#actually this is one of the one-shots i'm planning on writing

[man-i-love-fanfiction]

To Share the Space with Simple Living Things - Hozier x Fem!Florist!Reader

Chapter Three: Chrysanthemums - Joy

Summary: You and Andrew meet outside of your workplace for the first time for a completely platonic coffee on him.

Word count: 2385

Author's note: i am so sorry that this took so long 😭 last week of school combined with finals combined with life i guess hindered me from writing. but i'm back on track!!! hopefully you all enjoy and if i don't update again soon happy holidays <3

tag list: @celery-grace @gayandfairycore @deathmybride @harry-bowie-mercury @hodgepodge-musings @blue-eyed-bug @secretttytttttttttt @dinner-n-dxatribes @padfootblackswh0r3 (if you want to be added just let me know!)

fic below the cut <3

This is not a date.

That was your affirmation all of Friday morning, repeating it to yourself.

You muttered it under your breath as you fixed your hair. It was mumbled as you laid out your outfit, specifically chosen to be fashionable but casual: your favorite sweater and a nice pair of jeans. You whispered it before spraying your perfume, a scent you had to dig through your closet for five minutes to find. Ironically, the scent was nothing close to floral. You said it to each of your houseplants as you watered them. They remained unconvinced.

Slipped on your shoes. Locked up your flat. Walked down the stairs. You repeated your mantra every time, because maybe if you said it enough times, it would become true.

By the time you made it to your car, you had said it so many times it felt like breathing. Your hands gripped the wheel. You locked eyes with your reflection in the rearview mirror and whispered your phrase of the morning one more time for good luck.

This. Is. Not. A. Date.

Stepping down on the gas pedal, you began to drive.

On the drive there, you prepared yourself for all possible scenarios. This kind of thinking came naturally — it always did, especially in situations like these. You ran through what your reaction would be if he showed up, what it would be if he didn't. What you would do if he had an insanely complex coffee order, or if he ordered a drink with six shots of espresso. What if he tried to order for you, or if he made some backhanded comment about another woman at the cafe? You doubted he would do any of these things, but you believed it's better to be safe than sorry. This thinking only paused when you parked in front the coffee shop and caught a glimpse of Andrew waiting inside. All of your previous repetition and fretting had made you ten minutes late, a fact you weren't fond of and hoped Andrew wouldn't chastise you for.

The moment you stepped into the coffee shop, all of your previous affirmations were thrown out the window. It wasn't a date. But after seeing Andrew you wished that it was.

It wasn't any particular factor. It wasn't the black denim jacket he was wearing, or the way he'd tied half his hair up, leaving the other half down. It wasn't even the smile on his face, reserved like he wasn't sure how to react properly when he saw you. It was a combination of everything; his presence alone was enough to make you flustered. So flustered that you were very close to forgetting to say anything when you walked up to him. Thankfully, at the last moment, you actually spoke.

“Hey! Hope I didn't keep you waiting too long,” you greeted him with a small smile.

“Oh, no. I just got here, too. You're alright.”

You walked inside together, and you looked around at your new surroundings. It was a small business, quaint and cozy, with framed photos of artworks by local artists; it was exactly what you would imagine a coffee shop that Andrew picked to be.

Because all of your overthinking (or what you preferred to call planning) on the way there, you ordered your coffee with ease. Andrew recited his order, a black americano, a surprise to you. You watched as he paid and gave his name for the order, the barista already recognizing him. He turned his head towards you and offered an explanation:“I’m a regular. I always come here whenever I need a pick-me-up.”

“I’ll have to come here more often, then,” you replied.

You found a small table in the corner and sat down to claim it for the both of you while Andrew stood by the counter, waiting for your coffee. What a gentleman.

You had yet to notice any flaws in him, only making your self-imposed rule of this not being romantic harder to follow. There had to be something about him that was off. There was no way he was so caring and endearing and funny all at the same time; he had to have an imperfection eventually. You didn't find it in the few minutes you watched him stand around, occasionally fiddling with his hands or putting them in his pockets. Your efforts grew even more futile as he walked over with the coffees in hand, setting them down on the table.

He shedded his jacket and carefully placed it on the back of the chair before sitting down in the chair opposite you. This simple action caused the fact that you barely knew Andrew to pop up in your head. Despite how connected to him you felt already, you had only met him twice before. On both occasions he wore long sleeves, so seeing him without a jacket for the first time gave you a much appreciated surprise.

His right arm had an entire sleeve of tattoos.

He had turned his arm into a mural for myths and legends. A portrait of a falling Icarus, wings disintegrating beneath a red sun. A tortured Atlas carrying the weight of the world on his back. Dante and Virgil arm in arm wandering through a circle of hell. Writing in script filled the empty space, seemingly verses from poems. It was all centered around two words placed across his bicep: Noli Timere. You’d be lying if you said it didn't make you even more attracted to him than you already were.

You could've spent hours just looking, analyzing every line of ink. It felt as though you did, though it's much more likely it was only for a few seconds. You were brought back to Earth by the sound of his voice.

“It's rude to stare, y’know?”

There was no real annoyance in his voice, but it caused you to attention like you had been caught. An explanation mumbled its way out of your mouth.

“I’m so sorry, I just- I like your arm. Tattoos. Your arm tattoos. They're…”

Beautiful? Enticing? Very attractive?

“…cool.”

You took a sip of your coffee, finding it the perfect time to cover up your embarrassment, as well as the flushed face that came along with it. Luckily, Andrew didn't notice (or if he did, he didn't mind) and continued the conversation, accepting your compliment with a crooked smile.

“Thanks. I try to put a lot of thought into them, give them some meaning, so they're all based on these stories that are important to me.”

“Makes sense. I’d hate to get a tattoo just to regret it a few years later. Even worse, a few months later.”

“Too many of my clients have had that exact issue. Come in a year after and ask for a coverup. Makes me question my work sometimes.”

“Clients?” You asked with a tilt of your head.

“Oh, right. I never mentioned it.” He paused to take a drink from his cup before continuing. “I’m a tattoo artist. The parlor I work at’s only a few blocks away from your shop, believe it or not.”

“Wow. Small world, I suppose. Maybe I could stop by someday and say hi.”

The boldness of your statement didn't fully process in your brain, and you quickly backtracked.

“If you’d be okay with that, of course.”

“Yes. Absolutely. You can come by whenever I don't have a client.”

“Call me over if anyone gets a tattoo of a flower and I’ll be there to explain everything it means. There is always the very dangerous possibility of someone getting a flower that means jealousy or a rejection.”

He didn’t reply, just flashed a smile, and the silence between you seemed… awkward. Combined with the way he was fidgeting with his hands, it almost made you think he was nervous.

“I’m actually thinking about buying a bouquet to put on the front desk,” he admitted.

“Really?”

“Yeah. A lot of people, they get nervous before their appointment, whether it's their first tattoo or their tenth. Having flowers right when you walk in might ease some of the tension.”

“That's a great idea. I know I’m biased, but flowers do tend to brighten my day."

“Do you have any ideas?”

You bit at your bottom lip as you thought, finally speaking again once you racked your brain for what could work.

“Chrysanthemums are a favorite with customers. Those mean joy and optimism. I could start with those and build from there.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“That's all I’ve got right now, but I’ll see what else I can come up with later. After coffee, I’m much more… insightful.”

As if to prove your point, you took another sip of your coffee, a longer one that left only a quarter of the cup left.

“So… this is official? You're placing an order?”

He nodded.

“If that's how this works, then yes. I’d like to place an order of one chrysanthemum bouquet for the purpose of making my customers happy. Please,” he replied genuinely.

“Your order will be marked down as soon as I get to the shop.”

“Feel free to take your time, by the way. I don't mean to pressure you. It's not like I have a deadline, and I know you probably have a million other things you have to do.”

You considered reaching for him, your fingertips flexing in his direction, but you restrained yourself, choosing words instead.

“You're not pressuring me at all. You made your order. Now you're asking me to do my job. My job that I love, by the way. If anything, I’m thrilled that you're so interested.”

The real question is whether you're more interested in my job or me.

You weren't bold enough to say what you were thinking, but you never had been. You had gotten so used to biting your tongue it was a miracle it was still in your mouth. You spoke again, but selected a much safer option of what to say.

“It's gonna take a few days since there's some orders before yours, but I have your number on file so I’ll call you when I finish it up.”

“I’ll be there. With my wallet, this time around.”

You thought about your proposition before realizing there would be a much more effective, though maybe you just wanted to visit Andrew’s job for a change.

“I mean, you said your place is only a few minutes away, right? I could always deliver it. Gives me an opportunity to get some fresh air during my day. Besides, you're probably much busier than I am, so it might be harder to find the time. Meanwhile, I can deliver it as soon as it's done, and everything works out.”

“You don't have to do that.”

“I know. I want to, though.”

He sighed and shook his head, a reaction you originally feared was out of annoyance, but you felt a small amount of relief when you noticed the smile that accompanied it.

“You need to stop doing nice things for me. Otherwise I’ll go bankrupt from buying you so much coffee to compensate.”

“I also accept gratitude payment in compliments, thank-you-cards, and checks.”

“What about credit cards?”

“Ooo, sorry. Compliments, thank-you-cards, and checks are your options.”

He chuckled, a deeper and richer laugh than before.

“Fine. You want a compliment? You're incredibly kind for doing all of this for me, and I sincerely appreciate it. Thank you.”

Another sip from your cup to hide the flush of your cheeks, though no amount of caffeine could calm the butterflies in your stomach.

“That covers your gratitude payment for now. I still need real money, of course,” you muttered. “And you're not getting your way out of it this time.”

“I would never. You can't pull the same con on the same person twice.”

“Oh, so it was a con? Did those flowers even go to your mother?”

“Nope. Underground flower smuggling ring.”

“Ah, I should've guessed. Tell your flower-loving crime boss that I’m thankful for all that you've done for me, but I unfortunately need to get going, because it's 9:30 and the shop opens at 10.”

Andrew complied. You two wrapped it up, and he put his jacket back on, covering up his tattoos much to your dismay. Your coffee cup, now empty, was discarded by the door.

“Thank you so much. For the coffee, for the company. Everything. Especially for the coffee, though, considering you barely even drank yours,” you commented, pointing at the half-full cup still in his hand.

“You’re welcome. And trust me, I was going to drink it, but I found myself much more engrossed in the conversation.”

Andrew grabbed the door and held it open for you, and you walked past him and thanked him. Both of you stood on the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop, unsure of how (or if you even wanted) to say goodbye.

“This is where we must part ways,” he said with a sigh.

“You say that like we're never going to see each other again.”

“A lot can happen in a few days, Y/N. You have no idea what the universe has up her sleeve.”

“Do you have some kind of knowledge about an apocalypse that I don't? Because when it comes to that kind of stuff, sharing is caring.”

“Just… prepping for the future, I suppose. If there is no apocalypse, I’ll see you when my bouquet’s finished.”

“I’ll see you then. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

You walked to your car, only a few footsteps away, the smile slowly fading from your face as he walked in the opposite direction. You sneaked a glance over your shoulder at him before opening the car door.

Sitting down in the driver's seat, you took a deep breath to bring yourself back to reality. Your mantra had been proven right: that was not a date. It just felt like one. A very successful one at that. He was a gentleman, listened to what you had to say, gave you a compliment, and you even set up an incentive to meet again. This not-a-date went better than most of your actual dates, and it was with a guy who, to your knowledge, had no romantic interest in you.

You were totally and utterly screwed.

[d33pwithinmys0ul]

for the one shot request: give us sexy basketball jean (i actually hate basketball but i love jean so...idk what came over me)

EB, thank you for the prompt!! :D I'm not too into basketball either, but I gave it my best shot anyway. I did write this stoned. I hope this satisfies your basketball Jean itch :)

this song fueled my inspo and is the namesake, and here’s the ao3 link :p

NSFW, 18+ ONLY

Jean Kirstein x Female Reader wc: 3.1k, Ch. 1/1

"Grins"

Dating team captain Jean Kirstein meant occasional bouts of loneliness during late night practices. He always planned to come straight to yours after though, as you were both shamelessly clingy.

Being around Jean made you feel like a giddy schoolgirl, or a crazy fan meeting her idol. He was admirable in every way, and he carried himself like a fuckin’ jerk. He was tall and grew his hair longer at the nape of his neck. His shoulders were wide and his hands were big—he’d grab the ball with one hand to show off when he knew you were looking. 

You met when you accompanied your roommate Hitch to a weekly pilates session at the campus gym and rec center. 

In her seemingly expert planning, Hitch timed your walk to the class with the end of the men’s basketball team practice. 

“There’s the blond that’s gonna marry me one day,” she quipped in a low voice, and you nearly choked with laughter.

The sweaty, shirtless players would share the short stretch of hallway with the two of you before diverging away to the showers. It was hard not to ogle.

Hitch had given you the rundown about who was who and who was hot in between reps at pilates. You never gave much thought to the sports at EU, but it turned out the varsity basketball team had a reputation. 

Over time, you understood her fascination, and had picked out your own pretty boy from the lot, just for laughs. Jean was eye candy and you had an embarrassing sweet tooth. 

You didn’t think much of the sightings, just enjoying the times you’d walk past each other at the gym and occasionally on campus, and wonder hopelessly if he had really locked eyes with you, or if you’d made it up. 

Sometimes you happened to arrive early enough to watch some of their practice—seeing the boys banter and puff up their chests, dunking on each other and arguing.

By some miracle or twist of fate, one day Jean began to lag behind his friends, catching your stride, with a cocky smile that made your stomach drop. 

“You know, you’ve got pretty eyes,” he said politely, hushed low and so restrained, yet something about his tone made you nervous. His headphones dangled from his neck and his shirt had a dark ring of sweat at the collar. He was looking at you like he’d decided on something. “What’s your name?”

“Oh, me or her?” You jerked a thumb at Hitch. She was a catch, and more likely to be approached between the two of you—but your friend stifled a laugh and said nothing. 

Jean shook his head. 

“You.” As if it were obvious. 

Jean rotated his shoulders lightly as you chatted with him—he asked about your major and where you were from, and you wondered if he was flexing on purpose.

From then on, Jean seemed to be everywhere. He’d catch you in the student parking lot, walking you to your car and leaning a hand on the door just to watch you squirm. He’d be across the study room at the library, and you’d catch each other’s unsubtle stares until you eventually asked him to join you.

After weeks of torturous flirting and late night phone calls, he convinced—practically begged— you to come to one of his games. 

Hitch was thrilled to get such good seats and cheer Reiner on from the stands, and you couldn’t help but smile when you saw Jean point right at you and wink.

You weren’t really into basketball, but god, you were into him. 

You couldn’t take your eyes off him as the game went on, and he couldn’t stop flirting your way in between plays. He was still carrying out his duties as a captain though, and his determination and set jaw entertained you just as much.

After that first game, Jean offered to take you home. He didn’t tell you until later that he skipped out on a team dinner to spend time with you instead. 

He had let you wear his Eldia University sweater as you settled into his passenger seat, and later when you arrived at your apartment, he let you wear his jersey as you settled into his lap.

You both had some beers��some peach flavored shit that was forgotten in the fridge. You had no idea how Hitch hadn’t finished it all. You had knocked so many back that you were unabashedly straddling his hips and rubbing his biceps in a drunken haze.

“So, Y/n’s first game with the Devils,” Jean takes a swig. He was shirtless after giving you his jersey, lounging in his boxers on your comforter. “What did you think? Feeling the school pride?”

“A little,” you laughed. Watching him play was a delight. “What happened towards the end there, though?”

“Lack of discipline.” Jean rolled his eyes. He’d lost his temper just a bit when Eren had fouled out . “Otherwise—did you have fun? Because y’know, that three in the last quarter was for you.” 

“Oh thank you!” You laughed. “I’m honored. You’re so intimidating on the court.”

“Yeah, really?” He asked, his voice level and nonchalant. “I didn’t know I intimidated you. I’d hate for that to cause a problem.” He pulled you a bit closer. 

Your faces are only inches apart all too suddenly and you blush hard. Asshole. He wasn’t subtle about what he wanted.

“I didn’t say that,” you averted your eyes and gave him a little shove, creating a few more inches of distance. You adored the curve of his chin, and the soft color in his lips.

Fuck, he’s pretty.

Jean was a sight to have in your bedroom, so handsome and ripped like he’d walked off a movie set. You almost couldn’t handle it. You never dated “popular” guys. The sentiment was a little high school, but it was a fact. Jean was charismatic. He was sure of himself. You don’t know if you could ever admit to him that you were still completely starstruck.

“I can’t imagine how you do it,” you said with a small smile. 

“What?” Jean said softly.  You could smell the alcohol on his breath. He moves a strand of hair gently away from your face and watches you with his intense gaze, pupils blown. 

You chug the rest of your beer for a bit of bravery and toss it off the bed.

“Being EU’s golden boy,” you say dryly. “Being under those bright lights, all those people counting on you. You’re so damn good at it.” You moved your hands to his shoulders, inevitably sliding down to his biceps again. You can tell that he’s staring at your lips now too. 

 It was hard to focus in the dim light, against the warmth of Jean’s bare chest. You were all too aware of how he circled his thumb gently against one spot of your leg, torturing you. He smells so good. 

“Well, I like being good at things,” he said simply, running his palms against your thighs. He watched your face as he rubbed your legs slowly, inching higher up a little bit every time. “And I like coming home after a game and feeling exhausted. The full body burning from working so hard. The muscles aches are proof I’m living to my fullest potential, and I think that’s what my life on the court is all about.”

You were trying not to shake from his touch. Jean was practically massaging you, full contact with both his palms, warm and rough as they ran right above your knees and every inch up to the smallest part of your waist. He’d trace lines and shapes, squeezing your flesh. Your breathing was uneven and light. 

“Um,” you swallow quietly. “That sounds.. Interesting.” 

Jean slipped his hands under the jersey, pawing at your tits before lowering his head and kissing your neck, trailing up to your jaw. Your breath catches at the sudden sensation.

“That’s right.” He said, reassuring and stern.

You were shaking now. One of his hands supported you while the other kept rubbing your thighs. He was manhandling you as you were limp in his grip, dazed and drunk, simmering in pleasure. His breath was tingly and hot against your neck. Longing grew in your core and you ached for him. 

“Jean, kiss me..” You whine and grab at his face with desperation. 

He laughed softly, amused at your neediness. Your heart was pounding when your lips met, and he sighed softly at the contact. 

Jean tasted so good. He pushed against you, probing your lips gently, the friction was perfect and you couldn’t stop yourself from going back for more. He ran his tongue over your bottom lip and you shuddered. You loved how warm he felt against you, how comfortable he seemed. Thrill and lust surged in your veins, humming inside you. 

“Please..” You murmured against his lips. 

You fold so easily for him. You were thrilled to have the honor of folding for him, becoming undone by Jean was heaven.

“You’re too cute.” He said breathlessly. He unhooked your bra and tossed it aside, and returned to rubbing your thighs and groping you. 

God, fuck him. 

He was glistening in sweat, breathing deep and heavy. Your thighs rub together in his lap and he cradles your ass with one hand. He kissed you deeper, biting your lips and sucking on them. 

“Oh my god..” You’re grinding against him, kissing him like you were deprived. “Fuck off..”

Jean rolls his eyes at your faux defiance and curls a hand around your throat. He kisses you harshly, urgently, his hands rough against your stomach, your thighs. Your neck is in his one hand, and he grazed your skin with his teeth. 

Fuck him for looking at you like this, like he was starving. Fuck him for how big and hard his cock feels through these boxers. He preoccupied you with one kiss after another and you drowned in the burning pleasure that was growing in between your legs.

Jean pulled away for a brief moment and jerked his head to the opposite wall. 

“Is that a mirror?” He said, a crooked smile forming with delight.

Your cheap mirror was small and thin, glinting in the dark, leaning against your closet door.

You nod and blush, realizing his idea.

“Come here,” he pulls you onto his lap again, your back against his chest. 

You swallow nervously and try to look away, but he holds your chin.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s just..annoying, how impressive you are,” you mumbled. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Jean breathed. He had the perfect view of your shaking legs as he took the waistband of your panties, pulling them off. “You’re easy, you know that? You get groped by big, strong hands and now you’re fucking soaked.”

His boner was pressed up against your ass, and he hooked his hands under your knees and spread your legs apart.

You’re flushed and dazed, and let out a soft sigh as he cups your cunt, tapping it gently. You were so wet.

“I’m.. not..” You grip his wrist, not to stop him, but for support. 

“Yeah?” Jean challenged. He dipped the pad of his middle finger against your pussy and spread the wetness around the folds, barely brushing your clit. “What’s this?” He said, his voice dark and rough. “You love this, don’t you?”

Jean takes his time playing with you. He rubs your puffy clit with care, achingly slow. Your sighs fueled his dexterous movements, rubbing circles and making lines. He traced the folds of your pussy, spreading your wetness all over and making you twitch with pleasure.

“Yeah, good girl…” He said softly, and your hips buck at his filthy encouragement.

“Fuck…” Your breathing grows heavy. You whimper as he pets you in the dim light of your bedroom. You were both watching him violate your cunt. “Jean, please.. Fuck me..”

“My pace, sweetheart.” He used your slick to slide his middle and ring fingers inside you. He guides them in and out, soft and slow. 

The room is filled with your pathetic moans and the soft squishing of your cunt gripping his fingers.

Jean can’t stop sucking at your neck, biting you, leaving marks all over your skin. You buck your hips against him, fighting the overstimulation and losing poorly as you lose track of how many times you cum. 

Your clit is throbbing. It’s soft to his touch, and he adores the flush on your cheeks, and how pretty you look lost in pleasure. He gropes your tits, squeezing them, and running his thumbs over your nipples. You buck your hips again, it was too much. 

“You ready?” Jean’s voice is strained. It was hard to hold back now, he wanted his turn with you.

“Yes please,” you whispered. 

He pulls his cock out, precum oozing from the tip. It was flushed pink, and veiny, and you wanted nothing more than to kiss it. 

Jean grabbed your hips. He positioned his cock at your opening, tapping it against your clit and relishing the sight. 

“Look at me, pretty girl,” he whispered roughly. 

You were so hypnotized by the sight of your reflection—legs in the air, your hole perfectly aligned with his member. He teases you with the tip, pumping his shaft with his hands and rubbing it against your cunt. You met Jean’s eyes in the mirror, the desperation and lust in his expression made you quiver. 

After the agonizing wait, he finally thrusts into you. 

Jean sighs at how your cunt flexes around him, hungry for more friction. He holds your waist with both hands and bounces you. You feel him go deeper and gasp. It was so big, and he was so strong—you loved how he gripped you, how he fucked you. 

You were so lost in pleasure that you were completely unaware of soaking his sheets. He pumped you up and down on his cock, and you bounced eagerly on top of him, moaning obscenely.

“Come on baby. Drain this fucking dick, come on.” He growled, watching cream dribble down your pussy. 

You were squeezing him tight, so wet and messy. “M-more, Jean... please..”

“Here,” Jean gently disconnects himself and drags you by the ankles to the edge of the bed. 

You giggle at his strength, and he shoves you lightly and you fall onto the mattress with your ass in the air. 

“Perfect fucking view.” He smacks your ass with a moderate sting.

“Yeah?” You say coyly, grabbing a pillow to stuff your face into. 

“Of course. You look good in my jersey,” Jean smiles wistfully as he winds your hair around his knuckles. He puts a hand on your back and you barely have time to take a breath before he sheathes himself inside you again. 

“Oh, shit,” you whine as Jean drills you from behind. He fucks you mercilessly, spanking your ass with resounding smacks. The pain was wonderful and fleeting, and you prayed he wouldn’t stop. 

You felt your cum paint your inner thighs, your clit was throbbing and you tried to rub yourself while he moved behind you. It felt so good to surrender to Jean, to let him split you open. You whine into the pillow and buck your hips. You adore the sound of his ragged breaths as he fucks you. 

Jean’s moans are so tender, his pleasure is so real. He loves watching you coat his cock in your juices, the cute little flourish of your lips around him. 

“Spread it,” he pants. “Spread it for me, baby.” 

Your shaky fingers reach for your cunt, and you try your best to spread yourself open while he fucks you. Jean groaned at the display, he wanted to remember the way you look bent over forever.

He fit perfectly inside you, and you felt every vein and every inch of him in your walls. You were dizzy and seeing spots as you drifted in pleasure. You were a little tired, but you didn’t want him to stop. It was heaven, the way he thrusted into you, cradling your body and using it. 

Your eyelids flutter as you fight the weight of them.

Jean pulls out slowly and gently rolls you onto your back. You almost tip over until he supports you again, petting your hair. 

“You okay?” He’s breathing heavily, covered in sweat. His hair is drenched, and he holds your jaw in one hand.

All you could give was a nod as you caught your breath too. 

“You’re so cute,” he mumbled, and slipped his thumb into your mouth. You close your eyes and swirl your tongue around it, tasting yourself. “You wanna keep going?” 

You nod again.

“Can I eat your pussy?” He pants desperately, taking his thumb away. 

“Oh,” the surprise escaped you quicker than you could stop it. “If you want to.”

“Y/n,” Jean laughed. “It’ll make my fucking night.”

You shed his jersey and he guided you onto your back again. 

Jean wedged a pillow under your neck and kissed you on the forehead, on both cheeks, on your nose. He kissed down your neck and in between your tits, down your stomach, until his face was positioned in between your legs. 

You reached down to spread yourself out for him, teasing yourself. The sight drove Jean crazy. He was stroking his cock desperately while you showed him how wet you were, and he leaned forward, resting his nose at the soft valley above your clit.

Jean moaned softly at the perfect taste.

He made out with your pussy like his life depended on it. Jean adored the way the flat of his tongue would make you shudder, how flicking it against your bud would make you cry out.

You pulled at his hair, knuckles white as you rocked back and forth. You tried to keep from crushing him, but Jean practically encouraged it as he darted his tongue in and out of your cunt. The motion made your hips buck and he had to pin you down to keep you from writhing away. 

Jean bent your knees back till your ass was on full display, round and still red from earlier. He smacked your pussy as he left kisses over his handprints. 

Your legs were shaking uncontrollably, the heat was overwhelming as your head pounded, and you gave in. Your body spasms as you cum all over Jean’s mouth. He worshiped your sensitive folds, licking you clean, and wouldn’t stop until you came again. 

[official-wonho]

[INTERVIEW] Wonho talks return to music, US tour, upcoming album: 'I feel really happy every day'

Midtown Manhattan is bustling beyond its normal fast pace on Dec. 13, and it's not just because of the holiday season. The iHeartRadio Jingle Ball is in town.

Among those performing at the concert's pre-show All Access Lounge is Korean solo artist Wonho. It's his first time back in the States since being discharged from his military enlistment in September.

"I'm surprised that I was able to come back so quickly to the U.S.," the 31-year-old tells USA TODAY backstage at the Hammerstein Ballroom. "And I think it's due to my fans support."

Wonho's schedule has been packed, but there's so much that he's grateful for.

"Now that I see my fans in front of me, I feel really happy every day," Wonho says.

Challenges in returning back to the stage

Wonho says it was challenging to readjust after nearly two years away from music.

"It was a little bit strange to be back on stage performing again. It had been such a long time ... I even felt like I was so nervous that my legs were shaking" he reveals. "I thought that it was a little bit awkward to get used to making facial expressions to the camera again, and it took a little bit of time."

Prior to his Jingle Ball performance in New York, Wonho performed at Brooklyn Steel Dec. 12 as part of his "Welcome Back, Wenee" tour. And despite the muscular musician's physique and calm demeanor, he still gets shy.

"I feel nervous now, because I'm constantly in new places and in front of new fans," he shares. "Each stage is different, especially in the U.S.."

On his first solo tour, Wonho made stops in six cities, including Houston, Seattle and Los Angeles.

But on stage, Wonho has been able to acclimate with ease. He commands attention with his smooth voice and compelling choreography.

Wonho shares his love for Wenee

Coming back to music was an easy decision for Wonho. After all, his fans are what kept him grounded during his enlistment.

He says he would read fan letters and recall shared memories as motivation. All of those "helped the time go very quickly," he adds

Wonho's fans, called Wenee, are the impetus for his artistry. They are one reason for his latest single, "What Would You Do".

"I came back with an English single because English is a global language, and I can reach fans all over the world," he says.

And to be able to see his international fans so soon has felt unbelievable.

"Each each day is actually very memorable, and today, too is special in its own way," he says.

Wonho's morning routine on tour

The last month has been busy for Wonho, but his days always start the same.

He takes a wellness shot in the morning, easing into his schedule and then working out. "That's basically my morning routine every day, no matter where I am in the world," he says with a laugh.

"As for workouts, arms would be an easy day," Wonho says. "Chest is probably the worst. So sometimes, I skip those days." Wonho does, however, like leg workouts.

And Wonho's must-have tour items include a massage ball, a massage gun, pairs of white and black athletic socks and his medicine pouch.

Wonho's upcoming album teasers

Wonho calls "What Would You Do" a new start. "My goal is not really charts or numbers, but I just want to make a lot of good music," he explains.

In 2025, he plans to release a new album. "I actually recorded a song in Chicago, and I've been constantly working on music," he reveals. "For my future album, I want to try out new styles."

When writing music, Wonho sees it as a point of connection with his fans. He focuses on expressing his emotions in each song, so that others can apply the lyrics to their own experiences.

"I want them to remember the moments that we shared together," he says. "I think now I just want to really focus on making the mood of the songs."

via: usatoday.com

[lightningandfireinmybones]

can we all agree that valaena and aemond are having a girl first (pushing girldad!aemond agenda HARD)

i will be honest, i think their first kids are twins, a boy and a girl, and they never actually tell them which of them was born first

girldad!aemond lives! so does twindad!aemond

[stariekis]

this is so jake coded 🥺 but he would be the one asking you to try it tho ~ giggling all the time, taking pictures of himself and both of you guys together and posting them everywhere to 'make people jealous of how cute we are' he said ... he loves showing your relationship off ) : puppy bf energy fr. <3

[dootznbootz]

I'm going feral again with a silly headcanon.

I just had that post on how Odysseus made Puzzles for himself and Penelope and I have another idea and I'm just really excited to share it lksdjf

I basically plan to have this man in love with Penelope within 10 mins (I HAVE A PLAN! It sounds crazy but I think it'll work. Plus these two are reckless and young when married. His first crush and he's not handling it well.)

This is them. Or at the very least Penelope is definitely playing it off very nonchalantly and is kind of messing around at first, thinking that the "trickster" is "not being genuine" when he's never been more genuine in his life. She can see right through all his lies and bullshit and basically forces him to be vulnerable, something he loves yet is TERRIFIED of. Especially as she "unmasked" him so quickly (and tricked HIM.😉 Won't say how. no spoilers yet) and so effortlessly and he's just a MESS. Athena isn't helping and just watches them both fumble around, even when Odysseus is asking for some guidance, Athena just smiles and is all like "I'm the Goddess of Wisdom, not of Love. Figure it out yourself." (PENELOPE IS JUST AS MUCH OF A BLORBO TO HER AS ODYSSEUS IS, YOU COWARDS!)

(Art by isei-silva right here on tumblr! Their post! )

I won't go into huge details. I WILL write this fic someday and I need to leave SOME things a surprise. But KNOW this man will be pulling out all the stops trying to impress her and tries to show all the things he's good at and one will be his "puzzle making".

He'll bring a puzzle to her TRYING to talk all "suave" (he'll be semi-tongue tied. Something that he's not used to and is annoyed that he can't seem to think around her)

It'll probably have a little gift inside and he'll be chatting away about how he worked hard to make it and that there's a trick to it and blah blah blah

Penelope: Oh! There's (some sort of treat or gift) inside!

Odysseus: Wait, you solved it already?

Penelope,🤨: Yes. All you have to do is this.

Odysseus, falling (more like sprinting at this point) further in love but also mad his plan to woo her didn't work: Well... Yeah. That's a gift for you.

He's trying SOOOO hard but he has to stop "showboating" to genuinely impress her. Man has to be fucking vulnerable for her to be impressed by him because she already can read his "tells" on when he's pulling something. No more "tricks". Be yourself, you fucking idiot >:D

[allastoredeer]

I discovered Just kiss Already after you uploaded part 3 and I have a question. So Part 1 is 1 chapter, Part 2 is 2 chapters, Part 3 is 3 chapters. When you say your writing "the next fic" do you mean like ALL of Part 4, which you then break down into chapters before you upload them or do you upload chapters individually as you complete them?

The fics themselves aren't so much chapters as they are a serialized collection of fanfics that have an overarching plot.

The reason I'm writing "Just Kiss Already" as a series instead of a multi-chaptered fic is because each fic has its own little mini plot inside it. Each of them are a mini story that's gradually building up the larger story at play.

I'm also keeping it as a series because I go back and forth between POV's a lot. Hopping between POV's in a multi-chaptered fic can work, but I usually like keeping them contained to a single POV. It makes it easier on me and the reader, so I don't have to clarify which character we'll be following in each chapter.

It's a collection of stories that are all linked together, kind of like a TV show, but you can totally view them as parts too.

"De-Lovely" is part 1 , "Holy Suffering" is part 2, and "Damage Control," is part 3.

I've actually split up the entire plot of "Just Kiss Already" into three different arcs (or three seasons if the TV analogy helped), each with their own theme. But I shall not tell you what they are, because that would be spoilers 😈

Sometimes, I don't intend for the fic to be split into multiple chapters, but if it gets bigger than I expected, I break it up because it's easier on me when I get to the editing stage. Editing one large chapter is so much harder than editing a couple small ones 😅

I hope you're enjoying the series! I'm very excited to get into the juicer bits of the story 😏

[thelaurenshippen]

in honor of the wicked trailer, I'm dropping this here in case anyone's never seen it before. cynthia erivo, queen

[drinkurkombucha]

LWG status update pls and thank you 🧡

LWG is still alive and kicking. We have three (maybe four) chapters left on this one. The next chapter is almost finished, but my life has been insane for the last few weeks (and will be for a little bit longer) so writing time is limited. I'm aiming to get it finished by the end of the year so I can unleash more chaos on you all in 2024.

[jorvikzelda]

I've written like 700 words and I'm not even nearly done with the first scene. I've planned uh (checks notes) 17 scenes many of which including the first one are somewhere between Probably to Definitely going to be broken up into 2 or more. Aideen help me

[mostlyihyperfixate]

I have been gifted with two whole more scenes, bringing this up to a round total of four, and a page in my spiral that looks like this:

now we're cooking

[chuluoyi]

MARRIED ON PURPOSE

- gojo satoru x reader

"for one, i can show you incredible things!" jujutsu, madness, heaven, sin. the strongest sorcerer is sure to show you all of that during the whole duration of your six-month marriage contract.

genre/warnings: marriage of convenience, enemies to lovers, crack, fluff, slight satosugu angst/comfort, kamo!reader, very suggestive. gojo clan is portrayed as very traditional, meanwhile kamo clan is rather unpleasant here

note: the unholy amount of times i've edited this story *sigh* but okay i must drop it here or else i'm going to keep editing it and losing my mind. despite my misgivings and all, i really had fun writing this and i hope you enjoy it! wc. 5k !

a part of 1K MILESTONE EVENT

general masterlist

Some would say... marrying Gojo Satoru would be living the dream.

“Don't look that sour now, wife.”

“…sigh.”

A playful nudge at your side, a lighthearted voice— “You're going to make them question our veeery happy marriage, you know… We don't want that now, do we?”

But to you, it was more like nightmare dressed in a daydream.

It was peak comedy because why would you put marrying Gojo Satoru in your life plans? He was incorrigible, a child trapped in a man's body, and there was also the very fact that you hate him. His only redeeming trait was being born in the esteemed Gojo clan, and now held the title of the strongest.

You know you must have accumulated karma, but out of everything else, why must you end up in this predicament?

Hailing from the great clans of jujutsu society, both of you know well that marriage is the essence to make the clan greater. And when it involves the big three clans, its importance amplifies even further.

It was just that you two were too rebellious to follow it through, for one reason or another. Everyone knows Gojo Satoru was faithless to any woman, and you were not exactly thrilled with the idea of marriage as a whole.

He was the one who came to you, proposing this insane idea of a temporary marriage.

"Look at it this way," Satoru said with a wry grin, contrasting your puzzled frown on that fateful afternoon. "It's either me or Zen'in Naoya for you, isn't it? It's so clear which is the better man."

That was what grated you the most. You would be damned if you married the misogynist.

"What do you get from this arrangement, really?" you questioned begrudgingly.

His name would give you security, stop the harassment from your clan, and maybe even a better life, but you didn't quite get what he'd get from the offer he willingly extended to you.

Satoru flippantly shrugged. "Nah, you are not exactly my type, but you're still far better than the boring puppet my family have considered to be my wife."

"Who?"

"Don't remember her name. All she goes on about is that she'll be the good wife and mother of my child. Ew."

Seven hells. You scowled. Gojo Satoru and his penchant for chasing the thrill. Boring women would kill him before an actual curse would.

"And hey, for one," he shot you a smirk, visibly smug. "I can show you incredible things!"

"That's not the point! Gojo, do you even realize—" your voice rose, pulsating with righteous fury, "—how serious all of this is? My life, your life! We're going to be stuck—together!"

"Six months," he blurted, tilting his head slightly. His sunglasses slipped down just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his sparkling eyes. "It's enough time to work through our shits, and by then if you have enough, we're through."

At that time, it seemed feasible. Both of you tolerating each other to avoid a much worse match.

. . .

BACK TO PRESENT—barely a week ever since you were paraded around as his wife, now you and Satoru were stiffly poised in the studio in your formal garbs, capturing your official wedding photos.

At that time, it seemed feasible, but now, it felt like a chore, as you realized that conversing with him either spiked your blood pressure so much that you wouldn't even be surprised if you ended up with hypertension or completely sapped your energy that you were left exhausted.

"Come on, show a smiiile," Satoru said in a sing-song voice, gesturing toward the camera as it flashed for the pictures. You were beyond appalled, shooting a glare in his direction.

"I am smiling, Gojo."

"Liar. You're pouting, wifey~"

Sigh… this really is going to be one hella of a ride, huh?

MONTH ONE, and you found out that Gojo Satoru is apparently as mad as people made him out to be.

"You've got to be kidding me!" you fumed, right after he hauled you into one of the rooms in his grand, traditional estate. Your glare pierced through him, a blood vessel ready to burst. "We never agreed on ‘consummating’ the marriage!"

You wrote him a goddamn contract. And the three conditions of this chaotic marriage are: one, it would only last six months; two, no personal feelings involved; and three, nothing borderline disturbing.

And this, you concluded, was the height of what could be called as disturbing.

"We will not," Satoru replied with a hint of disdain, grimacing, as if the notion didn't sit well with him either. The audacity! "We're just going to make it as if we are—"

"And why?! Why should I do that?!"

"Why else? Because my old fart believes that we indeed haven't done so."

"Then it's your fault? For failing to convince him? Why turn it into my problem!"

"Because, dear wife," he drawled, his tone taunting on the final note. "Now we're on the same page, in case you have forgotten."

Great clans and their hollow expectations spare no one, not even Gojo Satoru. They place importance in the most banal things, such as the continuity of sacred bloodlines and such.

The only alternative wasn't appealing either. Should you be found out that you married only to divorce... sigh, you didn't even want to know how big of a scandal it would be. One thing was certain: your clan would chop you to shreds.

You really had no choice, huh?

"Five minutes," you warned, glaring at him. "Make it loud. Make it so that no one wouldn't question this anymore."

Oh and sure he would. As Satoru pulled that shit-eating grin, you were in for another ride. You waited out until several maids were nearby, left the wooden door ajar, and began the show—

His hands wrapped around your waist—the feeling was peculiar, but you ignored it—and you let him pull you near that open door. He snuggled his face on your neck—his hair tickling you in the process, but you ignored that peculiarity again—as he started making suggestive noises. "Mm, you're so pretty, darling."

You could hear those maids gasp in surprise. And to add the flavor, you faked a moan.

This is... kinda fun? A twisted part of you suddenly found satisfaction in fooling the maids. A smile tugged at your lips as you shoved him away, and Satoru eyed you in surprise and irritation.

"Husband, you're... insatiable," you worded languidly, and he immediately caught on your act, grinning. "Anyone can walk by, you know."

"Oh? But that's the point." Satoru's bright blue eyes twinkled with utter mischief, and even you couldn't deny the exhilarating rush. "I want them to know."

And suddenly you got this very brilliant idea. You swiftly moved past him and sent the books and trinkets on his desk flying to the floor, causing questionable noises.

"Oh my!" a girlish voice exclaimed.

"The master! And the lady!"

Satoru shook his head, thoroughly entertained. And you rolled your eyes. Those nosy maids would finally have enough now, and this charade would end—

"What's happening here?"

The old fart. Both you and Satoru grunted in unison. You really thought you would leave it up to the maids to spread the word, but then you were taken by surprise when he wrapped his hands around you and flung the door open, slamming you against it—and damn it hurt!—offering everyone a front-row seat to your charade.

The maids squealed. His grandfather raised a righteous, demanding eyebrow. You wanted to scream.

"Hey, gramps," he greeted jovially, breathless, his grip on you tightening and you felt heat radiating from his palm. "Ah, sorry, opened it by accident—the wife here is feisty, you see."

Your veins felt ready to burst. Was this a part of his plan all along? How would you show your face before your grandfather-in-law now that he had seen this... atrocity?!

"So, yeah, we'll resume our business!" Satoru, the idiot, said it as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "See ya!"

With that the door slammed shut, but oh no, it was not the end.

"Mmmph!?" you protested, unintentionally loud and eyes widening in alarm when Satoru muffled your mouth with his hand.

The rotten bastard! You found it nearly impossible to breathe, shooting daggers at him. "Mmmrgh! Mmmrrgh!"

"Oh... so that boy really does it huh," you heard the elder mutter in thoughtful manner from outside—and you were in disbelief at how trusting he was—before rounding the stunned maids and barked, "What are all you doing here? Go!"

You nearly sagged with relief when Satoru loosened his grip slightly, allowing you to breathe, as his meddlesome grandpa finally stalked away. Done. This horrible act was over! But wait, why did he still had his hand on your mouth?

"That went splendidly!" he snickered, appearing rather pleased with what had unfolded. "Now, if only we work together like this more often—"

This is… my life now, you lamented the reality. The feeling of his calloused hand on you made you feel things, honestly speaking, but another emotion—and impulse—currently overpowered that.

Seething with resentment, you fiercely chomped down on his hand hard, causing him to swear and pull his hand out of you.

"You—you devil! You bit me!"

"Serves you right!"

Okay, he was bad. He was insufferable. But to be frank, sometimes it wasn't all chaos.

And what's more, by MONTH TWO, you realized that being married to Gojo Satoru also comes with several perks.

"Miss, please, you're trespassing—"

You looked at the police with the haughtiest look you could muster, unamused. "Don't you know who I am?"

"No, but it shouldn't—"

"I'm that man's wife," you declared regally, motioning towards a certain tall shuttlecock a few meters away. "Is that not clear enough for you?"

For one, no one can look down on you anymore, because should they try, you have the power to raise your chin high and declare yourself as the wife of the infamous sorcerer. The very moment you did, that nosy police stopped yapping, and let you through.

The cursed boy, Yuta and his classmate had just been trapped inside a barrier a curse user pulled down, and you were assigned to look into this case by the headquarters. As much as it boggled you—because certainly, the strongest sorcerer was enough to investigate this—you still had to do your job.

“What is this?” you asked Satoru, who was observing something far beyond what your measly ordinary eyes could see. “What happened here?”

He turned to you, all with bandaged eyes. “Hmm? Oh, you’re here too?”

“Don't act surprised. Answer my question, Gojo.”

"You’re too uptight, wifey," Satoru's lips curved upwards playfully. He had taken to addressing you with pet names as of late, if anything, only to get a rise out of you. "Isn't it the time for you to start calling me by my given name?"

You let out a weary exhale, exasperated. "I'm serious, did you find anything? Who is behind this?"

"Nah, nothing for you to worry about," Satoru waved his hand dismissively, grinning. "More importantly! Let's head back and have dinner! My treat!"

You weren't that oblivious. You noticed things too.

"What do you want tonight? Sukiyaki? Sushi?" he hummed nonchalantly. "Or shabu-shabu?"

You gave him the stink eye. "Is that all you think about? Food?"

"As a responsible husband, it's my duty to feed my wife, no?"

"News flash: temporary wife."

"But still my wife, regardless. I overheard you earlier. Being Mrs. Gojo is convenient, yeah?"

You ignored how a part of your jolted at the emphasis he placed on that word, grunting. "Nah, it's meh."

Call it a feeling or hypothesis. It was similar to how he treated his students. He always said the dumbest things, but it actually served to make them feel at ease.

Then it occurred to you, could this be actually his attempt to change the subject?

"You can't cheat your way out of this." You shot him a pointed look. "You know something. Tell me."

"Hmmm? And what would I get in return?"

"Don't make this difficult. I'm on this assignment too!"

"Nah, if you call me by my name, I might consider it."

Hah. You should really read a parenting book one of these days. Taking on your husband was more or less the same as facing a kid.

"Satoru," you tested, the name rolling out of your lips far easier than you thought. Somehow, using his given name felt like some sort of a leap of faith.

He stopped right in his tracks, turning to you. His glossy lips quirked into a meaningful smile, and you felt funny.

"Wasn't that difficult, was it?" he winked, and you covered the strange heat creeping onto your face by rolling your eyes and huffed.

Needless to say, he still didn't tell you even a clue. You finally gave up, thinking that if he insisted on not disclosing it, then so be it. You trusted him on this, even as he turned your help away, and you hated admitting it, because, well…

You’d trust him with your life. He knows how to handle this better than anyone.

Being a a woman in Kamo clan is, in fact, not any better than in Zen'in—you're regarded more as a commodity than a human being.

"When will you bear the child of the bearer of Six Eyes?" in your father's eyes, you were but a tool to tie the Gojo at his hip, and your worth probably wasn't even twice of Noritoshi's. You had known he would ask this when he summoned you to Kamo ancestral home, and you weren't that naive—you had asked Satoru to join you too. But your father had insisted him to stay at the foyer, while he dragged you into his chamber.

Just because you had seen it coming didn’t mean you liked it. "Is that all? Do you really make me come here just to ask me that?"

And what came next was like a crack of thunder.

"How insolent!"

You shuddered, hating how his voice still had control over you. You wanted to stay deviant, but you couldn't keep yourself from shaking. You thought you would have to endure this shit just like you did before, until—

"Now, now... That's my wife you're talking to. I'd watch your words, if I were you."

You had never whipped your head so fast.

There stood Gojo Satoru, your husband, in all his glory. He was smiling but it was clear that he was displeased, evident from his cutting remark, and most notably, how he had unveiled his striking cerulean eyes for all to see. Truth to be told, you didn't expect him to barge in here at all.

"Gojo-sama," your father bowed his head, displaying utter respect towards him, contrasting the blatant disrespect he showed towards you just now. Satoru paid him no heed, as took big strides towards you and seized your arm, prompting you to rise to your feet.

"What is this? Why are you yelling at her?" His voice lacked its usual hint of amusement or teasing, sending a chill down your spine.

"Gojo-sama, I apologize for my tone towards my daughter earlier. I was just trying to educate—"

“My wife. She is my wife now, and it would do you better to remember that,” Satoru asserted firmly, putting emphasis in the way he addressed you, his gaze hardening. "She is an adult. There's nothing left for you to educate her." Pausing, he added, "And the way I saw it, you were just unnecessarily rude."

"Gojo-sama, there were just certain things in our clan that—"

"Please, don't call on us again," Satoru interjected decisively with a light yet firm voice. You could swear your heart was somersaulting at the sight of him staring down your natural enemy. "I'm sure you're aware, but your daughter bears my name now, and she will get the respect she is due. I will have a word with anyone who fails to treat her accordingly."

Somehow or another, Satoru whisked you away from that hellhole, your hand tightly clasped in his. Your relieved sigh didn't go unnoticed by him, as he looked back to you.

"Have you gone soft?" he teased, eyeing you with a playful snort. "Did you forget who your husband is? You've got nothing to fear. Not even him."

"Thank you," you murmured. Your heart was still pounding and your mind blanked, rendering you unable to engage in your usual banters.

His clear blue eyes widened a touch, blinking at your display of vulnerability, Then, he wore the most innocent expression, even sporting a silly smirk—the hardness from earlier gone. "I was really cool, huh? Totally made you swoon I bet."

And in MONTH THREE, you realized, as he laced his fingers with yours, as his laughter filled the air, as calmness swelled on your chest, and as you loudly snorted at his remark, that—

You felt warm, so warm, in fact, and maybe—

"Pfft, you wish."

—maybe... being with him isn't so bad after all.

MONTH FOUR, and you finally found out that it was Geto Suguru.

Everyone knew that your husband and the criminal used to be the best of friends. You saw them during your high school days, and heck, you used to think that Geto was the better man.

You could only imagine what he must feel.

. . .

When he got back to your shared house after the whole ordeal—after he ended his best friend with his own hands, Satoru honestly didn't expect that you would be waiting for him.

"You okay?" you asked him, brows furrowed in concern. It was probably one of the very few times you had displayed emotions other than contempt towards him.

It felt strange because he was used to your jabs, and he was not sure what sort of expression he should pull now, because truthfully, now he felt empty. Blank. All he comprehended was that he had killed Suguru, that he was gone, and that was something he must do.

It would be just like any other day if hadn't just committed a murder. On someone he held dear.

"Of course, who do you think I am?" Satoru swiftly replied, sounding smug—or at least tried to. "I'm the strongest. I’m unscat—"

"No, not that." You frowned, meeting his gaze squarely. "After everything."

Satoru struggled to choose how he should react, partly because most of his energy had gone after walking Yuta back and reassuring him earlier, and by default, the two of you should be hellbent on hating each other and wishing for this contract to end soon.

"Aww, are you worried about me?" he quipped with a touch of sarcasm just because he had to, to show you that it wasn't enough to ruffle him.

Because he is still the strongest, even when alone. Especially when he is alone.

You let out a sigh, looking away. "Can't I?"

"Whoa, that's sweet of—"

"Don't fool yourself," you stated in straight-laced manner, meeting his gaze with a composed expression. "You're not okay. You might be Gojo Satoru, but no one will be after doing what you just did."

You might be Gojo Satoru, but no one will be after doing what you just did.

Despite himself, his smile fell, and his chest burns. What is this? Were you sympathizing with him?

Does that mean that you don't see him as the entity... that was the strongest?

Before now, Satoru remembered you as the most uncooperative Kyoto girl he had ever met. Your first meeting in high school sealed your fate as the two of you could hardly get along. You didn't mince words, you didn't take shit from anyone else—heck, sometimes when he thought of you, what came up to mind was an impenetrable diamond.

Which was why he chose you. You were someone he could trust. You were pretty in the eyes and certainly wouldn't bore him either. His reasons were purely based on logic. And after four months with you, Satoru came to a conclusion that you indeed fulfilled all his expectations, if not more.

And he felt comfortable, or dare he say, secure even. He felt like he had gained a friend, who could see past his bravado and wouldn't judge him for it.

"You're..." you sighed, casting a sympathetic glance at him, your forehead slightly creased. At that moment, Satoru couldn't help but think you were incredibly endearing, fretting over him. "...an idiot."

"Heh." I really am, aren't I?

"I never knew him well..." you chose your words carefully, hesitant. "Did you try to convince him, before this?"

He barked a bitter laugh. "I did, we even made a scene in front of freaking KFC," he remarked with a scoff. "He didn't listen to me, until the very end."

You wanted to tell him “You have done everything you could” but the words faltered on your tongue. You couldn't bring yourself to say it when you saw the faint quiver of his lips, the slump of his shoulders—the very sight of a boy grieving the loss of his friend.

Your heart pricked too, somehow, seeing that expression on him. And you once again realized that your silly, exalted husband was just as human as anyone else who made him think he wasn’t.

"And you know what he said in the end?" Satoru's tone was flippant, as if asking the most normal thing around, but carried a trace of grief, evident in the slight drop in his tone if you squinted. "He said he didn't regret it, not even a bit."

"I'm sorry," was all you could manage.

Satoru's smile was lopsided. Now that he had finally accepted it, something inside him finally bleeds, and it freaking hurts. The pain gripped his chest like a swirling inferno.

But then, you boldly clasped his hand in yours, gently tracing soothing circles on its back.

"What?" he peered at you, feeling a ghost of a smile forming.

"Consider this emotional support."

And he chuckled softly. Despite the lingering ache, despite the gloom he was sure he would carry for the rest of his life, he felt the pain was more bearable with you by his side, somewhat.

How?

You blamed it on the alcohol, because it was MONTH FIVE and you were kissing Gojo Satoru, daringly.

"We shouldn't be doing this," you rasped between kisses, breathless, as your own sinful hands plucked the buttons off his shirt. The intoxication might have played a part, but the intense heat coursing through you made it hard to think straight.

Satoru crashed his lips against yours again, consumed by blind lust. "Yeah, we shouldn't," he replied in a rush. His breath was hot as he trailed his lips down your jaw and neck next, savoring the softness of your skin.

You two had attended a banquet for the elite, and you were unbelievably beautiful. Standing by his side as his wife, you drew admiring glances, with everyone marveling at what a remarkable couple you made. The Gojo heir who was born with the legendary Limitless and the Kamo heiress, as lovely as her clan's name was powerful.

His deft hands roamed the curves of your body, exploring every inch of you. The warmth of his hands tickled something inside you as you closed your eyes to sink into this very moment. Next you knew, his bare body was against yours and you were stripped out of your evening dress.

Lust flickered in his honored eyes, as he took in the sight of you in your undergarments.

"You're really pretty, you know," he whispered. The intensity with which his eyes scanned your form made you nearly squirm. "Shame we don't always get along."

"You're one to talk," you retorted, a hint of exasperation in your tone, as you willed all other thoughts away. Thoughts like what comes after this. Thoughts like—

Is it heaven or sin, if you feel both at once?

His thumb tenderly caressed your plush lips, a hint of a smirk on his beautiful face.

He has long been thinking about your body. He was but a man, after all. He just didn't expect that you wanted this too.

There was always this tension, only this time, neither of you could hold it back anymore. Perhaps it was impulse—hell, most certainly it is, but there was another thing, something more that even Gojo Satoru still didn't dare to say out loud.

"Eager, are we?" he taunted when you leaned in, yearning for the touch of his lips on yours again.

You huffed. “Shut up and kiss me.”

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks at the slip of those words. You were about to rectify it, taken aback by your own boldness, but then he drew you close, silencing any further protest with a gentle hush—

"Too late, sweetheart," his husky voice entered your ears, lips curling into the most wicked smile, and you were in a trance. And Satoru was once again convinced, that choosing you as his wife was the rightest thing there was.

If the two of you went with this, then there would be consequences. Things would become more complicated, harder to sort out.

But, he decided, as he captured your lips in another heated kiss, everything else can wait.

MONTH SIX, and you were dreading the day of your divorce.

You brought this upon yourself. Whenever you reminisced about that night, you wanted to smack yourself in the face and bang your head against the nearest wall.

This marriage has a time limit. And you were doing it out of convenience in the first place.

You weren't supposed to… goddammit—fall in love with him.

But what's done is done, there is no going back in time. Awkward exchanges and lingering stares had been gnawing at your insides these days, and you were sure Satoru too must have noticed them too. You two used to be more relaxed with each other, and he'd even flirt with you, but weeks ever since that night of drunken passion, you almost reverted back to your high school personas—ignoring each other.

This was tough. You didn't like this. And more than that, you were faced with a more pressuring matter...

Gojo Satoru, with everything he possessed, could have had any woman he wanted. This arrangement with you was temporary in the first place, soon he would forget you and flit to the next woman.

The thought made your heart ache, because you had involuntarily gave your heart away to him. Siiigh… What a predicament you put yourself into, huh?

With just a month left together, maybe you should just make the best of it.

. . .

If you thought that things were any better with Satoru, then you were sorely wrong because he too, was debating with himself often nowadays.

Days spent with you were fun and fulfilling. You irked expression somehow had made its mark in his heart. You were pretty, fit to be by his side publicly and preferably, behind the closed doors. With you, he didn't feel the need to carry this facade of being strong—he could be a clown tripping over his own trap and you would amuse him with your deadpan expression.

And ever since that night, he was constantly reminded by how soft your skin was against his. It almost drove him crazy now that he was deprived of it.

How was it the last month already? He wasn't ready to let you go yet.

When he got back home later after his class ended and found you in the dinner table setting the food, all he could muster was, "Hey. Haven't eaten?"

You whirled around to face him in surprise. "Oh... you're back. Just about to. Want to join me?"

Of course he would. And yet as the two of you sat down, it was so painfully awkward Satoru felt like he was dying inside.

Why couldn't he pull off a smart line or two? Where did his suaveness go? He was smoother than this, surely, with his colorful history. One night of passion was supposed to enhance the relationship, not to derail it. What happened to you both?

The salt was near his side when you reached to grab it and bumped into his hand. "Uh-oh."

Turning towards you, he found your spooked expression and your adorable eyes widening in surprise. "S-sorry..."

It was just freaking salt! Salt! Why on earth were you apologizing?!

Enough, he thought. This utter madness of being jumpy with each other. He'd start from his side.

Does he want you to keep being his wife even after all this ends? Yes.

Why? All reasons already listed above.

Does this mean he likes you? Apparently and supposedly, yes. Because if it isn't then he doesn't know what this funny feeling driving him mad is.

With that sorted out, then he only had one more thing to confirm. He put down his spoon and crossed his arms together. "Tell me the truth. Do you like living with me?"

His question obviously took you by surprise. "Huh? What brought this on?"

"Just give me an answer."

"You're so pushy," you grumbled, lips pursed, and he felt like you were finally back to your usual dynamics somewhat. Good.

"Sooo, the verdict? Do you enjoy being with me or not?"

Because to him, it was a resounding yes and more.

Ignoring the warmth that surged to your cheeks, you rolled your eyes. "Surprisingly, not bad, yeah," you admitted, mustering the courage to meet his gaze. "You're annoying, an idiot, a bit crazy—"

"Hey!"

"—but eventually you're still... manageable," you added, feeling your face truly start to sizzle. But covered it up by looking down and playing with your fingers as you still had more to go on. "What I want to say is... I'm glad that I agreed to this—with you—because I can’t imagine it with anyone else."

An unfamiliar tingling emotion rushed to his chest as his face too started to heat up, letting your words sink in. Is he blushing? Oh God. He sure is. And so did he feel hella giddy.

Then it’s sealed.

Suddenly he procured a piece of paper from his work uniform and showed it to you. You first saw his lazily scrawled signature before it dawned on you.

The contract. You almost forgot that you made him sign that looming piece of paper. You were almost dismayed, thinking that he would end this right then and there, but then—

“Well, then… I suppose we no longer need this.”

Riiip~

Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when Gojo Satoru tore out your contract right in front of your face, the most brilliant of his devilish grin adorned his handsome face, as he took off his blindfold to see you far clearly than ever. Heavens, you are cute, he thought.

“Soooo~ seems like you’re stuck with me from now on!”

You gaped, awestruck at the blatant meaning of it all, feeling how your heartbeat started to pick up the pace, when he pulled the rag out of your feet once more by tilting his head to the side, looking at you with a winning smile.

“Let’s start over! What did they say again? Ah, yeah. Here’s to the first day of our lives!”

[nightmare-niko]

Pretty When You Cry [Father Charlie Mayhew x reader]

pt. 2

Word Count: 1916

Warnings: manhandling, kinda munch! Charlie, one slap, mean! Dom Charlie, blasphemy (they fuck in the church😬)

A/N: not my gifs! I have the originals reblogged on my page😘 this was actually already being written and then I got an anon request for basically exactly what I was already writing!! Hope ya like it hehe 🙃 i also dont really ever write like this kind of smut so i hope i did good!!

Copying or translating my writing is not allowed. If you see my work on another site it is stolen. Reblogs are appreciated and encouraged.

You weren't a religious person by any means. But staying the night at your parents had you up early, trying to find the most church-appropriate outfit. of course, your parents failed to tell you that they were planning on bringing you along to church. Your skirt was a bit too short. But it is not like you had room to complain with such short notice!

You remember going to high school with Father Charlie— or as you knew him Charlie. The two of you didn't run with the same crowds-- but you knew each other.

Now, here you were. Paying no attention to the words coming from his mouth and all attention to how good he looked. Damn-- maybe you should have shot your shot years ago when he was a personal trainer.

As you watched him at the head of the room, you allowed your mind to wander.

One extremely long and boring sermon later, you stand awkwardly behind your parents as they talk to what Seems like every member of the church. God how you regret agreeing to come-- It's not like you knew anyone here- none of your friends went to church. But here you were, being judged by middle-aged churchgoers. How fun.

The sound of your name being called catches your attention.

You whip your head around to the noise, "Father Charlie!" The name is unnatural as it falls from your lips. You quickly look at your parents- too engrossed in a conversation. “It's been a while!" You awkwardly step closer to the man.

He hums, "It has been, hasn't it? The first time in the church as well.”

“Well, you know...” You gesture back to your parents.

"I'm assuming this wasn't on your schedule.” He looks you up and down, “Given your attire.”

You gasp sharply, heat rising to your face as you pathetically try to pull your skirt down. "I-uh,” you try to think of an excuse, "I didn't pack any pants..." You lie-- lying in a church is one thing but to the priest?

If Charlie sensed your lie he didn't comment on it. "Well, I hope you enjoyed today's sermon.”

"I did!" You lie again, a little too enthusiastically.

Charlie narrows his eyes at you, "You weren't paying attention, were you?" His voice is playful.

"No, I was not," You quickly confess.

He laughs, you have to fight to not stare shamefully at his beautiful face for too long. "That's odd— because when I looked at you, you looked very focused," He teases.

“I wasn't paying attention to your voice. Just your fa-" you stop in your tracks. Utterly petrified at the situation you have just found yourself in. His eyebrows raise in surprise at your slip-up. “I mean I didn't even know that you could see me in that crowd-- I-I- just figured that-”

“That every time we locked eyes it wasn't on purpose?” he finishes your thought.

You nod pathetically, your shoes suddenly extremely interesting.

Charlie takes a step towards you, the proximity making you look up at the man. Has he always been that tall? "I want you to go into my office and wait for me.” His voice is a seductive tone you have never heard him use before. It sends a shiver down your spine.

“But what about my parents?” you ask, voice just above a whisper.

“Dont worry about them,” he assures before walking away. Leaving you standing alone— stunned.

To say you were terrified was an understatement. Sure, you weren't in any danger-- at least you didn't think so. What exactly had you gotten yourself into? Here you sat, in a priest's office. Surrounded by biblical Imagery. And you were 99% Sure you were soaked through your cotton panties, you didn't care. No one but you was going to know... right?

Five minutes turned to ten. You sat anxiously in the chair across from Charlie's desk. A clock on the wall ticked away obnoxiously. You had figured when you walked in it would take him a while for him to return. how long should you wait? Has he forgotten that you were sitting in his office, impatiently waiting? You didn't dare to snoop, or even scroll on your phone. Charlie said to wait for him, and that's what you would do.

For thirty minutes you're alone in that office. you straighten your posture when you hear the clicks of Charlie’s boots nearing. The sound of the door opening makes you flinch pathetically. You don't dare turn around. Eyes glued on the desk in front of you.

Charlie is silent as he moves around behind you. Your pulse pounds in your throat at the anticipation.

“You seem nervous.” You tense at his voice, still refusing to turn around and face the man.

You try to swallow the lump in your throat, “I am nervous, Father.” You press your thighs together in an atempt to find some sort of relief to your throbbing center.

He groans quietly from behind you, “look at me.”

Like a magnet your head whips around to look at the man. His sharp gaze made your breath hitch. You felt hazy as he stepped towards you. Your eyes locked on his as he comes to stand right in front of you. Your breath quickens when he captures your chin in between his thumb and pointer finger.

Charlies predatory gaze on you deepens, his lips curling into a smirk, "you--" he rubs the lipstick on your mouth, smudging it. "Are such a pretty mess for me, darling.”

You bat your eyelashes up at him, “I don't know what you mean, Father.”

He grips the sides of your face harshly, cheeks smushing together into a pout. “Showing up to my church dressed like a slut—” he spits, “shamlessly eyefucking me the whole time like you were the only one in the room.”

You whimper at his words— he was right of course. But that didn't stop your face from flushing in embarrassment.

“Now look at you. Slut. Sitting before me like a doe as if you didn’t wait in my office hoping I would come in here and fuck you like the whore that you are.”

You moan shamelessly when he lets go of your face, while your whole body was screaming at you to submit to the man before you. You could help but push his buttons just a little bit further.

“You know for a priest you sure do have a filthy mouth—” His eyes narrow on you as you speak. “im such a slut but here you are hard in your pants over a damn mini skirt.” If looks could kill, you’d surely be dead. You needed more.

You open your mouth to speak again. But before you could even get a sound out, Charlie strikes his large hand across your cheek. You moan again, “fuck!”

Wordlessly, he turns to the desk before you. You watch curiously as he haphazardly pushes the clutter on his desk onto the floor. Your hands tremble in anticipation as you watch him bound towards you. He effortlessly picks you up from the chair you sat on, as if a reflex you cross you’d ankles behind his back as his hands greedily grip your thighs and ass.

He gently places you on the recently cleared off desk. A stark contrast to the way he effortlessly hoisted you from your seat. You attempt to grind down in the wooden desk under you for some kind of stimulation, but Charlie’s grip stops you.

“So impatient,” he purrs. He captures your lips in a quick, gentle kiss. You whine at the loss of him, but you don’t have to worry for long as his hands greedily grasps at your skirt, tearing at your legs. He leaves you with one last opened mouth kiss as he begins to trail wet kisses down your neck.

He mumbles something you can’t quite hear. But you don’t really care when he sinks to his knees, his strong hands prying your legs open. He trails more kisses to your inner thigh all the way up to your core. He licks a stripe over your soaked through panties, your legs try to close but his hands are holding your thighs open. His eyes lock on yours as he pulls them down your legs, the speed agonizing as you whimper. In a second his lips are back on you, his wet kisses up your thighs driving you mad.

“Charlie,” You thread your hand through his hair as he bites and licks at your heat like a starved man.

He mumbles a quick “no,” as he pulls away from you. His chin slicked and shiny from you. The scene is pornographic, if you had a camera you’d take a picture. He fumbles with his belt buckle and throws it to the side, the metal clanking to the floor loudly. You shamelessly stare as he stands back up, towering over you again he gets close enough that you feel his breath on your face.

“Look at you,” he tuts. You lurch forward— pulling him into a greedy, filthy kiss. When he moans into your mouth it’s the most heavenly sound you’ve ever heard. Pushing you back into the desk, once again he’s muttering something, a prayer. You paw at his zipper and he lazily watches you has you pull out his angry cock.

“Please?” You beg, tears welling up in your eyes from sheer sexual frustration.

“Since you asked so nicely~” he steals a quick kiss before dragging his leaking tip through your folds.

He pushes into you fully in one smooth motion. Your back arches up off of the desk, wood painfully digging into your spine. You didn’t care— all you cared about was him.

Fast sharp deep thrusts have you screaming as the sounds of skin ring throughout the office. You curse- throwing your arms over your head. Charlie’s mouth gaping while he groans, pressing and thrusting himself into you.

"Just, like that, oh.. god." You wail as he slams himself into your g spot repeatedly.

Charlie greedily paws at your clothed breasts as his hips slap into yours. You clench around him— you can already feel your orgasm building from the rough pace set. Charlie’s hips stutter from your action and you clench again. A low groan leaves his beautifully shaped lips as he digs his fingers into your hips.

You moan— you try to form words but Charlie feels so good inside of you that your brain feels like mush. He seems to be able to tell your close however by the way his thumb reaches down to rub sloppy circles onto your clit.

Your vision turns white as you come undone. Your nails dig into the desk below you as Charlie chases his own release. He leans down, pressing kisses into your cheeks and necks, unlike the kisses before; these are gentle and caring. You hiss when he pulls out of you, missing the feeling of him inside you immediately.

“How much convincing will it take for you to come to next weeks service?” He breathily laughs against the side of your face.

“If it’s gonna end like this again— none at all.”

♡︎༻🌸༺♡︎

Tag list (If you want to be added just comment!)

@Nallasstuff @chmpgneprblem @qoopeeya @lilybellalana @sleepysongbirdsings

[unsteddie]

Steve agrees to play npc parts for Eddie's big one shot that he's been planning forever, but only if Eddie will play basketball with him. So they meet Lucas and Max at the court in the park and Eddie will not shut up about everything.

It's hot, his shorts are rubbing his legs weird, the sun's too bright. Just in general being as annoying as possible. It doesn't bother Steve even a little, he's too busy being smug about getting Eddie into basketball shorts at all. Sure he was still wearing a band shirt, but the shorts were a win.

It starts pretty normal, Max is absolutely ripping them apart verbally and it's working weirdly well to balance out her actual basketball skills, which are nothing to write home about. Eddie whines everytime hes got to run up or down the court, but he does ok at controlling the ball and manages to catch it when Steve throws it to him.

Steve's being blocked by Lucas who's the same height now, and Max is running for Eddie and the ball. Steve's yelling at him to throw it, just aim for the net, and he does. He sinks it, the ball barely touches the rim. He shouts in victory and runs to Steve for a congratulatory kiss, losing the ball to Max, completely worth it.

Over the course of the next few minutes he sinks two more. Steve calls for a pause in the game and simply hands Eddie the ball and tells him to shoot. Another basket. He moves him farther back and Eddie makes it again. Eventually he's standing at the free throw line having scored 7 consecutive baskets and he looks at Steve in wonder and says

"hey, I think I'm good at this?"

Max and Lucas are losing their minds, Lucas is somewhere behind him saying "of course he's good at this." Over and over again.

Steve can't decide if he's more frustrated or charmed, but what he says is "what the fuck, we could have won the championship if you hadn't been a nerd."

[goodmorrowing]

https://www.tumblr.com/goodmorrowing/719391243111645184/since-you-said-the-storm-chapter-is-going-to-be-in?source=share

Oh it's not? I thought 8 was the storm chapter and 9-10 was jamie going on a work trip chapter

i will be honest.... i didn't know i was writing both. 💀 but i am so happy to, i will write that in and shift a few things around, which i can do now because!!!! twelve chapters!!!!!!!!

[dootznbootz]

opinions on helen of sparta being compared to prey animals? blink blink

*blink blinks back* Then immediately sits like this because of the question.

It's a good question that I'm happy to answer! It just makes me mad.... I sincerely hate the wording of "prey" being used to describe her.

SHE IS A VICTIM! THAT DOES NOT MEAN SHE IS "PREY"!

I can...see how people in ancient times may have used that word and still meant it in how she is a victim... but modern-day English-speaking people calling her that??? (considering how in different languages the word "prey" could have different meanings.) I'll just say that as someone who has been "prey" herself at one point, I REALLY hate that word as a descriptor. Just say victim or survivor. 👍

Honestly to call ANY victim "prey" is so fucked up. "Prey" to me, feels like "it's meant to happen." "Prey" are part of the food chain and so that's what happens. And to compare that to abduction and SA? Almost as if "that's our place"? It also kind of implies something being "eaten" or killed... Helen SURVIVES. She's traumatized and definitely needs healing and support but it's not like she can't find joy or peace ever again. Prey just feels so fucking gross.

Also, if someone calls victims "prey", I hope they know that Moose, Elk, Boars, Bovine, ZEBRAS, etc. are technically "prey". And these are VERY aggressive animals while still being "prey" for some other animals. And also that doesn't mean that "Oh, they're powerful! Clearly they should've been able to stop it." That's victim blaming :P

She is a clever, determined, caring woman who was ripped from her home for YEARS because Paris was a dipshit who decided he needed the prettiest woman in the world despite already having a wife. He didn't care about the fact that Helen didn't want to be there and was already married. He is so selfish that he will not let her go back even when THOUSANDS have died in the war! EVEN HIS BROTHER HECTOR AND PRIAM DO NOT BLAME HER! Granted, we do not know if Aphrodite would have let him undo their deal of "I want the prettiest woman" if he DID end up feeling bad for Helen and he wished to let her go home (I doubt it based on his personality though).

"Oh, if she is so independent/strong, then why didn't she just kill Paris and leave?"

AGAIN! Victim blaming!!! First thing, people who ask that have media literacy that is piss on the poor. You also have no idea about the political implications that would have happened if she DID kill Paris. She literally cries about staying there and argues with Aphrodite about seeing Paris, only to get strongarmed by Aphrodite as, guess what? A GODDESS WILL ALWAYS OVERPOWER A DEMIGOD. (This isn't Percy Jackson where he "killed" Ares as a 12 year old (Percy, you were my childhood, but that's bullshit.))

Even confined in Troy, she ARGUED with APHRODITE about going to see Paris! She is not some meek woman who just does as she's told with no pushback! She argued with a GODDESSS! Very few survive doing that!!!

She's not "Prey to fate", she's a "VICTIM of Fate".