#Purple Battle Jacket

[bazaton]

Sweden Rock 2022🤘🏻

[arianadrew]

[shit-people-probably-didnt-say]

Jesper: I am not suffering in silence. I’m suffering loudly and annoyingly

Wylan: Yes, we’re aware

[whos-hotter-jjba]

Hottest JJBA Outfit Bracket - Joseph Joestar Definitve Preliminary Poll

[softichill]

Minidisky and Popcorn!!

[alvie-pines]

Tbf nothing says you have to go full bald when you shave your head :] Could do a shorter buzz cut and then have designs in them for funsies

hmmm, that is a good idea. that might work. im honestly getting a little sick of taking care of and cutting the mohawk, so maybe i should go for that.

[nokmietarchive]

just went full ham and designed a villainsona for rottmnt wahaha

figured it would be fun to fill out a theme following four guardians. we got turtles, we got dragons... so my guys is based around the white tiger (백호)

the bit im committing to is he's just taking advantage of the fact that everyone in the universe has the cybersecurity of a wet paper bag. i mean LOOK at the passwords people are using! theyre basically begging to get their servers compromised!!!!!

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐈'𝐌 𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 (𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈'𝐋𝐋 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌) ❞

❝ WHAT HAPPENS YOU TAKE CARE OF NANAMI ALL YOUR LIFE -- AND HE DOES THE SAME FOR YOU ? ❞

✧ pairing: nanami kento x sorcerer!reader

✧ summary: throughout your years of jujutsu tech, you take care of kento, whether its a wound from a curse or a simple cut his finger -- and when he returns he finds you still ready to take care of him -- even after shibuya.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, fluff, hurt / comfort w/ a happy ending, domesticity, jjk canon compliant au (because nanami is alive) reader is the same age as nanami, set during through the events of star plasma vessel to end of jjk, nanami getting hurt and reader taking care of him, reader gets a cold and nanami takes care of her, jealous! nanami, kitchen counter sex, soft dom! nanami, oral (f), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, swearing

✧ wc: 7,657

✧ for my 2k celebration event: item 3 has been sold to two anons!

“Show me,” Nanami furrows his brow in reply, jaw set as he glares, but he knew no amount of staring would get you to let this go. You stood in the doorway of his dorm room — your room was clear across on the other side where the girls resided, so he wondered for a split second how you knew he returned when it had barely been an hour, but answered his own question without having to utter a word (Haibara). 

“It’s not bad. It’ll heal by itself—“ and you’re shaking your head, and his lips purse, “it really isn’t worth speaking to Ieiri about — it’s not a wound, just a bruise—“ 

But still you stood, as immovable as ever — and he finally relented, unbuttoning his jacket, as he shrugged it off, unable to hide his wince as he revealed the large bruise that colored his skin in red, his skin peeling and angry, and surely would turn into a lovely mish-mash of purple and blue. 

You brush past him into the dorm room, as you brought a first aid kit in, setting it on the bed, turning your head before tilting it as if to say, “well?” 

He repents, as he always did with you — he knew a battle of wills with you was as unwinnable as a battle of jujutsu with Gojo — not to mention needlessly frustrating. He sat at the edge of his bed, eyes fixed to the floor, as you grabbed a washcloth from the kit, heading for his bathroom. He hears the sounds of water running, and the squeak of the faucet closing. 

You return as you lift his arm slightly, rolling up the sleeve of his t-shirt to his shoulder. 

Your touch is gentle — Nanami was always surprised at how gentle you always were. With the line of work you all did, it was easy to be rough, to find smooth edges corroded and jagged, but no, you remained as smooth and soft as you always were. 

He flinches when you bring the wet washcloth to raw skin, and you’re careful even as you seemingly pick out pieces of gravel and dirt stuck in his flesh. And you frown at the sight of it, doing your best to clean every bit. 

“So what happened?” you ask, and he gives a terse chuckle. 

“Didn’t Haibara tell you?” And you shrug, “I know he told you we’re back,” and your lips curl ever so slightly as your eyes meet him, a small amount of mirth returning. 

“Maybe I’m just a stalker,” and he can’t bite back the small smile on his lips, “Haibara told me you didn’t go to Ieiri, and that you got hurt protecting him on your mission,” 

He sighed, rubbing the back of his head, “Ieiri was busy dealing with Haibara, he got it worse than I did—“

“Even if your injury is less serious, it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t look after yourself,” and he sighs, as his eyes slide to you, “you need to learn to care about yourself, Nanami,” 

And he knew you were right on some level — he didn’t have a delusion of invincibility and he also didn’t have a strong enough desire to strive to be stronger, but — his fingers grasp at his sheets —that didn’t mean he wanted to see his friends die. “You don’t have to do this,” he says again, and you don’t meet his gaze when he looks over at you, your brow set in concentration, “it’s not important—“ 

“Nanami, you don’t ever seem to value yourself properly,” you finish cleaning his arm, before grabbing bandages and tape from the kit, “you are important — even if you don’t think you are,” 

And he opens and shuts his mouth — before a smile pulls at his lips — you were far too kind, especially for a jujutsu sorcerer. 

And then you add, “and if you don’t get your wounds tended to, I’m going to tell Gojo you want to take a sweets tour of Tokyo,” 

…maybe he spoke too soon. 

~~~~

“How did you manage to hurt yourself so badly during training?” You offer Nanami a makeshift ice pack, a small cloth wrapped up with ice from his freezer, and his lips pursed in disgust as his reply, “ah, Gojo,” the mattress shifted under his weight as he sat, 

“That arrogant idiot,” Nanami grumbled, as he pressed the ice pack to the back of his head, “his excuse was that he didn’t know his own strength — he’s lucky that he had infinity or I would have—“ 

You chuckle, “You know he’s just messing with you, it’s just because you react,” and he scowls at his floor of his room, as if his carpet was the six eyes sorcerer itself, “he’s not so bad—“ 

He raises an eyebrow, his mouth parted in disbelief, “Are you defending him right now?” And you chuckle, as you lean back against the side of his bed, your head leaning back against the soft comforter that you had bought him and guaranteed would help him sleep better (it only guaranteed that you would be asleep underneath it half the time they spent in his dorm relaxing). 

You wave him off, “Lower your blood pressure. I’m not defending him, I’m just saying, it can’t be easy being the strongest — all those eyes on you, the way people treat you, the—” 

“The weight of your overinflated ego that you have to carry around—” and you roll your eyes, and the action bites at his last nerve, because he thought if anyone would have his back, it would be you — the next words spit like venom out of his mouth, “I thought you were better than those girls that moon over Gojo,” 

And he regrets the words as they leave his lips, as you stare at him wordlessly — not with anger, but frustration — which hurts all the more, “If I was so in love with Gojo, then why am I with you instead of him?” He doesn’t have a reply as you rise to your feet and make your way out the door, the click of the door far too deafening, leaving him with a throbbing in his head — but not just from being hurt. 

His fingers curled tighter around the ice pack. Because why—why did the thought of you liking Gojo make his chest ache—the idea of your care and time spent on someone else, not even Gojo, but anyone else, made his stomach churn at the idea. 

He had told himself when he decided to become a sorcerer, he would do anything to avoid relationships — even friendships if he could do so. When you work a job like this, it can only end in disaster. but— his eyes slide to the closed door you had just left through. 

Why did this feel so much worse?” 

~~~

“You can’t stay here all night,” your voice cuts through the silence of the morgue — the only life left in the room. Because he too had died along with Haibara. 

Or rather he should have. 

He kept the towel over his eyes, unmoving from his chair, head resting back against the cold metal — as if it would protect him — from seeing Haibara sliced half over and over, last words dying on his lips said in pure chaos but somehow Nanami could still hear them ring in his ears— just as the sick crumple of his torso hitting the ground after being ripped from his body. The words leaving his lips as the last vestiges of life left his body, fingers twitching as his lips moved—

You got it from here. 

The hopeful optimism from a person seconds before death did little to comfort him. Not when that person should have been the one who lived. He had the one thing that was so rare in his shit world of jujutsu — kindness—

The very thing that left half his body lying against a metal slab.

“I can’t leave until…” he trails off, he didn’t wish to leave until his body was inspected and then taken to be…disposed of. He knew it was for the best that his body is turned to ash, but it made it no easier to consider the person that he knew to be his best friend would be nothing but ash in a few hours time, “I won’t leave him alone,” 

You nod, and the silence makes him wonder if you’re leaving, but instead he hears footsteps and the slight scraping of a metal chair against the floor. And he feels the slight brush of you beside him as you sit. 

And you don’t say a thing. The only thing is that your fingers brush his tentatively and when he doesn’t pull away you intertwine them. And that’s enough—for now. 

Until they take his body away. 

A sorcerer glances at the two of you, “Do either of you have contact with next of kin? We need to notify—“ 

“I’ll handle it,” Nanami says, the towel pulled away from his gaze, hoping his dark bags and red tinged eyes aren’t noticeable to you, but he sees the purse of your lips and knows they are. 

The sorcerer shifts, “Have you considered asking his family for—“ 

“That’s not an option,” Nanami cuts him off with a stare, and the sorcerer parts his mouth before shutting it again with a nod, “okay, please allow us to take his body,” 

And they do, pulling the sheet down ever so slightly that Nanami sees a flash of his face — no hint of that smile he always unfailingly had on his lips — it too was gone, just like he was. And they carefully wheel his body away — assumedly to be burned. And the door swings shut behind them — leaving only him and you. Silence hangs over the room, the finality of the moment leaves nothing in its wake but regret. 

And regret only felt hollow — just as his heart did. 

You choose to break the silence, a shaky sigh leaving your throat, as you quickly scrub tears away from your face, clearing your throat, “Come on, let’s go—”

“You can go ahead, I’m going to stay here for a while,” and your eyes try to find his own, but he still stares at the spot where Haibara’s body had laid for hours. The essence of cursed energy was almost too easy to understand compared to the concept of death — a person can be living, breathing, and talking one day to be nothing but a husk the next. And now, he knew it would be a lifetime of feeling as if something is missing — as if something was wrong — and moments where it felt fine would be overcome by only guilt and anger. 

What was the point of all of this? His fingers formed into fists, nails digging into his palms — were they nothing but pawns to be used in an unending game that forced sorcerers to not only to put their lives on the line, but their colleagues as well. A twisted game that only ended in a pile of corpses. 

“Nanami, you can’t stay here all night—” 

“I’m fine,” he rubs at his temples — and how long would it be until he’s staring at your body on that slab? Or maybe you’d be staring at his own—crying over his body just as he had done for Haibara, “you can go—” 

“I’m not leaving you, and you shouldn’t stay here — you need sleep—” 

“You don’t have to take care of me,” he snaps, his gaze meets yours, “I’m not injured, I didn’t even get hurt— ” 

“Yes you did,” you say quietly, as you step closer to him, but his eyes refuse to meet your own. 

“No—” and your hand finds his chest. 

“This pain is worse than any physical pain you could put in — and I wouldn't leave you to deal with a bruise by yourself, so what makes you think I’d leave you now?” you say softly, and tears burn at his eyes, as your hands gently pull him into your arms, his head buried against your chest, “I’m not leaving you, Nanami,” you murmur quietly, as your fingers slowly run through his hair. 

And you didn’t — he was the one who left you. 

~~~~

You never get sick. That’s what you loved to brag about — especially yesterday when you got home from spending an entire two days in the rain soaking wet and ice cold without a hint of cold symptoms. 

You supposed your bragging was a curse in and of itself because now you were buried under your comforter. You barely manage to text Shoko that you’re sick and you won’t be able to make it to class today. And now you had to wonder if it was worth the effort to get out of bed to take your medication or to simply sleep it off.

But your body made the choice for you as your eyes fluttered shut and you slipped into a fitful sleep, body burning from the inside out. 

Consciousness faded in and out, as you felt something brush against your forehead, your eyes heavy as they open ever so slightly, a flash of blue and blond, before you fall back into sleep. 

Your head aches, muscles heavy, and the smell of spices wafted through the apartment, “Are you finally awake?” a voice said, as your eyes flutter open, still burning at the corners as your head turns. 

“Nanami?” You croak out, throat raw and dry, as if your flesh was raked across coals, “what are you—“ 

He turns his head from your kitchenette — a ladle in hand, before he sets it down, wiping his hand with a dishcloth. And he steps over to your bed, pulling the washcloth from your forehead, before placing a cold washcloth, “your fever went down a little,” he said, “but I brought cold medicine and I made some soup for you,” 

“You didn’t—“ 

“Have to?” his lips quirked up, “I know I didn’t have to, I wanted to,”

“How did you know I was—“ and his eyes find yours, “Shoko,” and he nods, you relax back into your bed, “how long have you been here?” 

He turns back around to finish cooking the soup for you, stirring, the metal of the ladle slightly clinking against the sides of the pot, his eyes flicker to your clock, “About an hour and half, hasn’t been too long,” 

“Why are you taking care of me?” you mumble, glancing at his back, as he lifted the ladle to pour into a small bowl to taste the seasoning of the soup, “you don’t owe me anything—“

“I owe you a lot,” he cuts you off, the clatter of the bowl against the counter as he sets it down, the click of the stovetop as he shut it off, “but that’s not the reason I did it,” and your brow is furrowing under the washcloth, as he walks over to you, a smile tugging at his lips. 

“Then why?” 

And he raises an eyebrow, “Why do you think?” And his fingers brush your cheek, “you’re the only reason I’ve stayed here as long as I have, otherwise I would have left, a long time ago,” and you don’t know how it’s possible for your face to grow warmer but it does from his words and his touch that lingers against your cheek. 

And he’s gone as quickly as he came, going over to the stove to take out a bowl of soup for you to drink, “can you stay after I finish eating? Until I fall asleep?” You ask, as he brings the bowl over, as you sit up slowly, head spinning as you do still. 

“Of course,” and he does, staying by your side after you eat and take your medicine, hearing your quiet murmur, “thank you, Kento,” 

And he realizes, as his lips curl into a smile, fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, just how much he liked hearing his name on your lips. 

~~~

“How did you manage to hurt yourself on our last mission together as students?” you sigh, the worry in your voice making his lips curl — as the two of you had just found yourselves in his dorm room, as you rifle through his bathroom to pull out the first aid kit you had given him (after you had learned he didn’t own one). 

You return to him sitting on the edge of his bed, holding his hand up in such a way that he didn’t drip blood all over his sheets. Your fingers brush his own, and he’s still surprised at how soft your hands are. His hands had grown rough from the years of jujutsu, calloused from the grip of his fingers around his blade handle, but somehow, yours were always as soft as he remembered them. 

Your fingers found his, warmth blooming as your brow wrinkled as you scruntized the cut on his hand, “Maybe we should ask Shoko to look at it—” 

“There wasn’t any cursed energy that cut me — it was just—” 

“Debris, I know,” and this seemingly did little to soothe your worries,  had gotten when pushing you out of the way of the curse, “I had it handled — you shouldn’t have dove in—” 

“It’s fine, it’s not that bad—” but your glare cuts off his sentence, as you begin to clean the wound. 

You shake your head, “What am I going to do with you? Every time you go on a mission, I’m going to be worrying about what trouble you’re going to get yourself into,”

He’s silent, his eyes unable to meet yours — he can’t keep hiding this from you. He had made the decision months ago — and it was only a matter of time before someone else slipped up and told you (most likely Gojo). 

“I’m leaving after graduation,” he says the words like ripping off the bandage, but it hurts him all the more when your fingers are still for a moment, your eyes finding his own, as you stare at him. 

“You’re—” you cut off, and you don’t protest, you don’t argue — you only ask one question — “Why?” 

And that one question was more difficult to answer than any other you could have asked, a sigh stuck in his throat, as he shook his head. 

“I can’t do this anymore — I haven’t wanted to since—” he cuts off, mouth impossibly dry — it was easy to tell Yaga he wasn’t going to continue, even easier to take care of half a dozen grade 2 curses at once — but this was— “I can’t stand by and watch my colleagues die one by one beside me — I don’t want to live like this. I’m sorry—” 

“You don’t have to be sorry, Kento,” his heart squeezes at the sound of your voice wrapped around his name — what you had taken to calling him recently — “as long it’s what you want. I know it’s been difficult—I was surprised you hadn’t left when—” and your voice falters, neither of you could bear to bring up his name, refusing to even utter it around the other — as if it would summon every horrible memory from that time—and your voice is soft, “I just want you to be happy,” 

And there’s nothing more than he wanted to be the one to make you happy — nothing more than he wanted to ask you to be by his side, let him be the one to take care of you, and nothing more he wanted than to ask you to leave with him—

But that was the one thing he could never ask you to do. 

Just as you would never ask him to stay for you. 

“I want you to be happy too,” he murmurs, as you continue to clean his cut, before your fingers are moving to grab the bandages, slowly beginning to wrap them around his palm, “more than even myself,” 

“What’s new?” he wrinkled his brow, and you chuckle, “I mean, you never put yourself first, and I’m glad you are now. You deserve to be happy, even if it’s not….here,” and you finish bandaging his hand, but his fingers curl around yours, “Ken—“ 

He squeezes your hand softly and his words are just as soft,  “You would be the only one who could ever make me happy,” and he hears your breath catch, and it only makes him want to steal it from your lips with his own, “because I know that being by your side would be only thing that could satisfy me,” 

Your fingers brush against his cheek, “Too bad I’m apparently in love with Gojo—“ you tease, all too pretty smile as you do, and his lips draw even closer, “Kento—“ 

“And if you’re so in love with Gojo, why are you here with me?” And he waits, waits for you to pull away, to stop him, to show any indication you didn’t want this—

But you close the gap instead, lips barely brushing his, so chaste, and yet it’s a spark to kindling — a fire neither of you should have lit. And yet, his lips find yours, insistent, his fingers cup your cheek, featherlight touch drawing a shiver down your body that he relishes in. 

“Kento—“ 

“Why is it my name on your lips?” And he kisses you again and again, your noses brushing each other’s, he’s murmuring your name like a prayer, and if it was, he would worship at your altar each day, “Why it is that you’re kissing me?” 

And your lips curl against his, as they find his again, “You kissed me first,” and he can taste the sweetness of the melon bread you had shared with him that morning, but something even sweeter that only be you, “so why did you do that?” 

But you knew why — especially from the smile gracing your features, one that he wished he could have etched in the inside of his mind, “Isn’t it obvious?” and your lips part to answer, but he cuts you off with another brush of your lips, “I love you,” 

And your eyes widen only slightly, but you’re kissing him again, arms curling around his neck, fingers sliding behind his neck — “Figured that out when you got jealous of Gojo, but I’m glad you admitted it,” and your forehead finds his, “and that I love you too,” 

You loved him — you loved him — he had to tell himself again and again, but he still couldn’t fathom it. Was it a dream? You were always a dream to him — something he could nearly grasp with his fingers, but always remained just out of reach. 

And now he held you in his hands and he never wanted to let go. But he had to — he knew he had to. 

So he would — even if it would hurt — hurt that no bandage would fix. 

He kissed you again, unless you were the one to place it. 

~~

“Why is it that I always find you like this?” Nanami’s eyes slowly met yours — he sat in Ieiri’s office, waiting to be seen, only find you there in the doorway instead, “it’s as if you’re asking to be patched up by me, Kento,” 

How long had it been? And somehow he knows the answer before even thinking about it — it had been nearly a decade. A decade since the two of you had graduated — you moving to Kyoto to help run the campus there, while he had moved onto a regular college and then a corporate job — one that had nearly sucked his soul dry of any life he had to begin with. And it was only when he had received gratitude for the first time in a long time — that he remembered the reason he had stayed a jujutsu sorcerer after Haibara…

And now, here was the other. 

He murmurs your name, nearly sounding foreign on his lips, “How did you—” 

“I ran into your student, Nanamin,” and he furrows his brow at the nickname — Itadori’s little name for him after he had refused to be his sensei. Because he wasn’t one — Gojo may have taken up the mantle of teacher for his own personal ego trip — but he wasn’t ready to form relationships like that. And yet…his lips curl, there you were, “didn’t think you wanted to be a teacher,” 

“I don’t, but how can I refuse that white haired idiot?” he half grumbled with a sigh, eyes still slowly grazing over you, “but I don’t want to talk about him right now,” 

You draw a step closer, shutting the door behind you, a lilt in your voice as lovely as your grin, “Then what do you want to talk about?” and you stop right in front of him, as your fingers reach out, and he’s nearly leaning into your touch, but he’s wincing, as your fingers press against his bruised body, “because I want to talk about how you ended up in such rough shape,”

A sigh stuck in his throat, his next words nearly along with it, “It could have been much, much worse,” he murmurs, “if Itadori wasn’t there, I—” he breaks off, “that special grade — he could touch my soul and it had caught me in its domain—”

And your arms are pulling you into a tight hug, your fingers running through his hair, “But you’re here, you’re okay,” you murmur softly, your palm pressed against his chest, you can feel his heart pump under your fingers, “you made it,” 

“But—” 

“But nothing, Kento, you’ll make it back every time,” your fingers cup his cheek, pressing your forehead against his, “right?” 

Your touch was the only thing that could truly make him feel whole again — as if every crack in his soul had been mended with gold, “how do you know?”

And your lips curl into a soft smile, your head tilting ever so slightly, “Because you love me, right?” 

The chuckle on his lips is nearly enough to bite back his nerves as the words leave his lips, “I’ve loved you for years, sweetheart, that’s nothing new,” 

You’re shaking your head, “And all these years, we always found our way back to the other, right?” your hand finds purchase on his shoulder now, the other against his cheek, “so we just have to keep doing that,” 

“You make it sound so simple,” he murmurs, and your lips find his — and it makes him wonder how he had spent so much time without your touch, because right now it was the only thing keeping him whole — stealing the doubts from his head and the aches from his body — leaving only heat filling the empty gaps left behind.

“It is simple,” your hand interlaces with his, “if we let be.” 

~~~

“I’m starting to think you hurt yourself on purpose around me more now that we’ve moved in together,” you examine the small cut on his finger, a nick from the knife that the ratio sorcerer had been using to slice his freshly baked loaf of bread. Scarlet slipped from the small cut, and his soft murmur of ‘ouch’ unfortunately had not gone unheard by you. He swore you must have selective hearing — you wouldn’t listen when he told you to go to bed, but you’d hear him hiss in pain under his breath even when half asleep on 

“It’s not too deep, I think just a bandage should be fine,“ Your brow knit together as you purse your lips, and he bit back his smile, knowing it would only serve for him to get scolded for not being more careful. 

“It’s nothing, love, I can take care of it—“ and his breath catches when your lips find their way around his finger, sucking slightly to ease the bleeding, your tongue flicking over the cut, “sweetheart—“ he swears under his breath, a distinct flush burning at the crown of his cheeks, “what—“ 

“They say saliva can help a cut heal faster,” you smile, before pulling a bandage out of the first aid kit you had pulled out, and your lips press a sweet kiss to his cut again, a smirk as you meet his gaze, “Ken—” 

And he’s kissing you, your body tenses a moment only to melt into his touch, your arms wrapping around his neck — he can taste his blood on your lips, raking your fingers through his hair. He can only think about getting closer, closer, closer — he needs you. His hands slide down your back, until they find your hips, squeezing, as he presses himself to you. 

“Baby,” you murmur breathlessly, as your lips part his, a gasp that turns to a soft moan when his lips press heated kisses down your jaw. His nose brushes against the soft skin of your neck, as he presses you against the counter of his apartment, his hands slide down, large palms grasping your ass, “I need—” 

“What do you need?” his fingers sneaking up and down the sides of your body. His teeth graze your pulse, your head falls back, exposing more of your neck to him, as his tongue soothes the mark he left behind, “because you know I’ll give you anything you ask for, sweetheart,” 

And his fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs as he lifts you onto the counter, calloused palms pressing your legs apart — but he barely has to, your thighs already spreading for him. And he finds your shorts nearly soaked through — your drenched cunt visible even through the two layers of fabric stuck together from your arousal. 

But you don’t need to ask for him to know what you want — it’s second nature, it’s instinct for his fingers to dip inside the waistband of your shorts and underwear alike, tugging them both down, until you were kicking them off. 

“Is all this for me?” he murmurs, pressing a sweet kiss to your inner thigh, as two fingers graze down your slit, gathering your pre on his fingertips, before he meets your gaze only to lick his fingers clean, “I was never one for sweets — except when it came to you. Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” 

Your head lolls back, as his thick fingers circle your clit with practiced ease, pulling back only to drag his tongue up the length of your needy cunt. And your eyes find his again, heady gaze heavy with need and his pretty lips and chin already glossy with your juices. 

“Kento—fuck,” your fingers thread through his blonde locks. First, one finger sinks in and then another — 

his nose bumping against your clit as his tongue stretches your walls in tandem with your fingers, grinding against his face, “s’good, I can’t—“

But he’s relentless, the wet squelch of your messy walls and your choked out moans ring in his ears and are nearly enough to make him cum right in his pants — already far too tight, blood rushing downwards far too quick. 

Another

“Such a good girl,” Kento murmurs, and you are, so perfect — “just let me take care of you,” 

“Kento, please, more, need—“ and his lips find your clit, tongue flicking against the hardened bud, before sucking long and hard, while a third finger joins the other two. Your back arches, the coil in your stomach grows tighter and hotter — your slick dripping from your messy hole onto the counter. 

His fingers squeeze at your flesh, and he could live between your legs forever — it could be his meal morning, noon, and night — he could spend hours lapping at you until you fell apart over and over. His fingers stretch you out far too deliciously, and your walls are giving that telltale flutter. 

“Kento—g’nna cum—I—“ and his fingers are fucking you harder and his lips close around your clit, sucking hard, until you’re moaning his name, muscles growing tight as you fall apart. You’re a mess, your fingers trying to press his head impossibly closer as you grind against him, riding out your orgasm, as your juices gush over his face — and he’s lapping up every drop, as you fall limp against the counter, his arm slipping around your back to support you. 

Your eyes flutter open to watch him pulling away with a pop, strings spit and cum connecting you to your cunt. His gaze drags over you, watching your juices drip against the counter, as he murmurs quiet praises, licking his lips clean of your release. 

And your fingers find his cheeks, pulling him into a deep kiss, moaning as you taste yourself on his lips, the filthiness of it all enough for his cock to grow even harder against your thigh. And it’s a matter of moments, before your fingers are tugging at his sweatpants and boxers, freeing his erection, his pretty cock all but ready for you — lovely ruddy head dripping with pearly white beads of precum. 

“Look at what you do to me, love,” he murmurs, as your eyes meet his, gaze blown out in lust. 

“Kento, please,” and his lips curl, his fingers raking through your hair, as he pulls you even closer, his erection bumping against your sopping pussy, “I want—“ 

He drags his cock over your slit, watching his pre mix with your release, the two of you groaning when his tip catches on your clit, “what do you want sweetheart? Tell me, tell me what you need,” his arms are hooked around your knees, pressing them to your chest. 

You keen when his tip teases your sopping hole, “I need you to fuck me—“ and you’re whining as his cock pressed into you, splitting you open on his length — and god you could never get used to how big he was — you could feel very pretty vein and delicious curve—

Fuck, he could bust just looking down at you, at the way your lips parted for him as he had sunk into you, the way he could see how your pussy stretched around his dick — like you were made for him. Pleasure ripped up his spine at the sight — his fingernails digging crescents into your hips. 

And he knew that he was certainly made for you. 

“S’good, s’full — please,” you’re nearly mewling, begging for him to move, “Kento—“ and he obliges, unable to hold back any longer, as he begins to slowly rock his hips against you, each stroke getting longer and deeper. His balls slap against your hips, as he picks up the pace — your walls squeezing around him. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, didn’t think you could get any tighter,” he grunts, his cock stuffed inside your walls, and he’s gritting his teeth, your soft moans and the noises of your pretty pussy becoming too much for him. White ring of release formed around his base — his balls growing tight as he inches closer and closer to blow his load, “you always can f’me, can’t you?” 

And he gives a particularly hard thrust, right as his lips find yours in a messy, sloppy kiss — all tongue and teeth, your head falls back when his tip finds your g-spot again and again. You squirt all over his length, soaking him and the counter with your release, as he fucks you through your orgasm, again and again. Your toes curl when he finally comes, his release painting your walls with his thick, hot release — fucking it deeper and deeper, and he’s notching himself inside. 

You’re slumping against him, your eyes shut, as he pulls you closer into his arms, pressing sweet kisses all over your face until he finds your lips again. 

“I love you,” you mumble, eyes fluttering open as he cups your chin, a soft smile on his lips. 

“I love you more,” and he’s slowly lifting you, carrying you over to your shared bed, and you’re burying your face in the crook of his neck. 

“But what about your cut?” You mumble, and a chuckle on his lips, as he presses a kiss to your forehead, as he sets you down on the bed, grabbing a damp washcloth to clean you up. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, you’ve done plenty,” he murmurs, as he finishes cleaning you up, only to slip into bed beside you — “let me take care of you.” 

~~~

It was over. 

That’s what Nanami had thought when Mahito had stopped him in his tracks, his hand pressed against his chest, but more importantly, against his soul. 

“I didn’t know you were here,” Nanami said, his eyes unable to tear away from the curse’s. 

He could barely feel anything anymore — the stinging had dulled somewhere between his trek down the winding tunnels of Shibuya station. Instead, he could only hear the echo of his footsteps, as he had forced himself to take one step forward over and over and over — and that’s when he had seen them. 

The congregation of curses or mutated humans — he didn’t know which they were, but did it really matter at this point? It didn’t. He dispatched them all the same — all while his thoughts were only filled of you — you, you, you and you. 

And a beach in Malaysia. 

“Yeah, Kuantan would have been nice,” and it would have been — it was only a few months away. The vacation the two of you had meticulously planned out. The days spent out walking the beach, lounging by the water with the books neither of you had never read, and nights falling asleep by each other’s side to the metronome of the waves crashing. 

And now, he had found himself, staring death in the face — an echo of his near death from only a few months ago. How had it come to this already? He had always felt he was running out of time — constantly watching the clock, trying to run it out for his retirement, only for it to run out before he could make it to those sandy shores he had dreamed of. 

“Yup. The whole time,” Mahito replies, lips in an easy smile, “Wanna chat? We go way back, after all,” 

Nanami’s eyes fall to the floor, the dirtied and bloodied tiles underneath his feet — he didn’t feel like spilling his guts to a curse. 

Haibara, what the hell was I trying to do? He asks in his mind, not even daring to say the words aloud, I ran. Even though I ran away, I came back with the vague reason of finding the work worthwhile. 

And then he sees Haibara, appearing in front of him, patented smile on his lips, as he points south — points right at— 

“Itadori,” Mahito says. 

“Nanamin!” his eyes wide as he takes in his state — horror painted on his face, already so helpless — what else had he seen and now he had to see this too? He shouldn’t have had to see this. He should have been a normal kid — worrying about normal things — not fighting monsters in some damned subway tunnel. 

But what could he do about what now? What could he do but stop? 

Could he finally stop? 

No, Haibara. That’s not right. I can’t say that to him. It’ll just end up becoming a curse for him. 

But it’s a curse every jujutsu sorcerer had to bear — made to bear until there were either no curses or no sorcerers left. 

But he couldn’t regret it now. 

“Itadori,” his lips curl, smiling for the last time, “you’ve got it from—“ 

And then there’s a crash — screaming, the sound of blood splattering. It takes him a minute to realize it wasn’t him. 

It was you. 

You had crashed between the two of them, sending the curse flying with your cursed energy, the impact drawing blood from you and Mahito alike. Your arm was around his body — and Nanami is whispering your name. 

“I told you, Kento, we’re always going to come home — even if I have to drag you there,” you say, your eyes still flickering between Itadori and Mahito, “Itadori, tske Nanami—“ 

“No, this is my fight,” he shakes his head, his fingers clenched into fists, “I almost let Nanamin die — I have to do this—“ 

“Yuji—“ you say, but he’s already barreling towards Mahito, and you’re whispering fuck, as you take Nanami in the opposite direction. 

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry,” and his eyes are barely able to stay open, as you help carry his weight alone the deserted subway, “I’m sorry—“ 

“Why are you sorry—“ but he’s barely awake along enough to hear your question, until it’s all black. 

It takes him several months to recover. Cursed energy healing could only do so much, especially since Ieiri was spread thin enough with everything between Shibuya, the Culling Games, and everything else that came after. 

Most of the brunt of his care had fallen on you — you changed his bandages, tended to his wounds, dealt with any signs of infection with help from Ieiri, and handled everything else around the house. 

“Why do you do all of this for me?” He asks quietly, one day while he sits, your back turned while you washed the dishes from lunch — the clinking of plates and the sound of water running that squeaks shut when he asks. 

You turn, lips in a frown, “what do you mean, Kento?” 

His fingernails dig into his knee, biting back a sigh, as you walk over after wiping your hands off, “it’s been months of you just…taking care of me. I don’t get it — I didn’t understand when we were students when you insisted on caring for me, and now…” he swallows, his throat still impossibly dry—even after all treatment, nothing still tasted the same, “I’ve just become a burden—“ 

You cup his cheeks, “Kento, you are never a burden to me—“ 

“But—“ 

“But nothing — wouldn’t you do the same for me if I was in your position?” But he’s shaking his head. 

“It’s not—“ 

“Kento, do you remember our first mission together?” he blinks, his brow furrowing, but you only smooth it with your fingers, “it was my first mission — I had barely gotten the hang of using cursed energy — I hadn’t even exorcised a curse before, but as always, jujutsu society had left children to bear the burden of survival amongst themselves,” and your fingers find his, “but you never left me alone. I froze in front of the curse. I didn’t know what to do with myself — even while you dealt with two others on your own — you still managed to save me, even though you managed to hurt yourself in the process,” your voice was soft, your hand finding his, lacing your fingers with his, squeezing his hand — but he’s not sure whether it’s to remind him you’re here or to remind yourself that he’s still here, “and you don’t remember it do you?” his lips purse, as his eyes can’t find yours, gaze cast downwards, but he hears you give a soft chuckle. 

“I look at you and I see all the ways a soul can bruise — because you’ve taken hits that weren’t yours to take — you’ve taken challenges that shouldn’t have been yours to bear,” your fingers skim over his cheeks, “even in what you thought were your last moments,” your voice breaks, swallowing back tears, “your thoughts were of others — of helping your students, of Itadori, of me—” you shake your head, “and you think I’m doing too much for you? I think you deserve so much more than me—“ 

“All I need is you,” his voice is breaking, swallowing thickly, “that’s all I ever wanted,” 

“Then just stay here with me — that would be enough for me,” you lean close and press your lips to his — and even still, the taste of your kiss was never any less sweet, “all I want is to come home to you, you think you can handle that?” 

His lips find yours again, as they always would, “I’ll show you.” 

~~~

“It doesn’t hurt that bad,” and Nanami chuckles, his hands hooked around your knees and thighs, as your arms wrapped around his neck, your head resting on one of his shoulders, “Kentoooo, you don’t have to—“ 

“I want to, and I’m not going to risk it getting any worse by letting you walk on the sand — the sunset was painting the water in hues of gold, pinks, and purples — and the beauty of this beach was only made better by your presence, “just let me do this for you, love,” and you sigh, relenting, as you bury your face in the side of his neck. 

“My husband is so doting, just a small cut on sea glass makes you this crazy?” and he shivers slightly, but it’s not from the slight sea breeze tickling his nose, but from your nose brushing against your neck, “are we headed back already?” 

“How else will we treat your foot?” your hands slide over his bare skin — the skin still scarred as it always would be, an eye tucked away under an eyepatch — unable to be saved — but your husband was saved all the same, “unless Ieiri taught you how to used reversed cursed technique before our vacation,” 

“It’s really not that bad—” 

“Is this your first time being a patient?” and you pout, as he chuckles, vibration of his sweet laugh against your chest as you press yourself impossibly closer, especially when you see the looks of others as the two of you walk by. 

“It’s embarrassing to be carried like this,” you murmur, “come on baby, I can walk the rest of the way,” but he only hums, casting a small glance over his shoulder. 

“I like carrying you like this,” his lips curled in a smirk, “everyone knows you’re mine this way,” and your cheeks burn, and you kiss his cheek, pouting as you do, “we’ll be back on the beach soon enough — we have all the time in the world sweetheart,” 

And you did — you bury your face in the side of his neck again — with him— 

Always. 

✧ a/n: this has been a long time coming!! i feel like with every one of these fics i'm never happy with them, but then they end up being better than i remember. apparently i just don't like my writing very much haha. i hope you guys enjoy <3 it's been so long since i wrote nanamin, so i hope it came out good <3

✧ taglist: @1angel-digits1, @i-spilt-ink-on-my-phone, @freaky-show, @strangehuman101, @nanamis-baker, @hanxyy, @chosobeee, @luneriaa, @being-me-is-not-a-sin, @forest-fruits-jam, @unorthodoxfaithxx, @caelestine-the-caelicatto, @kenmei, @somrou, @spider-fan72, @missukiyo

[ghostaholics]

𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn medic!Reader (same reader from here, but this is a stand-alone) ➸ SUMMARY: You kiss Simon's very minor injuries. And then some. (Or, alternatively: He's not actually wounded. He just wants to see you.) ➸ WARNING(S): some graphic descriptions of old injuries ➸ A/N: Need to preface that this isn't smut despite how the title and summary sound. Anyways, Jo knows I listened to Hozier's Other Voices 2020 version of "Work Song" for a week straight while writing this. ➸ WC: 2k

❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍' 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃, ❞ he admits, low-timbered. It feels intimate, especially coming from him. Simon's sitting on the cot; it sags under his weight. He curls his hands over the edge of it as he leans forward. No casualties post-mission means he's got free rein to pick wherever he wants in the medical tent.

"Oh, yeah? What about?"

"That I should probably do my best to avoid injuries so I don’t keep pestering you. Can always just tell me to fuck off, y’know.”

“You’re gonna break my heart if you stop coming around.

“Mm,” he says in agreement. “Can’t have that can we?”

You nod your head earnestly. “I like your company.”

“Tryin’ to say that you’ll miss me?”

“I would.” More than he knows.

It’s routine now. He gives you just enough room, adjusting his position. You step into the space made between Simon’s splayed knees, his massive legs nearly bracketing yours with how close they are. He’s bigger than you. Well, considerably more mammoth-like in his proportions compared to an overwhelming majority of the soldiers that you’ve encountered, to be quite honest.

Simon acts as though he’s acutely aware of his size. You suspect that he purposefully makes himself smaller in your presence. Like now, how his shoulders are rounded forward, the column of his spine not as straight-arrow in that standard, militaristic posture most servicemen have adopted. As if he doesn’t want to appear too intimidating. Not that Simon could, to you. Hours doing his stitches and idle chitchat on your part have taught you that he’s much less ruthless than people seem to paint him as. But you appreciate the thought anyway.

You conduct the assessment – a typical evaluation normal for combat casualty care, more in-depth than the one you’d done when he initially stopped by and you did a quick once-over for any obvious injuries. Though given the complete vacancy in the medical tent, you find it hard to believe that you’ll come across anything on him since the mission went that smoothly.

The first thing you notice this time: he doesn't smell like spilled blood. It's different. Not that sweet, rusted iron of wet tackiness – the one that reminds you of a generous stack of two pence coins held between a pair of hands cupped together. He comes in that way a lot. Reeks, because war means that he's no stranger to charging through a shower of copper and lead-forged bullets out on the field. Everything else is still there, though. Maybe a dying campfire – crackling logs and blackened earth. Soft dirt excavated from a foxhole for cover while under enemy fire. All gunpowder and Marlboro Lights and diesel-fuel smoke. Fresh rain and a blue-violet sky after a storm. Victory without consequence.

You'd breathe it in if you could, pull the collar of his jacket up to your face. At this proximity, it’d be easy.

He drops the act when he’s in front of you. Lieutenant. Ghost. Battle-hardened, gruff. A natural-born leader. The kind of person to rip this world apart brick by brick – scraped up palms clutching onto broken pieces – to make sure that the plan is executed accordingly, no matter the cost. It’s hard for him to shed that layer. A drop in the bucket of information that you’ve gathered about this man.

You’ve seen him at his best. But you know him at his worst.

The laundry list of injuries over the years: blows to his torso and his back and his limbs that were brighter than technicolor – purples and reds and sickly yellow-green shades – deep, blotchy medals of violence decorating his skin like some kind of fucked-up kaleidoscope that was nothing to be proud of; when some bastard drove a knife right into his upper thigh, that dirty blade wedged through tissue and muscle which was sure as hell going to induce the nastiest infection without serious TLC and a tetanus shot; rib fractures 7-9 because he aborted an exploding heli, seconds to spare before landing on his side wrong from a height that was equivalent to three stories tall; old GSWs dotting his body the same way you’d shove push pins into a paper-flimsy map to mark the places you’ve been to.

And then there’s no contest for the top contender. 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 #𝟏: when he was rushed in on a stretcher, barely clinging to life. Lower abdomen shredded by exploding shrapnel. He was outside of the window of opportunity. Too far beyond that golden hour, so his chances of surviving plummeted to a single-digit percent.

He’s more than just a patchwork of scars. There’s a complex person underneath the surface. A miracle in the flesh to have toughed it out through all of that. Resilient. Perpetual. His callsign makes sense. Ghosts really do live forever.

Several seconds pass before you speak again. It’s a silly comment, teasing – poking fun at him. You don’t have any reservations when it comes to picking on Simon; he’s good about taking these things in stride. Funny, actually. He’s got a dry sense of humor. “I think… you like the idea of someone taking care of you.”

His response isn’t immediate. It’s delayed, said with intention. He doesn’t ever waste words. “Not just anybody.”

You nearly reel back at that. Warmth floods your face. You aren’t quite sure what to say, didn’t expect it. So you let the comment hang in the air between the two of you, busying your hands with slipping off his tac vest, triple-checking for hidden wounds, doing anything to keep yourself occupied while you stand this close to him in the wake of that remark. You’re engrossed in your work, in search of a distraction.

(He’s a distraction, isn’t he?)

And then your eyes stop in their scan. Right there: a small nick on the exposed sliver of skin between his glove and sleeve – open to the direct path of some wayward debris that happened to graze him. So tiny. You’ve seen paper cuts more harrowing than this – wouldn’t have even registered on your radar, especially if it’s being dwarfed by other critical wounds that hold decisive sway over somebody’s fate when it comes to your average life-or-death scenario.

Of course, you take your job very seriously.

You feign a sharp inhale. “Ah,” you say solemnly, guiding his arm up to your face for a closer look. “Found your problem.”

“I’ve got a problem,” he echoes, voice laced with amusement.

“See, you came to the right place. Anybody else would’ve missed it.”

“The verdict, then?”

“So terrible. Earth-shattering, in fact—”

Simon starts pulling away. “Alright, that’s enough of you takin’ the piss outta me,” he gripes.

You chase his arm to recapture it into your grasp. “Wait!” you say, huffing out a laugh. Your mouth sprouts into a wide grin that makes him roll his eyes.

“You gonna treat me or what?”

Your humor bubbles away as you come back to your senses. Those once-loud peals of laughter start to die down when you take his question into consideration. Because there’s really nothing for you to do; he doesn’t need you.

The realization is slow-moving. It washes over you, rolls like waves as you finally begin to sober up.

Simon wants to be here, and he’s looking for any excuse to stay. He just can’t find the courage to own up to it.

“I dunno. Might be unconventional,” you throw out casually, playing along. “Risky, maybe – never been done before.”

But he’s undeterred. “Sure. Whatever you gotta do.”

You pause for a beat, fingers still wrapped around his forearm because you haven’t managed to let go yet. His skin is warm under your palm. You’re not sure what exactly possesses you to do it – emboldened by his encouragement, given complete carte blanche; he’s leaving this to your discretion. So you press your lips to that area where the cut is, right over his pulse point. If you had lingered for longer, you probably would’ve been able to feel it thudding, that solid rhythm and easy strength reminding you he’s alive.

You expected him to withdraw his arm in bewilderment. He should’ve kicked up a fuss about you violating his boundaries, should’ve told you that you overstepped. Something, right?

But he doesn’t do any of that. Simon’s studying you. Dark pupils. So chasm-deep that the ground beneath your feet might slip away. Ocean trenches, midnight-black like the charcoal smudged around his eyes. When they land on you, his gaze goes molasses-soft. He’s fond; there’s little room for doubt. The way he looks at you says everything. None of that usual coldness he harbors during an op. Instead, relaxed and more human than you’re used to seeing – all of his attention focused solely on you.

“Where else, Simon?” you whisper.

He’s thinking – carefully weighing his options – the same expression that he gets when a crossroads lies ahead of him and he knows his make-it-or-break-it decision will invariably affect the outcome of a mission.

After several moments, his hand comes up. Simon’s fingers curl underneath the hem of his mask; he’s been wearing the fabric balaclava more often since you’ve fixed the stitching on it. Then he lifts – not the entire way. Just to reveal the bottom half of his face. There he is. Sandpaper-rough stubble. The sharp cut of his jaw. A mouth that you’re convinced wears a scowl 24/7 behind his mask but is now slightly twitched up.

Even though you’ve seen it before, the sight of him never fails to steal your breath away. Feels like meeting him for the first time again. With how rarely he does this, it might as well be – that slow, heart-melting sensation is steadily filling the cavern of your chest.

And you lean in. Your lips brush against his; it’s a chaste thing – the kiss – if it can be called that. Gentle. Like how you’d stitch up his wounds with a light touch and kind intent. He’s built of sterner stuff, but if there’s anything you’ve learned about him, it’s that he’s capable of breaking just as easily as everyone else. You always handle Simon with care: unequivocal compassion and empathy when there’s so little of those left on this side of war – privileges that he’s never taken for granted.

“Better?” you ask quietly, tipping your head in question.

Simon hums his approval – this pleased, low sound in his throat. His hand slides across your lower back. He tugs you towards him. “Wouldn’t mind some more attention,” he murmurs, before slotting his mouth over yours. And then he kisses you like it might heal him from the outside in.

[cameoliob]

You could ask me why Kallus is my favorite star wars character and I COULD say that its because he has a wonderfully written arc with an impactful presence (even despite his minimal screentime) but that would be a lie

He is my favorite because he is a rat bastard :

- He shows up and is the worst guy youve ever met for a season and a half

- You seriously want to beat this guy up he sucks so bad he is so fucking annoying

- He gets stuck on an ice moon with his nemesis and spends THE ENTIRE TIME either screaming, or serving face

- Like seriously, dude, youre about to freeze to death why are you mewing

- We dont see him again until season 3,

- He becomes THE WORST SPY IN THE WORLD

- Is found out after like 6 months, and in the episode where he gets found out, he spends THE ENTIRE EPISODE -- mind you, this man is like 36-- arguing with a TEENAGER

- Skip to zero hour

- He gets his ass whooped

- Battle of Attolon is happening, the casualties are imeasurable, everything is going to shit; he decides that this is the perfect time to taunt his former bosses

- "Thrawn's not going to enjoy you making a mess of his fleet 😼"

- He just LEAVES

- Jump to season four, he has a fun new haircut and a cute little jacket

- He then proceeds to have SEVEN AND A HALF minutes of screentime, ALL OF WHICH he spends either COMPLAINING or just STANDING THERE

- And youre sitting here thinking, o wow what a nice arc for this guy, thats cool--

- AND THEN ITS IMPLIED???? THAT HE'S IN A GAY RELATIONSHIP??? WITH THE PURPLE CAT MAN ??????????????????

- WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT??? THAT CAME OUT OF FUCKING NOWHERE???

- WHAT IS GOING ON

- Anyways thank u for coming to my ted talk he's so annoying 10/10 character writing

[agarthanguide]

Hi there! I'm absolutely obsessed with the new art!

My question is: what parts/elements of FCG went into each outfit? Some of them are obvious to me, but others I'm struggling with

I'm a bit behind, so apologies if they said it on stream.

No apologies necessary! Let’s go over it-

Laudna isn’t wearing any FCG. She went for a blue skirt, but something happened to flood the design with dark purple, as well! 🤔

Ashton has Smiley Day! on the back of their brand new battle jacket.

FCG’s pauldrons went to Orym and Chetney. They actually flipped the sides- Orym wanted the right pauldron with the blades of grass symbol, but only wears armor on his left arm.

Imogen was passing a staff back and forth with FCG at the point of his untimely (?) demise, so she’s got that. The staff hadn’t been designed beforehand, so I think Laura took the opportunity to clad it in FCG’s colors. And Fearne, of course, has FCG’s jacket, ripped apart, burned, and ill-fitting as it is.

[beautifulsenpai]

LUCKY TO HAVE YOU

dabi x male reader

summary | 𝖽𝖺𝖻𝗂 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗈𝖾𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗎𝗍𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗇𝖾𝗋. 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗌 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗅, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾. 𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌.

fandom | 𝗆𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗈 𝖺𝖼𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗆𝗂𝖺 (𝖻𝗇𝗁𝖺)

genre | 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗇𝗌𝖿𝗐

requested | 𝗒𝖾𝗌

author’s note | 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗇𝖺 𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖺 𝖿𝗂𝖼, 𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗇? 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝗎𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀

𝗋𝗎𝗅𝖾𝗌/𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗌

the door of dabi’s and his husband’s shared house creaked wide open. dabi wobbled inside the house, eyes droopy, panting as his face covered in bruises and clothes dirty. battling heroes was definitely not an easy job.

he entered the house and lightly kicked the door closed, not bothering to shut the door with his hands. he leaned onto the door, sliding down just a tad, head hung low as his panting turned into slow and controlled. he kicked off his boots, also not bothering to take them off with his hands.

he continued to rest near the door until he heard a divine voice call out to him from the kitchen, "toya?". that was (name), his adoring husband. who would be crazy enough to date one of the most dangerous criminals in Japan, as well as marry one?!

(name) was a saint. every time he was badly injured, (name) would attend to his wounds, which he has experienced since he was a nurse. wow, imagine that a kind-hearted nurse engaged to the most wanted villain. dabi tiredly took off his dark blue jacket and threw it somewhere.

as his jacket landed somewhere, (name) had already headed out of the kitchen, and strolled where dabi was with a small kitchen towel on his hands, drying his hands. (name) was wearing a white turtleneck sweater, topped off with a blue apron that was tied nicely around his waist, and light denim shorts.

(name) looked stunning, like a cute housewife. as (name) spotted dabi’s exhausted form, his mouth curved into a smile as his eyes widened in excitement. “toya-kun!! you’re back!!”, (name) cheered in excitement as he ran to dabi, and leaped into his arms.

as (name’s) body collided with his, he spared no time wrapping his arms around (name’s) torso lovingly. (name’s) hands were pressed onto dabi’s chest softly as he nuzzled onto his chest while smiling warmly with his eyes closed, missing dabi’s embrace.

dabi couldn’t help but smile at his adoring husband. he kissed on top of (name’s) head before gently running one of his hands through (name’s) hair. “how was your day, my pretty boy?”, dabi asked as he continued to run his hand through (name’s) hair. (name) blushed, and giggled at the cute pet name.

“it was so busy! so many clients! but overall, it was great baby!~”, (name) replied with joy in his voice. (name) looked upwards to meet dabi’s gaze as he placed both of his hands onto dabi’s scarred cheeks affectionately, staring lovingly at dabi’s heavily lidded turquoise eyes as dabi stared right back at his.

it took a second to finally realize how dabi looked drained, and his face scattered with a bit of bruise and blood, probably from a hero or from his purple stapled skin that was attached to his skin. “toya, oh my..you look exhausted! your face is scattered with blood and bruises!”, (name) stammered with worry in his voice as he inspected his face more.

dabi playfully rolled his eyes with a smile. “i’m fine sweetheart, really, i am”, dabi reassured him with a smile. (name) trusted his words, but he couldn’t help but be worried for him. how he constantly gets hurt from fighting heroes, the chance he’ll get caught and will be taken away from him, and the thought keeps (name) up all night.

“i..i’m just afraid, and-”, (name) whispered, but sighed afterward as he shook his head with his eyes closed. he stared back at dabi with a smile. “why won’t you get cleaned up, dear. dinners almost ready! i made your favorite!-” (name) chimed but he remembered about the meal that was cooking in the kitchen, it’s going to burn!

(name) gasped as he released himself from dabi’s hold and ran to the kitchen. “the food!”, (name) cried as he ran into the kitchen. dabi chuckled as he thought about what (name) said. cleaning himself doesn’t sound bad at all, maybe a shower and changing into comfy clothes would do the trick, and then enjoying (name’s) delightful food. could it get better than this?

‧₊˚🎀✩ ₊🍩˚⊹♡

it can. dabi was seated on the couch, his mouth covered his mouth, muffling his moans, eyes shut as his cheeks burned red, legs spread with his sweatpants and underwear down enough for his cock to be free, and (name) was on his knees, kissing dabi’s cock.

(name’s) eyes were closed, opening them from time to time to stare up at dabi, checking if he was making dabi feel good as dabi’s cock stood proud. (name) kiss the base of the cock to the reddened tip, making it twitch.

“you’re so cute toya..so cute..~”, (name) murmured against dabi’s cock, then rubbing his cheek against it, making the tip ooze out pre-cum. dabi whined onto his hand, his cock was sensitive and the gentle kisses from (name) were making the thick meat pole writhe from pleasure.

(name) was kissing softly only on the head of dabi’s cock. dabi bit onto his bottom lip to prevent him from moaning as the tip oozed out more pre-cum, (name) didn’t mind. his tongue would lap the liquid into his mouth, swallowing the salty liquid.

(name) continue to leave a trail of kisses on his thick cock, and murmured praises that make dabi heart flutter. (name) grabbed the base of dabi’s cock, and swallowed the whole tip inside his mouth, making dabi shiver. he removed his hand from his mouth as he stared down at (name).

dabi almost spilled his hot cum inside of (name’s) mouth from seeing him looking up at him with his fuckable face. (name’s) eyes were squinted with heart-shaped pupils, and face flushed red. (name’s) tongue was swirling around the swollen red tip inside of his warm mouth.

“oh god (name)..you’re making me feel so good~”, dabi breathed as he threw his head back on the couch cushion as he felt his orgasm approaching. dabi couldn’t stop moaning, it felt too damn good. (name) pulled his head away from dabi’s cock tip with a pop, watching how his saliva trickle down to the base.

(name) started to jerk dabi’s cock, coating his hand with his spit, making lewd sounds. (name) tongue stick out as he placed the head of dabi’s cock onto his tongue, more pre-cum spilling on his tongue.

dabi's moans became louder, his hands softly gripped onto (name’s) hair to make sure that (name) would not pull away when he flooded his mouth with his seed. (name) started to jerk him even faster, “cum for me toya!~ cum all over my face as much as you want!”.

yeah..the last part was rushed..sorry

[putting-eddie-munson-in-places]

Please, put him at Hogwarts!

Hi my name is Eddie Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way and I have long ebony black hair with purple streaks and red tips that reaches my shoulders and icy blue eyes like limpid tears and a lot of people tell me I look like Amy Lee (AN: if u don’t know who she is get da hell out of here!). I’m not related to Gerard Way but I wish I was because he’s a major fucking hottie. I’m a vampire but my teeth are straight and white. I have pale white skin. I’m also a wizard, and I go to a magic school called Hogwarts in England where I’m in the seventh year (I’m seventeen). I’m a goth (in case you couldn’t tell) and I wear mostly black. I love Hot Topic and I buy all my clothes from there. For example today I was wearing a black Hellfire tee with matching battle vest over it and a black leather jacket, black jeans, black fishnets, and black sneakers. I was wearing black lipstick, white foundation, black eyeliner and red eye shadow.

(fuck jkr btw)

(my immortal eddie below the cut!)

[dolliethv]

Into you.

summary: English is not my first language, so if you notice any mistakes I'm sorry!! story inspired by the song "Into You" by Ariana Grande, I hope you enjoy it xoxo!

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x fem reader!!

Word count: about 3,6k

The deafening sound of the crowd at Wembley still echoed in your ears as the lights went out, marking the end of your final performance on tour. It had been a resounding success. There’s no better feeling than hearing thousands of people singing along to your songs, feeling that genuine connection that only true artists experience on stage. However, as the music faded, the reality behind the curtain pulled you back into a world where freedom was nothing but an illusion.

Adrenaline still coursed through your body as the crew surrounded you, congratulating you on the show. But amidst the laughter and praise, your personal assistant quickly approached with a serious look and a tablet in hand.

“You were amazing, as always,” your assistant began, though the tone of their voice hinted that the compliment came with bad news. “But there’s something you can’t avoid. Tonight’s event. Your team needs you to attend.”

You take a deep breath. There’s always something. A red carpet, a charity event, a fashion show... something that reminds you that your public life never rests. But this particular event makes you more uncomfortable than others. You know that your team has arranged for you to attend with a model, one of the men the tabloids have been pairing you with for weeks. Perfect photos for the paparazzi, fabricated rumors to feed the public's curiosity.

“Does it have to be tonight?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

“It’s important for the brand, to maintain the narrative... You know how it is,” your assistant replies with an apologetic grimace.

With a resigned sigh, you nod. You know it all too well. This isn’t the first time you’ve been trapped in this kind of situation, and it probably won’t be the last.

Hours later, with the glow of Wembley still fresh in your mind, you find yourself inside a black limousine, on your way to the event. You’re dressed in an elegant purple silk outfit, characterized by its shine and smooth texture. The outfit has a sensual and glamorous style, with a cross-cut top that reveals part of your abdomen and a long, high-waisted skirt. The dark purple color adds a touch of luxury and sophistication. Your makeup and delicate jewelry, along with the violet bow tied at the back, complement the atmosphere and make you stand out at the presentation. Beside you, the model assigned to you for the night—a tall, attractive man—means absolutely nothing to you. Everything is a show. And although your face shows a perfect smile, inside, you feel more and more empty.

Upon arrival, the flashes begin to light up every corner. The cameras don’t stop firing. You pose hand in hand with the model, your bodies close together, simulating the intimacy that doesn’t exist between you. Your laughs are rehearsed, your gestures, calculated. It’s just another performance, but this time, the discomfort in your chest is more palpable than ever.

What people don’t know, what the cameras don’t show, is that Jude Bellingham is also at the event, dressed in a modern, high-fashion ensemble. The outfit includes a black suit with embroidered rose details and brand patterns. The avant-garde touch comes from the jacket he wears open, with no shirt underneath, and a white scarf wrapped around his neck. White sunglasses and sturdy black shoes complete the look, giving him an air of sophistication and modernity. Somewhere in the room, he watches the scene, battling his own instincts.

For months now, the connection between the two of you has been undeniable. Stolen moments at previous events, clandestine conversations in the shadows. There’s something between you that can’t be faked or forced. And although both of you are trapped in the fame game, your relationship has grown in secret. Jude loves you. More than he’s willing to admit out loud.

But tonight, seeing you so close to another man, smiling for the cameras as if you’re really enjoying it, makes his stomach turn. Trent Alexander-Arnold, his teammate and friend, notices the tension in Jude as they both watch from a discreet corner.

“Man, don’t get like this,” Trent whispers, trying to calm him down. “You know how this game works. It’s just marketing. Nothing more.”

Jude clenches his fists. He knows. He understands. But that doesn’t make it any easier.

And then it happens.

As you pose for the cameras, you try to subtly pull away from the model, wanting to break the contact and end the photo session. But the man, following the marketing team’s instructions, grabs your arm roughly, pulling you back to continue posing. The gesture is quick, but it doesn’t go unnoticed. The expression of discomfort on your face is clear, and though you try to hide it, the damage is already done.

From his position, Jude feels his blood start to boil. That jerk touched you in a way he shouldn’t have. Too rough. Too disrespectful.

“Did you just see that?” Jude asks through clenched teeth, staring at the model still holding your arm.

Trent notices it too and knows he has to intervene quickly.

“Jude, calm down,” he says, stepping between him and the scene. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

But Jude barely hears him. Every muscle in his body is tense, ready to disfigure that idiot's face. Rage blinds him, and all he can think about is protecting you. How dare he treat you like that in front of everyone?

Jude takes a step forward, but Trent grabs his arm firmly.

“No, Jude. Not here. Not now. This will only make things worse,” his friend insists. “Think about what will happen if you cause a scene. You know it won’t end well for either of you.”

Jude breathes heavily, but little by little, reason returns to his mind. Trent is right. Causing a scene here, in the middle of all those photographers and cameras, would only complicate things further. But that doesn’t mean he accepts it.

From a distance, his eyes meet yours. And in that instant, he understands that you’re fed up too. He can see it in your gaze, in the way your lips tremble slightly, holding back your frustration. Both of you are trapped in this game, and neither of you can take it anymore.

When the model finally lets go of you, you discreetly step away, walking toward a more secluded corner, pretending you need a break. Jude, still furious, watches you, making sure you’re okay.

“I promise this won’t last much longer,” Jude mutters through clenched teeth as Trent looks at him with determination. “I’ll find a way to get us out of this.”

Trent nods, understanding that his friend is serious. And although the situation is complicated, Jude has always been someone who gets what he wants.

As the event’s lights continue to shine and the cameras keep capturing perfect images, deep down, both of you know you can’t keep pretending much longer.

The vibrant music and murmurs of the crowd still echo in the air, but all you can think about is the scene you just lived through. When the model grabbed your arm with that unrestrained force, a flood of emotions washed over you. You feel trapped, as if your voice, once confident, is on the verge of being drowned by the pressure of the show. As you walk away from the cameras, a desperate desire to escape the world you’ve created pushes you forward.

Looking for refuge, you find an empty room at the end of a hallway. The walls are elegantly adorned, but the opulence can’t distract you from your vulnerability. You sink into a chair, feeling the tears start to well up in your eyes.

“Calm down, don’t cry...” you whisper to yourself, trying to keep your composure. “You can’t let this affect you.”

But the pressure of fame, the expectations, and the pain of being treated like an object overwhelm you. You hug yourself, recalling moments when you’ve felt strong and secure. That image the tabloids show of you, the perfect woman, is nothing but a mirage. It’s a constant performance, and tonight, the game has crossed a line you’re not willing to accept.

Meanwhile, Jude is elsewhere at the event, feeling his heart tighten. The anger still bubbles inside him, and despite Trent’s efforts to calm him, he can’t ignore the distress he saw on your face. The protective instinct he’s always had drives him to act.

“I’m going to find her,” he announces, his voice low but firm.

Trent gives him a warning look, but Jude is already in motion, his determination pulling him toward where he knows you’ve gone. Every step he takes is a reminder that he’s not going to let anyone treat you like that. The thought that any man, whoever he may be, could lay a hand on you and make you feel uncomfortable is unbearable to him.

When he finally finds you, the scene before him breaks his heart. You’re sitting, head bowed, trying to hold back tears. Jude can’t help but feel a wave of compassion wash over him. He approaches slowly, and when you look up, your eyes are filled with sadness.

“Baby...” he whispers, making his way toward you and wrapping you in his arms. “I’m here.”

The embrace is instantly comforting, a bubble of safety that seems to shield you from the outside world. You sink into his chest, feeling his warmth surround you. The pressure of your emotions begins to fade, at least a little. Jude holds you tighter, as if with that simple gesture he could erase your pain.

“I won’t let anyone treat you like that, ever,” he says, his voice thick with anger.

You feel your heart tighten in a strange way. Jude’s protective instinct is one of the things you love most about him, but it also makes you feel vulnerable. Still, at that moment, you need it. You wipe away a tear and smile weakly.

“I know... I just... I feel so overwhelmed sometimes,” you confess, your voice barely a whisper.

“You need a break,” Jude said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “This world can be overwhelming, but you don’t have to face it alone. I’m here with you, and I’ll always be by your side. Always.”

You take a deep breath, feeling how his words wrap you in a warmth you haven’t experienced in a long time. Fame, the spectacle—it can all be suffocating, but Jude is there, always ready to remind you of your true worth. In that embrace, you realize you’re not alone. You have someone who understands you and who’s willing to protect you, even in a world that often seems so hostile.

“Thank you, Jude,” you murmur, and your eyes shimmer with the tears you’ve been holding back. “Sometimes I feel like I can’t take it anymore.”

“You can always handle more than you think,” Jude says, leaning in toward you, his gaze intense. “You’re not alone in this. You never will be.”

Jude steps back slightly, making sure you’re looking at him. His expression is serious, but there’s a spark of determination in his eyes.

“I’m not going to let anyone make you feel like that again. I promise.”

You nod, feeling the weight on your shoulders lighten, if only a little. Jude has been your refuge, and in your heart, you know that together, you can face any storm fame throws at you.

“We need to escape,” he says, his dark eyes shining with a mix of determination and tenderness.

You look at him, still feeling the echo of your vulnerability, but a spark of excitement runs through your body. You nod, feeling that in his company, you could find the courage to leave everything behind.

As you walk together, Jude firmly takes your hand, guiding you toward the parking lot. But when you reach a luxurious black car, you stop in your tracks.

"Hey big guy, hold on a second, I can't keep up with you in these heels!" you said with fake frustration.

"Come on baby, you have to use those heels to your advantage, with those on we can finally have a face to face conversation, even though I'm still two heads taller than you" He said in a mocking tone trying to annoy you.

"Oh, don't tell me you're going to surprise me! You finally learned to drive, Mr. Twenty-one-year-old, sir? “ you ask, smiling playfully trying to divert the conversation a little by trying to make fun of him.

Jude looks at you, a little embarrassed.

“Uh... no. But I can try,” he responds, with a mix of confidence and nervousness.

You get in the car, and Jude takes the wheel, his hands steady but a little shaky. When he starts the engine, the car roars to life, and he takes a turn, but the car jerks violently, making both of you burst into laughter.

“Damn it!” Jude exclaims, trying to correct the movement.

You laugh uncontrollably, feeling the tension dissipate in the atmosphere of the backseat.

“In this context, the prince is supposed to rescue the princess by riding his horse, but...” you say, pretending to be deep in thought. “What happens if your ‘horse’ jerks around?”

Jude grins mischievously.

“I’m supposed to be the hero here, not the princess. I’m going to learn how to drive!”

Finally, after several laughs and a couple of attempts, he gives up.

“You drive!” he declares with frustration.

You take the wheel between laughs, enjoying the feeling of freedom as you drive away from the event and the crowd. As the city fades behind you, a new emotion takes over: the adrenaline of escape.

When you arrive at the motel, you and Jude exchange nervous glances, holding back laughter from the adventure. As you get out of the car, a biting cold greets you, and Jude, with a protective smile, drapes his coat over your shoulders.

“I don’t want you to get cold, okay?” he says, his voice soft.

You’re overwhelmed by the gesture and smile at him, though you blush when you notice he’s left standing bare-chested, showing off his muscles in the cold London night. Jude’s tanned skin glows under the motel lights, making him look even more attractive.

“Jude, that’s not necessary,” you murmur, laughing softly.

He smiles, a mischievous spark in his eyes.

“You think I’m going to let you freeze while I’m standing here ‘shirtless’? It’s a matter of principle.”

You laugh, enjoying his boldness and the absurdity of the situation.

“You look like a Ken doll,” you say, looking him up and down.

“A black, sexier Ken doll,” Jude replies, laughing as you wrap yourself in his oversized coat.

As you approach the reception, Jude frowns, remembering they need to keep a low profile.

“Wait a second, we need to come up with something,” he says, searching through the car.

As you both rummage, Jude finds a hat he had forgotten about.

“Look!” he exclaims, pulling it out and putting it on his head. “This should help.”

You laugh at how ridiculous he looks in the hat, but you can’t resist the idea.

“And I’ll wear your sunglasses,” you say, searching the car and finding a pair of sunglasses Jude had left behind.

When you finally make it to the reception desk, a man in his seventies looks at you with curiosity. Jude tries to keep his composure, though he blushes a little at how ridiculous you both look.

“Hi, we have a reservation…” he stammers.

The receptionist, with playful smile, looks at them over closely.

“I won’t say anything about you, I knew you guys were a couple!” he assures them with a wink. His eyes gleam with complicity, as if he knows exactly who you are.

You exchange glances with Jude, trying to hold back laughter at how absurd you must seem.

“Thanks, we appreciate it,” Jude says, relieved.

As you head to your room, laughing and running, the receptionist calls out again.

“By the way, you two look adorable together. Have fun!” he says with a warm smile.

When you enter the room, Jude turns to you, a mischievous smile on his face.

“You know what? This is way better than the party. Now we’re in ‘our bubble,’” he says, spreading his arms as if inviting you into a world that belongs only to the two of you.

You walk over, laughing as you savor the moment.

“Sure, as long as you don’t try to drive the car again.”

The motel room is small, but its atmosphere is filled with a vibrant energy that hums in the air. You find yourself in a space that feels far removed from the world, where the worries of the outside fade away. The soft light filtering through the windows highlights your face, reflecting the smile you share with Jude, a smile born from the growing bond between you.

Jude falls onto the bed, his gaze fixed on you, while you snuggle up, keeping warm in his coat.

“How about we do something fun?” he asks, with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Like what, a tickle fight?” you reply.

“No, something more intimate,” he says, moving a little closer.

You feel the heat rise between you, a mix of laughter and nerves. Jude tilts his head toward you, getting close enough to whisper in your ear:

“Do you have any idea how much I love being here with you?”

His voice is soft, like velvet, sending a shiver down your spine. When you look at him, his eyes lock with yours, and in that moment, nothing else exists but the two of you. Jude brushes his hand across your face, gently caressing your cheek.

“Every moment with you is special.” you murmur softly.

The romantic tension in the air intensifies as Jude smiles, savoring the closeness. He leans in a little more, and you cradle his cheeks in both hands, his lips nearly brushing your skin, but instead of a kiss, it’s a soft touch, a hint of what could be.

You both let yourselves be carried by the current of your connection. You play with the edge of the coat you’re still wearing, moving a little closer to him, feeling his warm body near yours. Jude smiles, his eyes twinkling with understanding.

“Did you know hugs are my favorite form of communication?” he says with a playful smile.

“And what if I give you one?” you ask, wrapping your arms around him.

Jude lets out a soft laugh, enjoying the warmth of your embrace. The way you're lying, with Jude almost on top of you but without crushing you, makes you feel completely wrapped in that hug. However, the laughter soon turns into something deeper; your bodies come closer in an embrace that feels like it could last forever. You can feel his heartbeat, and your own breathing quickens.

Suddenly, you start laughing, breaking the tension, and Jude joins in. You both sit up on the bed, still laughing, enjoying the lightness of the moment. He gently pushes you back, making you fall onto the bed, and out of nowhere, Jude bends down and starts giving quick kisses on your stomach, tickling you lightly.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” you say, still laughing as you readjust yourself.

“I never said I was a fair hero,” Jude replies, looking at you with that mix of tenderness and mischief that always makes you smile.

Then, he leans toward you, his face so close you can feel his breath. His gaze intensifies, and the outside world fades away. Jude strokes your hair gently, and you feel lost in those small gestures, those moments of intimacy that speak louder than any words.

“Do you want to play a game?” Jude suggests, breaking the silence.

“What kind of game?” you ask, intrigued.

“We could play a whisper game. The first one to laugh loses,” he says, smiling mischievously.

“I accept the challenge,” you respond, smiling back.

Jude leans in, his lips almost brushing your skin, and begins whispering in your ear, soft words that make your heart race.

“Bread with tomato and ham,” he says, just loud enough for only you to hear.

You try to keep a straight face, but you can’t help but smile; it’s so bad that it’s funny.

“You can’t do that to me,” you say, trying to hold back your laughter.

“What? You don’t like what you’re hearing?” Jude replies, moving even closer, his voice dripping with provocation.

“You’re such an idiot,” you exclaim, bursting into laughter.

Jude smiles triumphantly, and the two of you dive into a sea of laughter and games. You push each other playfully, trying to keep a straight face while having fun on the bed.

Amid the laughter, Jude leans in toward you again, this time more serious, and whispers:

“Sometimes, I wonder how it’s possible that we have this intense connection.”

You feel the weight of his words, and your gaze deepens.

“Maybe we’re meant to be together in some way,” you respond, feeling your heart race.

Jude smiles, knowing the night has evolved in a way neither of you had anticipated.

“It’ll always be our little bubble,” he says, his eyes full of promises. "I love you with my life" He looked into your eyes in such a sincere way.

"I love you babe thank you for absolutely everything" you said kissing his nose, a very intimate gesture that meant a lot.

You both look at each other, feeling like this moment belongs to just the two of you. The touch of hands, the shared whispers, and the echoing laughter are evidence of a connection that goes beyond the physical; it’s a bond that promises something special in every gesture, every laugh, every glance. The night continues, and in your world, anything is possible.

You spend the night in soft laughter that fills the room with genuine closeness, interspersed with slow kisses and touches that say more than words ever could. You draw closer to one another, letting the silence and the rhythm of your breathing blend with the sounds of the night, as intimacy wraps around you both completely, melting into a space where time seems to stand still. Without rush or hurry, you let your bodies and gazes connect, diving into a deep, warm closeness, as if the outside world no longer existed.

[apollodeath]

Come over.

Summary: you and König have been FWB for a while and he’s back from a 6 month deployment and he wants you over. Now.

A/N: I made this in 2 hours and did not re-read… so, there’s probably mess ups. I apologize. I just wanted to post/write something smut filled. I can’t get König off my mind. So I wanted to just cave and write a one shot of him. Also written to the song “inside friend” by Leon Bridges ft. John Mayer.

MDNI 18+

Warnings/content warnings: size kink, unprotected sex, dirty talk, mentions of wounds/scars from battle. Reader is referred to as You, love and Maus but mentions of pussy and breasts. If I forgot anything I’m so sorry.

Reader = purple

König = green

— ⋆ ⋆ ¤⋆ ⋆—

You sat at work bored scrolling on your phone. Since it was so cold out your shop didn’t get many customers. A text pops up and your eyes flicker to it then back taking a double take.

Your notification reads:

[König 💦]

A text from him surprised you cause last time you heard from him was 6 months ago. When he went on deployment. He was predictable and persistent which is why you liked being his… friend with benefits. His inside friend.

You feel your body heat up when you read his text.

[König 💦]

— hey. you think you could come over?

— I’m back.

You smirk at your phone texting back with the feeling of eagerness building. You hate to admit after König left you kinda just stuck to yourself not really interested in a partner or hooking up. Your hands could satisfy you, not as great as König but they worked.

[König 💦]

— hey. you think you could come over?

— I’m back.

— Hey yeah I can. Same time as before?

You placed your phone away once customers came in.

Time passed slowly now that you had König on your mind. The last time you saw him he was was slow and patient, taking his time to engulf you in his body, to devour slowly, he was moving so slow then, it felt like it took days for him to actually push into you.

You sit on your chair behind the counter feeling your pussy pulse to the thought.

He was fresh out of the shower and he started by simply kissing you. You went home around 5am that day and he went to the airport around the same time. You remember thinking you’d really miss him if he didn’t come back.

A buzz on your phone makes you check and knock your memories away.

[König 💦]

— I’m back.

— Hey yeah I can. Same time as before?

— of course. 7pm.

You go to text back when another text comes in.

[König 💦]

— Hey yeah I can. Same time as before?

— of course. 7pm.

— if you can come more soon faster. that would be best. I need you.

His texts were sometimes out of place. He didn’t know English well enough to text but in person he knows enough. Still his words ‘I need you.’ Literally made you a puddle in your seat.

You look at the time and it reads [3:37pm] you begin to think:

If no one shows up and it hits 4pm you were closing the shop and heading over.the perks of being your own boss. For the first time since opening your own shop you beg the world at this moment that no one comes in.

The world grants your wish and you rush to close up once your clock shows the correct time. You grab your jacket rushing home to shower.

Once you get back on the road to König’s apartment you feel your nervous energy turning to desire and hotness.

You text him:

[König 💦]

— of course. 7pm.

— if you can come more soon faster. that would be best. I need you.

— Omw. I need you too.

You flirt back and smile hearing your phone go off seconds after hitting send.

[König 💦]

— if you can come more soon faster. that would be best. I need you.

— Omw. I need you too.

— god. I’m already getting hard.

You smirk and text back while you’re stopped at a red light.

[König 💦]

best. I need you.

— Omw. I need you too.

—god. I’m already getting hard.

— Aww. I wanted you to get hard in my mouth.

You teased and started driving once again hearing your phone buzz a few times as you pulled up outside the apartment building.

[König 💦]

— god. I’m already getting hard.

— Aww. I wanted you to get hard in my mouth.

— Scheiße

— fuck*

You bit your bottom lip knowing he craved you the way you craved him. You get out of the car and go up to his apartment on the 5th floor. You breath in and out before knocking. You’re surprised at how fast he was to swing open the door. It’s like he was waiting by it. You laugh a little.

“Come in mein süßer Freund” he’s wearing some of his gear-like clothes. His sniper hood on, of course. It’s what peaked your interest when you fist met König in a library one day.

You walk in while König closes the door behind you, slowly looking around you see unpacked luggage by the couch.

“I hope it’s not to warm in here.” His voice makes you turn to look at him, you can tell he’s a little nervous like he used to be when you first met him; his eyes trace you like a feral dogs just smelt another dog in heat.

“It’s been awhile…” you spoke softly trying to break the tension.

“Can we skip that part?” he spoke just as gentle but more his bedroom voice. You knew the difference all too well. You nod in agreement stripping your sweater off exposing your chest to him.

“Welcome home?” You say with a soft blush spreading over your cheeks and chest. König’s apartment was heated perfectly for the winter outside but yet your body still had chills making your nipples rise.

He takes no time walking up to you lifting his hood over his lips locking his with yours, quickly grabbing your chest in both his hands kneading them placing your nipples between his fingers knuckles every knead slightly pitching them.

He was so sloppy and needy with his kisses, his hand movements were almost painful with how needy he is. You didn’t realise your own neediness until now. He made you whimper from these touches. He then wrapped his hands around your waist, pulling you against his hips; through your leggings/sweater you felt his hard cock pressing against your tummy. His height was so dramatic his cock was above your waist it made you smirk and let a little giggle out.

König stopped the kissing to look at you.

“What meine liebe?” He asked slowly unzipping his pants.

“I think I forgot how tall you were.” You giggle a little again. König chuckles.

“I think I forgot how small you were, Maus”

You blush looking away then glancing at his bedroom down the hallway.

“I’ll take you there.” He reached over grabbing you and picking you up over his shoulder like a cave man had just gotten a fresh kill. It made you laugh.

“I think I also forgot how strong you are” you added as a joke. Saying all these ‘I think I forgot’s made him laugh. König placed you on your back on the tall, large bed. When you first came over to his apartment you realized that his bed came off the ground higher than most beds, when you sat on the edge your feet didn’t touch the ground. König looked at you from his standing position at the edge, he stripped his pants down along with his underwear then pulling his shirt off. You laid on your back just watching him. Admiring him. His cock stood curved at attention. He had a new scar you noticed; it was healed but fresher than the others. It looked like a jagged…maybe a bullet wound? On his upper chest almost shoulder. König noticed and shook his head.

“Don’t ask.” He grabbed your ankles pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. You nodded in agreement.

König took your leggings and panties in his hands pulling them down.

“Lift.” He said softly and you lifted your hips helping him pull them off. He breathed in and out taking you in, fully nude, laying on your back with your legs bent exposing yourself to him.

You felt yourself already leaking with excitement. It was the drive that felt like foreplay. He takes his cock in one hand placing the other on your mound placing his thumb softly on your clit swiveling it. His breath is heavy already just at seeing your body’s reactions to his thumb rubbing over your sensitive clit, lifting your hips to his touch, your legs spread more ready to take him whole. He guides his cock into you pushing in just quick enough to stretch you with a slight sting, it’s instantly replaced with pleasure making your head fall back into the bed. He glides in so easy your velvety, wet, warm pussy is sucking him in.

“I think I forgot how wet you get.” He stated through gritted teeth his voice dipped in pleasure. He tried to joke but the moment was all too serious to remember to try and sound like he was joking. He felt his stress melt off his shoulders as his cock twitches in you.

König starts thrusting short, hard patterns only taking his cock out 2 inches at most leaving the leftover 5 inches as he ruts his hips against yours.

His hands grab your hips tightly and you bite your lip hard feeling immense pleasure from this, his cock’s curve is just right to rub on the inside making you moan out his name and anything else that’ll come out.

König is whimpering/grunting at each thrust. His back is curled in. His face is above yours. You take this opportunity to reach out to his face mask suddenly he stops and his hand is around your wrist tightly.

“Don’t.”

“I just wanted.. another kiss…” you try catching your breath from everything. He slightly put fear in you but you understood his own fear of his mask coming off.

He nodded understanding now, he let your wrist go and picked you up pushing you to the center of the bed and crawled on, never disconnecting you two.

König leaned down lifting his mask up placing his hot mouth on yours, kissing you deeply and slipping his tongue in guiding your own tongue around his. He began moving his hips again at a slow pace softly gaining speed. You wrapped your legs around his waist pushing him in deeper and he broke the kiss to place his head between your neck and shoulder to then wrap his arms around you and got a steady position to start jack hammering in you. The bed began to thump the wall and the sound of moans and wet, warm skin colliding over and over filled the room. König’s hot breath on your neck felt like fire in the best ways possible. You arched your back feeling yourself building your climax.

“Tell me… M-Maus did you fantasize about me.” He asked through thrusts his voice shaky from his movements.

“Yes, I did!” You answered honestly on the brink of tears from how good the pleasure felt. How much you missed this. Missed him.

“Did you fuck anyone else?” He asked biting at your neck.

“No. No I-I knew know one could… oh god, fuck me like you.” You scratched at his back holding on to reality as best as you could.

“Good girl, good Maus.” He panted into your ear.

König places his hands once more on your hips steadying you to thrust in at a better angle.

Looking down for a minute watching your two bodies connect with the wet sloshing sound. His eyes are closed as he tries holding back his own orgasm. He looks up with half lidded eyes from under the mask and you can tell he’s just drunk off the feeling. His thrusts are becoming sloppy and twitchy as his legs are trying to lock in a flexed position.

“Cum for me.” You say softly with whimpers. His eyes roll back and head tilts back but he keeps going.

“I-i-…. I..” he can’t remember what the words are in English so he just shakes his head ‘no’

“Nein, ich möchte es noch nicht. Ich will dich mehr ficken” he grunts out even tho you don’t know any German somehow you knew what he wanted.

Translation: No, I don't want it yet. I want to fuck you more

König slows his thrusts to a soft pace sitting up on his knees more. He grabs you pulling you up to sit on his lap. You hiss at the sharp new angle of his cock piercing you. He reads your expression and lift you up slightly and starts to rut his hips up into you. You throw your arms over his shoulders and pull him in as you arch your back making your chest squeeze against him. König takes his arm and latches it around your waist to help lift you up and down his length like his own personal fuck toy; taking his other hand and placing it in your hair softly tugging not to hard just something to grab.

“Just like that” he breaths out.

“I’m gonna cum” you whimper out feeling yourself leaking slowly on to his lap. König can feel your warm liquid trailing down his balls and lap.

“Cum f’me Maus bitte, bitte please cum, cum bitte” he’s begging to feel you pulse on his hard cock. His words alone are enough to make you orgasm, you cling to him as your body shakes and your walls tighten around him. König can feel every squeeze of your walls milking his hard cock, it takes strength not to cum right away but he’s losing the battle.

König grabs your hips and pushes you all the way down his length to sit at his base. Your orgasm made you make a mess on him and the bed underneath. König felt just how feral that made him as he gripped you tighter and starts filling you with his own cum. You look at him and his eyes are shut tight and his grip on you is so tight you swear you can feel both of your heart beats in your body. You whimper some more feeling him inside twitch and pour stream in you.

“That’s it… that’s it König.. cum for me” he opens his eyes catching his breath, nodding yes.

“That-that felt um, uh…” he smiles and shakes his head laughing slightly “uh great? Good? Very good.” He chuckles you nod laughing a little yourself.

He slowly helps you raise off of him and lay back feeling your legs still weak and shaky. He crawls to your side flopping on the bed still catching his breath. You let your eyes close just soaking in the feeling. You feel him roll over then back onto his back.

“It’s only seven thirty…” he whispers. You look over to him and König has his eyes set on you.

“I have all night.” You state.

“I have until next week Tuesday.” He says teasingly. You giggle at him.

“Are you saying you want to cum again?” You tease rolling to your side taking your hand and placing it on his hot chest.

“And again and again…” he adds with a smirk you can hear on his lips. He’s always been a 2 rounds kind of guy. Rarely a 3 rounder.

“Take what you want.” you whisper trailing your hand down his body König stopping you at his waist.

“You said you wanted to feel me get hard in your mouth…”

— ⋆ ⋆ ¤⋆ ⋆—

a/n: I hope it’s good. Sorry about the ending just fading out I had no idea how to end this. I loved writing about König messing up English lol I hope the text portion wasn’t to confusing. Sorry for any typos again.

[eobardthawneallen]

YgoPridecember2024 d17 Cosmetics

been thinking on that scene of gravity falls since I saw the prompt list 🥰

[ID: there are 3 full shot chibi drawings of Atem and Seto Kaiba, they're heel sitting, facing each other.

image 1: Atem is with his eyes closed, Seto is tenderly looking at him, grabbing Atem's head with one hand and in the other has a brush to apply eyeliner.

image 2: Now Atem is the one applying eyeliner to Seto, who now has eyes closed, smiling.

image 3: they're staring at each other with smiles, both with the make up in their eyes.

clothes for Atem are similar to the domino high school uniform, except this one is darker and adorned with gold in the sleeves. he is using the jacket as a cape, has golden choker, bracelets, arm bracelets and belts, he is wearing the millennium puzzle.

and for Seto is his purple coat from the start of battle city arc, he is wearing the card locket and a wedding ring. END ID]