuck, and he won’t stop - can’t. Leaving you utterly wrecked like you’d been thrown to the wolves. But no, it’s just Nanami Kento.

“Nghh- Ken.” you blabber when he doesn’t ease up on colliding his thick tip against your g-spot. And as if that wasn’t enough, he’s snaking down a hand to draw tight, urgent little circles on your clit. “But m’yours! N-no need to be so…”

A low chuckle sounds in your ear, ��What, my love?” And Nanami pistons his hips even harder, bouncing you onto the fresh mattress. “Mean? Jealous? Possessive?” 

Each little description is rattled off with a harsh pattern on your clit, sending white-hot pleasure down your poor, marked-up body - all the way down to your stuffed pussy. Bulging and stuttering with each harsh thrust.

You turn your head around to meet an uncharacteristically disheveled Nanami, familiar blue button-up pulled open, stray strands of blond sticking to his forehead, that furrow in his brow softening at the sight of your fucked-out expression. 

Through those hard, taxing rams of his hips against yours, Nanami manages to whisper out a ragged, “You’re jus’ too perfect, my girl. Too irresistible.” Hot tongue licking all over those bruises he so proudly made, “Can’t help but ngh- wan’ you for myself. Want to write my name on you.” 

“W-write your- hngh- Didn’t think you’d be so-” You’re cut off by Nanami’s fingers moving sloppier - faster. Those messy little circles forming- oh. Fuck. 

Your eyes widen, blinking up tearily at Nanami’s loving grin that told you he knew what he was doing. Fingers deftly rolling against your sensitive nub to draw out a persistent little K-E-N-T-O-K-E-N-T-O-K-E-N-T-O-K-E-N-T

“This one…” He trails off, pulling your back flush against the ridges and curves of his toned front. So tight it almost hurt. Making it easy to dip his head down and suck on your syrupy addictive lips, “This one’s all f’me.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - 1 month

It’d been a nice, long month without any noise complaints from your neighbors. A month of being left with nothing but the thought of you and whatever disappointing rebound sex you’d been having to make up for it. 

And to Geto Suguru, that was a month too long. 

Which is why he was currently snaking your shaky legs to lock around his neck, hot breath ghosting over your soaked panties as he hums. “Oh how I missed this view.”

You let out an embarrassed whine, cheeks burning at the way that Geto’s hooded eyes were just devouring the sight of your dripping wet cunt. Greedily pulling aside the flimsy fabric to eye the way your pretty pussy was glistening and winking up needily at him. 

“Did anyone else treat you like ya deserve?”

“Wha- oh!”

Geto doesn’t waste any time, flattening his hot tongue to drag it along your sloppy slit - too impatient, too starved to go without a taste any longer. Hell, he already waited a month for this. And he wasn’t going to wait any longer. “Mmm-” Dewy eyes rolling to the back of his head, “Even sweeter than I remembered, gorgeous.”

Diving in so deep between your legs that his nose was pressing up so sinfully against your throbbing clit, chin grinding against your skin. Like he couldn’t care - would love it - in fact if he could suffocate buried right here in his favorite place. 

“Mmm,” he smacks his lips against your puffy ones, teasingly circling right around the sweet spot of your clit. “Bet the neighbors missed me, huh? Missed the way I had you screamin’ on my mouth?”

You click your tongue, bucking your hips up - partially because you needed Geto to make out with your cunt the way you knew he wanted to, partially because you really needed him to shut up right now. “M-maybe.” you mutter.

Geto’s eyes are widening in mock-surprise, “Maybe?” Hooking a finger underneath that familiar little hair tie on his wrist to easily tie back those long, inky locks. Oh. Fuck. You were so fucked. “‘Maybe’ she says, hah. Well, here’s a little reminder, gorgeous.”

And it’s all you can do to bring a hand up to your mouth, trying not to scream when Geto presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss on your needy pussy. Pretty pink lips wrapping around your sensitive nub to suck - harsh. Peering smugly at you through his long lashes when you thrash and buck closer. 

“Yeah?” Geto slurs into your cunt, one hand pushing down your reckless hips. The other rolling your ravaged clit between two fingers. “Remembered?”

It was true - none of your past hookups have ever been this dizzyingly good. 

Your mouth sags open, letting out a broken whine that makes Geto throw his head back and laugh - laugh. Long tongue darting out again, circling your sloppy entrance, pressing in. “Not yet, I think.”

And oh while you were desperately trying to keep quiet, he was trying his very best to do the exact opposite. 

Tongue bullying past your puffy lips to map out all those sweet spots against your gummy walls, brows furrowing in concentration when he picks up an intense, maddeningly little tempo.

And yet, the only thing ringing in Geto’s ears were those fucking obscene squelches from below. Well, that won’t do. 

“Oh!” you yelp at the feeling of two long fingers pumping past that first ring of muscle. “Ngh- fuck you- Sugu!”

Hitting the bullseye of your g-spot straight on. Making you let out a slutty little ah! ah! ah! as his finger pads drag against every sopping nook and cranny of your plushy walls. “Lemme know how good it feels, gorgeous.”

Unapologetic. Unrelenting, as Geto plays with you on his fingers. On his mouth lapping at your syrupy sweet juices, rolling his tongue so mean against your ravaged clit. Your sloppy entrance. Fuck, even those sensitive areas on your thighs. Anywhere and everywhere that Geto Suguru could reach because shit, it’s been too long. And he’s drunk, so fucking drunk on his girl’s pussy. 

Your eyes snap open, and shit the sight is so pretty that it makes you clamp down sinfully on his fingers. Hair falling out of his sloppy bun, framing Geto’s pretty flushed face. As pink as those lips meshing messily with yours. Eyes dazed, miles away, your slick dripping down his face, down, down, down all the way to the curve of his jaw. 

You manage to let out a disbelieving mutter of, “Y-your girl?” And when that doesn’t rouse Geto, you tug familiarly on his disheveled hair. Having to fucking pull him back to repeat, “Your girl?” 

Fuck, did he say that out loud?

Oh, well - he wasn’t entirely wrong, was he?

And he tells you that - involuntarily, of course, high off your sweet taste and your cute moans. Loud. Movements only speeding up. 

“S’true.” You feel his lips form a fucked-out smile against your pussy, “This pretty pussy is mine, right? S’mine to ruin.” Giving your poor, abused clit a lingering, chaste peck - one that if you didn’t know any better, you’d consider to be apologetic. “Mine to make you scream.”

So it only makes sense that you do when you cum. 

“Hngh- oh my god oh my god, Sugu I’m- m’cumming m’cumming hah-” Your thighs tighten around Geto’s frenzied head, vision blurry while he laps away content at your pussy. Difficult, almost, with the way you were clenching and milking his face. Until your voice was hoarse, “I’m- oh”

Your hips drag along his pretty face, and he eases you into it. “Yeahh, that’s it.” Giving your ass a gentle smack, “Jus’ like that. Let ‘em know. Let everyone know there’s no one that knows this pussy as good as me.” 

“Y-you’re so- ngh”

“Shhh shhh, I know I know, gorgeous. But save your voice-” Geto rock-hard cock twitches needily at the thought of how fucking pissed everyone in this apartment building was about to be. “-cuz you’re about to lose it, soon.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - 4 days

Choso feels hot - he feels like he’s burning from the inside out when you slide your slutty excuse of your panties to the side. Spreading your legs to flash him a glimpse of your dripping wet cunt, “So do it then, if you’re so sorry.”

And oh was Choso sorry. 

Sorry he couldn’t move faster with the way he was immediately sidling up right next to you, shaky fingers trembling on that belt of his until his red, angry cock springs free. Smearing a lewd streak of precum down his abs.

Sorry he couldn’t even pretend to want this any less when he’s immediately sliding his fat, leaky tip between your pretty folds. Sliding up and down up and down up and-

“Oh.” you jaw falls slack when he presses in, stretching that first, feeble ring of resistance around Choso’s thick tip. Hips stuttering in protest, “Fuck- forgot how- ngh, big you are, Cho.”

“S-sorry-” he gasps into your open mouth, moving in shallow, slow grinds to squeeze inside. Catching your lips with his in a messy kiss, “Sorry m’sorry- m- hah-” And whatever coherent thoughts are fucked out of Choso’s mind when he finally sinks in all the way, “Ohhh m’sorry.”

Sorry it took him a whole four days until he was buried to the hilt inside your syrupy sweet pussy again. 

He squeezes the fat of your ass between two hands, pulling your tight pussy impossibly deeper down his length. All the way until you could feel the thump! thump! thump! of his racing veins again your gummy walls. “M’yours again, right?”

And despite his question, Choso doesn’t even think about giving you the time to answer - immediately shoving his swollen cock inside until he could feel the plush of your cervix. Fucking you into your couch so ruthlessly, so depraved. 

Making up for those four days - twofold.

“Ngh- f-fuck, Cho, where did ngh- where did this all come from?” you whine, biting down on his wobbly lower lip. “What’s got you so-”

One arm wraps around your middle, the other snaking down to cut you off with one, hard roll of his thumb against your throbbing clit. “You.” Is all he manages to get out, before looping that same thumb around your flimsy panties. Once - hard. 

Rip!

Looking right into your bleary eyes as he shreds them clean off your waist.

And you can only watch - lips dropping into a soft oh! of disbelief as Choso brings the sodden, tattered fabric up, up, up to his face. Breathing in your essence, “F-fuuck, n’ this pretty pussy, of course.” 

Immediately, he’s smashing into your sensitive spot. Sloppy. Animalistically. 

So depraved - not even pulling all the way out until his weeping tip is circling your entrance like usual. Instead, fucking into you in just quick, jagged thrusts like he was addicted to the feeling of your cunt, addicted to each pretty moan pulled out from you when he brushes up against your g-spot. 

“S’too good, Cho.” you mewl at the way you’re being shoved higher and higher up your couch with your ex-boyfriend’s rough cadence. “S’too- oh-” Scrambling at the cushions, the coffee-table, anything and everything to keep whatever’s left of your sanity. 

So much so that you almost miss the gentle hand placing your trembling ones over Choso’s broad shoulders, whispering out a strained, “M’sorry. Fuck- m’sorry.”  

You didn’t even know what he was apologizing for at this point, but you circle your hands around his neck to pull him closer. Letting Choso place his teary eyes on your mouth, tentatively sucking on your bottom lip, “M’yours, right?” Abusing your poor sweet spots, fingers taking their place back to toy with your pulsing clit. Rolling and circling the sensitive nub against his thick fingers, “Lemme be yours, baby- can’t ngh- can’t live without your sweet pussy. Without you.” 

“Y-yeah?” you let out a wet murmur.

And Choso’s giving you a barely-lucid nod, each drag of his cock along your gummy walls makes him grow louder. Pulling you along with him, closer and closer. 

“Mhm, wanna be yours-” Utterly wrecked little strangled gasps of your name escaping him, “M’gonna die- ya feel too good. Too- hah- mine. Oh, baby m’sorry I’m-”

It’s all it takes for him to send you over the end, with one harsh collision of his thick head against your g-spot. And suddenly you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, feeling Choso’s cock twitch wildly as he fucks you through your high. 

Once. Twice.

With absolutely no rhythm or rhyme - just running on the fumes of you milking him so fucking tight and an orgasm so hard it has tears pricking behind his lids. Cumming in thick, hot ropes of his seed that coat your walls white - again and again and- Choso can’t stop. Doesn’t want to stop. 

“M’sorry- ngh” Doesn’t want to do anything other than push your legs so far apart it burned, eyeing the creamy ring of white around his base as he whispers, “I’ve still got four days to make up for.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - 13 days

“Ya think he’s really gonna like this, brat?” Sukuna breathes hotly against your ear above the thumping bass. Sharp canines grazing along the outer shell, “Think hell like how pretty you look whining on my lap like this?”

You huff in frustration, eyes screwed up against the harsh flashlight shining down on your precarious position. Hands still urgently tugging down your ex-boyfriend tight boxers, skirt hiking up where you were sat so sluttily across his muscled thighs. 

Honestly, you didn’t know that all it’d take for Sukuna to snap was a risky little dance with some cute guy at this party. Eyes hardening, all but dragging your smug self into the nearest unlocked bedroom. 

But, hell, you weren’t complaining about it, either.

“Maybe.” you flash him a devilish grin, batting your lashes up so devilishly innocently at the phone camera pointed at you. Perfectly catching the way your bare cunt was just drooling and glistening all over him, “Or maybe he’ll just wonder why your dick’s so sm-”

Whatever insult dies on the tip of your tongue when Sukuna pulls down his boxers just enough for his swollen cock to hit his toned front. 

Rock-hard and beading angry precum at his fat head, running down, down, down his long length to pool at his heavy balls. So unfairly big that it made your thighs quiver - fuck, it’s been too long. 

And Sukuna notices - of course he does. 

“What were ya sayin’, brat?” he hums, dick twitching ever-so-slightly at the flustered shake of your head. “No no no,” Sukuna raises his knee so that gravity slides you closer down his thigh, his free hand reaching out to squish your cheeks together. Possessive. Demanding. You gasp as he starts up a steady, methodical bobbing of his leg to the music outside. “-use your words. My dick’s so what?”

Sukuna knew the answer - and you did, too. 

And it certainly wasn’t wrapping your swollen lips around that large thumb of his on your face, sucking softly as you rock your hips back to meet his cadence. 

“Nothing, Kuna.” you smile, syrupy sweet. Letting your cunt form a lewd little wet patch that helps you slide easier. “Just talking about-” Sukuna’s breath hitches in his broad chest when you wrap your soft palm around the base of his cock, squeezing. “-how much I missed your dick.”

The camera shakes in his hand, “You little minx.”

Maybe you were an idiot - maybe you were a genius.

Because no sooner are the words out of his mouth before Sukuna’s bucking into your hips, dragging your sloppy cunt along the dips and curves of his thigh muscles. Having him fuck your fist at the same frenzied tempo.

Muffled around his fingers, “Kuna-” 

“Shut up.” he hisses, resting your pretty pussy on that tattooed band on his leg. “Couldn’t even last two weeks. If you hah- missed my dick so bad then y’can get off on this, too, hm?” 

And shit you forgot how mean Sukuna was with his little movements. 

Bouncing his legs to grind your dripping cunt along his thigh, making you ride it so hard that your throbbing clit is catching on his muscles. All the way from near his knee down the sinful trail to where you could almost meet his aching cock.

He pushes the phone closer to catch the way your eyes roll to the back of your head, lips sagging open stupidly. “Answer me. Answer the camera, tell him how much you missed me.” 

The blurry camera alternates between the way you’re pumping your hand - all shaky and soaked in precum - up and down his cock. And the way Sukuna’s dipping a large hand down to help spread your swollen pussy lips, toying with your sensitive nub in the process.

“Ngh-” you squeal when he places that same hand back on your hips, taking control to bully your hips harder and harder down his thigh. Flashlight illuminating that obscene trail of sweet sweet juices you’ve left behind. “M-missed this-”

Sloppier. More desperate. 

And, usually, he’d tease you a little for being so pliant, for humping him like a bitch in heat - but fuck Sukuna can’t even speak when your thumb teases nimbly underneath his sensitive tip - just the way he liked.

“O-oh-” he’s letting out a guttural groan, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the familiar touch. “Heh, that needy? You ngh- wanted this that much ya had to dance with a loser to fuuuck- make me jealous?”

And yet for all Sukuna’s talk, he’s only fucking his hips up into your fist. Recording the way he was furiously twitching in your hands, so needy. So depraved. 

Fingers jolting to leave little crescent marks on your hips as they tighten. Words strained, “Wan’ed to ride my thigh like before? To leave your lil’ mark on me? After all, I did get this thigh tattoo in honor of you, y’know.” 

It’s all you can do to sob out, hips stuttering messily. “K-Kuna- m’close- ah-” Messily dragging your lips across his, “Gonna cum mmpf- gonna cum gonna-”

But oh you should’ve known. Should’ve gotten an inkling that your dear ex-boyfriend wouldn’t let you off that easy. 

Because in a split-second, you’re being plucked off Sukuna’s thigh so easily, the camera set up in some corner of the bed to capture the way he sandwiches his swollen cock between your puffy folds. Kneading at your ass to slobber your syrupy juices all over him. 

Mouth quirking up into a cruel little smile at your disappointed little whine, “You really think m’getting ya for the first time in almost two weeks n’ letting you cum on anything but my cock?” And an even crueler laugh, “Better get workin’ before I send this video to that new boytoy of yours, brat.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - 6 hours

“New shoes, new purses, new nails-” Gojo has his face buried into the crook of your neck, swollen lips bursting with new, broken little moans each passing second, “-a new car- fuck- five new cars. I don’t care, sweetheart. Jus’- jus’ a bit more-”

“Six hours…”

“Six hours too fuckin’ long, thought m’gonna die without this sweet sweet cunt.”

And oh then two large hands of his are shoving up that silky new dress he’d bought for you just a few hours before. Spreading your shaky legs further apart to piston his cock faster - deeper - into your heavenly cunt. 

“Hngh- T-Toru–” you whine, your new heels digging into the skin of Gojo’s toned hips. Jeweled bracelets clanging together as you drag your nails down his milky back - absolutely ruining the smooth canvas. “You’re just b-bribing me.”

“So?” Gojo sounds genuinely confused, raising his pussydrunk eyes to focus on yours, “What’s wrong with ohh fuck jus’ like that- spoiling my girl?”

You give him an eye roll - which only makes your ex-boyfriend let out a stuttering gasp. Head dropping back as his cock twitches wildly, massaging those hidden sweet spots along your gummy walls in a way that only he can.

“The- the problem is- ngh m’not your girl.”

For the entirety of six hours, that is. And the great Gojo Satoru wasn’t about to let that last for a minute longer. 

“Fuuuck don’t say that, sweetheart.” Gojo groans, two fingers making their way downwards to toy with your poor clit, twirling and brushing the pads of his fingers against the sensitive nub. “You’re my girl, always my girl, right? Or do I h-hafta ngh- buy ya another house to prove it?”

You’re gasping at the sight of Gojo reaching for wherever his phone had been thrown off, well and fully intent on calling Tokyo’s best contractor right now. “No!” Pinning his hand down with yours, “Don’t- don’t need another house, Toru.”

Gojo’s pretty pink lips fall into a stubborn pout, and yet his hips never stop. Fucking you into the mattress of this overpriced hotel suite so hard you were sure it would leave marks. 

His heavy balls on your ass, thighs against your own, fingers on your waist - just itching, aching to rip this flimsy dress off of you and fuck you all over again in a whole new one from the stacks of bags on the floor. 

“Then what.” he moans, words hitching upwards with each sloppy smack of his hips against yours. Shuddering out a heavy breath against your lips, “Anything- haaah anything for you. Anything n’ I jus’ want you- fuck fuck fuck jus’ want you.” 

It’s a ragged, dizzying little mantra that he kept spitting into your open mouth. Only growing louder and louder with each drag of Gojo’s massive length against your dripping cunt. Stretching you out, molding you, drawing you back to him.

You choke out, “Wan’- want- ngh-” 

But fuck it was so difficult to speak with how needily Gojo was playing with your pretty pussy. Just ravaging your gaping hole with his unforgiving cock, molding you against each ride and curve of his dick. Fingers so firm on your clit, “Mhm? Tell me- ngh anything.”

“Wan’ you-” you’re letting out an embarrassed pant. Lips crashing against his stunned ones, “Wanna cum- want you- fuck- wanna cum, Toru, so bad.”

“Then cum.” It’s all you can make out through the blood roaring in your ears, your orgasm so close that it almost hurt. Or maybe that’s just how hard that Gojo was pushing into your cervix, your g-spot, everywhere and anywhere. “Cum f’me, my girl.”

And then you are - your entire body jolting into Gojo’s as he fucks you messily through your high. Over and over and-

Barely even making it three, mean thrusts before the way your tight pussy was milking him gets too much. Before he can’t help but spill all into your gummy walls, painting then a creamy little white that was so sinful. So his.

Gojo’s free hand crushes you even closer to his body, pinning you down with his weight to make sure you take every single drop of his seed. All of it. 

“Ohh fuck- you’re right.” he grits out, the pleasure too much that his eyes are blown, jaw falling slack, veins popping out from the side of his neck. “Ngh- this is the best- fuck, you’re the best. The- oh m’gonna give ya everything for the rest of m’life-”

And in the haze of it all, you barely even register the cold, metallic band being slipped gently onto your finger. And despite your blurry, unfocused vision, you could pick apart the ridiculously large diamond winking at you under the dim-lighting. Gojo’s voice sounding way too-pleased as he hums, “Jus’ a lil’ something I bought extra.”

A/N. Reader in Gojo’s is too nice idc I’d be asking for that new house. 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[that-one-guy-called-rey]

Happy birthday to your brother!!

Indeed happy birthday to him!! fun fact, he has the same name as the titanosaur at the field museum!

I would say he’s cooler than the dinosaur but he kicked my ass at super smash bros yesterday so fuck him actually

[hecksupremechips]

Crying and sobbing cuz video game will never be as good as it could’ve been 🥺

[assriels]

lessons in touch

pairing: azriel x f!reader

summary: azriel’s curiosity and penchant for spying reveals exactly why you’ve been more…enthusiastic in bed lately

word count: 5.8k :0

warnings: smut (not super detailed)!! 18+ mdni pls, az being nosy

a/n: this is one of my faves so far :’) i have this persistent silly headcanon that az is the biggest busybody of them all and that’s why he’s so good at his job

masterlist

banners by @/cafekitsune <3

Sex between you and Azriel was far from boring. It was a well known secret that Azriel had a predilection towards kink and experimentation, so your adventures with him between the sheets never left either of you dissatisfied. Far from it, actually.

Being with him was always pleasurable, wonderful, and unrivaled by any you’d had before him. During girls night, you had always attested to his prowess, said that his skills of observation extended past the battlefield and very much into the bedroom. And his wingspan…you would neither confirm nor deny whether the theory around Illyrian males and their wingspan was true, much to their chagrin, but the mischievous smirk that curled your lips was all they needed to confirm their suspicions.

Azriel was a skilled lover; he knew your ins and outs, understood almost innately how to coax pleasure from you with a simple, well placed brush of his fingers. More often than not, Azriel had you in a puddle on the floor before he could even take his pants off. Which, ordinarily, was a more than welcome skill — you loved how well he knew you, adored how he loved you so much that his brain was like a file cabinet of information about things you liked.

But you’d grown frustrated lately, more and more desiring to reduce Azriel to the same pleasure filled putty that he so often did with you. His composure was infuriatingly ironclad; you knew he felt the same primal, overwhelming desire that you did — such was the nature of the mating bond — but he was much better at masking it.

In short, you wanted to know what made him tick, what made him beg and whimper and plead with you to touch him. You’d been mated for a year now, and while his desire for you never waned, you had yet to find the one thing that made him sink to his knees and beg the way he so easily coaxed you to do for him.

It was no secret that your mate had a bold competitive streak. But your own stubbornness rivaled his own, leading to long, long card game nights and sparring matches — much to everyone else’s entertainment.

Though you knew you had no reason to feel such competitiveness when matters of the bedroom were concerned, you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of annoyance that Azriel had so easily figured out how to make you squirm in a multitude of ways — with all your cards on the table — while you were still somewhat in the dark about his most favored bedroom inclinations. Azriel kept the secrets of his hand close to his chest.

So you vowed to yourself that you’d figure it out, test his composure to see how exactly to make that beautiful, calm countenance crack. It was like a game, but one you were more than willing to play and even more determined to win.

Ever the observer however, Azriel caught on to the changes in your excitement beneath the sheets, amusement and adoration coursing through his veins as he reveled in your sudden vigor, never shying away from a challenge.

You had been more experimental in your bedroom endeavors as of late, asking him to bend you this way and that, introducing things that he never thought you’d be interested in — not that he was complaining in the slightest. Though your differences were strikingly obvious, Azriel would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious about where your sudden interest in various sexual niches had sprung from.

Initially, it was all fun and games; if you wanted to explore then so be it — he’d match you stroke for stroke every time. But eventually, his nosiness had wedged its way deep into each crevice of his mind until he was all-consumed, curiosity devolving into a burgeoning anxiety.

Was something wrong?

Azriel was positive that if you were bored you would tell him. Had you heard something from one of the others that spurred you to want to explore more? Had you felt as though you had to introduce novelty every time to please him?

You had to have known that was far from the truth; no matter your state, Azriel had always made it clear to you that you were the most exquisite creature he’d ever had the privilege of knowing, let alone laying with. He didn’t think there was anything wrong…at least not for him. Maybe you felt like something was missing.

“Penny for your thoughts, brother?”

Rhys’s voice snapped him out of his anxious musings. Azriel hadn’t realized that he was pacing so furiously he could have worn a hole through the floor. Both Rhysand and Cassian had been watching with amusement glinting in their eyes. After all, it was a rare sight to see their ordinarily calm and stoic shadowsinger so worked up.

The same poker face Azriel had worn to win countless games of cards against his brothers masked his features now, but the twitch in his brow and the near missable ruffling of his wings were tells that Cassian and Rhysand were well acquainted with.

The shadowsinger had never perfected his stone faced indifference when he was thinking of you.

Cassian ventured a guess, “Have you upset Y/N?”

Cassian had meant to tease, but the way Azriel stayed silent had his eyebrow arching in question. Azriel ignored the curious glance from his brother as his mind ran in circles once more.

Had he upset you? Was your sudden experimentation in bed some roundabout way of telling him that he had done something to hurt you? No, no…that didn’t make sense, he was being illogical.

Or…Had he somehow missed picking up on something that you liked?

Your sudden interest in sexual exploration was far from a problem, but he got the niggling sense that you were up to something, playing a game that he wasn’t privy to. And he wanted in.

Azriel was private by nature, never revealing more of his relationship with you than absolutely necessary to his brothers, not wanting to overshare in fear that he’d fall victim to their incessant teasing. But this…maybe it would be useful to get their opinions about your sudden change in interests? Cassian and Rhys were both mated males afterall, and maybe there was something Azriel was missing. He would never admit it to anyone but himself, but he fell victim to his crippling neuroticism more times than he’d like to. Curiosity and anxiety were two sides of the same coin.

So he indulged and told his brothers of your sudden vigor in bed, enthusiasm to try something new every single time. You’d been insatiable as of late and he didn’t know why; nothing had changed that he knew of and it was concerning him, he couldn’t stand not knowing.

“So,” Rhys started tentatively, narrowing his eyes in confusion, not quite grasping the issue that Azriel was so hesitant to endorse. “Y/N is trying new things in bed.”

And elsewhere, Azriel thought with a ghost of a smile on his lips. He’d leave that part out, though; Rhys probably wouldn’t appreciate knowing the details about the going-ons in the dining room of the townhouse. And the gardens. And the hallways.

“And you’re complaining?” Cassian asked, incredulous, similarly at a loss for his brother’s concern.

“I’m not complaining, Cass,” Azriel groaned and slumped unceremoniously into a chair (much like an irritated school child who’d been caught doing something they weren’t supposed to), immediately regretting his poorly thought out decision to confide in his brothers. “I’m just confused. I don’t know what she wants.”

“Have you considered asking her?” Rhys inquired, infuriatingly teasing smile curving his lips.

Azriel deadpanned and clicked his tongue, not believing that Rhys would assume he was so inept at communicating with his lover, “Of course I’ve asked. She just says nothing’s changed. I believe her, but it’s still bothering me and I don’t know why.”

Both Cassian and Rhys resisted the urge to laugh, mentally conversing about how Azriel’s affections for you often reduced him to an adolescent-like lovesickness, begging and willing to please. Az had been this way since they were children; fiercely competitive and subsequently pouty if he didn’t have the upper hand, always wanting to know and learn everything he could.

This side of the shadowsinger was one that did not make an appearance often, reserving itself until he was around the few he trusted wholeheartedly.

The past couple of centuries saw even less of this endearingly childish and competitive Azriel – even around his closest friends – as Night Court duties and his identity as Spymaster overshadowed most opportunities to be vulnerable in his relationships.

But when you came around, light began to spark beneath the shadowy depths of Azriel’s countenance as you slowly coaxed him to trust and love as fiercely as everyone knew he was capable of, with the reckless abandon that his childhood self so easily embodied.

“Maybe check her nightstand,” Cassian teased with a wink, only half joking, as a quiet happiness bubbled within him at the small glimpses of Azriel’s vulnerability. “Some of Nesta’s best kept secrets are hidden there.”

Before Azriel could furrow his brow and chastise his brother for snooping through his mate’s belongings, a realization hit him.

Nesta.

You had been spending an awfully large amount of time with the eldest Archeron sister in the library lately, choosing to hole up there in lieu of your other hobbies when you weren’t training or engaging in your various other Night Court duties.

But Nesta would be a dead end. There was no way he could approach her without tipping you off to his secret sleuthing. Though he and Nesta were friends, her loyalties laid with you; there was an unexplainable female camaraderie between you – a chosen sisterhood, if you will – and if he asked if she knew anything about what was going on, she’d go running to you, mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

The conversation with his brothers was about as helpful as he initially thought it would be, and he let himself succumb to their jokes about how wrapped around your finger he was. Azriel had endured it graciously, knowing better than anyone that they were right, that he was indeed wrapped so tightly around your little finger that he was unsure of where he ended and you began. That he would gratefully stay in the palm of your hand for as long as you would allow.

But that night, after you had told him not to wait up for you because you’d be having drinks with Feyre and Mor, Cassian’s voice reverberated insistently in his mind.

Check her nightstand…best kept secrets…

Azriel resisted the urge to snoop for all of ten minutes before his inherent nosiness clouded his judgment and got the better of him; afterall, his love for secrets is what made him such an effective spymaster. Before he knew it, he was rolling onto your side of the bed, inquisitive hands pulling open your bedside drawer.

Hidden among the small stack of books he had given you was a thick novel with a cover he recognized, but gave no second thought.

It was a book you said Nesta had lent you. When he asked if you liked it you said it was “only okay” and that you’d let him know if he should read it when you were finished. Despite your lukewarm review, however, it had never left your side, and he had found you on more than one occasion cozied up with it in your hands, cheeks dusted with a heat he knew all too well.

Azriel was well aware of the content of the books Nesta favored, often lending a reluctant ear to a whiny Cassian whenever she paid more attention to her books than him.

But there was no way your sudden excitement for novelty in the bedroom could be inspired by Nesta’s smutty recommendations…right? He leafed through, assessing hazel eyes quickly skimming the paragraphs, catching glimpses of the prose that had you so enraptured.

Azriel felt the back of his neck heat.

It was smut, as he assumed. But this was truly…filth. Pure, unadulterated, filthy smut.

Azriel was a lover of all books, never having been one to categorize or judge them by popular opinion. And, to be completely fair, he had read a decent amount of books filled with sex and romance.

But…he was sure that the acts detailed in this one would make even the Court of Nightmares’s debauchery look saintly. Even Azriel, who had been correctly assumed to be the kinkiest of the Inner Circle, felt tame in comparison to the words flickering across the pages of your book. How did you read this with such impassivity on your face?

Azriel snapped the book shut with such force the pages blew a cool, gentle breeze onto his heating face. He tried – and failed – to not picture you in the position the main character in your book was described in, unintentionally sending a soft hum of his burgeoning arousal down your bond. He was beginning to understand your desire to replicate the more salacious scenes detailed in your novels.

Having fun without me, Az? Came your teasing inquiry in his mind, as he meticulously replaced all of your belongings into your nightstand.

Don’t be nosy, he quipped back, extremely aware of the irony of his statement. And then after a beat he added, answering your question with a sincerity that never failed to grip your heart, Never without you, love.

You left him waiting for a response a little bit longer than you normally would as you attempted to control the thundering beat of your heart in your chest. You were convinced that no amount of time could ever diminish the effects that Azriel’s blatant display of love had on your composure. As much as he was wrapped around your little finger, you were just as tightly wrapped around his.

I take back what I said earlier, wait up for me.

Azriel smirked to himself, feeling a flare of triumph, It’s a date, then. Maybe I’ll find something interesting to read in the meantime.

If you caught on to his sly insinuation, you did not let on, just continued bantering with him for a few moments before returning your full attention to your friends, who were no doubt attempting to extract morsels of information from your obviously lascivious exchange with your lover.

But that night – even after Azriel had promptly fucked you into a blissful oblivion – had yielded no more information about your recent proclivity for finding a new kink, so Azriel did what he did best and spied.

He kept a watchful eye on the books you read, and tracked the times you asked him to try something new. He spent more time in the library than necessary under the guise that Rhys had put him up to some research.

Which was only half of a lie. He was in there to do reconnaissance, yes, just not for Rhys.

Azriel scanned the bookshelves for anything that seemed like it had been recently replaced, pages still clinging to the sweet scent of your skin. A title he recognized caught his eye and he slotted it out of place, flipping through the pages to confirm his suspicions.

This book was shorter than the others he’d seen you carry around, but certainly no less obscene. A smirk pulled at Azriel’s lips as he read a dog eared chapter that you had clearly marked for inspiration, recollections of your most recent tryst in his office flooding his awareness.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

You had sauntered into his small, private study at the House of Wind, short dress skimming the curves of your thighs as you bent to greet him with a kiss to his cheek. He’d been distracted at the time — surveying maps and cross referencing with ancient textbooks — and barely tore his attention away from his work long enough to squeeze your hand in greeting.

But you didn’t seem to mind, opting to make yourself comfortable and purveying the books neatly organized on his shelves. When you’d found a book you thought would be interesting enough — though probably not quite as interesting as the one you’d just finished, per Nesta’s recommendation — you settled into the armchair across Azriel’s desk, shoulders against one armrest as your legs draped over the other.

Azriel looked up at you then, soft smile curving his lips. He loved when you kept him company while he worked; somehow, whenever you were around, work never seemed nearly as daunting or overwhelming.

You met his gaze with your own grin, silently communicating your support of him in the way that only mates could, tugging gently on the bond before winking at him and resettling your attention back to the book in your lap.

The both of you worked in that wonderfully comfortable silence for a while before Azriel caught you fidgeting out of the corner of his eye. The sun had begun its routine descent below the horizon, cool breeze stirring the sheer curtains framing his windows. Though summer had plagued the days with heat and humidity, the nights were still cool as the last dregs of spring eked away.

He looked up, intending on asking if you needed anything — a blanket, maybe — but the words died swiftly in his throat when he eyed a flash of bare skin as you swung your legs to stand, showcasing just enough for him to clue in to the fact that you were indeed not wearing underwear. Or anything else under your dress, if the peak of your nipples beneath the silk was anything to go by.

Selfishly, for a brief moment, Azriel decided that maybe keeping the windows open wouldn’t be so bad.

He pried his eyes away from your form making its way back to his bookcase, and instead attempted to tamp down the raging lust stirring in his belly so he could focus. But the mental picture of what he knew lay beneath the barely there fabric of your dress coupled with your scent made the lines on the map he was studying blur into nonsense.

Though intelligent and compassionate at heart, Azriel often found himself a slave to his baser male instincts when it came to you. There was little – if anything – you could do to quell the raging need to touch you, kiss you, be near you at all hours of the day; his desire for you was a constant hum belying his daily routine. He had not one iota of self control when you were involved, much to his simultaneous thrill and chagrin.

Inwardly, he cursed himself as he stole another glance at you as you stretched onto your toes to reach a book on the top shelf.

Beauty incarnate, truly, he thought. Azriel’s eyes tracked each slope and valley of the lines of your body, taking his time to commit each curve to memory, the way he should have been doing with the maps sitting now uselessly on his desk.

You looked at him over your shoulder, small pout on your lips, “Az, can you help me? I can’t reach.”

Azriel’s heart leapt. It’s like you were doing it on purpose, and in hindsight you definitely were. But despite the gnawing adoration encouraging him to fall to his knees and worship at your feet, he stood with the cool grace of someone unperturbed by their mate’s subtle seduction.

Azriel obliged you, coming up behind you, one hand curling around your hip to steady himself as the other reached easily to the top shelf to grab the book your fingertips skimmed. As he leaned forward, you could feel the hard planes of his chest against your back and you wanted to abandon all your plans to slowly seduce Azriel into a puddle on the floor, but you remained steadfast in your decision. Nesta had pushed a book into your hands and said she tried this once with Cassian and that the resulting hours were pure heaven, and you wanted to test the theory, curiosity rivaling that of your mate’s.

You barely registered Azriel putting the book in your hands, too lost in the warmth of his familiar touch. But you composed yourself quickly, leaning back into him to kiss him in thanks, not so subtly pushing your ass back into his hips. A feeling of revelry settled in your chest when you felt him already half hard beneath his pants, his fingers curling tighter around your hip.

Oh so reluctantly, you pulled away, perfect picture of obliviousness as you plopped back down on the armchair you were occupying previously.

Azriel thought he would collapse in on himself when you went to sit back down. You had him so tightly ensnared it was like he was still in the midst of the initial mating frenzy. He briefly wondered if the mind-boggling need for you would ever go away, though part of him knew hoped it never would.

He took a moment to compose himself — if that was even possible when one’s mate was clearly playing a dangerous game of seduction — bracing himself with one arm steady against the bookshelf.

Despite how much Azriel so greatly wanted to shirk his responsibilities to bend you over his desk, he wouldn’t. Not yet anyway. The work day wasn’t quite over, and the plans he was making for you would surely last too long to finish his research afterwards. So he steeled himself and took a deep, steadying breath, willing his blood to fill his head again so he could think with some semblance of clarity.

Though at baseline, he always found it difficult to think rationally when you were around.

While Azriel was trying — and failing — to regain his composure, you were feigning extreme interest in the book you had selected at random: The History and Systems of Fae War Treaties.

If Azriel had been paying any attention to what you were reaching for, he’d have caught on to your ploy, but luckily for you the mere sight of you was enough to render him at least somewhat incapacitated.

You took a peek at him over the back of the chair, triumphant satisfaction crooking your lips into a mischievous smile. Maybe this would be the day he finally cracks, you think to yourself.

But as the sun dipped lower beneath the skyline of Velaris below, and as Azriel stubbornly worked away at his desk, you felt the tiredness of the day settle into your bones, pull you deeper into the plush leather of Azriel’s loveseat. Cassian had run you ragged with training this morning, and Rhys and Amren had your mind working tirelessly as the three of you attempted to draft a peace treaty in a meager four hours.

But you wouldn’t sleep, not yet, not until you had reduced Azriel to a beautiful, orgasmic mess in his chair. Not until the hazel of his eyes were blown dark with desire and pleading as you straddled his hips.

The next hour was a fight to stay awake as the words on the pages in your lap began to blur into obscurity, mind muddling with theories and questions — though the book was an off handed choice, you couldn’t deny that the information was coincidentally incredibly pertinent to the discussion you were having with Rhys and Amren earlier in the day.

The telltale sigh of a day’s work completed pulled your attention away from your book, gaze settling on your mate. His hair was mused in a way that told you he had spent the last however long skating his fingers through it, but as always it fell perfectly across his forehead in defiance of the tiredness creeping up his neck.

Azriel’s eyes met yours and apparently your coy seduction earlier still held his body in a vice, evident in the way he stood and stalked to you. There was a cool, domineering edge to his movements and you knew your plan had worked to a degree, but the determination you had to break him down had leeched out of you the same way the night had stolen the day’s heat.

You hummed in satisfaction as he leaned down to kiss you, the pressure gentle and so, so sweet. A stark contrast to the dark and tempting storm of desire Azriel flooded your senses with down the bond.

Never once breaking the contact of your kiss, he’d wedged a knee between your legs as one hand braced against the arm of the loveseat while the other danced at the hem of your dress, endearingly asking for permission.

Your mouth curved against his and you guided his hand up to your hip, gasping delightedly when his hand tracked further up your waist, bringing the hem of your dress up with it as he slotted your hips more comfortably against his leg.

His lips traced a scalding trail of open mouthed kisses against your jaw, your neck, a chuckle rumbling deep in his chest that had your hips rolling against him.

“So bold for me,” he said, his hand skating across your unclothed skin while he urged your hips to grind a little harder against his thigh. You gasped, the pressure so wonderfully perfect against your cunt.

Though your initial intention was to get Azriel all hot and bothered, you couldn’t deny that the game you had set yourself up in had the same effect on you; the lingering, almost lazy path his eyes swept over your body every time you shifted across from him left heat singing between your legs, untamed longing for you dancing down the golden thread between you.

“Az…” you rasped, arching your hips up to meet his still clothed body, the top of your dress pushed languidly down to your waist as Azriel played slow music on the skin of your breasts. The loveseat was a cramped fit at best, but Azriel’s surprising flexibility and dexterity made it work despite the general largeness of his wings and frame. He’d made even the smallest corners of the House work for your sexual escapades.

The memories of all the scandalous little happenings you two have been partaking in the past few months flitted across your mind’s eye like an erotic slideshow, and you groaned. Legs tightening around his in desperate search for more friction, more contact, more of him. His name on your lips again was a wanton plea, a sound so wonderfully obscene Azriel almost came in his pants.

“Hmm?” He hummed, closing his lips around your nipple, teeth gently tugging before his tongue was quick to soothe the ache. The way your hips were grinding so shamelessly against him had his head spinning with a swirling mix of lust and love, and he clung to the last shreds of self discipline he had. It was all he could do to not tear both of your clothes off and sink himself deep into your brilliant warmth.

Azriel had always been patient, mastery over his desire was a skill he’d honed meticulously over the past few centuries — though you had a way of quickly unraveling his self control with one flutter of your eyelashes. But he wanted to make this last for you, wanted to draw out your pleasure for as long as possible. So he pressed his thigh more firmly between your legs, his own hips slotting against the side of your body.

You gasped at the feel of him, of how hard he was against your hip, and you tried to reach him, tried to get him to release some of the tension you knew coiled in his belly. He groaned deep and breathless when you pressed insistently against him, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he continued his ministrations on your body.

Azriel’s hands were everywhere, trailing paths around your breasts, up your neck, into your hair, and between your legs the way he no doubt was doing with the maps on his desk earlier.

It was infuriating how close you were already, how swiftly the tables had turned (though you half blamed the sudden onset of your fatigue the day had cursed you with), how with one well placed touch you were on the brink of collapse at Azriel’s mercy yet again.

He was urging your hips faster now, his fingers and lips making quick work of all the places he knew would have you keening. And before you could even register that he was still fully clothed, hard cock still straining against the confines of his pants, you were falling, breathless and dizzy with release.

The night had been far from over. You came twice more in that godsdamned loveseat – once with his fingers buried inside you and another time with his head between your legs – before he whisked you away to your bedroom where you finally, finally felt the delicious stretch of him inside you.

By the time the sun was making its appearance over the horizon once more, you had lost count of how many times Azriel had you begging.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Though your spicy little rendezvous in his office – and encore in the bedroom – wasn’t quite an exact replica of what played out in the book you had apparently just read, Azriel had thought your coy seduction had its intended effect. He’d been so fucking desperate for you that he couldn’t wait until you were out of his study to have you coming for him.

But, as he skimmed the pages of the chapter you marked, he couldn’t help but think that maybe he wouldn’t mind being fully at the mercy of your whims, wouldn’t mind submitting to the pleasure that you so easily coaxed from him. He was already always so eager to please you, so willing to crawl to the ends of the earth for you if you had so much as suggested you wanted him to.

“Azriel?” Nesta’s voice dripped with wicked amusement, effectively pulling him from his erotic reverie. “I never thought I’d see you in this section of the library.”

Fuck.

He hadn’t anticipated that he’d run into Nesta, a severely idiotic oversight on his part considering the House’s library was something akin to her own personal sanctuary. Azriel turned slowly on his heels to face her, mind working in overdrive to come up with a viable excuse for him being there.

“Nesta,” was all he came up with. Pathetic.

Her smirk turned deadly when she realized he was floundering. Arms crossed over her chest, chin tilted ever so slightly upwards, she looked the very portrait of smug amusement; he would expect nothing less of his friend who moonlighted as Lady Death.

Nesta’s eyes dropped to the book he forgot he was holding, and her eyebrows shot up in understanding, “Ah, I just recommended that one to Y/N. She gave it a hefty five stars. Said it was…intriguing.”

Nesta’s sly comments were enough to confirm Azriel’s suspicions that you were taking bedroom inspiration from the arsenal of smutty books the House stocked. And, with the way Nesta was biting her tongue, he could tell that she knew exactly why he was there.

Cassian, that fucking mouthy bastard.

Before Azriel could open his mouth to tell her that it wasn’t what it looked like – even though they both knew it was exactly what it looked like – Nesta stalked past him, pulling books off the shelf with striking precision. With a stack of five books balanced on one hand, she took the one Azriel was holding and reshelved it.

“These are Y/N’s favorite,” she said, this time with a little bit more softness and understanding as she placed them gingerly in his arms. “I’m sure she’d love if you read them.”

Azriel scanned each cover, a fond smile working to tilt the corners of his lips. You did love these; he had been familiar with these covers long before you were even mated, always keeping a lovingly watchful eye on the things you enjoyed, filing the knowledge away in his mind for later.

“Thanks, Nesta,” he said sincerely, adoration for you filling his chest with warmth as he remembered the excitement lighting your eyes while you read these books, cute flush radiating off your cheeks.

Nesta only nodded, giving his shoulder an encouraging few pats as she stalked off to another aisle, no doubt scouring the shelves for a new read.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Azriel told himself that he’d only read a few chapters — for research — but he hadn’t realized that he’d spent the better half of his day off lounging on the loveseat in his study.

Despite his previous reservations around the smutty books you’d so lovingly treasured, he found he was enjoying them — and not just for the well written, detailed sex scenes that you were pulling ideas from. He was two-thirds of the way through the second book, in the midst of the big climax, when you snuck up on him.

“It seems you’ve discovered my dirty little secret,” you said coyly, arms coming up behind him to snake around his shoulders.

Azriel jumped at your sudden appearance, inwardly cursing himself for teaching you how to sneak up on someone so effectively. He closed the book swiftly, feeling a flustered blush creep up his neck.

You pouted and rested your chin on his shoulder, “Aw, you were just getting to the best part! Don’t stop reading on my account.”

Azriel groaned but gave in, leaning back into your touch, “Don’t tease me.”

“I would never tease you, my love,” you said mockingly before kissing his cheek. “It is really the best part, though. The paint scene—“

Before you could regale the details of the main characters’ sexual escapades, Azriel took your chin in his fingers and slotted his lips over yours in a silent plea to stop your innocent tormenting. He reveled in the way you kissed him back without pause; he didn’t think he’d ever get used to the way you loved him as eagerly as he did you.

“Dirty little secret, huh?” He quipped, lips brushing yours as a bemused smirk lifted the corners of his mouth. You rolled your eyes as you made your way around the back of the chair, gesturing for him to uncross his legs so you could settle yourself on his lap.

Your weight was a welcome comfort as he continued prodding you, “Is this why you’ve been so…eager lately?”

“I didn’t think you’d notice,” you admitted, winding your arms around his neck as he scoffed in mock disbelief.

“Give me some credit love, I notice everything when it comes to you.” Came his quick response.

You pursed your lips, half in childish dissatisfaction that your little game was over, “I just wanted to know how to get you to beg for me. I needed ideas.”

Your nonchalance belied the wicked sensuality of your words and he chuckled, wrapping his wings around you both before mapping a scathing trail of kisses up your neck. The pillowy feel of his lips brushing your ear made you shudder, his teeth nibbling playfully at your earlobe as he hummed deep in his chest, “We have a lifetime together, there’s no rush. But since you want it so badly, shall I show you how well I can beg for you?”

Azriel’s offer sent an exhilarating shiver down your spine, and you so desperately wanted to give in, wanted to watch him come undone beneath you as he pleaded with you to touch him. But you shook your head despite yourself, competitive stubbornness the only barrier between you and what you wanted.

“I want to earn it, make you want me so bad you can’t help yourself.”

Your words were a breathy murmur that nearly had Azriel flipping you over right there on the too small lounge chair, but he resisted, prioritizing his assurances that you were the only thing he wanted every second of every day.

“That’s the thing, beloved,” he whispered in your ear, deep voice doused in honey reverberating in your bones as your desire flared so wildly it made you lightheaded. His hand, calloused palms rough against your skin, skated beneath the hem of your dress to grab hold of your hip and move you so you were straddling him.

This was the image you played over and over in your mind. The unbridled, unrestrained look of pleading in his eyes that blew his pupils wide, that had his hips shifting against yours in a display of just how much he wanted you.

“I always want you,” he continued. “I’d beg for you like I am dying of dehydration and you are my oasis. Just ask, and I’ll do exactly as you say.”

You were mesmerized, finger tracing the sharp contours of his jawline before ending at his chin, tilting his gaze up with the same practiced dominance you’d seen him slip into countless times before. You savored the way he shuddered at your touch, pretty lips parting as his chest heaved.

The corner of your mouth quirked, your breath a ghost over his lips, “Show me, then.”

[ponderingmoonlight]

How JJK Men React to Seeing You in Their Clothes

Pairings: Gojo x fem!reader; Megumi x fem!reader; Yuta x fem!reader; Nanami x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,5k

Warnings: fluff over fluff, I'm pretty sure I already wrote something like this but I can't find it anymore lol, all scenarios talk about the clothes of the said jjk men being big on you so please don't read if this isn't what you vibe with (but feel free to let me know if you want a version in which their clothes actually fit reader quite well!)

Gojo Satoru

The apartment is unusually quiet as you move through the living room, your bare feet padding lightly across the cool floor. Gojo had left early this morning to deal with some “business,” leaving you alone with nothing but a mess of his belongings scattered around. You’re not one to complain though - cleaning up after him has become second nature after spending so much time together.

As you tidy up his place, you come across one of his oversized hoodies. It’s sprawled across the back of a chair, still slightly wrinkled from when he wore it the night before. The faint scent of his cologne lingers in the fabric, and for reasons you can’t quite explain, you find yourself reaching for it.

It’s soft, much softer than you expected. You hold it for a moment, staring at it thoughtfully before a mischievous grin tugs at your lips. You slip the hoodie over your head, the fabric swallowing you whole. The sleeves are comically long, almost covering your hands completely, and the hemline reaches down to your thighs. It’s so big that it feels like you’re wearing a blanket, and despite yourself, you giggle at the sight of your reflection in the hallway mirror.

You sit down on the couch, pulling your legs up under the hoodie, and let yourself relax into the comfort of wearing something that smells like him. His signature cologne that follows him around wherever he goes, that makes your heart skip a beat every time you smell it. To be honest, you really miss him. These past weeks were so busy that you didn’t really get the chance to see him more than 2 hours before passing out sleeping. What you’d do for a whole afternoon, just you and him…

Not long after, you hear the oh so accustomed sound of the door unlocking, followed by the familiar voice of Satoru calling out, “I’m home!”

You stiffen for a moment, wondering how he’ll react, but you can’t hide now. Fuck, you never wore his clothes before. After all, they belong to him and you have no right to grab his stuff as you please.

Before you can say anything to defend yourself, Gojo steps into the living room, his bright blue eyes immediately locking onto you.

There’s a beat of silence. Then, a slow, amused grin spreads across his face.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” he teases, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed.

His sunglasses are perched on his head, revealing his crystalline eyes that seem to glow with delight.

“Did you raid my closet while I was gone?”

You roll your eyes, trying to play it cool despite the sudden warmth creeping up your neck.

“Your place was cold. Figured I’d borrow something.”

Gojo doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he walks over to you, crouching in front of the couch as he eyes you up and down. His grin widens as he takes in the way the hoodie completely engulfs you, making you look even smaller than usual.

“Looks good on you,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, laced with something playful but undeniably affectionate.

He reaches out, tugging on one of the oversized sleeves gently.

“In fact, I think it suits you better than it does me.”

You scoff, though your heart skips a beat at the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the most fascinating thing in the world.

“You think everything looks good on me.”

“That’s because it does.”

His grin is infuriatingly confident, but there’s a softness in his gaze that makes your breath catch.

“But you, wearing my clothes? I think that might be my favorite look.”

He leans closer, his nose brushing against your temple before pressing a soft kiss there.

“You can keep it if you want,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin.

“I don’t think I’m getting it back anyway.”

Megumi Fushiguro

It’s early morning, the sun just beginning to rise over the horizon, casting a soft glow over Megumi’s small apartment. He’s still asleep, his dark hair a mess of unruly strands as he breathes softly beside you. You’ve been staying with him for the weekend, a rare break from the chaos of jujutsu sorcery.

As you quietly slip out of bed, careful not to wake him, you feel the cool air hit your skin. Without thinking, you look around the room for something to cover yourself with. Your eyes land on one of Megumi’s plain black shirts, tossed haphazardly over the back of a chair. It’s oversized, much bigger than anything you’d typically wear, but you shrug and grab it anyway.

Slipping it over your head, the fabric is soft and familiar, carrying the faint scent of him. It hangs loosely on your frame, the sleeves too long and the hem falling halfway down your thighs. You glance at yourself in the mirror, a small smile tugging at your lips. There’s something comforting about wearing his clothes, like having a part of him with you even when he’s asleep.

As you turn back toward the bed, you freeze. Megumi’s awake. His dark eyes are half-lidded, still clouded with sleep as he watches you from the bed. You can’t quite read his expression -it’s a mixture of surprise, confusion, and something else you can’t place.

“You’re up early,” he mutters, his voice still thick with sleep.

You shrug, feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze.

“Couldn’t sleep. I didn’t think you’d mind if I borrowed your shirt.”

Megumi blinks, his gaze drifting over you slowly. He doesn’t say anything right away, but you can see the way his eyes linger on the way the shirt swallows you, how it looks like you’re drowning in fabric. After a long moment, he finally speaks, his voice quieter than before.

“It looks good on you,” he finally speaks out, a little awkwardly, as if he’s not quite sure how to compliment you.

“Better than it does on me.”

You can’t help but laugh at how flustered he seems, even though he’s trying to play it cool.

“Really? I think it’s a little big.”

Megumi shakes his head, sitting up in bed and running a hand through his messy hair.

“No. It’s perfect.”

He pauses for a moment before adding, almost shyly,

“You should wear my stuff more often.”

His words catch you off guard, and you raise an eyebrow at him, surprised. Even though you know all too well that Megumi Fushiguro has a soft spot for you, you never really thought about stealing or borrowing his stuff. After all, he is the guy who slaps the back of Yuji’s head each and every day over stealing his sandwich or equipment. And now…he’s telling you straightforward that he wants you to wear his shirts?

“You want me to?”

He looks away, his usual stoic mask slipping just a bit as a faint blush creeps up his cheeks.

“I mean... yeah. It suits you.”

Your heart skips a beat at his admission. Megumi isn’t one for big, flowery declarations, but this, this small, almost hesitant compliment, is enough to make your chest warm. You walk over to him, climbing back into bed and curling up beside him like you always do after waking up.

“Well, if you insist,” you mutter teasingly, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“I might just steal more of your clothes.”

Megumi huffs, but there’s a softness in his eyes as he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

“Go ahead,” he mumbles, tugging at the hem of his loose shirt.

“I don’t mind.”

Yuta Okkotsu

You’ve been staying at Yuta’s apartment for the past few days, crashing at his place while you’re both on a break from missions. It’s been nice: quiet, peaceful, just the two of you enjoying each other’s company without the usual chaos of jujutsu high looming over you.

It’s late in the evening now, and you’ve just gotten out of the shower, feeling refreshed after a long day. As you towel off your hair, you realize you forgot to grab something to wear. Your suitcase is still in the living room, and you don’t really feel like walking out there in just a towel.

Your groan in frustration over your usual absent-mindlessness, eyes landing on one of Yuta’s old sweatshirts, folded neatly on the chair by his desk. It’s a little worn, clearly well-loved, and the idea of wearing something of his brings a smile to your face. Yuta definitely wouldn’t mind you wearing one of his shirts, right? And even if he did…you’d love to see that little blush creep up his face.

Without thinking twice, you pull the sweatshirt over your head. It’s oversized, the sleeves long enough to cover your hands, and the fabric is soft and cozy against your skin.

You’re adjusting the sleeves when the door creaks open slightly. You look up just as Yuta steps into the room, his eyes widening in surprise when he sees you.

“Oh, hey-” he starts, but then he freezes, his gaze locking onto the sweatshirt you’re wearing.

His face flushes almost instantly, a deep red creeping up his cheeks as he stares at you.

“Uh… is that…?”, Yuta stammers, clearly flustered.

You glance down at the sweatshirt and smile sheepishly.

“Yeah, I hope you don’t mind. I forgot to grab my clothes, and this looked comfortable.”

Yuta blinks, his face still bright red, but he quickly shakes his head.

“No! I mean, I don’t mind at all! It’s just… you look… um…”

He trails off, his eyes flicking away as if he’s too embarrassed to finish the sentence.

You giggle softly, stepping closer to him, to tease the hell out of him even more. That poor innocent boy who doesn’t even dare looking your direction when you stumble in the bathroom in the morning with noting but a shirt and panties on.

Even though you’ve been together for over a year by now.

“I look… what?”

Yuta clears his throat, still avoiding your gaze.

“You look… really cute,” he mutters, barely audible.

“In my sweatshirt, I mean.”

Your heart swells at his words, and you can’t help but smile as you reach out and take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Thanks, Yuta.”

He finally meets your gaze, his face still red but his expression softening as he squeezes your hand back.

“You can wear my clothes anytime you want,” he says quietly, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

You grin, stepping closer and wrapping your arms around his waist.

“I might just take you up on that.”

Yuta chuckles, his arms wrapping around you in return as he pulls you close.

 “I wouldn’t mind,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“Not at all.”

Nanami Kento

It’s late, and Nanami is still out on a mission. You’ve been waiting for him to come home, but the clock is ticking past midnight, and exhaustion is beginning to catch up with you. After all, you’ve had a long and exhausting day at work yourself.

You’re curled up on the couch, half-asleep, when the chill of the evening air prompts you to grab something warmer to wear.

Your own clothes are in the bedroom, and you don’t feel like moving that far. Instead, your eyes land on one of Nanami’s neatly folded dress shirts, sitting on the back of a chair. It’s probably not the warmest option, but the idea of wearing something of his feels comforting, like having a part of him with you while you wait for him to return.

You slip the shirt on, the crisp fabric soft against your skin. It’s too big, of course, the sleeves hanging past your wrists and the hem falling almost to your knees, but it’s cozy in its own way. You curl up on the couch again, pulling the sleeves over your hands and breathing in the faint scent of him that still lingers on the fabric.

You don’t realize you’ve dozed off until the sound of the front door opening stirs you awake. You sit up groggily, blinking as Nanami steps inside, looking tired but unharmed. He pauses when he sees you, his eyes widening slightly as he takes in the sight of you wearing his shirt.

For a moment, neither of you say anything. Then, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of Nanami’s lips.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” he observes, his voice calm but with a hint of amusement.

You rub your eyes sleepily, nodding.

“It was cold, and I didn’t feel like getting up.”

Nanami walks over to you, his expression soft as he takes in the sight of you.

 “It suits you,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm.

“I didn’t expect to come home to this.”

You shrug, feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze.

“If you don’t like it, I can-”

“I like it,” he cuts in, his tone firm but gentle.

He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear before his hand lingers at your cheek.

“I like it very much.”

You smile, leaning into his touch as you look up at him.

“I might have to borrow your clothes more often, then.”

Nanami chuckles softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek before he leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

“You’re welcome to them,” he breathes out.

“Though I have to admit, you make my clothes look much better than I do.”

You laugh softly, your heart warming at his rare display of affection.

“I doubt that.”

Nanami shakes his head, his eyes soft and filled with affection as he looks at you.

“It’s true. But regardless, you’re welcome to them anytime” he insists.

With that, he sits down beside you on the couch, pulling you into his side as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. You snuggle into him, the warmth of his body and the comfort of his shirt making you feel safe and content.

“Thank you, Kento,” you whisper, closing your eyes as exhaustion starts to pull you back into sleep.

Nanami presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, his voice low and soothing as he murmurs,

“Anytime, love.”

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[ddejavvu]

bff james w no boundaries — his main love language is physical touch and that includes biting,, like 😭 you’ll just be minding ur own business n he’ll bite your shoulder or anywhere really.

hope ur doing well angel. ❤️

"Here, Remus," You offer up a spoon of blueberry tart to the teenage werewolf, unphased by now at the closeness of your friends. Perhaps at eleven you'd be worried about swapping cooties when sharing spoons, but now you're only worried about plumping Remus's gaunt frame up again before the next full moon.

You extend the spoon towards Remus but in doing so you have to bypass James who's sitting beside you on the bench. You'd expected him to fake a lunge for the sweet, but when he opens his mouth and sinks his teeth into what's in front of him it happens to be the flesh of your arm.

"Hey-ow!" You yelp, and despite your word choice, it doesn't really hurt. It's more of a grasp than it is a bite, just enough force to pin your arm between James's infuriatingly perfect teeth.

"Prongs," Sirius's face screws up in what you're sure is a mix of embarrassment and confusion at his friend's behavior, but perhaps there's a slight possibility of fear there, too. Fear that James has become a cannibal and the boy with the bed next to his will suffer tonight.

"That's good." James retracts his bite as quickly as he'd dished it out, smacking his lips like there'd been something swallowed and enjoyed, "That's good arm."

"You're a freak." Remus drawls, finally taking the tart from your spoon and letting the flavors wash over his tongue, "Pads and I are supposed to be the biters. Deer are just supposed to run away from everything."

"That's not true." James defends his animagus with a passion while Sirius snickers across the table, "Deer fight with their antlers. Sometimes deer fight so hard that their antlers come off. And deer do bite sometimes, thank you very much."

"Only during mating season." Sirius references the copious research they'd each done into their animal counterparts, "Don't steal another page from the dog book and start humping her leg, Prongs."

"It is not my mating season!" James exclaims, just a bit too loud for the social setting you're in. Your cheeks are blazing but thankfully James is making a fool of himself enough that no one is studying you. "I'm simply overcome with the urge to sink my teeth into people when I'm feeling particularly fond of them. Y/N's making sure Moony's stomach isn't flatter than his ribcage, and I appreciate that. Only a good woman shares her blueberry tart. Hence," He grins, more of a baring of his teeth than a smile, "I bite."

He leans down to take a chunk out of your shoulder this time, and you feel the sharp-but-gentle pricking of his teeth even through three layers of clothing.

You have the time and the power to raise your shoulder and clock James in the teeth with your bone. But you refrain, and perhaps that's why Sirius finally latches onto you instead of James.

"Careful, darling." He warns, his own canines glinting in the candlelight above, "Deer can go rabid. I'd make sure you're not contaminated with his saliva if I were you."

"Too late." James grumbles around the meat of your shoulder, raising his head quicker than you can react to lick a fat, wet stripe across your face, "I'm not rabid, Pads. But I can see why you dogs do the licking thing. It's not bad."

"Yes it is." You decide, smearing away his sticky spit with the sleeve of your button-up, feeling the phantom sensation of his teeth on your skin, "And if you do it again I'll bite you back."

"Kinky, you two." Sirius kicks you beneath the table, a wicked grin on his face, "Remus, I think we should take our meal elsewhere. Prongs and Y/N are about to start necking right in front of the pastries, and that's not the glaze I prefer on my donuts."

[cloudwisp]

Jealous Sylus unknowingly sets himself up when he takes you to a 9-course kaiseki experience for a quiet and intimate dinner date. You’re both seated at the chef’s counter and the charming man preparing the food and serving you tonight was on the younger and attractive side. You can tell the chef pours his heart and soul into each beautiful small plate so you savor each bite with blissful appreciation and praise him for making such delicious food so skillfully with ease.

Sylus wouldn't dream of spoiling your night just because something is preventing him from sharing your enjoyment, but when you kindly ask the talented chef for his name it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He drags your seat closer to him, laying a soft kiss on your shoulder while maintaining a possessive grip around your waist. You’re infuriatingly oblivious to his display of jealousy as you keep your cute smiles about you and gently pat his cheek feeding him another bite.

After the lovely dinner experience, you and Sylus take a moonlit stroll basking in the cool night air. His thumbs are tucked inside his front pockets so you loop your arm through his to hold and lean some of your weight against him, exhaling that you didn’t know such simple and unique ingredients could make for such a tasty meal and you’d love to revisit the place again. You feel Sylus stiffen under your touch at that and his unimpressed response makes you realize his unusual behavior of keeping mostly quiet this entire outing. You pull him to an abrupt stop and with a tilt of your head and slight furrow to your brows you ask him what’s wrong.

Sylus takes a moment to collect his thoughts, glancing at the lamplight filtered road ahead of him then back at your concerned face and resigns with a small sigh. There’s an edge in his voice when he downplays the situation but the more he recalls your fangirl worthy attention toward the chef it slowly gnaws at him from within. “Nothing’s wrong. You just seemed to enjoy that food a little too much. And that chef a little too much.”

“Sylus, you brought me there so I’m not really understanding...? Of course, I enjoyed seeing the food be prepared right in front of us and the— Oohh, I think I see now.” You really should've tried harder to suppress the fond smile as your mind works to make perfect sense of the unwarranted tension between you and him. But it was truly adorable to think that even the fearsome Onychinus leader was jealous over something so silly and you reach up to playfully pinch his cheek. “Were you jealous? Is that why you were acting so strange?”

“Jealous, huh?” He laughs softly, but it sounds more like a scoff as his fingers curl around your wrist and he brings your hand back down to his side while brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “I wouldn’t say jealous, just… observant. You were practically gushing over the chef when I was right there.”

“Okay, I understand where you’re coming from. It seems I should be more interested in reminding my husband how much I love and adore him.” You encircle your arms around his neck and his expression softens with each tender kiss you trail across his face and meet his waiting lips for an achingly sweet kiss. His hands rest on your hips and tug you closer to him and he resists the urge to deepen the kiss like he’s a man obsessed and can’t get enough of his darling wife.

“I appreciate the reminder, kitten. But I might need another one when we’re back home for good measure.”

[snowballseal]

Tipsy Tricks

Sylus X Reader

Summary: You and Sylus agree to focus on work for a little bit, meaning you don't have time to see each other. That is...until you get a panicked call from the twins saying their boss is drunk and needs someone to cuddle with.

Word Count: 1836

Note: FLUFF - Sylus is drunk, but honestly, I feel like he can handle his alcohol well so he does a bit of acting. It's all just to get your attention and he's a little more clingy. Also, Luke and Kieran my beloveds.

---

“Miss, we need your help!”

You blink at the sudden shout that comes through your phone the moment you answer it.

“Luke?”

“Please Miss! Boss is not acting himself!”

“Kieran? Wait- hold on, just-”

“Ah! We’re too late!”

“Please Miss, come save us!”

You blink again as the call ends just as abruptly.

What the-?

You stare at the now dark screen for a long moment, just trying to process what happened. It’s late, late enough that you’re already dressed in your pajamas and winding down in bed. The last thing you were expecting was to get such a panicked call from Luke and Kieran.

What were they even talking about? Why do they need saving? Is something wrong with Sylus?

The thought wedges into your chest like a thorn, sharp and uncomfortable. You hadn’t heard from the Onychinus leader - your lover - in a few days due to his busy schedule. Neither of you liked it, but you agreed it was best he just focus on work, and you’d do the same to keep yourself occupied.

Getting a call like this only makes your anxiety skyrocket.

You don’t even bother wasting the time to change, throwing a coat over your pajamas and snatching your keys as you hurdle out the door. 

---

“Miss!!! Oh you’ve come to save us, thank you!”

Luke and Kieran throw the door open before your knuckles even touch it. You jump back, chest heaving from having run all the way from the transport station. They look just as frazzled, well, as frazzled as two men in masks can look. 

“What’s wrong? Is Sylus okay? Why are you guys freaking out?” You shoot out questions quickly, grabbing one of the twins by the shoulders. “You guys were infuriatingly cryptic over the phone! Seriously, who calls in the middle of the night like that?”

“We’re sorry,” Luke leans in, trying to rescue his brother from your vicious grip, “We just didn’t know what to do. Boss hardly ever gets like this!”

“He kept talking about you so we figured you could help us,” Kieran insists, ducking away with the help of his brother.

“Okay, but what’s wrong? Is he hurt?” You press for more details, concern only growing. “What happened to make him act weird?”

“He’s drunk.”

…

Your jaw shuts with an audible click, going tense as you stare at them incredulously. Seriously? All of this, all of the panic, the urgency, because Sylus got drunk? You take a deep, slow breath, trying to ease the immediate desire to knock their heads together.

“Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that you called me. In the middle of the night. After I had settled down for bed. Screaming bloody murder over the phone. Because Sylus had too much to drink?”

“...yes.”

“That’s right.”

You close your eyes. Another deep breath. Slowly, the panic that had washed over you recedes, leaving a sliver of irritation and amusement. You really should expect nothing less from them.

“Okay,” you sigh and prop your hands on your hips. The two seem to relax, like they had actually expected you to smack them. Which you might have, if they hadn’t sounded truly distressed earlier. “So why is this such a bad thing? Sylus is an adult, he can handle being a little drunk, but you two are acting like the world is ending. Why?”

“Well you see-”

“Boss gets incredibly physical when he’s drunk-”

“Not in a violent way-”

“Unless he’s around people he doesn’t like.”

“Right.”

You blink slowly at them, “...so?”

“It’s scary!” Kieran crows.

“It’s like having a kodiak bear trying to give you a hug!” Luke adds, curling his fingers in a gesture you’re sure is meant to mimic said bear.

“We love the boss, but we can’t handle him like this.”

“And he kept asking for you! So we called.”

Ah.

You take a moment to really process all of it. Sylus is drunk. Sylus is a touchy drunk…

It’s too good to pass up on

“Alright, boys,” you hum, an excited grin slowly spreading across your lips. You clap both of them gently on the shoulder. “I’ll take it from here. You can go hide wherever you usually do.”

“Thank you, Miss.”

“We knew calling you was the right decision. Please take care of our boss.”

“I’ll do my best.”

The twins skitter off as soon as you let them go, leaving you alone in the foyer. You quietly slip your coat off, hanging it up properly before making your way further into the base. Not knowing exactly where Sylus could be, you check all the obvious places. The bar. His bedroom. The kitchen. All of which are empty.

Finally you come to the den. Each step makes your heart race a little quicker, the thick silence putting you on edge. A drunk person shouldn’t be so hard to find. But as you step into the room, looking over every nook and cranny (despite how large the man in question is), you once again find it empty.

Where on earth could he be?

“My, my, a kitten’s wandered into my home.” You nearly jump out of your skin when an arm curls around your waist, drawing you back against a solid chest. The familiar warmth of his touch is like a balm to your nerves. You glance over your shoulder, gaze meeting a pair of sleepy vermillion eyes, their depths hazy and dark. “You broke our agreement, sweetie.”

You bite back a smile, “Maybe I wouldn’t have had to if a certain someone hadn’t gotten tipsy and scared the boys.”

Sylus huffs, his face dipping to nuzzle into the crook of your neck in an uncharacteristically soft show of affection. His breath is dizzyingly warm against your skin, his nose tracing featherlight along the column of your throat, like he’s breathing you in. It makes you feel dizzy. You clutch onto his arm to anchor yourself, breath hitching when his lips press tenderly against your racing pulse. 

“I’ve missed you.” 

The words are a mere whisper, the sound rumbling through his chest, so deep you can feel it with how his body leans into yours. You let out a shuddering breath, eyes flickering shut.

“I missed you too, Sy.”

So much. You didn’t want to admit to yourself just how much his absence had been wearing you down. Little by little until you could feel the gaping emptiness, like a stream carving a canyon. You were homesick. And it makes your heart flutter to know he felt the same.

“How about we sit, huh?” You suggest softly, and his arms tighten. Turning your head, despite the awkward angle, you press a reassuring kiss to his silvery locks, “I’m not going anywhere, love. I can’t support your weight much longer, though.”

Seemingly appeased, Sylus lets out an understanding hum. In a puff of black smoke, you find yourself settled on the couch, your back pressed into the soft leather with Sylus laying on top of you, his arms still curled around your waist, head resting on your chest. He nuzzles into you like a cat, letting out a long, drawn out sigh.

It’s adorable really. And jarring. While Sylus has never shied away from being affectionate, it’s always been in his rough, teasing way. This feels tender. Vulnerable. While you were originally planning to tease him to no end, you find yourself overwhelmed with a gentle kind of adoration for the man, your fingers softly fussing with his hair.

“You know, I think I like this side of you.”

“Hmmm, is that so?” Sylus mumbles sleepily, his eyes barely open as he gazes up at your face.

“Yah,” you breathe, tracing the relaxed line of his brow, fingers skimming down his cheek to brush the corner of his lips, “You’re acting so cute and docile. Maybe I should start calling you kitten.”

Even sleepy Sylus won’t let that stand. The second your fingers graze his lips, he nips at them, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you snatch them back, inhaling sharply. Heat curls in your chest, matching the heat burning behind his gaze as he flashes you that lazy yet dangerous smile.

“Don’t mistake my affection for passivity, sweetie,” he rumbles, pushing himself up just enough to graze his lips against yours, the smell of expensive alcohol and his rich cologne clouding your senses. “You should be more wary of a man when his restraints are loose. There’s no telling what he might do once you fall for his trap.”

Ah. You hold back a giggle, eyes narrowing up at him with mirth. So that’s what this was all about.

“Trap, huh? Is that what this was? Did you get tipsy and scare the twins on purpose so they’d call me?”

Sylus doesn’t look ashamed for even a second, offering a nonchalant shrug. The way his ears go red, though, tells you that you’ve hit the nail on the head.

“Aw, you did all that just cause you missed me?” Reaching up, you loop your arms around Sylus’ shoulders and draw him even closer. Your lips brush his as you murmur, “You could have just called, pretty bird.”

“And what fun would that be?” Sylus tilts his head, eyes flickering down to your lips. 

He wants to kiss you breathless, the sensation of your lips ghosting against his driving his already muddled thoughts wild. The way you look under him, hair a mess, dressed in such cute pajamas, is a perfectly tempting image, but it’s the fact that he can’t quite think straight that makes him hold back. While getting drunk was certainly a good way to get you here, it was not conducive to anything else he might want.

And simply having you by his side is enough.

You sigh as Sylus presses a sweet kiss to your lips. Unlike most of your kisses, this one isn’t about passion or hunger. Intense, yes, but intense in a way that feels like devotion. It’s reverent and slow, leaving a lingering hum under your skin as he draws away.

“Will you stay?”

Fondly, you rub your nose against his ever so slightly, “Of course.”

“Good.”

Sylus lowers himself back into you, face nuzzling into the crook of your neck. Your arms loop around him, fingers going back to his hair. The silence that envelops you is comforting, the only sound being that of your mingled breath. His warmth covers you so completely, you can’t help but relax, eyelids growing heavier with each second that ticks by. Sylus’ breathing steadily grows deeper, lulling you further and further into sleep. Until you slip under, your lips pressed to his temple as you fall asleep.

And that’s how Luke and Kieran find you the next morning. Cuddled up, with their boss curled around you protectively, like two lounging cats.

You wake up to a notification on your phone.

The picture immediately becomes your new background.

(And secretly, Sylus also makes it his, too.)

---

Hope you enjoyed, my lovely fishies!!!

[yuwuta]

VITAMIN ME — JUJUTSU KAISEN BOYS + SICK FIC

featuring. gojo, toji, inumaki, nanami, okkotsu, itadori, choso, fushiguro

content. taking care of the boys/the boys taking care of you when feeling sick, all fluff, no warnings 

word count. 2.5k 

SATORU GOJO

He doesn’t feel under the weather often, but when he does, it hits him tenfold. He’s whiny, dramatic, borderline inconsolable, and feels well within his rights to demand your undivided attention, because he’s not usually like this… sick, that is (he is usually whiny and dramatic, no illness in the world could take that away from him).

You and him both know when he’s dragging it, but you can’t help but to feel bad for him. Because when Satoru is sick, he’s sick—you feel like you need to constantly monitor all his vitals, set a timer to make sure he gets medication because he’s so cold and pale and sluggish, it’s worrisome. Of course, he finds the strength to tease you, “You worried about little old me, sweets? Don’t be—‘m gonna be fine, you know. But I hear kisses cure the flu.”

“Not scientifically proven, or peer reviewed,” you tell him, “But you know what is? Tylenol. Time for more, open up, Satoru.” 

“Will I get a kiss? Just a little one?” 

He gives you a hard time, even in sickness, but it’s only because he absolutely relishes being in your care, thinks you’re good at taking care of him; proven by the way you give in with a nod, and then a kiss after he takes his medication. He really does feel like shit right now, but with you here, caring for him, his heart has expanded ten times and a warmth spills into his chest that makes the pain insignificant. Satoru feels honored and humbled to have someone fuss over him like this—to have this concrete reminder that you worry for him and care about him and love him just like he loves you.

TOJI FUSHIGURO 

“You gonna feed me?” Toji grumbles, sounding much less threatening with a frog in his throat, “Because there’s no way I’m drinking that.” 

You roll your eyes, lightly tapping the spoon against the edge of the mug before placing it onto the coffee table and extending your arms towards Toji, “The ginger is good for you. The lemon, too, if you wanna stop sounding like a low-budget villain anytime soon.” 

Toji’s nose scrunches—it’s almost cute, if it weren’t followed by an infuriatingly stubborn turn of his jaw, pointedly away from you and back to the television. You huff, sitting down next to him—or as close as you can get through his mountain of blankets and forcefield of pillows—carefully nursing the cup in your palms. 

Who would have thought that the great Toji Fushiguro would be so stubborn as to let a little cold get the best of him. Him attempting to suffer without cold medicine wasn’t that surprising, but you didn’t think that he’d petulantly refuse tea just because of some ginger. Getting him to take his antibiotics only worked when you told him you’d boot him onto the couch if he didn’t, but that won’t work this time, he’ll call your bluff. 

You sigh, moving a pillow to your other side and reaching over to the coffee table to redeem your spoon. You fold one leg under the other and turn your body to Toji’s, scooping tea into the spoon, giving it a soft blow, and then raising it to his face. He quirks an eyebrow when he feels the steam brushing against his skin, and turns to you with a hellish grin.

He opens his mouth, to say something slick no doubt, but you take advantage of the opportunity to shove the spoon in his mouth, “You don’t get to talk until after you finish your tea.”

TOGE INUMAKI

Despite being a renowned insomniac and someone who is willing to throw away hours of sleep to binge watch his favorite series or complete a new game, Toge does believe that rest is the best medicine. He does take his own sleep seriously—it’s not his fault that most people consider his preferred sleeping hours to be regular waking hours.

So, even though it sounds a bit hypocritical, Toge is very firm about you resting as much as you can when you’re not feeling well. He’s quick to make a cocoon out of you in your two favorite blankets and fit you onto the couch to keep you within sight as he rummages around the kitchen to prepare your meals, and make sure that you don’t skimp out on your medication. He’s got some pretty effective homemade remedies for a killer sore throat, but cough syrup is cough syrup—he knows it tastes horrible, but if he has to force feed it to you, then so be it.

He feeds you spoonfuls of homemade broth and rice to make up for it, giggling as you scrunch your nose from the taste of the medicine. When you’re finished, he lets you tell him off and forgoes teasing you about how nasally you sound as he coerces you to lay down again. You don’t feel sleepy, but when Toge’s lips brush against your forehead, his words are like a spell that makes your eyes flutter shut, “Sleep, my love.”

KENTO NANAMI

“It’s cold, Ken,” you whine, sniffling at the end of your sentence. Kento sighs softly, switching off the light to the bathroom and taking careful strides to the bed. He carefully sits on the edge of the bed, expression sympathetic as you complain about the temperature again.

The room is actually slightly warmer than normal per your earlier request, but he knows you still feel cold because of how high your temperature is. It's exactly why he took your blanket from you—fuzzy, and warm, and weighted would all be enticing and acceptable if you weren’t running a very concerning fever. Kento absolutely hates to say no to you, but he has to do something to break your fever. 

“I know, darling,” he nods gently, settling himself onto his side of the bed. He’d prefer to have the comfort of a heavy blanket right now, too, but he wouldn’t taunt you like that—if you have to sleep without one, then so will he. He should get you another cold towel for your forehead, but you tug on his heartstrings when you scoot yourself closer to him, nose nudging against his thigh. He smiles softly, carefully reaching to tap at your arms, “Come here.”

You shuffle upwards and into his arms, cheek pressed against his chest with your arms coming to wrap around his torso. Kento lets you melt into him and wraps strong arms around your body to keep you close—body heat will have to do for now.

YUUTA OKKOTSU

Yuuta walks—waddles, really—with his blanket over his shoulders, mouth slightly ajar, and a box of tissue in his hand for good measure. He looks cute despite his febrile state, with his nose red and eyes wide and you have to resist the urge to coo at him.

“I thought the Benadryl would have kept you asleep at least a little longer,” you smile, turning off the heat underneath the pot.

“Something smelled good... and I got hungry,” Yuuta shrugs weakly, taking the remaining steps into the kitchen and plopping his body weight onto a stool at the island. He sniffles deeply, setting his box of tissues down on the counter, before pointing at the lowly simmering pot behind you, “Is that… for me?”

“No, it’s for my other sick boyfriend,” you grin, reaching into a nearby cabinet for a bowl. You giggle when you see Yuuta’s pouty expression, cheeks a light pink and bottom lip jutted slightly.

“It’s not nice to make fun of the ill,” he coughs. His façade is waning, already weakened by his sick state, and crumbling when you push a warm bowl of his favorite soup in front of him. You can’t help but to laugh a little louder because Yuuta’s eyes practically grow three sizes and you swear he’s salivating a little. 

He shakes away the shock, turning with a pout when he realizes you’re poking fun at him again, “You’re doing it again. Now you owe me a kiss.” 

“Do I?” you tease, taking the seat on the stool next to him, elbows resting on the counter, as you peer up at Yuuta’s flushed face. You’ll let him ride the excuse his blush being the fever for a little longer, “That’s risky. I might get sick, and I have a very cute boyfriend to take care of.”

“I’ll take care of you, too,” Yuuta all but whispers, tired eyes fluttering to your lips, “In sickness and in health, right?”

He leans down a bit and you meet him for a quick kiss, pulling away to smile, “I thought that was for married couples.” 

“I’ll fix that soon,” Yuuta smiles, satisfied. You giggle, reaching out to poke his red nose and then his cheek to turn his face back to his soup. 

“Well, then go ahead and eat and get well soon,” you muse, leaning forward to kiss his cheek, “I expect a very romantic proposal from an un-sick lover boy.”

YUUJI ITADORI

You should have known that Nobara was going to rat you out sooner or later, if not for your own wellbeing, then for hers—because despite your roommate being a caring soul beneath her tough exterior, she is not caring enough to risk her own health because you’re sniffling all over your shared apartment; especially not before she’s supposed to go on her first vacation with her boyfriend.

On the third day of coughing, Nobara tells you she’s going to camp out with Megumi until her flight, and that Yuuji is the person she’s entrusted with her keys until she returns back from her trip. So, it’s not a surprise that a mere hour later, you find Yuuji all but barreling through your front door with grocery bags in hand, all of which he promptly drops when he hears you hacking out your lungs on the couch, quick to dart to your side and hold your cup as you shakily drink some water.

“Babe! You’re, like, super sick,” he exclaims, now sitting criss-cross on your living room floor, slowly unpacking the grocery bags for a real-time haul, “You should have told me earlier, I could have gotten you all this stuff way sooner!”

“I’m fine, Yuuji. It’s a mild cold at most,” you reassure him, smiling to yourself as he rips open a new box of Kleenex and thrusts it in your direction. He looks at you with furrowed eyebrows, untrusting of your words, before he springs up with the last grocery bag in hand.

“Well, still... I’m not a doctor, but I got all the medications Nanamin told me to get, so we’re gonna get this cold out of you in no time,” he grins, patting your head before leaning down to kiss your forehead, “In the meantime, how about some soup? Oh—I just saw a recipe for something spicy, that should help with your nose right? Or maybe ramen? Leave it to me!”

CHOSO KAMO

You couldn’t help but to snap one more picture of Choso. You felt bad, a little bit, he was tired and sick and probably felt like crap, but he looked very cute when he was sleepy, cuddled up in fuzzy blankets from head to toe, with just enough space to expose his tired eyes and red nose. One more wouldn’t hurt. 

You smile to yourself as you look back at him, slipping your phone into your pocket and walking over to join Choso on the couch. There’s not enough room for you to sit in the seat, so you have to cotch yourself in the arm of the couch closest to his head and gently reach out to move a stray strand of hair away from his eyes. It would make for another cute picture, but you refrain, choosing to lean down and press a kiss to his forehead instead, before standing to start picking up the spare tissue and cough drop wrappers littered around him.

You always tell him he’s going to worry himself sick, and he’s managed to do just that. It was a little fun, a little cute, but mostly, you’re just happy that Choso is resting. You know that sleep doesn’t come easily to him under normal circumstances; if being a little under the weather is what gets your boyfriend to slow down and care for his body, then so be it; you’ll be there to help him out.

You’re about to head into the kitchen, when you’re stopped by a warm hand brushing against your leg. You turn to see Choso limply reaching out of your, slowly blinking awake, before weakly beckoning for you again, “Stay here,” he croaks, “Please?”

You smile, placing the gathered trash onto the coffee table, before burying yourself within Choso’s blankets. You have to do a little wiggling to get underneath him, but Choso doesn’t mind, happily resting his weight against you, eyes already fluttering closed again, not before he lets you a meek, “Thank you. I love you.”

You give him one final kiss to the crown of his head, “I love you, too.” 

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

“Megumi, are you… okay?” you question softly, leaning over the small restaurant table to squint at your boyfriend. You’d been watching him carefully since he’d picked you up from your house, deducing that something was definitely wrong, even if Megumi had been trying his best to hide it.

He could be quiet, but he was definitely not soft spoken, nor did he normally wince after swallowing a bite of his food. You should have known something was off from the start, when you’d held hands on your walk and Megumi’s fingers were warm, and not icicles attached to his palm.

Megumi freezes, mouth gaping slightly, before he closes it and composes himself with slumped shoulders—he’d considered keeping up his brave front, but it’d be futile at this point, so he sighs, “My throat hurts, is all,” he confesses, the hoarseness of his tired voice peeking through, “I had a fever yesterday, but it was fine this morning.”

You lean over a little more, just enough to be able to extend your hand so that the back of your palm meets Megumi’s forehead. It’s warm, to no surprise, and you find yourself tutting, recoiling your hand slightly, with enough space to flick him.

“Ow?” He groans, and you only roll your eyes. You pull back to fish through your bag, to pull out some cash and leave it on the table. Megumi begins to question you, but you’re not hearing it, getting up to sling your purse over your shoulder and grab your boyfriend by the forearm.

“You’re an idiot,” you scold, ushering him out of the restaurant, “We are going to urgent care to get you a strep test, and then to that bakery Nanami tells us not to tell anyone about to get you soup, and then you are going to sit and eat it and contemplate your actions for the rest of the evening.”

Megumi lets himself be dragged away—another tell-tale sign that he really is feeling under the weather (which is also what he chooses to blame his blush on). If “contemplating his actions,” was code word for you hovering over him for a bit, then maybe he wouldn’t mind.

[alice-everafter]

"Were you aware that you talk in your sleep?"

Through the haze of tiredness, Vil's voice rings clear, as it so often does. It takes a few too many blinks to will the grogginess away. But when it does, you turn on your side towards him. He's in a position mirroring your own, his form highlighted by the early morning rays of sunlight leaking in through the window behind him. Swathed in blankets that have clearly seen better days, as was typical of Ramshackle grade furnishing.

"...Good morning to you too, Vil."

He doesn't reply with any words, merely a hum of acknowledgement.

It's unfair how perfect he can look so soon after waking. Cause you know for a fact your hair is in tangles under your head. Makes you feel like a true potato, as he so calls you.

You're reminded of the circumstances behind this current arrangement as he eyes your drowsy self calmly. Turns out, even after renovations, Ramshackle is still ramshackle. It only took one flop onto your bed for the legs holding up the bedframe to give out entirely. The sound had attracted the whole VDC squad, so they got to bare witness to probably one of the most embarrassing moments of your life. Well, Ace made certain that it was, at least.

Originally content to sleep on a slightly shorter than usual bed, Vil had been quite adamant on not letting you. Something about bugs and possibilities of them infesting the mattress. It didn't really matter to you, but somehow you found yourself in his room. Rather, one of your guest rooms. And that was where you still were, letting him eye you down like a product on display.

"...Something on my face?"

"Yes, drool."

Nice to know that Vil's charm was present every hour of the day.

"...What was this about me talking in my sleep?" You try to nonchalantly swipe a hand over your mouth, but it fails spectacularly. Nothing gets past this man.

"You mumble all sorts of nonsense." He looks like a Renaissance painting as he brushes a stray lock from his eyes, tucking it elegantly behind his ear. "I nearly thought you were awake at first, talking to yourself."

"Yes, cause that's totally what one does first thing in the morning. Talk to themself."

The sleepiness has clearly made you overly confident. If the glare he levels you is anything to go by.

"Notice how I said 'nearly.' Meaning I didn't actually think you were. Does the morning dim your wit more than normal?"

"...For someone so insistent on getting me in their bed, you're rather snappy."

"Why I never." That comment gets him riled enough to sit up. You feel tiny as he stares daggers down at you where you continue to lie. In your puddle of disarray, while he's somehow runway ready at the ass crack of dawn.

"How can you look like a Greek god first thing in the morning?" Oh, so you've decided to voice your thoughts out loud. Ok, cool, that's totally what you wanted to do. Totally.

You watch as his anger morphs into confusion. "Greek god?"

"Oh," that's right. That's a 'your world' thing, isn't it. "A reference from back home, don't worry about it."

"Hmph," he grunts. Well, you'd hardly call it a grunt. Vil wouldn't do something as barbaric as grunt. It was more like a delicate, posh scoff. But, he no longer looks as mad as he did before, so you guess it was a good thing you decided to voice your inner musings aloud. "Does this 'Greek god' happen to have flawless skin, gorgeous hair, and impeccable taste?"

You don't want to answer him, cause you know where this is going. But, again, nothing escapes the notice of this man. You're forced to watch his lips curl up into an infuriatingly hot smug grin.

"From your face, I assume so. It's kind of you to notice the obvious."

You're very well awake by now, but you still roll your eyes. You may lowkey highkey fear this man, but nothing could've held that reaction back.

"Yeah, well, they're also incredibly abnormal. Cause the rest of the population doesn't typically wake up looking like a supermodel."

"If you think I'm a supermodel now, then you must think I'm ethereal on a day to day."

You do nothing but grumble as you shuffle to sit up, rubbing leftover sleep from your eyes while pointedly ignoring how he practically preens next to you. When you instinctually card a hand through your hair, instead of it catching on knots like you expect, it goes right through.

"It's the pillow case."

Again, the bastard reads your expression like a book and promptly comments on it.

"Satin is good for both the skin and the hair."

You're tempted to call him extra, cause who brings their own pillow case to someone else's house? But the way your hair feels, how it's free from a majority of its typical morning tangles, shuts you up.

You chance a glance up at him. Head turned towards you, knees bent below the covers, an elbow rested over top, chin held primly in the palm of his hand, still haloed by the rising sun like it’s a paid actor. With an elegant quirk to his brow and an expression equal parts amused and sickly fond.

There is... something running laps in your chest. Begging to be acknowledged. To be known.

"...If you're fishing for another compliment, you'll find that I've reached my daily quota."

You swing your legs over the side of the bed as you hear him click his tongue. And no, it's not running away, but it sort of feels like it is.

"I'll go and make myself presentable before starting on breakfast. You said we needed more protein, right? I was thinking I could make omelets━"

"A shame, really."

You have no clue how he moved so silently, but he was suddenly next to you and unapologetically in your space. Brushing hair behind your ear like he was born to do it. Walking the small distance around to your front so you could see the pleased smile upon his lips and knowing twinkle in his eyes.

Damn him, you can't help but internally curse as goosebumps form where his fingers had barely even grazed. Nothing gets past him, and especially not you.

"I was so hoping for a few more compliments, because I certainly haven't reached my needed quota."

[tonycries]

Hope They Catch Us - G.S.

Synopsis. When you’re on-screen, it’s always a rivalry to see who’s best - you just never thought that it would be the same struggle in bed.

Pairing. Actor! Gojo Satoru x Co-Star! Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, rivals-to-lovers, co-stars to lovers, unprotected, oral (fem receiving) slight exhíbitionism (stuff with cameras), marking, praise, Satoru is actually down BAD, cúmplay, tabloids, lowkey fluffy at the end, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.5k

A/N. YA GIRL IS BACKKKK ;D Also happy belated three months to this blog hehehe.

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---

You hated him. Oh, how you hated him. All because of a red-hot rivalry that had sparked ever since the two of you took the industry by storm. And everyone from Hollywood’s bigshots to your adoring fans knew that no matter where Gojo Satoru goes, you were sure to never be within a ten-mile radius. 

Well, usually. 

“I…shit- I’m in love with you.” 

Because avoiding Gojo like a plague really isn’t saying much when said plague was currently sitting right next to you. Eyes boring into yours, signature smirk plastered on his face while he rattles off a disgustingly sweet confession - all on the set of your latest movie. 

Somehow, in a cruel twist of fate, your co-star. 

And to add insult to injury, this wasn’t just any movie - it was only set to be the biggest romance film of the summer. So not only did you hate to tolerate Gojo, you had to pretend to be in love with him. 

Perfect. Great. Wonderful. If only the check wasn’t as tempting as it was, you think he would’ve successfully driven you to an aneurysm already. Especially considering that the scene tomorrow was-

“CUT!” 

That snaps you out of your little reverie, bringing you back to the still very ongoing film shooting. You risk a glance at the disgruntled director, cheeks aching from the sappy fake smile you had to hold for this scene.

“Something wrong?” you bat your lashes deceivingly innocently. You knew exactly what was wrong. And one look at Gojo - dressed to the nines and huffing sulkily at being interrupted in the middle of his monologue - told you that he did as well.

“It just doesn’t feel real.” The director shuffles his script, voice dropping to a sigh at your confused gazes. “The spark, it doesn't feel real.”

“What?” you silently thank your years of acting for keeping your voice steady. You squirm in your seat the longer the silence stretches. This cozy little café they rented out too tight, Gojo’s fingers intertwined with yours too hot. Too soft. 

“C’mon. You are in the perfect romantic set-up.” the other man gestures wearily at the café, at the dim-lighting and the proximity of your seats. “So why do you two look like you want to just- strangle each other?”

“Ooo kinky~”

It’s the first time Gojo’s spoken up since the scene was ended early and honestly that was enough to have you fulfilling the director’s suspicions. 

“That.” you give him a pointed stare. “That is probably why.”

And that just draws out such an infuriatingly light chuckle from Gojo, as he sprawls all over his chair with the audacity of someone that owned this entire set. “Lighten up. You’ve told us, n’ in the next take I’ll fix it. Easy peasy.”

If only it was that “easy peasy”. The director was anything but satisfied, running a hand through his hair frustratedly. “It’s not just me, even the public is worried whether your ‘feud’ will get in the way of such intimate scenes. You-” he jabs a finger your way. “-better pretend like you want to kiss him senseless and you-” whirling now to Gojo. “-better act like you’ve wanted nothing more for years- Not to mention tomorrow’s sex scene-”

Ah, right. The sex scene. 

How could you forget? It might not be a walk in the park to giggle and make heart-eyes at Gojo, but to actually pretend to have sex with him? All on camera? Curse whoever wrote this damn script. You could’ve almost laughed at the universe’s absolutely awful sense of humor if it hadn’t been for your paycheck - and the next words that tumble out of Gojo’s pretty mouth. 

“We’ll ace it, you just watch.” 

You hurriedly snap your eyes to meet Gojo’s, sending him a look that says “behave”, in a way that very much makes him not want to. Twinkling with such dangerous mischief that makes your stomach flip as he hums, “Or- I’ll ace it.”

God, was it a battle to remain professional. The only thing stopping you from snapping back being the way he squeezes your hand mockingly reassuringly - to which you send him a death grip back, of course. 

“Oh? Care to elaborate, Mr. Gojo?” the director asks, eyes flitting between the two of you. And you can’t even laugh at the rest of the staff for almost toppling out of their seats in an attempt to hear his answer - because you are, too. Mind whirling as you lean closer, wondering just what nonsense would come out of Gojo’s mouth. 

“Well, you could say…” he trails off suspensefully, like the smug bastard he is. Looking right in your eyes as he flashes an unfairly pretty smile your way. “I’m irresistible like that.”

Exactly the type of nonsense that would come out of Gojo Satoru, of course. And one glance at the director told you he was thinking the same thing. He was going to be the death of you. You can’t help but breathe out shrilly, “You fucking-”

“My apologies, director, but our leads have a scheduled interview soon. Rest assured, we will be early on set for filming tomorrow.”

You were definitely giving Nanami a raise after this. 

Because if looks could kill then Gojo would be six feet under and you’d be dancing on his grace already - and you let him know. A little over twenty times, actually, as the both of you are hastily escorted away from the set for an “emergency interview”. 

It was a flimsy excuse, you both knew, but Nanami hadn’t exactly felt like cleaning up a crime scene today. Instead, settling for a swift escape, the director calling out after you two to “Look like you’re gonna rip the clothes off each other tomorrow.”

Rip the clothes off each other, huh?

With the way things were going, you couldn’t be surprised if you ripped him a new-

“C’mon, sweetheart~” Gojo gets out through giggles, that familiar cackle echoing in the narrow hallway leading to your trailer. “Y’know I was just having a little fun with that ol’ man.”

He saunters unhurriedly behind your brisk pace, easily blocking the way you swing the door shut in his face. Letting it shut with such infuriatingly smooth nonchalance. 

“Fun?” you scoff, jabbing an accusing finger right in the middle of his sculpted chest.“Do you even realize the mess you could’ve made?”

“Easy there, m’not insured for these pecs just yet.” Gojo clasps your hands together. Some strange little part of your skin burning at the touch in- anger? Something else? But you don’t think too hard about it, because he’s plowing on, “Besides, a little teasing never hurt anyone.”

Such a shame he was so pretty with the stupidest mouth.

“A little teasing? You practically declared to everyone in that room that we’re gonna fuck this up.” you move to pull him down by the collar instead, clearly unimpressed.

But oh you shouldn’t have done that - because he’s so close now. Too close. Hot breath fanning your face, looking so smug as he murmurs unrepentantly, “Do you?” Chuckling lightly at your little head tilt, “Do you think we’ll fuck it up?”

You clench your jaw, trying to keep it all together. “...No.”

“Exactly. We’re good then.” he winks. 

“No. We’re not fucking ‘good’.” you grit out. Wondering exactly how difficult it might be to bother the director into completely recasting the male lead for the movie. Looking up at that million dollar smile and- yeah, it would be very difficult. “You’re so insufferable. I don’t know why they cast you.” 

“My good looks? My charisma? The way I’m the-” he trails off with a sigh at your glare. “Well, you’re not exactly a ray of sunshine, sweetheart.”

“At least I can act and-.”

He whines dramatically, cutting off your rant. “Me too!” 

This conversation was so ridiculous - but, hey, the great Gojo Satoru always did bring out the worst parts of you. 

“Nuh uh.” 

“Yuh uh.” 

“Then why are you so stiff when acting like you’re in love with me?”

Somehow, that makes Gojo shut up. Mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water - gasping out a strangled little, “B-because- well-” And if you didn’t know any better you’d say that was a light blush dusting his ears.

Only for a split-second, though, because he’s grabbing you gently by your shoulders, more seriously than you’d ever seen him. “Fine. Listen, we both want the same thing right? To have pretend-sex and ace this film to win like five Oscars?”

And maybe at the heat of his newfound proximity, maybe at the way he was looking at you so goddamn intensely - you feel something hot and prickly pooling in your stomach. Swallowing thickly, you manage to get out, “I’ll be the one winning the Oscars...but yes.”

Gojo’s gaze roams all over you - from the quirk of your eyebrow to the dress hugging you so sinfully tight. “Then we’ll do it. Ace the scene.”

Traitorously, a shiver runs down your spine. And because the universe loves to play jokes on you, Gojo notices - of course, he does. Eyes lighting up with amusement and something you really didn’t want to decipher as you blink up questioningly, “How?”

“Method acting, silly.” he rolls his eyes, as if he wasn’t implying something that wasn’t seen in even the cheesiest of romcoms. “Think of it as running lines.”

If there was ever a moment where your life flashed behind your eyes then this just might be it. 

“You-” you gulp, so hot all over. “You better shut the fuck up and pray your face is insured because-”

At this, Gojo throws his head back and laughs - loud and boisterous. And usually you’d have a thing or two to say about keeping his voice down so as not to let anyone outside hear, but shit you were mesmerized. Damn, a weird little part of you kind of understood why directors loved him onscreen. 

“Feisty,” he muses. “But how can I shut the fuck up when they’re second-guessing the two best actors in the game?” 

“The best? Me, maybe.” you lean in closer, mouth as bitchy as ever - even when you’re so obviously crumbling bit by bit under his gaze. And he knew that. “But not you.”

“Well, only way to find out is with tomorrow’s scene, right, sweetheart?” 

He drove you mad - everything from his heady cologne, to the way that overpriced button-up clung to him like second skin. But, don’t pull away - how could you? Not when he inches closer ever-so-slightly. Not when he lets those overpriced glasses slide down his nose, eyes locked so heavily on you.

Fighting to keep your words steady, “There’s nothing special about that scene, just fake moan in front of the camera, right? We don’t need any…‘method acting’.”

Gojo only raises a brow in amusement, lips curling into a grin that really makes you too aware of his little dimple by the corner. “Then why…” His eyes flicker down from his hands, searing on your shoulders, to yours - still grabbing his collar, just grazing the soft skin of his neck. Not pulling away. “...can’t you let go of me, sweetheart?”

And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you, you really don’t give a fuck. The only thing running through your mind being that shit this was Gojo bane-of-your-existence Satoru, and he tasted so…sweet. Like those cheap lollipops he often snuck on-set. Strawberry, you think.

But you don’t get to confirm, because suddenly he’s pulling away mere millimeters. Whispering hotly, absolutely dripping with something dangerous, “Sooo, is that a ‘yes’ to running lines?”

“Ugh, shut up.” your lips ghost his. “And just fucking kiss me.”

And, well, Gojo doesn’t have to be asked twice. Because it only takes a split second for his lips to find yours again. 

Yeah, definitely strawberry lollipops.

You hadn’t filmed any of the kissing scenes just yet, but damn you didn’t expect him to be so hot and messy - like he was drunk off of you. Licking at the seam of your candied lips, groaning softly like he wanted more more more-

“Sh-shit, Goj-” 

“Call me ‘Satoru’ when we’re fucking.” he cuts you off. “Or, my bad. When we’re ‘running lines’.” 

Shameless. Though, you guess you weren’t any better - not as you press yourself closer running your hands all over his sinfully thin shirt, feeling every bump and curve of his abs. “You talk too much, Toru.” you hiss, muffled against his lips. 

Oh that cute lil’ nickname had all the blood rushing to Satoru’s cock, you were so unfair. 

“You little minx.” Like a little punishment, he’s biting down on your bottom lip, tugging lightly at your surprised squeal. “You’re gonna regret that.”

“Hmm, I doubt it.”

And then your back is hitting the couch before you can react, bouncing lightly at the sheer force. And you’re so swept up in him - the way he hovers over you, arms looping around your waist, his knee wedging between your legs - that it almost hurts for you to pull away.

“Patience.” you huff out a laugh at Satoru’s disappointed whine, eyeing those pretty pink lips mere inches away from you. You just wanted them on yours. So badly. But no, there was something more important you had to do right now. “Jus’ thought we should record our little rehearsal, whaddaya think?”

“Record it?”

“Record it.”

“Record it, hmmm?” he’s whispering, more to himself than you. Fumbling with the zipper of your dress. “So you’re sayin’ we tape it, let the camera see how pretty you look all fallin’ apart f’me.” Kissing down your neck, letting the flimsy fabric fall down, “N’ then we improve for the pretend sex. Shut all those snobby directors up by giving them the best fucking sex scene they’ve ever seen.”

“Y-yes?” you mutter, as he starts tweaking your hardened nipples through your bra, clearly having way too much fun with this. “Unless-”

“Fine by me.”

The fabric hits the floor before you even realize what’s happening. Head spinning too much from the idea of being fucked on camera - by Satoru of all people, it takes you a second to realize that this bastard fucking ripped your dress off. 

“You probably broke-” 

“I’ll buy you a new one.” muffled, as he kisses down your navel, blindly fumbling with his phone. 

“It was expensive.”

With an impatient sigh, Satoru sets the camera up on the coffee table beside the couch. “Five new ones.” Angling it just right to perfectly capture you - in all your disheveled, horny glory, and Satoru, smugly seating himself between your thighs. 

“Ready?” he asks, finger hovering over that damn red button.

Well, it’s just for rehearsal, right? Right? 

“Do it.” you manage to get out, voice getting stuck in your throat at the faint ding! that rings throughout the heady room. “For my Oscars?”

“For my Oscars. N’the camera’s gonna know.”

And whatever retort on the tip of your tongue dies when he rocks his hip against yours, grinding his cock against your soaked panties. Rock-hard and so damp with precum already - so big that any and all rational thinking flies out the window.

Which is probably why you’re letting out such a pretty gasp, ‘S-Satoru, I want-“

“What?” And Satoru only flashes you a devilish grin, hands spreading your legs as far as they’d go on the couch. “This?”

He licks a long, long stripe up your inner thigh, all the way till he just meets the hem of your drenched panties. Teasing. So hot and depraved in the way he breathes in your scent. 

“Oh fuck, sweetheart.” Satoru grunts, looking down in awe at the damp fabric, so flimsy and see-through with your sweet juices. You slick beading through so sloppily, just a hint of the state you were in. “You don’t know how you drive me mad.”

Rip! 

He’s so fucking starved that he’s just tearing your poor panties clean off. Throwing them behind him to God-knows-where before spreading your swollen folds with his thumb, showing off just how wet you were for him. 

“You’re a tease.”

“And you’re fucking addictive. Look how fuckin’ wet you are. For who, huh?” he slurs, breath hot against your cunt. Circling your entrance just barely with his fingertip, teasing you like he was addicted to those frustrated moans coming out of your pretty lips. 

“S’for you-” you whine, “All for you, Satoru.”

“Exactly what I wanted to hear.”

And that’s all that needs to be said before he’s burying himself nose-deep. Drunk off your pussy as he licks long, languid movements. And it wasn’t enough - never might be, actually, because only one taste and Satoru was like a man possessed. 

Bullying his tongue between your folds, just dipping into your sloppy hole in a way that had your slick smearing all over his pretty face. Letting out such deep groans that had you clenching around his hot tongue. 

Shit, if you knew that this was the way to shut up the great Gojo Satoru then you would’ve done it a lot sooner. Because for one in his life, Satoru’s too entranced with something else to run his mouth, so fucking satisfied between your thighs. 

“Fuck- hah- think I like you better w-when hngh- you’re like this, Toru.” you purr, breath hitching as he bullies his tongue between your folds. 

Maybe you were an idiot - maybe you were a genius, because that only sets him off more. 

And suddenly Satoru’s pulling your body closer onto his hot mouth, like you were weighless. Pushing himself so impossibly closer while he makes out deeper with your wet cunt. 

“Ah! Hngh- Satoru-” you keen, tugging at his soft locks. As delirious as Satoru was pussydrunk. Drinking in all your cute lil’ whines of his name, angling your hips to lick all over like he couldn’t decide between fucking your sloppy hole or toying with your poor, ravaged clit. 

“Mhm?” he murmurs, the vibrations making you squeal.  Eyes rolling to the back of his head as lets your sweet juices slide down his throat. “Ya like this?” Stretching you out on his tongue, thrusting in and out of your sloppy hole. Over and over- “Like when I tonguefuck your pretty pussy?”

“Ngh- love it- s’good. Ah fillin’ me up s’good.” you squeal, bucking your hips desperately into his pretty face, broken little whimpers leaving you at each rough push of Satoru’s tongue. 

And oh Satoru thinks he wouldn’t mind being on his knees every day if it meant he got to taste you like this. “Tell the camera too, sweetheart. Practice how you’ll come around my tongue.”

Those words send a jolt up your spine - or maybe it was the way Satoru was sucking harshly on your clit. “F-fuck off.”

“Mhmmm, n’ this is why I’m the better actor..”

Ugh, this fucker. And with that you fight to turn your head - looking right in the camera. Feeling so fucking lewd as you let out such pornographic moans.

“Yeah- feel s’good.” you whimper, “Wanted this for so long, ever since I first saw- ngh- you-”

And shit were you so fucking evil - at least warn a guy! Because that has Satoru’s heart lurching, almost jumping up from between your legs before it hits him with a pang - ah, right, you were just quoting your character’s lines. Of course.

Well, two can play that game.

“Yeah?” he mutters into your folds. Two fingers plunging knuckle-deep in your pussy, massaging your plushy walls. Roaming around for that one spot he knows will have you falling apart so deliciously. “Can’t believe I waited s’fucking long. Y’know how hard it was to hold back? With you wearing all those slutty skirts f’me?”

Your body is jerking violently, both at his - practiced - words, and the way he was devouring you like you were his favorite meal. His favorite taste.

So eager and in-character with the way he was setting such a dizzying pace on your poor cunt. Slick trailing down from his fingers, all the way to his wrist. So sloppy and- Pressing down. Hard. “Found it.”

And you can only sit there and take it, such cute little whines of Satoru’s name leaving you as he leaves no mercy. Jaw grinding deeper and deeper, maddening. Aching as he rolls and swirls his tongue against your clit over and over. And you were so-

“Close?” Satoru’s grunting and smacking his lips against your own. Truthfully, he didn’t even have to ask - if the way you were trembling and squeezing so fucking tightly around him was anything to go by. “Go on darling. scream my name. Show off f’the camera like you do best.”

“Sh-shit. Toru- fuck yes-” you’ve got an iron-tight grip on his hair now, pulling and angling him as you pleased for more. Barely able to let out those strained lil’ moans, definitely not with the way he’s dragging your sloppy pussy all over his face. Fingers cramping up from how rough he was going - but still not stopping. 

“Go on. Cum f’me.”

And then you are. Letting out such a teary, strangled moan of Satoru’s name as you cum all over his face. 

And it’s not just for the camera either - because this orgasm is probably the best one you’ve had in a while. So hard that you don’t even realize you’re arching and rocking your hips into Satoru, white-hot pleasure behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. Using him. 

And he doesn’t stop you. Why would he? You were so pretty falling apart all because of him. He wishes he could see this more often…

“S-Satoru.” you mewl, overstimulated. Jolting with each flick of his tongue, trying to close your legs but you can’t - he won’t let you. Greedily lapping up all your sweet juices, everything that you give him. 

“Nope.” he drawls, finally pulling away, delicate strings of your slick snapping as he does. Looking so fucking drunk off of you that it makes your cunt quiver exhaustedly. “C’mon now, sweetheart, you were s’pposed to say my character’s name. S’how the scene goes.”

Oh. Shit, you got too caught up. But one look at Satoru - eyes half-lidded, hair disheveled, your juices glistening all over the bottom half of his face so prettily - tells you he was much the same. 

“Well…” you huff, voice shot. “According to the script you were supposed to stuff that-” pointedly eyeing the achingly hard cock straining his pants, “-in my mouth first before eating me out. So here we are.”

With a chuckle, he rises slowly. “Touché.” Looking you straight in the eyes - and probably into your very soul - as he pops his fingers into his mouth. One by one. Groaning at the taste of your sweet sweet juices while he sucks them clean. “But I don’t think I’d last one second with those pretty lips wrapped around my cock.”

And it almost makes you want to tease him for it - one of Hollywood’s biggest It Boys but you can’t handle a lil’ blowjob? But all of that gets stuck in your throat as Satoru starts peeling off his shirt ever-so-slowly. 

Shit, you think. All mouthwatering curves and dips, all the way from his toned, milky shoulders down, down, down to those neat tufts of white peeking out from the hem of his underwear. Sculpted like he was handcrafted so meticulously - a fucking masterpiece, you had to admit. 

One that made you wish you took a longer look at all those shirtless magazine covers instead of throwing them out. One that had your thighs squeezing in such anticipation.

And Satoru seemed to be admiring you just the same, eyes locked on your pussy, the way it glistens and clenches around nothing - so ready for him. Distinctly aware of how pathetically needy you were being in front of the blinking camera, you crane your head to glance at it. Was it really capturing-

“Now now, first rule is to never look at the camera during this scene.” Only for Satoru to squish your cheeks together, forcing you into an embarrassing little pout as he turns you back to face him. “Look at me.”

And oh you can’t not look at him. 

Especially when he tugs his pants down, just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, so fucking long and pretty. Smearing glossy precum all over his abs, flushed your favorite shade of pink, rock-hard and so so angry. Shit, he was so hard it looked like it hurt. 

“Satoru…” you breathe, legs wrapping around his slutty waist to pull him closer. Only needier despite that little nagging voice wondering how the fuck you’d take his sheer size.

“Sweetheart?”

“I remember he didn’t do a lot of waiting in the script.”

And God were you right - but Satoru doesn’t think he could’ve kept this act of restraint up any longer even if you weren’t. Too impatient, too starved, his sanity dancing away from him with each second his fat cock wasn’t stuffed inside your pretty cunt. 

“Mhm.” he purrs, one hand reaching down to drag his fat head up and down your slit. Heavy balls squeezing painfully at the way your lip wobbles in frustration. Up and down up and up and- “You’re right.”

And then it’s like something snaps.

Because it only takes a split-second for Satoru to start splitting you apart on his massive cock. Big fat tears pricking at your eyes at the feeling that he was pushing all the way into your lungs. 

“Sh-shit, s’fuckin’ tight-” he lets out a low grunt at the slight resistance, taking everything in him to not just fuck into your snug pussy and use you like his little plaything. “You gotta hah- relax, pretty girl.”

You needed to relax more - to breathe maybe, just something. You weren’t even in the right state to wonder whether that little nickname was in the script - and God was Satoru thankful for that. Because all you can think of is how you never imagined what the bane of your existence would look with his cock stuffed in your dripping cunt - but now that you’ve seen it, you think you’ll imagine it for many lonely nights to come. 

“Hey, now. Don’t get camera-shy just yet.” Satoru gives your ass a playful smack. “After all, this is only the best- part-”

Each word is punctuated with shallow, mindless little thrust to fit himself inside your dripping pussy. Such cute lil’ whines leaving your swollen lips that he really can’t help but tease you a bit. Leering down at your fucked-out face with a smirk, “Or- my bad. Forgot such a scene would be hard for a rookie.”

Oh, did he know how to press your buttons just right. 

Because immediately, you’re blinking away the delirious haze in your eyes, voice so adorably shaky - but determined - as you grit out, “Bring it on, you B-list wonder.”

That’s all that has to be said before he’s finally bottoming out inside you, mercilessly. Inch by fucking inch. You gasp as his twitching balls smack your ass so lewdly, feeling his veins beat in such a slutty lil’ thump! thump! thump! against your heavenly walls. 

“T-Toru- big- ngh- too fuckin’ big. M’gonna break mpf-” his lips claim yours. Partially because it’s been way too long since he’s kissed your pretty lips, and partially because Satoru might just cum right then and there if he let you run your mouth. 

So he lets his hips do the talking instead. 

Cooing into your mouth at each little ah! ah! ah! every time he stuffed you full of his dick, quick, experimental thrusts to try and find that one spot he knows will have you falling apart so prettily.

“Sounds so beautiful, sweetheart.” rocking his hips faster into yours. So hard you were sure he’d leave marks. “No camera in the world can pick up how fuckin’ perfect ya are. Can’t ngh- pick up those cockdrunk lil’ heart eyes.” Angling your chin just so that your sinful expression is caught on camera, “Shit do ya even know you’re doing those? Might just make me lose it for real tomorrow. Might just make me sneak you off to the dressing rooms n’-” Manicured fingers digging into your hips while he fucks you in jagged, purposeful strokes. Hitting that one spot. Hard. “Fuck you all over again.”

You flinch as he uses you like some object. Dangerously liking it more and more as he smugly hits that magical spot over and over- 

And it was so sloppy - so filthy with the way Satoru still had remnants of your slick all over his lips, matching the way you were soaking his cock. Fingers moving down to draw erratic little patterns on your clit, making it even messier. 

Close - too close. 

So, so desperate and debauched.

“C’mon. Show the camera. Tell the camera how much you love it.” 

“Ngh- f-fuck you.”

“Oh? Who’s fucking who now?” he’s laughing at your absolutely wrecked state. You can feel Satoru twitch inside you as you mumble out such delirious little praises to the camera - were they coherent sentences? You’ll never know, because the next words that fall from his lips have your mind reeling. 

“God, m’addicted to you, my girl.”

“That’s not- ah- in the script, Toru.” you hiss. Close. 

“I know. And neither is that.” he leaves such uncharacteristically gentle kisses down your neck. Miles away from the relentless place on your poor, abused pussy, fucking you deeper and rougher every time despite already bottoming out. “Does it have to be?”

“Th-that doesn’t ngh- make sense.” you gasp into his open mouth. 

“Doesn’t have to.”

Maybe it’s the way Satoru’s panting those words against your lips. Or maybe it’s the way he’s looking right in your eyes while he says them - like it would kill him to pull away. Maybe even that fleeting little kiss he leaves against your lips. 

Because before you know it, you’re cumming and cumming so hard that you wonder whether you’d make it out alive. The only thing you can do is throw your head back and take it, thighs quivering, Satoru’s names spilling from your lips in such broken little whines while he thrusts so sloppy. Once. Twice. 

“Ah- this is gonna have me fallin’, huh?” And then he’s letting out such a low, muffled moan of your name, filling you up with rope after rope of his cum. 

What? 

It’s so messy - his cum overfilling your poor pussy, spilling out and coating his twitching balls. Shit, you can’t even worry about whether it would stain that overpriced couch below you. Not when Satoru’s whispering out sweet- lines from the script?

“Fuckin’ beautiful underneath me. Always was.” Hips still fucking into you - not even thinking at this point. “Always will be. Such a vision onscreen, sweetheart.” So thick and hot, and dribbling all the way down your legs with every movement.

And then Satoru’s lips are finding yours again, tasting so unfairly sweet while he drinks in all your cute breathless gasps. “Such a vision f’me.”

Those weren’t from the script either.

Something soft. Something scary. Something that has you looping your legs tighter around his waist, letting him collapse onto you. Pulling him closer, in fact, because now that you know the weight of his body on yours, it just felt so right.

It takes a moment of silence for you two to catch your breaths, the still rolling camera being the last thing on your minds. Neither willing to speak first, because shit Satoru might’ve gone to countless red carpets and film sets but this - you are what strips him away from all the glamor and fame. Until he was just, well, embarrassingly Satoru.

The Satoru that was now shifting shyly in your arms, trying to get up. “Uh- Hell of a way to run lines, huh? Better check the camera n’ see where to impro-”

He might be one of the biggest actors in modern Hollywood, but Satoru didn’t fool you - not one bit. So without a word, you’re tugging him back to rest against you. Heart lurching just a little bit as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. Like a little hideaway - from the camera, from the world, hell, maybe even from you.

“Y’know,” he flinches ever-so-slightly at your teasing tone, giving you a playful bite. “I have one area of suggestion and it might just be that you’re too good at ‘running lines’.”

“...Good enough to win those five Oscars?”

“No.”

“Then guess I better prove it to ya, huh? Is the camera still on, sweetheart?”

Just then, some weird little part of you thinks that, hell, maybe you don’t hate Gojo Satoru after all.

Not anymore, at least. 

---

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A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.