#absolutely gutted every time i think about

[morikasan]

𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐏𝐞𝐭 — 𝟐

SUMMARY: His efforts to make you fall in love with him again didn't work, no matter what he did. And one day, when he sees Ryota kissing you, he realizes it's time for plan two.

WARNINGS: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, RAPE/NON-CON, Drugging, Yandere, Mentions of murdering, Kidnapping, Sex without preparation, Gojo is a little shit, Virgin!reader, teacher x student

In the past, you were always with Gojo every moment of the day, during recess, after school, etc... 

But now, everything has changed ever since that scrawny kid Ryota came along, he's gotten all your attention. 

You forgot about Gojo. 

Ah, It was getting on his nerves.

What did you see in that boy? He wasn't rich, he wasn't handsome, he wasn't even strong enough to protect you.

Gojo was way wetter than him.

Now, you are joyfully eating snacks together on a bench in the school garden as Gojo watches you from afar.

You seemed happy with Ryota, laughing and enjoying each other's company. His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring slightly as he observed the easy way you interacted, the gentle smiles exchanged. 

A foreign sensation twists in his gut, one he's not accustomed to feeling. Jealousy, envy, possessiveness...it's all tangled together, a knot of unpleasant emotions that he's struggling to untangle.

With a scoff, he shakes his head. What is he doing, wasting his time on such trivial matters? He's Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer in the world. He doesn't get worked up over some brat.

But even as the thought crosses his mind, he can't deny how his eyes remain fixed on you, cataloging every detail - the way the sunlight catches in your hair, the curve of your smile, the sound of your laughter. It's like a punch to the gut, the realization that he wants those things for himself. 

He wants you for himself.

But he realized it too late. 

He was absolutely stupid man.

Gojo's hand tightens into a fist at his side. No. He refuses to acknowledge these feelings or give them any power over him. You made your choice when you confessed to him, and he made his. 

End of story. 

He won't be swayed by some misplaced sense of possession or jealousy.

And yet, the thought of you with Ryota, sharing intimate moments, perhaps even falling for the other boy fills Gojo with a rage he's never experienced before. 

He has to get rid of this disgusting feeling.

And for that, he must have you.

At first, he would try the easy way, to make you fall in love with him again.

To regain your sacred attention.

And for that, he had a great plan; He'd take you out to dinner! Girls love that, don't they? And after dinner, he'd take you to the cinema.

Now, you were sitting on a bench in the garden cutely reading a book, and he watched you with his hands in his pockets as he visualized your perfect plan: you were sitting on a bench in the garden cutely reading a book.

Ah, how do you manage to be so cute just sitting there? How hadn't he noticed this cuteness before?

With sure steps, he approaches you with a charming smile, his hands tucked casually in his pockets as he saunters. He stops before you, head tilted slightly as he sees you engrossed in your book. His eyes roam over your figure appreciatively before meeting your gaze.

"Well well, hello there, Y/N-chan~! Fancy running into you here."

He chuckles softly, the sound smooth and alluring. One hand comes out of his pocket to prop against his hip as he regards you with a playful smirk.

"Enjoying a good book, I see. Always did admire a girl with a love for literature."

His words are honeyed, designed to charm and flatter. Gojo leans down a bit, bringing his face closer to yours as he speaks in a low, intimate tone.

"Say, I was thinking... What do you say we grab dinner tonight? My treat. And catch a movie afterward, if you're up for it.

He winks at you, his confident demeanor belying the nervous energy thrumming beneath the surface. This is his chance to win you back, to reclaim your attention and affection. And he's determined not to screw it up.

"I know this great little place downtown... Quiet, cozy, perfect for a date. Whaddya say, Y/N-chan? Let me show you a good time."

Your eyes widened at his proposal, you believed it. Your ex, first love Gojo Satoru was officially asking you out on a date.

But you couldn't accept because you promised Ryota. You were going to meet him today.

''S-Sensei, thank you for your generous offer, but unfortunately, I can't accept. I have a meeting with Ryota today... and I don't think it would be appropriate for me to go with you.''

Gojo's eyes narrow slightly at the mention of Ryota, a flicker of jealousy crossing his features before he quickly masks it with a nonchalant shrug. He straightens up and takes a step back, his hands returning to his pockets as he adopts a casual stance.

"Ah, I see. Ryota, huh? "Well, that's... unfortunate. But hey, no worries! I'm sure we can reschedule for another time!

Just as you were about to answering, you saw Ryota coming, you looked at him and smiled, closed your book and stood up and ran past the Gojo to Ryota, waving to your small hand to him

"Ryota-kun! I've been waiting for you!"

He smiled warmly at you, bowing slightly to show his gratitude.

"Thank you, Y/N-san."

he slowly straightens up and with a gentle voice;

"Y/N-san, I bought 2 tickets for the movies. If you want, I'd like to go to the movies with you after dinner. But only if it's okay with you."

You couldn't help but blush sweetly at his offer. we can go, I'd love to!"

"That's great, Y/N-san! Then let's leave right now since class is already over. I don't think Gojo-sensei will be mad at us."

You smiled and nodded as he excitedly talked.

"You're right, Ryota-kun. Let's go then"

Meanwhile, Gojo's expression darkened as he watched you leave with Ryōta, his playful demeanor vanishing instantly.

He couldn't believe that you rejected him.

You rejected him.

You rejected him when other girls were dying to be in your place. And for who? For a short, skinny freak of a boy.

What a comedy.

As time passed, Gojo became more and more obsessed with you. He followed you everywhere you went, he knew everything about you;

Your family, your home, what you like, what days you shower, when you order takeout because you don't like to cook... 

The list goes on and on.

He've tried every way to get you so far, but no matter what he did, you could see nothing but Ryota. He had all your attention and interest.

Despite his hatred for Ryota, his plan wasn't to kill im at first, it was to get you away from and get your attention, to make you fall in love with him.

But this was changed today.

When he saw Ryota kiss you gently on the lips, the way your cute cheeks flushed at the action.

His blood boiled with rage, and it was hard not to kill Ryota right now. 

He knows now. 

He must kill him at once. He should have done it in the first place.

If he killed him, you would be his again, your attention would be on him. You would look at him just like before, in those loving eyes that he had never appreciated before.

Oh, it was so beautiful to think about.

And for all that to happen, Ryota has to die.

But Gojo has to do it without getting his hands dirty.

His mind races, formulating a plan to dispose of Ryota without getting his own hands dirty. A sinister grin spreads across his face as the perfect solution hits him. He'll send Ryota on a dangerous mission, one that he'll never return from. 

Ryota's weakness will be his undoing, and Gojo will watch with satisfaction as he meets his tragic end.

He imagines your devastation when you learn of Ryota's death, the way your heart will break and your world will shatter. 

And when the dust settles, he'll be there to pick up the pieces, to comfort you and reclaim your love.

Well then~ 

Farewell, Ryota.

It's been two days since Ryota embarked on his mission, and you've been on edge the entire time. The uncertainty of his fate gnaws at you, and you can't shake the feeling that something is terribly wrong.

As you pace back and forth in your room, you hear a knock at the door. Your heart skips a beat, and you hope against hope that it might be Ryota, returned safe and sound. 

You open the door to find Gojo standing there, there is a smile on his face. He steps inside without asking, closing the door behind him as he takes in your disheveled appearance.

"Y/N-chan, you look terrible. Have you been sleeping at all?"

He reaches out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. The touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you pull away, your eyes narrowing as you regard him warily.

"I can't help it, Sensei. I'm worried sick about Ryota. He should have been back by now."

Gojo's smile falters for a moment, but he quickly recovers, his eyes sparkling with a dark intensity that sets your nerves on edge."I understand your concern, but you need to stay strong. Ryota is a capable sorcerer, and I'm sure he'll be back before you know it."

His words ring hollow, and you can't bring yourself to believe him. Something in his tone, the way his gaze lingers on you, tells you that he knows more than he's letting on. You take a step back, putting some distance between the two of you.

"Listen, Y/N... I want to confess you something..."

Your heart races as Gojo steps closer, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. He reaches out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a gesture that's both tender and possessive.

"Y/N... I've been holding back for too long. I can't keep pretending, not when my feelings for you are so strong."

He takes a deep breath, his gaze never leaving yours as he continues.

"I love you, Y/N. I always have, and I always will. And I'm sorry for what I had to do to get you back, but I couldn't stand by and watch you give your heart to someone else."

His words hang in the air between you, heavy with the weight of his confession. You stare at him, your mind reeling as you try to process the implications of what he's saying.

Gojo's hand slides down to your waist, pulling you closer as he leans in, his lips a hair's breadth from yours.

Your eyes widened at his confession

"S-sensei.. I-I cant... I love Ryota"

His eyes flash with a dangerous glint as he hears your declaration of love for Ryota. His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your flesh with bruising force. He leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers in a low, menacing tone.

"So, you've forget about me already?" Satoru growled, his breath hot against your skin. "I see, it didn't take you long to replace me, did it?"

His eyes narrowed as he studied your face, searching for any sign of regret or remorse. But all he saw was confusion and fear.

"I don't understand why you're so upset," you stammered, trying to pull away from his grip. "We're just student and teacher, Sensei. You made it clear that you didn't want me, so I moved on."

...

He is silent for a while, and with a aiggh, he spoke coldly

"Ah, I guess you want to do it the hard way, huh?"

What did he mean with the hard way?

When you opened your mouth in surprise and were about to speak, it went dark, you felt so exhausted...

What was happening...?

Your body slowly fell into the arms of the gojo, you lost consciousness.

As you slip into unconsciousness, Gojo catches your limp body in his arms. He holds you against his chest, a twisted smile playing on his lips as he carries you out of the room.

He whispers softly, his voice filled with a dark promise. "Don't worry, Y/N-chan. I'll take good care of you. And when you wake up, you'll see things my way. I promise."

Gojo carries you down the hallway, his steps purposeful and determined. He knows exactly where he's taking you, to a place where he can keep you safe, where he can mold you into the perfect version of yourself - his perfect lover.

As he walks, he can't help but marvel at how easy it was to drug you, to render you helpless and vulnerable. He'd slipped a potent sedative into your drink earlier, knowing that he'd need to act fast once Ryota's fate was sealed.

Now, with you in his arms and Ryota out of the picture, Gojo feels a sense of triumph. He's one step closer to having you all to himself, and he'll stop at nothing to make you his.

He reaches his destination, a secluded cabin hidden deep in the woods. It's a place he's been preparing for months, a sanctuary where he can keep you safe from the outside world and focus on winning your heart.

As he carries you inside, Gojo's mind races with all the things he'll do to make you fall in love with him. He'll shower you with affection, pamper you with luxuries, and slowly break down your resistance until you can't imagine your life without him.

For now, though, he'll let you rest. You'll need your strength for what's to come, and Gojo is nothing if not patient. He'll wait for you to wake up, and then the real fun will begin.He lays you down on the bed, his fingers brushing through your hair as he whispers a final promise.

"Sleep well, my love. When you wake up, our new life together will begin."

As your eyes flutter open, you find yourself in a dimly lit room, your wrists and ankles bound to a bed. Panic rises in your chest as you struggle against your restraints, but it's no use. 

You're trapped, and there's no escape in sight.Your heart races as you take in your surroundings, realizing with growing dread that you're not in your own room.

The furniture, the decor, everything is unfamiliar. And then you see him, standing in the corner of the room, his eyes gleaming with a mix of love and madness.

Gojo approaches the bed, his steps slow and deliberate. He sits down beside you, his hand coming to rest on your cheek as he speaks in a soft, gentle voice.

"Good morning, Y/N-chan~. I hope you're feeling rested. We have a loooooot to do, and I want you to be fully present for it all~"

You try to pull away from his touch, but your bonds hold fast. Your fear is palpable, and you can feel your heart pounding in your chest as you stare at him with wide, terrified eyes.

"S-sensei...—"

Gojo seems to sense your distress, and he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers.

"S-sensei... w-why...? 

Your voice was trembling, ah, what a perfect tone for his ears.

Gojo's smirk widens at your trembling voice, his eyes glinting with a dark satisfaction. He trails his fingers down your cheek, tracing the curve of your jawline before cupping your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Why, Y/N-chan? Because I love you. Because I can't stand the thought of anyone else having you. Now, it's just you and me."

He leans in, his lips hovering a mere inch from yours. His breath is hot and heavy.

"N-No—! S-Stop, sensei—!"

Gojo's smile fades, replaced by a look of disappointment as he watches you struggle against your bonds. He tsks softly, shaking his head as if you were a naughty child.

"Y/N-chan, Y/N-chan, why must you resist? I'm giving you everything you could ever want, and you're fighting me at every turn. Don't you see? I'm doing this for us, for our future together."

He runs his hand through your hair, his touch unbearably gentle, a stark contrast to the danger lurking in his eyes. You can feel your heart racing, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps as you try to escape his grip.

Gojo leans in again, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers in a low, seductive tone.

"I've waited so long for this moment, Y/N-chan. I've dreamed of having you all to myself, of showing you the depths of my love. And now, here we are. Just you and me, no one else to interfere, no one else to come between us."

He leans in, his lips hovering a mere inch from yours. His breath is hot and heavy.

"N-No—! S-Stop, sensei—!"

Gojo's smile fades, replaced by a look of disappointment as he watches you struggle against your bonds. He tsks softly, shaking his head as if you were a naughty child.

"Y/N-chan, Y/N-chan, why must you resist? I'm giving you everything you could ever want, and you're fighting me at every turn. Don't you see? I'm doing this for us, for our future together."

He runs his hand through your hair, his touch unbearably gentle, a stark contrast to the danger lurking in his eyes. You can feel your heart racing, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps as you try to escape his grip.Gojo leans in again, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers in a low, seductive tone.

"I've waited so long for this moment, Y/N-chan. I've dreamed of having you all to myself, of showing you the depths of my love. And now, here we are. Just you and me, no one else to interfere, no one else to come between us."

He pulls back, his eyes locked on yours, daring you to defy him. The atmosphere in the room is charged with tension, and you can feel the weight of his obsession pressing down on you like a physical force.

Gojo's hand slides down your body, his fingers trailing over your collarbone, your chest, and settling on your stomach. He applies a gentle pressure, his touch both comforting and menacing.

"Shh, don't fight it. Let go, Y/N-chan. Let me love you, and I promise, everything will be perfect."

You didn't care. 

You just wanted to escape from this hell

"If someone finds out you kidnapped me, it won't be good for you, sensei! Please let me go, I won't tell anyone if you let me go!"

You couldn't stand it, you were too scared. There was a time when you couldn't wait for him to touch you like this, but now all you felt was fear.

For a moment, your words made Gojo stop and after a brief moment of silence, he started to laugh like a madman.

"Pwfhaha! Y/N chan! Haha, what a cute little girl you are~! You're so funny! Do you really think anything will happen to me?

His hands went to her throat slowly, wrapped his good hand around her delicate neck and started to squeeze gently

"If you die, what does the jujutsu world lose, hm?"

He leaned in and whispered in your ear.

"Let me say: nothing. But if I go, the jujutsu world will lose everything. So unlike you, I'm irreplaceable. After all, I'm the strongest."

Gojo's hands tighten around your neck, his fingers digging into your flesh as he leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. The pressure builds, and you can feel your airway constricting, the oxygen slowly being cut off from your brain.

You gasp for air, your vision beginning to blur as the panic sets in. You try to speak, to reason with him, but all that comes out are strangled whimpers and gasps. Gojo's grip remains unrelenting, his voice a low growl in your ear.

"Understood, pretty girl?" You nodded frantically.

It's a frightening realization, and you can feel the last remnants of hope slipping away as he continues to squeeze.

Just as you're about to lose consciousness, Gojo releases his grip, allowing you to gasp for air. He turns your head to face him, his eyes wild with a mixture of lust and madness.

Gojo's eyes roam hungrily over your exposed body, his gaze lingering on your bare breasts. He licks his lips, a predatory gleam in his eyes as he drinks in the sight of you.

"Mmm, such a naughty girl~, not wearing a bra. Did you do this for me, Y/N-chan~? Were you hoping to catch my eye~?"

He leans down, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck as he speaks. His hands come up to cup your breasts, his thumbs teasing your nipples into hardened peaks.

"Don't worry, I'll take good care of these pretty little things. I'll worship them the way they deserve to be worshipped."

Gojo's mouth trails lower, his tongue darting out to flick against one hardened nub. He sucks it into his mouth, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh as he lavishes your breast with attention.

His other hand slides down your body, his fingers dancing across your stomach before dipping lower, teasing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh

"Please stop it, sensei—!"

Gojo's eyes narrow at your plea, a flash of anger crossing his features. He grips your chin firmly, his fingers digging into your skin as he forces you to meet his gaze.

"Stop? But we've only just begun, Y/N-chan. I've waited so long for this moment, and I won't let you ruin it with your protests."

Gojo's eyes gleam with a predatory hunger as he takes in your trembling form, his gaze raking over your body like a physical caress. He strokes his thick, hard cock, a bead of precum glistening at the tip.

Slowly he pulled back and began to unzip his pants, pulling them down, revealing his thick, big, precum-dripping hard cock. Your delicate body trembled with fear, your eyes wide open. 

Gojo's eyes glitter with a mix of lust and cruel amusement as he takes in your tear-stained face and trembling body. He strokes his thick, hard cock, a bead of precum glistening at the tip.

He takes off your pantie and skirt and reveals your cute, pink cunt. His eyes slightly widened with surprise and disappointment when he saw your dry cunt.

He can't fuck you properly, and you couldn't take pleasure when you were too dry.

But doesn't matter for Gojo for now, because he had waited for this moment for so long. He strokes his cock, the tip smearing precum against your entrance, and started to push.

Your eyes widened from sudden pain. You whimpered cutely and looked at him with those innocent eyes.

"S-sensei- *sobs* please let me go...- *sob* I won't tell anyone, please- *sob*" 

Gojo's eyes gleam with a mix of lust and determination as he presses the tip of his hardened cock against your dry entrance. He grits his teeth, his muscles tensing as he begins to push forward, determined to claim you despite your lack of arousal.

"Sorry, little girl. I've waited so long for this, Y/N-chan. Nothing is going to stop me now."

He grunts with effort, his hips jerking forward as he tries to force his way inside. The pain is excruciating, your body resisting his advance as tears stream down your face. 

Gojo doesn't relent, his grip on your hips tightening as he continues to push, inch by agonizing inch.

Suddenly, there's a sharp snap, and you feel a burning sensation deep within your core. Gojo gasps, his eyes widening in surprise as he realizes what's happened. 

He pulls back, his hard cock slipping out of your torn and bleeding entrance.

"Sensei! Stop—AAAAAH!"

He sighs and starts to push again, untying you and cradling your fragile body as he forces himself inside once more. You tremble and sob uncontrollably, the pain overwhelming your senses.

"AAAAAAH—! IT HURTS! SENSEİ STOP PLEASE!"

Gojo ignores your pleas, his hips snapping forward as he drives his cock deeper into your ravaged entrance. He buries his face in your hair, his hot breath fanning over your neck as he grunts with each thrust.

"Fuck, you feel so tight, Y/N-chan. Your little cunt is gripping me so well," he groans, his voice rough with lust.

he cradles your body against his, his strong arms pinning you in place as he continues to pound into you. His fingers dig into your hips, leaving bruises in their wake as he holds you steady for his brutal thrusts.

Tears stream down your face as the pain intensifies, your body trembling with each violent invasion. You sob and beg him to stop, but your pleas fall on deaf ears.

Gojo is lost in his own pleasure, his mind consumed by the need to claim you, to make your delicate body his.

He leans down, his teeth grazing your earlobe as he whispers in a low, possessive growl.

"You're mine now, Y/N-chan. All mine. I'll never let anyone else have you."

His thrusts become more erratic, his movements growing more desperate as he nears his climax. He buries his face in your neck, his teeth sinking into your soft flesh as he marks you as his own.

The environment was becoming dark slowly, your body was becoming limp, and the only thing you heard was Gojo's pleasure-filled moans before you lost consciousness from the pain.

Gojo groans and cradles your small body tighter as he feels your delicate body go limp in his arms, your pain-filled sobs replaced by the silent darkness of unconsciousness. 

He continues to thrust into your unresponsive form, his climax approaching rapidly.

"I love you so much, Y/N-chan... I will make it up to you tomorrow-fuck!" He pants, his hips snapping forward with increasing urgency.

He buries his face in your neck and kisses your frail neck. With a final, powerful thrust, Gojo reaches his climax, his large cock pulsing inside your torn and bleeding entrance. 

He pulls out his softened cock of your ravaged cunt with a grunt, his cock slipping free from your abused entrance. A trickle of blood and cum follows, staining the sheets beneath you. 

He lays you down gently, his hands caressing your still body with a strange tenderness. He brushes your hair back from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek as he whispers to you.

"I'm sorry for the pain I caused, my cute girl..."

He leans in and kisses your forehead with a tendency. With careful movements, he gathers you into his arms, cradling your limp form against his chest. He stands, carrying you towards the bathroom

In the bathroom, he lays you down on the cool tiles, grabs a washcloth, and runs it under warm water. He cleans you gently, his touch surprisingly tender as he wipes away the blood and tears from your face and thighs.

Once you're cleaned, he carries you back to the bed, laying you down gently on the soft sheets. He sits beside you, his hand resting on your stomach as he watches your chest rise and fall with each shallow breath.

Guilt and fear war in his eyes as he thinks about what he's done. He knows he's crossed a line, that he's hurt you in the worst way possible.

But the thought of losing you, of someone else taking you away from him, terrifies him more than anything.

He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead as he whispers;

"I'm sorry, Y/N-chan. I'm so sorry. I love you more than anything. "

With that, he settles in beside you, his arms wrapped tightly around your unconscious form.

Everything is perfect; your delicate, small body is in his arms, Ryota died on the day of his mission, but you don't know that yet. Now you're staying in a small, luxurious house he prepared for you in the forest near Gojo mansion. 

When you get used to him and love him, he'll take you to your real home: The Gojo mansion.

Yes, everything is perfect.

[miaoua3]

Hi can you do a girl dad and boy dad one for mingyu please and thank you

hii! sure can, i hope you enjoy this!

Girl/Boy Dad! Mingyu Headcanons

girl dad! mingyu that always wears a pink button up whenever he takes his little princess on their little daddy-daughter dates, as a way to match her pretty pink dress❤️

boy dad! mingyu that is always the one to scrub the grass stains out of his son’s football uniform-after all, he is the one that encouraged your son to start playing the sport so

girl dad! mingyu that lets his little girl braid his hair whenever she wants, doesn’t matter that the little elastic bands rip out all if his hair, as long as she’s happy he’s saying yes

boy dad! mingyu that drew all the little dinosaurs on the walls of his son’s room, that spent hours making sure that the designs were accurate and true to how the dinosaurs actually looked like

girl dad! mingyu that every night without fail reads your daughter books or short stories, he has read some of them so often that he can recite them from the top of his head, which comes in handy when he’s away on tour but still wants to read her a story before the bedtime

boy dad! mingyu that lets his son “work out” with him by doing some light stretching and some light running, if he has the time maybe he takes him outside to play a short round of football or something

girl dad! mingyu that always washes your daughter’s hair, she says that her daddy does it better, more gentle than you do (you always roll your eyes affectionately at this). plus it’s so cute to see her playing with the little ducky in the water while he washes her hair, doesn’t matter that his prada pants get all wet-that’s just part of the job that is being a dad

boy dad! mingyu that buys your son his very own telescope on his 10th birthday. he has been asking for it for years so he figured that he must be serious about it and that it won’t go to waste. and that very night, when your son sneaks into your room and whispers “psst, appa, do you want to watch the stars with me?”, he knows that he made the right choice❤️

girl dad! mingyu that cries the day he realises that he doesn’t have to bend down to pick her up anymore because she’s gotten so big so fast, her head now reaching his stomach. he’s absolutely gutted by the realisation, but if you think that it will stop him from constantly picking her up think again

boy dad! mingyu that has yet to miss a football game of his son’s, that is now well into high school. he promised himself that his career would never be the reason to be a bad father. plus seeing his son so embarrassed because you two are screaming like maniacs brings him so much joy

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…well i have no excuses for being a bit absent other than the fact that living alone has been proven to be more lonely than i thought it would be😭 so ofc i started overthinking every single thing but im backk hehe

[bougiebutchbinch]

Im so so so so so sorry but I feel like this is the equivalent to a confession box and Im too prideful to face Father Wagner with my sins.

So. Father tripple B please accept my newest thought.

We all know that Logans happy trail isn't a trail but a whole road, a freeway if you will, from his head, down his neck, to his chest, down his abdomen, down between his legs, its all a straight shot, connected. Yeah? Okay?

Hey- Stay on point. Stop thinking about Logans inner thigh hair- Pay attention.

So Wade dosn't have any hair. "Peach fuzz and he can't even grow it." Ahh mfer. What he does have is stomach problems. Stomach problems that leads to stomach aches. As someone who lives with someone who has had stomach cancer, Wade would have intense pain and cramps when digesting glutinous foods such as thick pizza or pancakes. Glucose and Protien would be his best friends. Fuck milk. Fuck fiber, fuck gluten, fuck everything else on this food pyramid.

Weeellll.... I keep thinking about them cuddling on the couch, watching a random movie because his stomach hurts so badly, he's just- dead. A replica of the imfamous melting clock painting, a whining mess completely slumped against him, trying his best to ignore the peircing feeling deep in his gut as he tries his best to digest dinner.

Subconsiously, unprovoked, and not asked, Logan starts mindlessly rubbing his stomach, lazily massasing the muscle and gripping his loose thin skin. He pushes up and gropes the sides, almost oblivious to what he's doing because here's Wade, absolutely putty in his hands.

The way those big paws of his caress and knead at him feels too good, small pleased groans coming from him as Logan has his waist secure in one arm, the weight only adding to the secure feeling.

When he stops, Wade only puts his hand back, shifting to nuzzle his scruffy cheek and encouraging him to put pressure and press upwards with his full hand's girip until he eventually drifts off into a loud as fuck flu like snore that becomes music to Logan's ears.

This also works if ftm Wade because he loves when hes sitting on Logan's lap, reverse cowboy, soaking/cock warming him as Logan feels his own bulge inside of Wade's stomach. 👁👄👁

🤭Telling him how good it feels to be stuffed and Logan telling him how gorgeous he is with him in him like this. Sometimes, they just sit like this for a bit. Logan rubbing over him so much that it not only feels great, but every time he dozes off, logan bucks his hips up. "Shows not over, bub." He tells him, teasing him.

Wade's so warm. So happy. So.. chilled the fuck out, cuddly and for some reason, Logan rubbing his thighs and his stomach drives him just insane enough to obey his every command.

Oh, it's so not fair. Wade's so milky. So ready. So.. tired. And Wolvie won't fuck him OR let him go to sleep. But the thing is, he's drawing him out, trying to get him his max cozy so he will sleep awhile. Going as far as sharing a few blunts with him, blowing smoke in his face playfully and kising him with smoke in his mouth, letting him take big puffs until his body does numb with just how chilled out he is.

When he finally does let him sleep, Logan dosn't move, watching another shitty movie and habing a cigar, drinking some water, rubbing his stomach a bit softer now, whispering how cute his stupid ass was only to fuck him over of the arm of this couch and press him into it the moment he woke up, his viens twitching inside of that hot cunt like wade was sitting on a thrown... maybe he should get him a tiara.. dub him the best pussy in all the land or something corney like that..

Anyway. Goodnight, i'm tired. You're welcome for those thoughts.

PS, I learned what soaking was because of you, so this is your responsibility now. At least you get Thought-Support, though. Here. It's your weekend.

stares at this

stares at this

👁️🫦👁️

haha I'm normal. I'm normal. I'm n o r m a l :said with teeth gritted while clutching the arms of my chair:

in short - yes. YES. use that silly little clown as a cockwarmer as part of his healthcare plan.... he needs to relax thoroughly into subspace so he can get a good night's sleep - and what better way than for him to be slid down real gentle onto Wolvie's cock/strap like it's a throne and then have Logan whispering in his ear about what a good boy he is, while stroking his tumtum and working him soooooo gently into a haze of pleasure....

I want this for him so bad. It would fix him, I think ❤️

[drdemonprince]

Do you have any favourite scary movies?

I love the ambiguity and grief of The Orphanage, and the main character's emotional journey is absolutely gutting.

The Strangers has some of the most subtle, dread-inducing scares of any horror film of its era; if you liked the hidden ghosts in Mike Flanagan's Haunting of Hill House, it owes some inspiration to this film, I think. It truly gave me nightmares.

The newer Suspiria has really stayed with me, and I loved Flawed Peacock's analysis of the film on Youtube as well. I watched both this and the original back-to-back a few months ago, and they're both great in different ways, but nothing tops the haunting, sickening beauty of the end of this one.

28 Days Later is the only zombie movie for me, and yes part of that is because Cillian Murphy was so fuckable in it. I'll never forget the quiet, contemplative air of this movie, which is rivaled only by The Last of Us games. The zombie genre is bloated with derivative crap, but this movie rang in a whole new generation, and did it so well you don't need most of the rest.

The original Saw is a hell of a stage-play-slash-bottle-episode, and it's far more sophisticated in its writing than any of the rest in the series. It really holds up in my opinion.

The Cell isn't really that scary, to me, but it's fucking cunty as hell with incredible costumes and set pieces, and I enjoyed every minute of it. Bonus points for having a minor corruption/hypnosis aspect really tickled my imagination. I just wish that element had lasted for longer.

Speaking of movies that are actually plays -- there's no better Stephen King adaptation than Misery. Kathy Bates absolutely crushes in a nauseating, confining performance here, and the hobbling scene is one you just never forget. To me it's a perfectly paced film, and it holds up shockingly well in the era of stans and superfandoms.

Ghost Ship is my favorite bad stupid horror movie. The opening scene is enough creative nonsense carnage to justify its existence, but stick around through the end for a very weird trip-hop montage.

Dead Silence is another goofy one that gets really inventive with its gore. I love horror movies that do just downright disrespectful, creepy shit with corpses, and that's what this one is all about.

The Boy is a fucking laugh riot to me. The entire premise is so transparent from the very beginning and the thrills are so awkward and tame that it's a great Halloween party movie. If you're anything like me, you and your friends will walk around the house talking about the Boy for days afterward. Brahms is an age regressor king

Some people find Aronofsky's movies to be too over-the-top to connect with, but I think he nailed the internal horror of perfectionism, codependency, sexual repression, and eating disorders with Black Swan. Barbara Hershey's character is so perfectly unsettling that it sets all my people-pleasing, abandonment-fearing issues alight every time. Everything about this movie is confining and distorting, which is exactly how it feels inside when you narrow your entire life to a singular pursuit and are governed by impossible rules.

The Others has exactly what I need for a horror movie to have good replay value: just like The Orphanage, it's final reveal is more depressing and unsettling than it is pure scary, which makes it cut deeper, and it recontexualizes the whole rest of the film. The interiors and aesthetics are great.

Possession is easily the most disturbing movie on this list. This one cuts deep in a confusing, unmooring way -- it makes you feel sick in your soul, hopeless, and put off from relationships. Filming it reportedly ruined Sam Neil & Isabelle Adjani's lives for a good while, and you can see why. This film is the psychological reality of divorce in its unabashed form. To really leave behind a life you once committed yourself to, you have to become almost unrecognizable to yourself, and do great violence to both your former self, and the ones you love. This film gets that, and it's painful. It makes you feel disgusting for wanting things or for staying in a place where you're unhappy.

Happy watching!

[2nv-diary]

flightless bird(have i found you?) | part 1

ray | binary star hero x reader

rushed for a friend who has just passed. gushed over this game with her, so i thought it deserved to be out there. not proofread.

word count: 2,001

It's not like him to move without completing the picture from top to bottom first—plans A to Z listed, supposedly; he had so much time, after all. Every move he's imagined you'd make branches out to 26 different outcomes. He thinks it's enough. Who the hell reacts differently than more than about three possibilities?

You, apparently. You take him out. Make him realize the need of a plan AA. A plan AB. A plan AC. And so on and so forth. He needs more than 26 plans when it's about you. Absolute pain in his ass.

It's the burning sensation in his gut that he almost thinks you are Apollo instead of Icarus. Icarus is meant to chase after the god with wing of wax and feather, but the story must be incomplete like his plans because—

—You are Apollo instead, he figures. If he's speaking about power, you are possibly both. You are the one on the Earth that cannot follow him to the skies beyond—Icarus—and yet you are the one being chased and the one so hard to reach—Apollo.

And god, does he want to reach you.

Bedrock crumbles when penetrated by roots deep enough, but soil clings. Like a vice if compact enough, roots unable to escape—truly, who is the one benefitting? The root that digs deep onto unsurmising surface, or the soil that grabs onto roots to stay intact?

Mutual, at least. They both use each other. Both beneficial.

It's what he craves with you. Hero calling only to be your enemy the moment your eyes meet. His could turn red and melt even the most pressurized of diamonds over—but why did it not cut through layers of you?

So much left of you he does not know. He doesn't like it one bit. Even with all this planning, there's not much to write home about in his knowledge of you. It's embarrassingly—

—Useless; a mind reader that can't still know their goddamn target after countless encounters? He's such a novice. When he shouldn't be.

Icarus seems to have the upper hand. There isn't even an attempt to use the wings, he never uses it for the one time Ray absolutely needs him to. Figures it must be because Apollo could craft wings himself to Icarus—who's chasing who at his point?

Your eyes pierce at him again, but with no fault of your own. No recognition whatsoever, but he doesn't blame you. Years of searching you of course made him remember your eyes, but you haven't searched him once.

And the eyes you gaze upon in television have a ridiculous mask plastered before it. He can't blame you for not making the connection—he doesn't want you to, anyway. But it still stings. But at the same time, this is perfect for him.

A new start for his Icarus—

—Apollo coming down to meet him.

In the guise of mortality, not in the god-like glory, he makes the choice for you. Perhaps if the sun wasn't as scorching, would you, dearest Icarus, attempt to come near now?

—Of course he's not the sun. Sun-like, at best. A void that pulls forces. Devours. He keeps his sun-like stature to fool you. Pulls an Apollo to bring Icarus home. Binary pairs, forever revolving around each other.

So, no. He will not burn you. Instead, he will come to you, attraction pulling hard on his heartstrings.

Maybe it is you who deserves a hero title. You're saving this world by simply existing. You would save much more if you knew your power well, but he likes to keep his cards close.

So when his first move of check in poker comes in the form of a visit to the café you work at, you think the game is fair.

(And it is. All is fair in love and war.)

You think it's destiny—him catching you whenever you fall.

Catching. As if what made you stumble wasn't him in the first place.

Your skin colliding with his—nevermind his sweater's a layer he wishes wasn't in between the two of you—his limb feels like burning from the slightest touch.

Actor setting up his stage, you were lead actress in the dark of what is most likely his idea of love. Ray your love interest but only because that is the limit he allows. Cotton over your eyes lest you see the true number of choices you have.

And you have a lot. He can lessen those numbers, but even so, there is only so much pain in your expression that he can handle and put up with. As ruthless as he is, obviously he wants what makes you happy.

Because if you're happy, you'd want to stay. He doesn't have to plan—52 plans incase you ruin the first 26(you love making him overthink, don't you?)—if you're willing. If you want him.

Pliant, in your soft mattress. His is softer, branded luxury amongst other practical items he's bothered to buy with his money, but of course to hunt is to never rush.

He hates it when you're up and about. You go to places he can't really follow—mundane, you say, but if he argues it's not, then your suspicions raise. He can't have that. All that settles are crumbs instead—

—His name and number, appearing as if you'd scored them, slipped into your pockets. Stealthy, as if he hadn't thought multiple times of how and what if there weren't even any pockets on you. How embarrassing would that have been on his end?

Ray is different. Or so he thinks. He wants to know now what you think, thinking all his efforts should at least leave you guessing. (Sweet summer child. No experience in the ways of love, only ever transactional relationships and it shows.) He's like a cat. Dropping the most vague of hints and hoping it spells out "we're soulmates—trust.".

So when the silence stretches longer than he would have liked(merely a week; for a stranger, he sure does not know how long buildup takes), he finds you.

Under his attempt of playing Apollo, you also play Icarus perfectly. Such versatility—or perhaps duality—you have, perched by the large advertisment of him plastered over the city. In gold and glitter, Ray is adorned in all that glimmers for the one interview he remembers.

The one interview that matters. A show that he so wishes you would bear witness to, and it is the perfect moment right now that he also witnesses you watch it himself. All his luck(should he believe in such a concept) has pooled its chances for today.

Ray made sure you would encounter this interview one way or another. If not from the billboard—though he argues that that alone is a hard feat to ignore—then from magazines. Surely your eyes will drift towards him—an image, at least, coincidentally. Be it in stores you pass by or it being read by a civillian before you.

He is well loved, after all.

(Well, Binary Star is.)

In that interview he calls out to you. In words he knows will stir a reaction from you, no matter how the meaning is twisted it still means something that involves you.

He will have you. The world already knows, and so should you.

--

"I work law enforcement, remember?" are the first reasons he throws at you when he arrives at the café first thing after work.

Work. His job doesn't have set hours like you do(as much as he likes to have some. Would really do him good to just... not be the one the world needs for maybe fourteen hours like everyone else) so it was either he heals up and shows nothing as incentive to you, or—

—His job might as well mean a good thing for him, your lovely face scrunched to focus on bandaging him with what supplies your workplace has. He loves the sight of you so close, your worry doing wonders for his wounds(that he could so easily patch up himself or even heal. Bastard even knows it's not going to get infected or get him to bleed out.)

Sparkling little starlight of his, burning bright even without meaning to. He's meant it when he said he doesn't feel the pain no matter how many times you check.

The antiseptic stings. The blood loss lightens his grip on reality. The presses on marred flesh would make a grown man burst into tears. But he's meant to make up for the days he hasn't visited—damned world needed saving, he's been pulled away from you.

Apollo, needed by devout men and women falling to their doom. Ray's mind roars back that their impending downfall is their own making—humanity always fucks around and finds out(it's the point of history, and yet it spirals and people still call them coincidences. Not like Ray expects them to learn.)

All this trouble, yet the one whose touch he needs is yet too far away. Icarus, still not making use of his wings.

Does he knows his bone and flesh will melt upon leaving his habitat to join Apollo? Ray hopes on Icarus' naivety, then.

If not to be the hero he once wanted to be(symbol of justice—but what is just, anyway? when it turns out to be a hero is but a mere puppet on strings that all circle back to the goddamn government?), then if only he could just be your hero. Can't you let him do that for you(himself, really)?

"Being good at your job doesn't mean you're invincible," You retort in concern. "And even if you were invincible, you'd think you'd at least take care if just for the sake of those that worry over you."

Ray finds you adorable—cute barista cleaning him up instead of cleaning up shop, her main job—but it's within said job that he's reminded you're not alone.

"See, some people would drag that to the hospital than to a café." Your coworker Haley makes their presence known.

"Sorry, Hal. I'll replace the supplies myself." You don't realize that's not the issue, but Ray doesn't want to tell you what is. Seems neither does Haley.

"'s fine. Those were about to expire, anyway." They shrug, words meant to have Ray wince were he an ordinary man.

Luckily for him, he doesn't need to do his version of cleanup on the café. (Lucky for Haley, too. Ray would hate for this charade—scene to end, curtains fall to a close, credits roll—to move if he does clean up starting with Haley. Where would you work, then?)

--

Caffeine could almost replace the blood in his veins with how often Ray drinks coffee. Black, too? No man can handle that frequency without palpitating towards an early grave.

You say so too when you pour him a cup in your tiny apartment, making up for when he carried your groceries home. When he'd worried to hell and back when all he'd seen in those bags were instant foods—let him take care of you. He wants so badly to offer.

"I don't know how you can live with absolutely zero sugar or cream," You murmur against the rim of your own cup. Foam of marshmallow clinging to your lips, only making you even more adorable in Ray's eyes, something he didn't know was even possible.

"Some of us don't actually want diabetes. Shocking, I know." He rolls his eyes. A poor attempt in his eyes to appear uninterested. Surely you and anyone under the sun knows his attraction to you. You're his weakness, as painstaking as it is to admit.

He hopes you are never one day the thing that crutches him. The one thing that he will lose for, and the world will know—

—Binary Star isn't actually the most powerful—you are.

(Apollo to his Icarus.)

[ryleektv]

Lorenzo Berkshire Headcannons

Part 2

Warnings: suggestive content (i think?? i don't remember), language, diving deep into toxic Lorenzo, not proof read

again, don't come after me if you don't agree

WC: 646

• quidditch keeper. practices a pretty normal amount unless he makes some stupid mistake during a game, then you best believe his ass is out there forcing theo to help him practice for the next 3 days

• definitely plays football (soccer 😔✊) and is actually good at it

• thinks he is the shit. this dudes ego is dangerously inflated and someone desperately needs to tell him no, reject him, lead him on, literally anything to humble him because he truly thinks he can just play God

• however i solely believe someone will at some point manage to somehow break his heart and that all will come absolutely crashing down

• ofc that'll only last about 0.02 seconds and then he'll be in his rebound kick and worse than ever but at least there was a small sliver of time when he realized that he is not in fact the shit and he's actually just a hot wannabe frat boy that got semi lucky in life

• also somehow really good with kids?? and obviously that's really attractive but how is he good with kids?? why does it make sense?? 

• gives off the kinda vibe of finding him holding some random baby at a family reunion (fuck knows not his family 😬) and having no clue who's it is but lowkey enjoying the baby snuggles (as he should) 

• will not admit to enjoying the baby snuggles.

• if he wasn't attractive, your mother would hate him, but he also has a major flirt personality and knows damn well he's gorgeous therefore is great at faking the niceties for parents so your mama won't bat an eye at the total asshole aura

• 50/50 chance your dad hates his guts and sees right through him (if you have no dad though you're just shit out of luck in terms of getting actually good relationship guidance because there's no way he's not making a "i didn't know you had a sister" comment.)

• Knee Socks is actually him???

• would own a blue lacoste?? would be attracted to the knee socks?? yes

• i feel like he would suffer from major summer depression. being away from school distractions, away from school in general, away from his friends, stuck in a gloomy ass manor, constantly surrounded by reminders of his shit parents. bud is not doing well

• more than likely has issues with attachment too (huge contrast to the commitment issues). does not do well being away from his close friends but would rather cut off his dick than admit it

• cannot be alone. lonely is no go. he is a people person, he doesn't have to like you to need some company and use you for it 

• this does in fact feed into his whole womanizer persona 

• off of the sad bit, he is a real genuine sweetheart to Narcissa and Narcissa only. 

• cissy may not always be the best parental figure, however compared to his other options it's like comparing shit to candy. candy is a million times better even if its not always good therefore he definitely emotionally attached himself to her

• yelled at her once and had a mental breakdown

• maybe if you're dating him and you're lucky, she might talk a little sense into him and make him just a smidge less of an asshole

• speaking of, buddy has flings and situationships. dates for a few weeks at most every once in a while but it's mostly that ridiculous unofficial dating situationship that makes you want to bash your head in 

• it gets talked about a lot too, specifically around the girls because they all think they're smart enough to be with him without getting caught up in his messy self

• king of manipulation and surprisingly doesn't realize it half the time. he knows he's outstandingly good at manipulating everyone he just doesnt always notice when he's doing so 

• overall just a toxic babe

[goodlucktai]

name your courage now

one piece word count: 2k pairing: usopp & luffy my piece for the @opfluffzine ! @beasttrash drew some absolutely lovely art to go with my fic, go take a look if you'd like ! title borrowed from the moon will sing by the crane wives read on ao3

x

When Usopp was seventeen, he met a man who made him feel small. 

It wasn’t the first time in his life someone looked at him and found him wanting. But it was the first time elevator eyes and a sneer had caused a deep pang of uneasiness to take up residence in his gut.

“This guy?” the stranger had said to Luffy, incredulous. “Come on, you can tell just by looking between us that I have more to offer than he ever could.”

He was trying to cozy up to the rookie captain already making a name for himself across the blues. He wanted to tag along, take the easy street to adventure and infamy. He couldn’t seem to understand why Usopp, of all people, had a spot, while he didn’t. 

Until that point, Usopp had never had any compunctions about his own physicality. He had a runner’s body, lithe muscle that got him from Point A to Point B swiftly, and the excellent cardio required to scream every step of the way. He would never try to go toe-to-toe with someone like this man—a little taller than Zoro, a little broader in the shoulders, more muscled than the nineteen-year-old former pirate hunter by virtue of being about a decade older. 

But Luffy’s first mate had a devil in him that made him an actual walking natural disaster. This stranger just seemed like the type of bully who was used to using his size to get what he wanted, and his handsome, chiseled face when brute force failed him. 

Luffy had looked at the man the way Usopp imagined the sun might look at a satellite, a glancing interest in this tiny, inconsequential thing that decided to cut boldly across his view. 

Then he looked at Usopp and the shape of that regard changed completely, all warmth and light and safekeeping—the sun looking at one of its planets, Luffy looking at someone who was his. 

Usopp knew how special it was to have that sunlight in his life. He knew better than to think, even for a second, that the special one was him. 

“Who are you?” Luffy said plainly, as if he hadn’t been present for the introductions that had happened literal minutes before. 

The stranger’s face flushed with humiliation, and Zoro’s low chuckle rumbling around them like thunder certainly didn’t help. 

“Shall I get rid of him, captain?” Zoro said with a courteousness that felt dangerous in the moment. 

Luffy, as petulant as any spoiled little brother or soon-to-be king, said, “Just get him out of the way! Usopp was telling a story.”

The stranger chose to take himself out of the way, proving he was at least a little smarter than most wannabe big shots they bumped into. Even after he had disappeared down the road—even after the encounter had drifted back into the company of one thousand other encounters that wouldn’t even make it into the footnotes of their crew’s grand tale—that oily uncertainty remained in Usopp’s stomach. 

Looking back, it was stupid. But it was the first time Usopp felt worried that his place could be snatched away; that someone more deserving could take his spot. 

He knows that he’s lucky, that fate decided to be kind to him that day it brought his future right to his front door. He knows he never would have mustered the courage to go meet his destiny on his own, because Usopp was a runner, and a coward, and only as strong and fast as he needed to be to race away from danger, not towards. 

Then his family was ripped apart. Then Luffy suffered, alone and out of his reach. Usopp clutched a newspaper in hands that shook and imagined, for one second, a world without Luffy’s sunny smile. 

He needs me, Usopp thought. It wasn’t a lie to bolster himself in a moment of crippling insecurity. It wasn’t an act of silly, self-important grandeur to make Nami scoff or Chopper giggle or Sanji roll his eyes. It was a frightening, heavy thing to hold, something he was halfway tempted to put down, and that’s how he knew it was the truth. That’s how he knew he had to keep holding it. 

Usopp worked hard on himself in those two painful years apart, let himself go and then dragged himself back kicking and screaming. He has plenty to show for it, his body a machine as trustworthy as the ones he and Franky build together in their workshop. Just let someone try to take his nakama away again. 

I could carry any one of you, he thinks sometimes, gazing at them over drinks or under the stars, feeling settled in his skin and bones in a way he never was before. If you needed me, I'm strong enough to carry you now.

They meet that man again one more time, when Usopp is twenty.

On the main street of a city they’re poking around for the afternoon, they stumble upon a seaside restaurant's soft opening. Sandwich board menus planted in the street boast cheap specials for couples due to some local holiday. 

Usopp and Luffy lock eyes, and grin, and slide into each other’s space with the ease of people who have put their lives in each other’s hands on the regular. When they amble up to join the queue, they don’t get any second glances.

The shape of Luffy against Usopp’s side is familiar. His hair is stiff, starched with sun and sea salt, but it bends to Usopp's whims when he finger-combs it back into waves. 

Luffy isn’t handsome in a textbook way, isn’t pretty the way people like Vivi and Cavendish are, but he stops strangers in their tracks regardless. Gazes linger where he goes, maybe because humans at a base level can tell when a god is walking with them. 

Or maybe it’s his huge brown eyes. Even odds, Usopp decides, grinning when Luffy pushes into his touch like a pampered pet monster. 

“If we don’t have enough for the bill we can just run away,” Luffy says none too quietly, because he’s very much a product of the two half-feral older brothers who raised him.

“We’ll have enough,” Usopp reassures, even though he’s not entirely sure. Things will work out one way or another. He's learned from the best, after all, and while he’s no Nami, he can charm a few hundred bellies off the bill at the very least. 

Their chatter attracts attention. One of the two girls holding hands in line ahead of them scoffs, good-humored, and her partner giggles. A man walking down the street does a double-take and stops in his tracks.

Usopp recognizes him, even if it takes a minute. He’s smaller than Usopp remembers. The years haven’t been kind, weathering away his roguish good looks. Now he wouldn’t stand out of a crowd one way or another. 

In a split second, Usopp can see the spark of something like blame in his eyes. He looks like he’s about to start a fight.

“Hey, Lu, I bet they’ve got free samples up at the front,” Usopp says, giving his captain a nudge. “Get us something good, I'll save our spot in line.”

“Good idea!” Luffy’s off like a shot, thankfully barreling around the queue of customers instead of through it. Usopp spares a moment of sympathy for the waitstaff if there aren’t actually any samples up there and then turns his attention back to the stranger. 

Usopp folds his arms and sets his shoulders back, a broad wall between Luffy and this guy who thinks he has a right to ruin their fun day off. 

“For all you know, we’re on a date,” he says dryly. “Make it quick.”

“I just don't get it,” he says, jaded and unhappy with whatever turns his life has taken. “Why did he take you with him? What makes someone like you so special?”

“Yeah, you really don’t get it,” Usopp replies, not unkindly. 

None of us were special until he picked us out of the blues and made us that way, he could say. He saw something in us that no one else did, that hadn’t even existed yet, he could try to explain. Maybe we just got lucky. 

But there’s more to it than that. That’s only half the truth. 

They chose Luffy, too. And that’s not a small thing. It’s not simple, or easy, or a choice they only had to make once. Luffy picked them, and they picked him right back, and all the hard work that came with him. 

Every so often, when his friends are being noisy and annoying, Usopp thinks I would do anything for them and he means it . He would fight tooth and nail to stay at their side. He would cling with his last breath to Luffy's flag. Even when it hurts. Even when he’s scared. 

There is nowhere else that he belongs, Usopp realized one day, and it’s the truth. It’s something he made true, over and over and over again. Maybe he did get lucky that day Luffy happened to meet him. 

But maybe Luffy got lucky, too. 

“I put in the work,” Usopp finally settles for saying. “This is how far it got me. I’m nowhere near done yet.”

The man scoffs, but it doesn’t have the condescending edge it did the first time they met. When he sizes Usopp up again, it’s not nerve-wracking the way it would have been once. 

If Robin was there to make it really funny, Usopp would say excuse me, my eyes are up here, like he does in dive bars when flirty strangers get a little too close for comfort, only to shriek in alarm at the extra ice blue eyes staring unblinkingly at them from Usopp’s face. 

The man glances over Usopp's shoulder and quickly withdraws himself from their conversation. Usopp didn’t need his obvious reaction to tell him that Luffy is scampering back, because his passive observation haki is finely tuned to his captain’s presence at all times. That, and the audible oof from a stranger in the crowd who didn’t dive out of Luffy’s path in time not to get trampled over was kind of a giveaway. 

“Oh, score,” Usopp cheers when he sees what is probably six times the suggested number of samples for any one customer clutched in Luffy’s hands. 

Luffy is watching the stranger depart, a confused frown on his face. He looks back and Usopp meets his eyes easily, a smile already curling the edges of his mouth because he knows what’s coming. 

Sure enough, his best friend says, “Who was he?”

The line moves up and now they’re within line of sight of the hostess podium, so Usopp resumes their fake date by slinging an arm around Luffy’s waist. He squeezes playfully, and Luffy actually squeaks in surprise like a rubber monkey, then bursts into bright peals of ringing laughter. 

It settles over the street the way sunlight falls on everything, casting the world in warm, rich gold.  

“He was nobody worth worrying about,” Usopp says, wishing he could say it to himself at seventeen.

Usopp used to be a liar and could even trick himself into thinking he was somehow worth standing next to his friends, the brilliant, incredible people that they were. 

Usopp is still a liar, when it suits him, and even a coward, but only when it’s good for a laugh. More than that, he’s an inventor and a storyteller and the best sharpshooter in the New World. Maybe sometimes he still flinches from danger, but he doesn’t let his crew run to meet it without him. He builds things and helps people and nobody has the power to make him feel like anything except what he is.

He’s someone worth betting your last beli on. Somehow, Luffy knew that from the very first moment they met. Usopp took the long way around, but he caught up eventually.

[birbsong]

the fact that this is prequel,,, ugh i am not prepared to find out what happened

[crimescrimson]

Chloe Price in Life Is Strange (2015)

[scribefindegil]

revisiting Discworld is wild bc the social commentary is SO blatant and SO pervasive but I first read these books as an extremely sheltered eleven-year-old who knew zero things about systems of oppression so I was just like "Wow what a fun fantasy story!!"

[sanhaoche]

i am generally a piano ballad hater but olivia rodrigo is such an ACTOR that i tear up basically every time i listen to the grudge and this morning i actually CRIED while my girlfriend played it on her shitty phone speaker................ what did she put into that song!!!!!!!!

[tbcanary]

yet again i say everyone who argues about what is and is not in character for jason needs to stop fighting each other and unite against our common enemy, scott fucking lobdell

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

So Much Love in Oklahoma

Tyler Owens x fem!reader  7k words

summary: Tyler saves you from a tornado one day. The next, he shows up at your doorstep.

a/n: absolutely no clue about tornados. or oklahoma. don't come at me for inaccuracies

also!!! i'm currently working on some tyler smut too, but you are so definitely allowed to come request things (or just talk to me)! my inbox is wideeeee open, especially when it comes to mister owens <33

masterlist | twisters masterlist

What happens that particular Tuesday afternoon should have been impossible. That's what goes through your head about a bazillion times in the following days. The chances of what happens even happening are about as close to zero, you think, as the possibility of you discovering a cure for cancer.

(They're not. Of course. But it feels like that.)

Because you're not even really in Oklahoma. You're just driving through Oklahoma. You're not from a place where they give you a 'How to Deal with Tornados' manual in school. You're entirely, completely, wholly unprepared for what's brewing as you drive down almost empty highways with the radio all the way up.

So when suddenly, you're in the middle of a storm, with the wind picking up until it drowns out your music and rain and hail slashing against your windows, you're absolutely terrified.

It forms within a few minutes, goes from barely grey skies to a horrible, horrible whirl of almost black clouds, and the insecurity you'd been feeling turns into the gut-churning realisation that you're unquestionably fucked.

Some part of your brain tugs out a deeply buried memory of cars being sucked into tornados on the news, so with your heart racing a few hundred miles per hour and your hands shaking so badly you can barely hold onto the steering wheel anymore, you maneuver your car onto the side of the road, just in time for you to be climbing out of the passenger seat as another car comes to a shrieking halt next to yours.

You're getting drenched within half a second, you're honestly not that sure whether your cheeks are wet from the rain or your tears, and on top of that, you almost trip as you set your trembling feet onto the ground below. The other car's driver bangs their door shut with a resounding thud that makes you flinch so hard you think your soul leaves your body. Your head shoots up as he shouts at you, already three steps away from his truck:

"What the hell are you doing out here?"

He's drenched, too - his hair sticks to his face and his shirt clings to his skin and his pants are stained at least a shade darker. But unlike you, he's not shaking, he's steady as a fucking rock, steady and quick, already reaching out for your arm before you can even begin to think. Your brain lags behind, foggy and cloudy and scared, so fucking scared. You're so terrified you can hardly open your mouth.

"I-", you stutter, then he's wrapping his big hand around your arm and tugging you away from your car, away from the road already.

"We need to get the fuck down!", he calls, pulling you with him onto one of those many, many fields that surround you. "There's a ditch over there, see that?"

You're wide-eyed, shaking, basically being dragged along by him - one foot in front of the other, that's what your brain's concentrating on right now, which is easier said than done. You trip over your own feet every other step. But the guy just wraps his arm around your waist and hurries further.

"Do you see that?", he asks again when you don't respond. Your mind races even faster than your heart does, but you force yourself to concentrate on his voice. The panic doesn't lessen, but his question shifts your focus. Ditch. Ditch. Not the storm raging around you, no, you're looking for a ditch. You're focusing on finding a ditch.

"Yeah", you breathe, your eyes finally catching on the ditch only a bit away.

"Yeah?", the guy shouts. "We need to get there. We need to get low."

With that, he picks up his pace once more and you stumble along, bumping into his side, watching the ditch come closer and closer and closer until your feet are drowned in dirty, muddy water.

"Alright, get down!", he shouts, unwrapping his arm from around your waist to help you into the cold, cold water. "Hold onto the ground!"

You aren't thinking. You can't think. Your brain has shut off completely. Panic numbs every part of you. All you can do, all you can possibly do, is concentrate on the voice of the man who's crouching down beside you. It's like his words have replaced your own thoughts, and like a marionette, you stretch out your arms and dig your fingers into the grass. Which is way easier said than done. You're pretty sure you feel one of your nails break as you try your hardest to find something, anything to hold onto. And then the wind hits.

If you'd thought you'd experienced heavy winds before, you were wrong. So wrong. No vacation in a surfer's town could possibly compare to this.

"Fuck!", you scream, instinctively dropping your head onto the moist grass below. The wind pulls and pulls and pulls at you and you imagine yourself being dragged by it - dragged away, away into certain death. But then an arm wraps around you, and the guy next to you is not next to you anymore but half on top of you, securing you in his arms, holding you close, pressing you to the ground.

"Stay down!", he shouts as you cling to the grass. "I got you."

I got you.

You replay that in your head like a mantra - he's got you, he's got you, he's got you. You're trembling, you're shaking, you're cramping, you're trying to hold onto the ground with all your might as the wind grows and grows and grows and pulls and pulls and pulls at you.

You want to scream. You think you're screaming. But it's so loud. It's deafening, the roar of the wind and the thunder. You can't hear yourself scream.

He can, though. He can. And he tightens his arms around you and repeats "I got you, I got you, I got you". And you believe him. You have to.

You're crying now, you're sure of that. Some part of you hurts. Maybe all of you hurts. You're scared. You're not just scared, you're terrified. It's loud, it's loud and it's everywhere, all around you.

And then suddenly - there's nothing.

It disappears within seconds.

There's no sounds. None. There's silence, deafening silence. Forget the calm before the storm - this is the silence after the tornado.

You take a few shuddering breaths. You're trembling, trembling from head to toes. You're soaked. You're cold.

"Alright, it's gone", the guy says - the guy that's still got his arms wrapped around you, who's still on top of you. "You did it."

He pulls his arm away from you and rolls onto his back next to you. Water sloshes around as he goes.

You don't move an inch.

You can't move.

You're stuck, you're frozen in place. Your fingers are cramped into the dirt and the grass and you're frozen.

The guy sits back up again and reaches out for you. He smooths his hand down your back, surprisingly warm against your ice-cold skin.

"Hey", he says softly. "You're okay. You can get up."

You pry your fingers from the ground one by one, flex your trembling hands and push yourself upright. It takes a few seconds for reality to sink in - you're in a ditch. In a ditch. You're soaked, soaked with muddy ditch water. Your shoes are drenched, your legs splattered with dirt, the hem of your dress soaked in brown. And you're cold. Ice-cold and trembling. And your legs hurt, your arms hurt, your fingers hurt. Three of your nails are cracked.

You're sitting in a ditch in the middle of Oklahoma and you'd just been through a tornado. A fucking ditch in Oklahoma and a tornado.

And a guy, a guy who's brushing his hand down your arm and eyeing you up.

"Alright, let's get you out of here, you're shaking", he says and for the first time, you turn your head and look at him. Actually look at him.

He's tall and he's blonde and he's drenched, too, drenched in that same dirty, muddy water as you. His hands are big, big and pleasantly warm as he grabs softly onto you and carefully maneuvers you towards him.

You don't really remember the next minutes. Not what you're doing, at least. It's a hazy, fuzzy passing of time - you barely remember that you're moving. You're cold and scared and still in shock and somehow, your eyes have locked onto him, onto this guy who you realise probably just saved your fucking life. Because when you come back to reality, he's wrapping a blanket around you - a dry, warm blanket - and the spot where you'd parked your car is empty.

Empty.

"My car", you whisper, staring wide-eyed at absolutely nothing. The guy wraps the blanket tighter around you before he looks over his shoulder and glances around.

"Your car's not that important", he reassures, even though his voice is heavy. Heavy and raspy, you realise. He's got a certain Southern twang to it that you hadn't noticed in all the chaos before. "Much more important is that you're alive."

You nod half-heartedly (he's right, some rational part of your brain shouts, while the practical part mourns the shit ton of money you'd just lost) and settle your eyes back on him.

You don't know what it is, exactly, but something about this, something about the warmth of the blanket and the way he's rubbing your arms, something about him, about his voice and his words, slowly peels away the layers and layers of terror that are clinging to your pounding heart.

You swallow hard, reach up to tug the blanket tighter around yourself and shift your focus. Not the car or the tornado or the fact that you're drenched in dirty ditch water - him. This guy in front of you, who's looking you up and down to check if you're hurt. It's easier that way. It's easier to calm down when you're not thinking about any of it. It's easier when you're staring at him, counting to ten, slowly regaining your sanity. And what's suddenly also easier is realising that this guy in front of you is very much easy to look at. Even though his hair sticks to his head, even though his jeans are stained brown. He's what you'd expect as a reference picture next to the word "handsome" in a dictionary.

All of a sudden, you're not as cold anymore. All of a sudden, you're rather flushed. Because if he's drenched and dirty, you must look about the same. And you don't think you want him to see you like that. You'd much rather meet him in a bar or something, when you're dressed up and clean and preferably not terrified.

"Thanks", you get out, a little too quickly as you tighten the blanket further around yourself. "For, uh, for saving my life."

The guy's lips quirk up and he grins, a lopsided, half-cocky grin that makes your heart leap.

"Anytime, sweetheart", he drawls, then reaches up as though he wants to tip his hat - just that he's not wearing one, so instead, he settles for brushing his hand through his hair, just a second too late to seem intentional from the start. "Why were you out here anyway? Half a mile back is a gas station with a basement."

"I didn't-", you start, hesitant to admit just how unprepared you'd been for what had happened. "I didn't know it was a tornado. I thought it was just a bad storm or something, I'm... I'm not from around here."

He nods at you, his lips already parting when you suddenly twitch away from him and sneeze - once, then twice. His grin has dropped by the time you look up at him again and excuse yourself. God, is this embarrassing.

"You need dry clothes before you catch a cold", he says, his eyes travelling down your soaked dress and your bare legs. "I've got a shirt in the trunk, give me a minute."

He walks towards the back of his car and opens up his trunk and you're hit with two thoughts at the same time. The first is more along the lines of goddamn, are his shoulders broad, but the second - arguably the one that should be more important - is why the fuck his car is still standing in the very same spot he'd parked it before the tornado had hit.

Especially when your car is absolutely nowhere to be seen. Your car and all your things inside it. Oh, god-

"Here you go", he says, holding out a dry copy of the shirt he's wearing, red checkered cotton. He's about to go on when you blurt out:

"Sorry, why's your car still... you know, there?"

His lips pull into that impossibly charming grin once more and he points at the underside of the truck.

"Tornado-proof", he explains, just the slightest bit cocky. You follow the invisible line he's drawing to two... what looks like giant screws? twisted into the ground below.

"Oh", you let out, not too intelligently - but really, what are you supposed to say?

He just chuckles and holds the shirt out for you again. You take it carefully, your fingers grazing his. He's so warm, so fucking warm. Meanwhile you're shaking even underneath the blanket he'd given you. Though that's also starting to get soaked.

"You can change in the car if you want", he offers, already pulling open the door to the passenger seat. You don't really have to think hard about it. You're drenched in the middle of nowhere, with no way to get home, and this guy has just saved your life. So you unwrap the blanket and give it back to him with a smile and a thanks.

It's tight and cramped inside the car, even as you roll the seat all the way back. You pry the drenched dress off of your body and only then remember to turn around and check if the guy is watching you (as handsome as he is, he's still a guy). But no, he's turned away, has his hands rested against his hips and is staring intently at the slowly clearing sky.

You turn back with a smile and get rid of your soaked bra, too, before you pull his shirt on over your head.

Damn, it smells good. He smells good. And it's very comfortable, you have to admit. Plus, it's dry, which is most definitely an improvement.

You take a few seconds to consider whether or not to pull off your shorts... but they're drenched, too, and the guy seems respectful enough to not risk a bladder infection for. So you take your shoes off, and your socks, and your shorts. And then you crack open the car door again and knock softly against the window.

"I'm done", you call out, loud enough that he can hear. He turns back and his eyes drag down your body - or what of it he can see through the open door - and even though he looks right back up at your face, you can't help but feel flustered. You ball your wet clothes up in your hands nervously.

"Alright then", he says, takes a step closer and reaches for the door handle. "You said you're not from around here, where were you driving?"

Ah, right, that part.

Honestly, with so much happening in so few minutes, you'd about blocked out everything else. Everything normal.

"My parents, uh-", you start, trailing off when you realise that's not much help for him. "About three, four hours from here."

"That's quite a drive", he chuckles. "I live maybe half an hour from here, how about I take you with me so you can eat and drink something? Maybe you can borrow a pair of Lilly's pants. And you could phone your parents."

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and you narrow your eyes at him, taking a second too long to even understand all of what he's saying before taking another second too long to sort how you'll respond. Then you start with what you find most important.

"I've got my phone", you tell him, pulling it out from where you'd just deposited it in the centre console. "I had it in my pocket."

You'd taken it with you more reflexively than consciously when you'd stumbled out of your car - but truly, what self-respecting adult didn't take their phone with them when they left anywhere?

The guy just raises his eyebrows and glances at your phone.

"And it still works?", he asks, a little incredulously.

"Yep", you smile - for the first time, you realise, since the tornado. "It's waterproof."

More because you'd been scared you'd drop the love of your life into the pool or the ocean on vacation, but a tornado in the middle of Oklahoma worked as well. At least you now knew you'd spent your money wisely.

"Smart", he grins. You can't help but grin right back.

He's charming and he's respectful and he looks so goddamn good.

"Who's Lilly?", you ask then, because that had been the second thing you'd wanted to say. He hesitates for a half a moment.

"A friend", he says. You squint at him. He doesn't look like he's lying, but he does look like there's something you don't know about. God, if he turns out to be a cheater- "I'll introduce you if you'd like."

You raise your eyebrows. Alright, so not a cheater. And, if you're interpreting correctly, another invitation to come with him. Not that you'd been about to refuse the first one.

"Sure", you say, as casually as you can. "I didn't really feel like standing around half-naked on the street anyway."

...

A few minutes later, he's driving his weird car/truck with the screws on the bottom down the empty highway. Though 'empty' is the wrong description, really - here and there, trees, road signs and utility poles are scattered on the pavement.

You're driving in silence. Well, silence as in neither of you talks, not as in actual silence. Alongside the motor, the radio had turned on, playing one country song after the other.

"You never told me your name", the guy says suddenly. The very much stranger, who's very much right - you'd never told him your name.

"You never told me yours", you counter, because that's also the truth. He'd never told you his name. You knew his friend's name, but not his.

"Didn't think I'd have to", he mutters under his breath, so quietly you barely catch it. "It's Tyler. Tyler Owens?"

He says it like it's a question. You don't know why. So instead you just answer with your own name and Tyler, as you'd come to know, repeats it with a smile on his lips.

God, you don't think it's ever sounded that good.

"Pretty name", he says, all casual like that doesn't get your heart racing again. Pretty. He'd called you pretty. Almost unconsciously, you brush your hands through your hair.

"Thank you", you mutter. As if to distract yourself, you add: "So, Tyler, what do you do?"

...

Exactly half an hour later, Tyler takes your hand in his and helps you out of his car. His house - the one he's sharing with Lilly, you'd found out, with Lilly and the rest of his Tornado Wranglers - is big and inviting. It's a little way off from any other houses, which you personally think is quite nice. Not that you say that, though.

Tyler walks you inside without having to unlock the door. He takes two steps, then he calls out "Guys, we've got a guest", which immediately results in a surprised shout of "whoops" and the sound of a set of feet scurrying up the stairs. Tyler has barely pulled off his shoes (after politely asking you to wait just a second) when a head pops through the doorframe at the end of the hallway.

"Boone was naked", the woman grins before settling her eyes on you and throwing you a wave. "Hey there, I'm Lilly."

She glances down at your bare legs.

"A little cold there?", she asks and even though her words are sarcastic, her voice is anything but.

"A little", you answer truthfully, smiling at her as she steps out into the hallway.

"You want a pair of pants?", she asks, seemingly without giving a single thought to who you are or why you're standing half-naked in her hallway.

You glance at Tyler, but he's grinning and only shrugs at you, so you turn back to Lilly and nod at her. She seems sweet, really sweet, and very kind. She takes you with her to her room (up two sets of stairs, the fucking house has three floors and a basement) and shows you her closet, the very definition of unbothered even as you nervously rummage through her clothes.

"Hey, you can take a shirt too, if you want", she says, flopping down onto her bed and rolling onto her side to look at you.

"Oh", you let out and glance down at the shirt you're wearing - Tyler's shirt, that very country, checkered shirt that's way too big for you. "I'm fine, thanks."

Honestly, if it were up to you, you would never wear anything else ever again. Tyler's shirt is soft and comfortable and - most importantly - it smells like him. You really just want to tug the hem up to your nose and breathe in his scent (but that would be weird, so you don't).

"Alright", Lilly drawls. "Your choice."

...

Lilly shows you the bathroom, gives you the wifi password and tells you to come down whenever you feel like it. You realise half a second too late that you haven't told her your name yet and crack open the bathroom door to call out for her.

Honestly, you like her. You really like her. And you really like Tyler, too. He's handsome and he smells good and he's respectful and he's nice and he saved your fucking life today. You don't even want to think about what would have happened to you if he hadn't driven by.

In the bathroom is the first time you can really breathe. You throw some water at your face and blowdry your hair. Ten minutes later, you're walking down the stairs into the hallway again - this time, when you stroll through there, you're wearing comfortable pants, fuzzy socks and take your time to look around.

You'd already called your parents back in the car with Tyler. They'd been about as shocked as you'd expected, had needed a few minutes to even understand just what you were telling them, but then they'd offered to come pick you up immediately. Tyler had provided them his address and now here you are - knocking at the open door to the kitchen, where all of the Tornado Wranglers sit around the table. All of them, except for Tyler, who's leaning against the countertop and looks up at you with a grin when you step in.

"Hey there", he drawls, his eyes raking down your body once more today - you've tucked his shirt into Lilly's pants and you could swear his eyes linger on your waist. "Warm and dry?"

"Very", you grin back, then nod at Lilly. "Thanks again."

She shakes her head and waves you off.

"Hey, no big deal. Do you want some pasta?"

...

It's comfortable there, in the kitchen of these strangers who are feeding you pasta and lending you clothes. You've settled onto the countertop next to Tyler and now and then, when you're dangling your feet or he's taking a bite, your legs graze his arm. He's changed into dry clothes too, you realise as you brush against him for the first time, and he's even warmer now than before.

"Tyler's told us all about you", Boone says after a few minutes of easy conversation. You raise your eyebrows and turn your head, staring at Tyler from the side.

"Has he?", you ask, because you hadn't even told him enough about yourself to warrant any use of the word 'all'. Sure, you'd talked on the ride here - but mostly about him, because - as it had turned out - what Tyler Owens did wasn't a normal job like doctor or lawyer, but instead professional Tornado Wrangler. Which, of course, had then dominated the conversation for the rest of the drive.

"Yeah, like how you were driving to you parents and didn't know what to do in a tornado so you just kept on driving", Boone grins, scraping the rest of his pasta off his plate. "And how he made you go in that ditch and-"

"Alright, shut up, Boone", Tyler interrupts, even though there's no real malice behind his words. "She knows the story. She's in it."

"I'm just saying", Boone goes on, entirely undeterred as he puts his now empty plate down on the kitchen table. "If you'd filmed that, it would go viral for sure."

You have to snort at that.

"Yeah, because of all the indecent exposure."

...

When your mother rings the doorbell three hours later, you're in the middle of the second round of a boardgame Dexter had pulled from a drawer. You'd been paired with Tyler for the first round and - somehow not surprisingly - that had worked quite well. You'd won just so against Dexter and Dani (Lilly and Boone hadn't been too much competition) and Dani's "We never get to play this right 'cuz we're always five people" after Tyler had high-fived you with a victorious cheer had warmed your heart. At least they'd enjoyed themselves - at least you hadn't been a burden.

"I call dibs on her", Lilly had declared when the second round had begun, so Tyler had teamed up with Boone instead.

"Oh, oh, botany!", you call out, just as the doorbell finally rings. Lilly jumps up and high-fives you.

"How in the hell did you guess that?", Dani asks, sounding all but exasperated at this point as Tyler pushes out of his seat and walks towards the front door. You shrug.

"Pure talent", you joke, then you climb off the couch as well. "Alright, it was so nice meeting you all, but I think my taxi's out front."

They all hug you goodbye and tell you to come around again anytime - Boone even hands you one of those t-shirts Tyler had told you about in the car. You can hardly hold back a snort. Though Tyler had told you about the shirts existing, yes, he must have accidentally forgotten to mention that his goddamn face is printed on them, paired with the very... comedic phrase "Not My First Tornadeo".

You thread through the hallway with the shirt and your phone in your hands, only to be hit with the sight of Tyler hugging your mother on the doorstep. Or your mother hugging Tyler, more like. Either way, you're suddenly frozen in place.

But then your mother opens her eyes and sees you standing there and she lets go of Tyler with a sharp cry to come running at you instead. She throws her arms around you with so much vigor you're almost knocked off your feet. You meet Tyler's eyes over her shoulder - crinkled with lines of laughter as he smiles at you. Your eyes dart away again just as quickly.

"It's fine, mom, I'm okay", you reassure.

"Yeah, thanks to Tyler", she mutters into your hair. "I already told him we'll pay him whatever he wants for saving our daughter."

"And I already said I don't want any money", Tyler clarifies.

...

The next morning, you wake up comfortably late in a warm bed. You walk down the stairs in fuzzy socks and start the day with a simple cup of tea.

A simple cup of tea and Tyler Owens' YouTube channel.

You'd looked him and his Tornado Wranglers up the very second you'd sat down in your mother's car. Then you'd subscribed to every channel you could find. And then... you'd kind of got obsessed. You'd watched so many of their videos that by one am, you'd simply fallen asleep to one of them.

"Aunt May's gonna be here in half an hour", your mother informs you casually, a stack of plates in her hands as she rummages around in the kitchen. You're still sitting at the table in your pajamas, a spoonful of cereal in your mouth, your phone propped up against a water bottle in front of you, playing a Tornado Wranglers video from a year ago.

"Seriously?", you get out, chewing on your cereal before you can swallow it down. "Mom, I still have to shower and get ready and all."

She throws you one of those eyebrows-raised glances that immediately let you know she's judging you for something.

"We only let you sleep this long because you almost died yesterday", she says matter-of-factly, then she eyes your phone. "And if you weren't watching Tyler's videos so obsessively, you would be done by now."

"Really, mom?"

You let out a resigned sigh. She only shrugs and grins at you. She's a little bit right, anyway.

"He's good-looking, I get it", she says, then she strolls out of the kitchen, chuckling to herself while you curse at her. He is good-looking, fuck this. You need to get it together before the rest of your extended family arrives.

...

The doorbell rings for the umpteenth time that day, just as you step out of the bathroom and smooth down the front of the red-checkered shirt you're wearing. You call some version of "I got it", down the hallway, not too sure if anyone even hears - they're all in the backyard anyway. Then you open the door with a smile on your face, a smile that instantly pulls into a wide grin when you see just who's standing there.

Because it's not another aunt or uncle or cousin. It's no one in your family, not even close.

It's Tyler.

Tyler Owens.

"Hi", he says. Just that. Hi.

You lean against the open door and cross your arms. Your grin only grows.

"Hi", you echo.

His eyes rake down your body and it seems like whatever he'd wanted to say gets stuck in his throat as he realises that the shirt you're wearing isn't your shirt, really. You can't help but bite down on your lip.

Look, you hadn't expected this. You hadn't expected him. None of this was a scheme or a plan or anything even close. You'd just seen it lying there this morning, right next to Lilly's pants on your desk, and you hadn't been able to help yourself. It smelled so fucking good.

"Nice shirt", he grins, eyes snapping back up to yours.

"Thanks", you grin back. "I got it from this guy after he saved me from dying in a tornado yesterday."

Tyler chuckles.

"Seems like a great guy."

"So great", you agree. "Even though he prints his face on t-shirts."

Tyler is just about to retort something - all toothy grins and laughter lines - when your mother calls out his name, very obviously pleasantly surprised as she comes down the hallway. She smiles at him, big and wide.

"What are you doing here?", she asks, stopping next to you to ask the very question that had been on the tip of your tongue too when you'd opened up the door.

"Oh, I'm just bringing these back", he says and holds up his hand to show a stack of neatly folded clothes with your bra right on top. You have to bite down on your cheeks to stop from outright grinning.

Okay, so even if wearing his shirt hadn't been a scheme, and even if you hadn't expected to see him... You might just have done something to ensure you would see him again. But hey, he's about the most handsome man you've ever laid your eyes on, you'd be damned if you'd have to watch him on the screen of your phone for the rest of your life. So yeah, you may have accidentally 'forgotten' your wet clothes in his bathroom after you'd hung them over the heater to dry. You just hadn't thought he'd find them so quickly.

"And you drove four hours for that?", your mother asks, more baffled than you are. Tyler only shrugs. Your mother reaches out for your clothes, grabs them from him and puts them on the cupboard in the hallway. Then she looks at him.

"You're coming in, yes? We're having barbecue now and cake in a bit. I'm not letting you drive four hours here just to deliver her clothes."

...

Twenty minutes later is when you get Tyler alone for the first time. Your mother has schlepped him with you through the whole garden and introduced him to every single person there - "He's the guy who saved her yesterday!" (because, obviously, your story had been about the only topic anyone had talked about so far) - your father first and foremost, who hugs Tyler so tightly that for a moment you're afraid he'll break him.

You catch up with Tyler just as he finishes loading his plate with food, finally on his own after your mother has excused herself to go cut up more bread.

"How'd you find me?", you ask, sipping at your ice-cold coke and eyeing him up. It's the one question that had been burning in your mind for the past twenty minutes. How in the hell had he managed to find you? It's not like you'd left a note with your address next to your clothes (though in hindsight, you don't remember how you'd meant for him to bring them back to you).

He looks almost bashful for a second.

"Boone noticed you'd followed our account", he explains then. "He figured out your last name from your handle and searched the phone book of the city on your mom's license plate. And then he read out all the names until I recognised your mom's because she'd introduced herself to me yesterday."

Your eyebrows raise, further and further the more he speaks. You swallow. Silence falls for a second, then two.

"You know, some people would call that creepy", you say, but your lips tug up into an involuntary grin that gives away more quickly than you'd wanted that you aren't one of those people. Tyler grins right back at you.

"Personally I think it would've been more creepy if I'd kept your bra."

...

It's 9:20 when your mother comes over. You've long since switched from barbecue to cake, then to snacks. Your feet are tucked underneath Tyler's legs, propped up against the side of his garden chair and he's running his fingers up and down your calves.

You'd spent the afternoon chatting away and laughing, barely talking to anyone but him. Your 'family get-together' had turned into more of a date. You certainly aren't about to complain, though.

"Tyler, you're staying the night, right?", your mother asks, a fresh plate of chips in her hands that she puts next to the almost empty one on the table in front of you.

"I don't want to overstay my welcome", he says, all gentlemanly even as your mother rests her hands against her hips and stares him down.

"Young man, you're welcome in this house any time, for however long. I'm not letting you drive home four hours. You're staying the night." Then she points at you. "She's still got a couch in her room that you can sleep on. I'd offer you a guest room, but half the family's staying here and we're already out of air mattresses."

So an hour later, you're rummaging about your room, picking up clothes off the couch and stuffing them in your closet to make room for Tyler. He's leaning against your doorway, looking around, taking in the mess that is your childhood bedroom.

"Nice posters", he says, and you throw him a look over your shoulder that could be deadly. He's grinning all sarcastic, only chuckling as his eyes meet yours. "You could put up one of my shirts here."

You have to snort at that and before you can even really think about it, you've pulled the shirt Boone had given you yesterday from where you'd put it down on your desk. You throw it at him carelessly and he catches it with no effort at all, which - paired with that fucking grin - shouldn't be as attractive as it turns out to be.

"Knock yourself out", you say, then you turn back around to your closet and tug out bedsheets for him. "My old poster glue should be in one of the desk drawers."

You don't think he'll seriously do it, but you seem to have misjudged him. Badly. Because he gets to work immediately.

You watch him for a few stunned seconds before you decide to just leave him to it. So while you turn the couch into a makeshift bed for him, he glues that goddamn "Not My First Tornadeo" shirt to your wall.

"Fits perfectly if you ask me", he declares eventually, barely concealing the amusement dripping from his words. You smooth down his sheets before you look up at your wall. He's put the shirt up in one of the few empty spots, right between your Maroon 5 and Destiny's Child posters.

"Yeah", you snort. "Perfectly."

You give him a toothbrush and let him use your bathroom. While he's gone, you change into your pajamas, fold his shirt carefully and put it on a pile with Lilly's pants and her socks. Honestly, a little part of you already mourns the loss of it - but another part of you already has hope for another shirt. Maybe in a different context.

"What're you doing?", Tyler asks, shutting the bathroom door behind him. You don't look up as you fold the other clothes you'd thrown onto your desk yesterday.

"I put Lilly's things and your shirt there, you can take it back tomorrow", you explain, starting a second pile of your own clothes next to his.

"Keep my shirt", he says. That finally makes you look up at him.

Which isn't a good idea. Not at all. Because he's standing there in nothing but his briefs and good fucking lord-

You'd known he's handsome. You'd known he's broad. But you hadn't known he's fucking ripped. You shouldn't stare. You're very aware. You definitely shouldn't stare. It's incredibly rude to stare. It's very inappropriate to stare. But goddamn, this man is built so perfectly god himself must be jealous.

You have to forcibly blink yourself back to reality. You're definitely red in the face when you finally manage to meet his eyes again. And he's raised his eyebrows in a way that tells you he's reading your every emotion right off your face.

"Sorry, come again?", you croak out, brushing your hand through your hair and realising just a second too late that your eyes have travelled down too far again.

"I said you should keep my shirt", he repeats, a very, very obvious grin on his lips. "It looks better on you."

"Okay", you agree, a little too quickly. The heat in your cheeks comes from more than just the half-naked view of him now. He thinks his shirt looks better on you. You don't even care if that's a line. "I'll... I'll go brush my teeth real quick."

When you come out of the bathroom a few minutes later, Tyler has made himself comfortable on your couch. It's a little too small for him, you realise, but he doesn't seem bothered. He's pulled the covers up to his hips - you can still stare at his chest, to your delight. And he's put one hand under his head, flexing his bicep in a way that has you hurrying over to your own bed so you won't jump him right then and there.

"Alright, goodnight, Tyler", you breathe, adjusting your pillow and wrapping your blanket around your body as if grabbing at it will somehow ground you.

"Goodnight", he echoes, and then you turn off the light.

It's quiet. The only noise is the laughter of your family a floor below, all settling into bed themselves. It's quiet and it's dark.

And you're staring wide-eyed at absolutely nothing.

Oh, god. He's so fucking hot. He's so fucking hot you want to throw yourself out of the window. He's so fucking hot and he's on your fucking couch, barely ten feet from you. He's so fucking hot and he'd driven four hours here just to bring your clothes.

"Tyler", you say, barely two minutes after you'd turned the light off. He hums in response - still awake. You don't know what you'd expected. "Thanks again. For, you know, for everything."

"Anytime", he replies, and even though you can't see his grin, you imagine you can hear it. You nod into your pillow. Then silence falls again.

It lasts maybe another two minutes.

"Your family's nice", he says then. You can't help but smile.

"Thanks", you mutter.

"I like your mother", he says. Your smile only grows. You turn onto your back and stare at the dark ceiling.

"She likes you too."

It's the truth.

Tyler stays quiet. You don't even try to close your eyes this time - you can hear him breathe, deep and relaxed. It's calming. You're sure it could lull you to sleep. If you were anywhere near tired, that is. This way, you just blink at black nothingness.

"Were you really a Destiny's Child fan?", Tyler asks eventually, his sheets rustling.

"Yep", you say.

That's it for that conversation.

You don't know what it is, the darkness or the silence, but something pushes on your chest and weighs you down, warming your skin as it settles on your body. It's a tension, thick and heavy, one that had grown with every scrap of conversation.

"You know-", he starts again, but this time, you've got enough.

"Tyler", you interrupt, turning onto your side and pulling your covers with you. "Get up here."

You can't see him as he throws his bedsheets off himself, can't watch as he heaves himself up, can't look at him as he strides over to your bed - but you hear the rustling of his covers, you hear the couch creaking, you hear his steps on the floorboards. And you feel the mattress dipping when he finally sets his knees on your bed.

You don't wait until he's actually in there. You don't think you could possibly wait until he is. You just push yourself up, grab onto the first part of him you can get your hands on (his shoulders), cup his face in your palms and pull him into you.

Right into your kiss.

Tyler Owens kisses you for the first time in the darkness of your childhood bedroom. For the second time in the morning light in your bed. For the third time in your parent's kitchen, right as your mother walks in. For the fourth time in his truck, after your parents all but throw you out of their house and force you to go home with him. For the fifth time in front of his own house, where his crew watches through the window.

And after that, Tyler Owens loses count of just how often he kisses you. Because he kisses you every day for the rest of his life.

[lokissweater]

“i would never lie to you.”

{toge inumaki x f!reader}

summary: inumaki’s always coming home to you from missions coughing up mass amounts of blood and completely overdoing it while fighting curses with his cursed speech technique. and no matter how many times you tell him to be careful, he just doesn’t, arguing with him, giving him the cold shoulder, and completely unaware of the reason behind why he fights so hard when he’s out there— that reason being of course… because of you.

warnings: angst, fluff, cursing, toge and reader have a lil argument but it’s more the aftermath, slight sexual mention but it’s literally once and nothing LOL, no smut!, toge thinks he’s not doing enough SNIFFF, angst with comfort, toge is DEVOTED to you, aged up characters, pet names, afab!reader.

word count: 2.3k

authors note: short n sweet one!! wanted to give you guys a break from my MLA format essays i always make y’all read LMFAOOO!! this one is SHO SOFT AHHHH :] i hope this keeps you guys fed in the meantime while i write the next one! i love you and i love you all ALWAYS MWAAHH <33

————————————————————————

toge inumaki hates it when you don’t talk to him.

as if he doesn’t do that enough already, toge absolutely despises when you both get into arguments or heated discussions and you turn a cold shoulder to him— needing space to unwind and prevent yourself from lashing out even more, to let the situation simmer down.

he understands it. believe him he does— you’re upset and angry and you need time to cool off… but toge is stubborn and needy and just doesn’t care, needing you and only you, him going absolutely crazy at the silence in your shared apartment that he was starting to hear random ringing in his ear drums.

so as he sat on the couch, eyes unblinking as they stared off into the darkness of the living room as the sun had already began to set, you upstairs locked away— he wanted nothing more than to open his mouth and let his cursed speech force you to come downstairs and talk to him.

but he didn’t, though the thought was definitely tempting, as toge vowed the day that he laid eyes on you to never ever use his cursed technique on you, even if it was harmless, an oath he wanted to carry with him until his very death bed and until he was six feet under.

his ears perked up then at the quiet sounds of the upstairs room door knob twisting and clicking open, soft padded footsteps making their way down the hall and closer to where he was, feet sticking against the cold tiles of the kitchen floor.

at the sight of you with your hair a little disheveled, your eyes so red and puffy, and an arm wrapped around yourself as you rummaged through the fridge looking for fuck knows what and not sparing a single glance at him— toge felt like a fifty pound gutting weight was resting on his chest and crushing his heart.

you had both argued about something you always seemed to circle back to almost every week. but this time, you were sick and tired and fed up, seeing as toge was never going to try and understand the situation at hand through your worried eyes.

every time toge was out for a mission, you would spend your days anxiously throwing yourself over the couch or trying to keep yourself busy with random activities like baking or scrapbooking (which you deemed later meaningless), all within the sole purpose of trying to get your mind off of your boyfriend and the recklessness he always seemed to pull while on missions, regardless of how much you begged and pleaded with him to be more careful and aware of his health.

toge inumaki had such a powerful and lethal cursed technique that frightened and astonished you all at the same time, a conflicting feeling to have when he had to leave you in the middle of the night or during the early hours of the morning to run around and fight curses… but always coming home to you warm and loving and safe.

but not right now.

not when toge had literally come home this morning with not even two steps in the door and he was already on his knees, coughing up strings and loads of crimson blood, it pooling on the floor as he had used his cursed speech to the highest degree today and had you a crying mess thinking he was dying.

and he always did that. always. today was just the worst of them all, him without a fault coming home with excruciating pain in his bruised and clawed up throat, the cough syrup medicine he usually downed like water having absolutely no effect anymore as you scrambled around every time trying to find a solution, toge brushing off your distressed and frightened rambling as if his health wasn’t a big deal, and as if how much it affected you wasn’t a big deal either.

upon you closing the fridge, toge slowly stood from the couch and carefully walked over to you, his throat still in pieces but his mind lurching and guilty over how upset you were at him.

he slowly raised a gentle hand and placed it on your shoulder, you shaking your head somberly in response— your back to him.

“i don’t wanna talk right now toge i’m sorry…” you mumbled, rubbing over your tired sore eyes.

he squeezed your shoulder, insisting.

but you only shook your head again.

toge huffed and placed both hands on your shoulders this time, physically turning you around to face him— his eyes soft and his eyebrows pinched together in pure concern for you.

you peeked up reluctantly, but the sight of his face and the events from earlier flashing through your mind only made your bottom lip wobble and the bottom of your palms shoot up to dig into your eyes, more stinging tears flooding in and slipping through the corners of your closed lids.

his heart fucking broke.

“why don’t you care toge?” you hiccuped. “i worry myself sick every time you leave for a mission and— and that’s fine because it’s what you do but you never take care of yourself!”

he gently pried your shaking hands away from your eyes and wiped your tears softly with his thumbs, caressing your cheeks after— wishing so badly, more than anything in this fucking world, to just be able to speak to you like a normal human being instead of resorting to words scrambled on a piece of paper or text messages on a screen.

he gently placed a little timid peck to your nose before releasing your face and fumbling around in his pockets for his phone, tapping it awake once he retrieved it and opening his notes app to write out a sentence.

he flipped and faced the screen towards you, the brightness making you squint a bit.

“i do care i swear. i just always forget when i’m in the middle of it and i’m sorry baby.”

“so you keep forgetting after what feels like the fifteenth time i’ve told you?” you wiped more tears from your cheeks. “how— how do you think it makes me feel when you come home and you’re coughing up blood all over your clothes and the furniture huh? all over me?”

he sighed softly through his nose and went to type again, but you continued.

“i get scared toge that one day you’ll push yourself way too far and then you just won’t come home. you scare me when you cough up so much blood like that!—”

toge tugged you in then with his unoccupied hand and wrapped his arms around you, pushing your head in and stuffing your face against his chest— the scent of his freshly washed t-shirt filling your nose as you cried softly.

fuck he felt like such a douche.

he typed for a moment behind your head, a pit in his stomach that only grew in size the longer he heard your little sniffles.

toge pulled back a bit, his arms still keeping you in place but just enough so that he could lower his phone and show you his message.

“please please don’t cry. i’m really sorry okay i really am and honest to god this won’t happen again.”

you nodded meekly and he flipped his phone back, quickly typing again and showing you once he finished.

“i feel like you think i don’t care but that’s not true at all. part of the reason why i try so hard when i work is because the more curses i fuck up the safer you’ll be when you’re out there without me.”

you laughed a bit at his wording, and he beamed at that, typing.

“i love you pretty girl. and im sorry i always get blood everywhere.”

“oh i don’t care about the mess baby, i care about youu,” you whined lightly and wrapped your arms around his torso, pulling him in tight.

“and i love you too, a lot… like an embarrassing amount that strips away my dignity.”

he chuckled boyishly and pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head, his body stuttering slightly as a single thought grazed his mind— the same thought that’s been in the crevices of his brain since he asked you to be his.

you felt his tension and pulled back.

“what?”

toge bit the inside of his cheek and looked down at you, his weight shifting as he contemplated telling you something he didn’t want to burden or upset you with, the pad of his thumb softly rubbing over your chubby cheek.

you quirked an eyebrow. “what? are you cheating on me?”

he burst out laughing and shook his head, kissing your forehead before dropping his hand from your cheek and pulling out his phone again.

he typed for a minute then showed you.

“me not being able to speak to you like a normal boyfriend should or respond to you whenever makes me freaking useless. so i push myself out there to keep you safe because that’s literally the least i can do for you, since i can’t even do the bare minimum.”

you gasped softly. “toge huh? this is—”

he shook his head once more and you stopped as he typed again.

“i always try to make you laugh with the things that i do or whenever i text you because i’m afraid that one day you’ll get tired of me not being able to talk to you and you’ll leave. which is also something i would never blame you for and understand.”

your heart squeezed in the worst excruciatingly way possible, completely baffled and mortified to the fact that toge was thinking about things like this and wholeheartedly believing it without you noticing or him saying anything to you about it.

he typed again.

“that’s why i cosplay as gojo when i leave for missions and come back a dumbass with blood in my mouth. that’s why i forget when you tell me to be careful because the need to be something for you is way fucking greater.”

“togeee!” you sobbed, bursting out crying like a little baby as you were moved and haunted by his words simultaneously, your arms engulfing him as he desperately shot his hands out and quickly wiped your tears again, shaking his head frantically as if pleading with you not to cry.

“how could you ever believe that?” you nudged him away and hiccuped, your eyes serious. “why haven’t you told me about this? everything you just said is literally propaganda.”

he chuckled, but you could tell he wasn’t convinced.

“toge, why do you think i’ve been with you for so long? do you think i’m just dicking around?”

“dicking around on my dick?”

you swatted his phone away. “no! not right now.”

you both shared a small giggle, twinkling eyes looking at each other.

“if i felt like you weren’t doing even the bare minimum, i would’ve been gone before you had the chance to put this ring on—”

his gaze drifted down to the black shiny heart promise ring on your ring finger that you held up for him, and he smiled softly.

“baby what you do for me everyday is above and beyond the bare minimum. i’m happy. i’m so happy to be with you that you not doing enough has never crossed my mind and it never will.”

you slid your arms around his neck and pulled him down a little, gently. “i’ve never cared about your ability to speak. i fell in love with you, who you are, and the fact that i did without you having to iterate words to me? olympic sport.”

toge rolled his eyes playfully at your comment, and you stood on your tippy toes and kissed the tip of his pretty nose then. “all men do when they talk is lie anyways…” you tilted your head. “but i know you’ll never lie to me.”

“never.” he mouthed silently.

he bundled you up in his arms and lifted you like you were nothing, him carefully leaning in and pressing his lips to yours as if you were a fragile little thing— kissing you so devotedly, warmly, his forehead resting against yours once he pulled apart after greedily getting his daily fix of you.

“i know your job as a jujutsu sorcerer pays the bills and comes with you putting yourself in difficult situations… and my job doesn’t even compare, but please don’t overdo it for my sake. i want you to come home, okay?”

you know it’s selfish… he should be saving lives no matter the cost.

but he was your man. was it so bad to just want to keep him for the rest of your days? to get the chance to grow old with him, and buy a little quiet house on the country side like you always joked about in the late hours of the night with him? drinking cool glasses of lemonade on the porch?

“please don’t always be the hero.” you whispered guiltily. “but if you must… just keep me in mind while you do it.”

you’re always on his mind. he hopes you know that.

toge breathed softly through his nose and smoothly set you back down, the pads of your feet making contact with the icy tile flooring as his hands dragged up from around your waist to the sides of your head, him pushing a hard kiss to your cheek as if to seal your request.

“do you promise?” you mumbled.

he pulled back and held his little pinky out for you, and you giggled, linking yours with his firmly.

“you can’t go back on it okay? you used your pinky it’s legally binding!” you warned, a silly smile on your face. “don’t lie to me and break it.”

toge grinned and leaned towards you as he bent down a bit— your gaze locking with his as he looked at you at eye level with his hands on his knees, him mouthing his next words, slowly.

words that made your cheeks buzz a cutesy pink, words that he took seriously, and words that tied you to him and the little house by the countryside he wanted so badly with you, as those words solidified how much he truly truly loved you— him hoping you always knew.

“i would never lie to you.” he mouthed.

taglist!! <33: @saebaey

[lovelyghst]

soft-tummy simon riley save me… cause you cannot look at that man and tell me he doesn’t love to eat!! like, a constant snacker. and his heart absolutely swells when you indulge so heavily in his needs.

it’s practically his love language, to scarf down anything you put on the table in front of him, and you can certainly tell since now he’s not nearly in the same shape as he was when you found him.

he likes to think you’ve fixed him in a way; spending his evenings cuddling in bed for hours on end with you, rather than heading to the gym for the second time that day to burn off dinner. thanking you for the savory meal with kisses all over instead of fighting off the impulse to purge his usual bland chicken breast and vegetables every night.

and it all hits him far, far deeper than just his gut; feeling it in his heart more than the soft layer of fat blanketing his tummy he has to see in the mirror every morning. just the fact that a sweet thing like you wants to take care of him, ensure he eats plentiful yet still healthy for his work, has him whipped. showering him with endless i love you’s and praising him all up and down until his cheeks tint a light, flustered pink and his dick gets achingly hard in his pants.

he won’t pretend the change was easy on him, seeing the clean-cut abs and fit appearance that made him feel young fade away the further you got into your relationship, but he’d also be a filthy liar if he said he didn’t prefer the pros to his current build way more.

simon begins wearing shirts less around the house on his lazy days, at your lovely request of course, and it does feel quite freeing. especially when he’s able to come up behind you in the kitchen, cage you in with his burly arms, bend you over the counter and fuck you senseless because part of the deal was that his shirts would go to you, and with nothing but your lace panties on underneath.

he can’t help but get riled up seeing you walk around like that, and you’re no saint either when you catch a glimpse of his broad chest and relaxed, pillowy belly as he reads the morning newspaper. you tend to drop to your knees and tug at his boxers faster than he can even greet you properly, showing him just how much you love him.

he loves eating you out more than anything, especially with a full tummy after a late meal. you’ll take his and your empty plates to the kitchen to clean up, but you’re being bent over the counter before you can even wipe it down!! and squealing his name in surprise won’t stop him, nor will your giggles as he’s lifting the skirt of your dress to reveal your pretty ass, getting down on his knees and delving right in.

dragging his tongue through your drenched seam, grinning softly against your skin when you jolt and whine out of sensitivity. tongue-fucking your pretty, tight hole only for a moment before he’s returning to messily play with your swollen clit.

and you just know it’s entirely selfish, simon not even paying mind to the way your legs shake and relentlessly convulse and you can barely stay still because his stubble is unceasingly tickling your inner thighs. making you cum until you can’t anymore, and he’s happily forced to carry your numbed, twitchy body to bed so you can catch your breath and rest while he finishes up the chores.

would probably send you off by say something cliché about you being his favorite dessert. he’s so stupid when he’s horny.

simon is weak for when you ride his stomach, with both his hands planted firmly on your hips as you rub your bare pussy back and forth on his hard abdomen. his hidden muscles become more apparent the longer you go at it and the harder he holds you down, little whimpers spilling from your puffy lips as the light hairs coating his tummy create just the perfect amount of friction to your poor, little clit for that hot, familiar sensation in your lower belly to bubble up.

your hands clawing at his chest and shoulders, leaving lines and crescent indents in his skin that soon turn red in their wake, and the pain only turns him on more, his cock excruciatingly hard, long hums of pleasure omitting straight from his throat as he grits his teeth.

“yeah, that’s it, sweetheart—there’s my dirty girl. jus’ keep goin’ for me now, don’t stop… make yourself cum without me touchin’ you down there, ‘nd then i’ll fuck you real nicely after. alright, princess?”

and you soon follow through with just that, nodding decorously with tears welling at your eyes’ waterlines before you’re lurching forward, crying out his name. thighs giving out and fighting to ride out your orgasm, where simon then saves you with his attentive grip on your hips, finishing the job for you rather recklessly.

“good fuckin’ girl… y’did so well for me, love,” and every other gruff, dragged word of praise in his vocabulary echos in your fuzzy mind as you come down from your high.

you’re still catching your breath, fulling laying on his chest by the time he’s inching you backwards whilst taking his hard dick out from his boxers. lifting your weak hips for you as he whispers small, reassuring hushes right by your ear, soothing your winces as he fully sheathes you on his thick cock, inch by fucking inch.

he fucks himself up into you, not daring to make you overwork your body anymore, and he handles you so delicately you could almost fall asleep on his mattress of a body. you crumble to pieces with the vibrations of his chest from his unending groaning, the feeling of his veiny and rough cock stretching and filling you to the brim almost becoming minute compared to the sleepiness washing over you.

“there ya go, pretty… don’t have’ta do any work now, jus’ like i promised, eh?” he coos, and he could feel you smiling against his collarbone. one of his large hands cradles the back of your head while the other gropes at your ass lovingly. “takin’ me just fine, sweet girl.”

you bury your heated face into his squishy pectoral, whining at the overstimulation to your clit at the particular angle, left so utterly sensitive from your prior orgasm. you’re limp in his strong hold, securer than ever as he lifts your hips up and down his thick cock.

he uses your tender cunt ‘til he’s satisfied, groaning right up against your ticklish ear when he empties his hot cum in your throbbing pussy, the perfect thing milking him dry and turning you exhausted.

he actually sits in the moment for a peaceful while, coddling you against his rising and falling chest and murmuring sweet praises, until eventually his disciplined brain kicks in despite your protests.

“don’t go passin’ out on me yet, sweetheart.” you grumble out a refusing noise which makes him laugh softly, but apparently it’s not enough to win him over. “let’s go get you cleaned up, yeah?”

(simon and his size difference & free use kinks go CRAZY in this one. also this instagram reel is so him coded ok bye bye <3 cont.)

[oreo-creampie]

“𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞, 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐈’𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫’𝐬”

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬! praising degradation, daddy/mama/brat, hints of jealousy/possessive!stoner!suguru, squirting, teasing, choking, squirting, mating press, pain kink, size kink, two fingers in your ass, mindbreak/getting cockdrunk, begging, a momentary just the tip moment, riding him, overstimulation, breeding, stuffing his cum into you, some spanking

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧! I have a praise kink and a degradation kink, I need Geto to tell me that I'm his favourite dirty little slut and absolutely nail me to the mattress while doing 🥵🥵🥵

Oreo: I was thinking of a part two of stoner!suguru with this one, even though he doesn't smoke. I like the follow up of him finally deciding he wants to be more than just friends

Slapping your soft cunt and yanking your legs back open when you go to black the next hit. He demands, “Color?” Leaning forward, towering over you to make you feel smaller.

Using his weight to keep you pinned in a firm mating press. His thick cock nudging your soft cunt. Shoving your hips trying to best to glide an inch in your sore cunt. Eager for the sweet pleasure to cut through the pain.

You whine, “Green! Please don't be mad! I didn't mean to make you jealous, didn't think.” He grabs your throat, tightly squeezing.

“Didn't think I’d want your beautiful ass all to myself?” Softly kissing your forehead, smiling down at you tightening his grasp around your neck.

He croons, “Mama we've been living together and fucked on nearly every surface of his apartment. N’ you spent every night in my bed, so tell me whose are you?” Letting your neck go, grabbing your hands putting them above your hand.

“Who takes care of you?” By the time you catch your breath, he slaps your cunt harder than before. Stuffing one thick finger in softly curling it stroking your sweet spot to ease your discomfort.

Reaching for Suguru he pins your wrists together with one large hand. Gliding a second finger in, touching your clit, and then nothing. Suguru refuses to move his fingers.

The lack of stimulation makes it easier to think. You look into Suguru’s loving, dark chocolate eyes. “You do! I love the life we have made, our routine. I adore how you notice the little things about me.” He pumps his fingers twice, then stops. “I love the softness in your voice when you say name.” He softly rubs your clit and slowly pumps his fingers, stroking your sweet spot.

He purses his lips and looks at his side table whilst admitting, “I supposed I never outright asked you.” The passionate, hungry intensity in his dark brown eyes is exciting. Suguru glides his fingers out smirking when you whine.

Dipping his head watching your soft hole clenching nothing. “This is also too much fun. I’ll take any chance I get to fuck into your head that you’re mine.” Teasing you with a small swirl of his thumb.

“Please!” Wiggling your hips trying to slips his thumb in, Suguru pulls away. Leaving you on the edge of the bed with your legs spread and your cunt yearning to stimulation.

Opening the bottom bedside drawer pulling out a long black box. Taking out a necklace whilst walking around the bed, standing in front of it. There is a S dangling from a thin chain.

He softly smiles, “Do you wanna be with me?” He unfastens the clasp holding the necklace open.

You stand up on his bed “Yes!” Wrapping your arms around him. Suguru bites the second his head gets near your chest. You cunt clenches from the sweet pain.

Slipping your hand into Suguru’s soft hair, softly tugging making him groan and bucks his hips. “Sit down for me mama lemma slip this on you before I rearrange your guts.” You kneel close to the edge of the bed.

Suguru carefully puts the necklace on you. He softly kisses the top of your head. You insist, “I need to get you something, or do something for you.” He grabs your throat pinning you to the bed, slapping your soft cunt.

“How about you take my cock like a good slut?” He grabs his cock, lining himself up. Giving your neck a tighter squeeze before letting go. He leans back to watch your soft tight cunt stretch for his thick cockhead.

He grabs your thighs, pinning you in a mating press. Groaning as he glides his thick head in and out. Watching the soft ridge of his cock head tug on your soft cunt. “Such a pretty little cunt, love see her stretch nm grip my cock like she doesn’t wanna let me go.”

You plea, “Please lemme feel the rest of you. Wanna feel all of your cock! Daddy please!” He roughly rocks his hips forward, giving you all of his thick veiny cock.

Suguru doesn’t move his hard cock, stroking your clit. Groaning when you clench him. He croons, “Daddy what? I’m letting you feel all of my cock what else doesn’t my pretty little slut need?”

Begging Suguru, “Daddy please fuck me! Fuck your slut into a stupid mess! Wanna be your beautiful spoiled cocky sleeve. Please fuck me however you want!” He grabs your hips, lifting your lower half off the bed.

Using his firm grasp to help you meet his rough thrusts. His hips slapping yours. The bed softly rocking, his heavy wooden headboard tapping the wall. “Nnn fuck fuck fuck! Gonna breed ya? Ya want that? Ya wanna be pretty little cum filled whore?” Your cunt spams around his cunt.

His hard cock stroking, stretching and hitting your cunt perfectly. Sweet intense pleasure makes it hard to think. Why should you bother when you can mindlessly take Suguru’s fat cock?

“Nnnnn! Hhhhnnn! Mmm fuckkkk! Feelsgoodfeelsnnn!” You grab the bedsheets. Unable to think about anything else but how good his cock feels in your cunt. Nothing else matters but your boyfriend’s large hands, thick cock, sweet groans, and the way he is admiring you.

Suguru croons, “Are ya my mindless cock hungry slut? Mmm? Want me to bully your soft tight cunt?” Keeping his pace the same and fucking his cock into you hard.

You muster the words to answer Suguru beyond, “Daddy! Daddy! Nnn! Bully the brat outta me!” Suguru leans over you, grabbing your neck to lift you off the bed. You feel so small in his grasp, so perfectly helpless to do anything but take his cock.

Bouncing you faster on his thick cock, his moans getting louder, breathier. “Sofuckingood wanna cum in your soft cunt! Been thinking about it all I’ve been able to think about since I saw you flirting with him. I should’ve fucked in ya in the bathroom then sent you back over with my cum leaking out.” Your cunt clenches.

Suguru smirks, “Of course a slut like you would like that. You’re daddy’s little slut, remember that.”

You’re getting on his possessiveness and manhandling. Grabbing his thick hard biceps, digging in your nails when he flexes. “Daddy’s so big!” Your words trigger something within Suguru.

Without gliding his cock out he flips you over pinning you to the bed. With your ass arched in the air and a firm grasp on your hair, keeping your face out of the pillow.

Using his weight to keep you from wiggling away from him mercilessly. “Gonna fuck my cum into you, don’t wanna stop. Wanna keep fucking my big cock into your sweet cunt.” You can feel his cock’s veins pulse as he’s getting closer.

His balls are slapping your clit with each rough thrust. Your ass clapping, your soaking wet cunt squelching.

You love how whiny Suguru is the closer he is. The way his body shivers on top of you, his rough smooth pace momentarily faltering. He whines, “What am I?”

Slipping your fingers into Suguru’s soft dark hair. “Daddy! Mine! Daddy! You’re too much! Too much! Too good. Please cum!” He yanks your head to the side, hunching over to bite your throat.

Warm thick cum trickles and spurts into your soft cunt. Your cunt spasms then gush, thick slick trickling down your thighs. Suguru groans, his pace sloppy and rough.

There is something so carnal about Suguru biting your keep whilst firmly pinning you down to fuck his cum into. You want more, more of his thick cock and warm cum.

You whine, grinding your hips when he falters and stops. “Suguru!” He rolls over with you on top. Keeping his cum deep in you with his cock.

Right away you take the chance, grabbing his thick thighs, lifting your hips, and bouncing on Suguru’s cock. Moaning, trembling, toes curling. Getting off on using his cock like a dildo. Whilst knowing your soft tight cunt is overwhelming him with each stroke.

Leaning forward giving him a good view of your soft cunt taking his cock. His thick cum trickles out of your cunt and coats his thick cock. “Can’t get over how deep your fat cock is. It’s stuffing your cum in so deep!”

Looking over your shoulder to see Suguru. “Thought you were gonna teach my slutty ass a lesson?” Suguru smirks then sucks on two thick fingers. Your cunt clenches when he touches your asshole. Smearing his spit then gliding both fingers in.

He stretches his fingers apart spreading your asshole. Your pace falters, he isn’t moving his fingers. “Teach you what? That you’re such a desperate whore. I think ya know that with how you’re bouncing on my thick cock like it’s all you can think about.” Slowly fucking his fingers into your soft ass.

“Go on mama tire your little pretty bratty ass out. I wanna hear you beg me to fuck ya when your legs get too tired.”

Oreo m.list