#and I think my coloring has gotten so much better

[artbysarf]

2024 vs 2021

[minnows-art-blog]

Some concept art for Sweetie Belle’s cutie mark! The top are more in line with canon and the bottom is more experimental!

[bittybattybunny]

It's OC-Tober and so I'm redoing some older ocs of mine and started off with Shindo a classic oc of mine who I love to torment to this day

Looked it up too I originally made him in 2010 so he's had a long journey lol

[humanjarvis]

call it what you want

synopsis: when you visit a gathering of childhood friends, they’re wary of you and caleb’s relationship. and while you take it in stride, he takes it to heart. 

tags: fluff, angst, heart to heart, happy ending, calebmc judged by childhood friends for their relationship, mc withstands it but caleb withdraws, barely yandere caleb, he does watch mc when they’re apart though, caleb breaks somebody’s teeth with his evol, calebmc relationship depicted as the jumbled up mess that it is, there’s not really pseudocest though, calebmc are each other’s first kiss, caleb is insecure, mc comforts the hell out of him, references to caleb’s mental illness, allusions to sex. inspired by “call it what you want” by taylor swift  pairing: caleb x fem!reader, reader is mc word count: 8.1k (woah!)

a/n: behold my thesis on the intricate siblingfriendpartnership of calebmc. it’s the best thing i’ve written and i’m so glad. but also this has ended up doubling as my 2k followers special 🎉🎉🎉 that is an unfathomable amount of people subjecting themselves to my writing and i’m seriously so grateful. thank you for motivating me to create! anyway, i truly hope you get something out of this, but even if you don’t, i’m proud of it 💞

“C’mon, pip-squeak. We can't ignore it forever. I’m here now, and I'll be right by your side. All those bad memories…you won’t have to face them alone anymore.”

“I know. And I’m glad. But still, it’s…different now,” you smile weakly, failing to suppress a heavy sigh. 

Caleb was in Linkon for the week, having put his foot down about his well-earned time off. And you, having gotten used to the constant Fleet interruptions, had gone the extra mile to make him unreachable: locking his communicator in your bedside drawer. 

After three days of making new memories—you’d ticked the movies, the zoo, and a concert off your list—his love for nostalgia had finally gotten the better of him. He’d set his sights on reminiscence, and all morning, he’d been pestering you to visit your old neighborhood. Where your childhood home had once stood.

“We can just take a look around. Five minutes, tops. Aren’t you curious about that old playset you used to drag me to? Always made me spot you under the monkey bars in case you fell. I’m sure they miss you,” he teases, hope shining in his ametrine eyes. 

And as you picture it—the iron bars of the jungle gym, now rusted with time; the grayish, well-traveled cobblestone streets; the wild honeysuckle bushes scattered around the block—you know this is a battle you can’t win. 

“Fine,” you huff. “But you’re driving.” 

“As if I’d refuse. And hey,” he softens, grabbing your arm gently. “If it’s too much, let me know. We’ll come back right away.” 

***

Your stomach roils as familiar street signs come into view.  

Green lawns and picket fences. Symbols of safety you could no longer trust. 

Humming along to an old pop hit on the radio—a valiant attempt to distract you—Caleb turns into your neighborhood, and you clench your teeth involuntarily. 

Luckily, you don’t have too much time to worry. Because seconds later, he pulls over a few houses from home and puts the car in park. 

You sit for a moment. Watching. Breathing.  

Thinking of how the last time you came here, he was dead.

“I’ll race ya,” he says suddenly, shutting the engine off and throwing his door open. And with a strained chuckle, you follow suit.

You lose on purpose, slowing your steps the closer you get to Gran’s house. You know he can tell.  

But soon, you run out of room to stall. 

As you stand beside the “FOR SALE” sign, feeling like a stranger, the freshly polished wood and foreign color scheme deepen the pit inside your stomach. 

Caleb whistles lowly. “Sure looks different, doesn’t it?”

But you’re not listening. You’re remembering. 

You remember the smell—the charred scent that stuck with you for so long after the explosion, your nostrils blistered from too much blowing. The way ashes fell endlessly from the sky, and you didn’t know what—or who—they were made of. The last-minute salon visit you’d had to schedule to chop the singed ends of your hair off. 

“C’mon. That playground is just this way,” he offers, coaxing voice saving you from too much rumination. 

“Okay,” you whisper, sliding your hand into his.

It was an age-old lesson, one you’d learned a hundred times: summer heat and monkey bars don’t mix.

As you flinch away with a startled hiss, Caleb casually pulls spare gloves from his pocket—as if he kept them on him for a situation like this—and carefully slips them onto you. For someone whose hands dwarf yours, they fit suspiciously well. 

“Up you go,” he sings, lifting you to reach the handles. And just like all those years before, he walks beside you as you cross, steadying you with his gentle touch. 

When you reach the end, instead of jumping down, you shift your momentum to swing backwards, skater dress twirling with the motion. 

But as your front faces the street again, you realize your mistake a moment too late. 

“Oh my gosh, is that who I think it is?!” 

As a vaguely recognizable voice squeals, you freeze in place, hands squeezing around the iron bars in a death grip. 

“Oh, it totally is! You haven’t come around here in forever—it’s so good to see you!” the voice continues. 

Turning your head—slowly, like the main character in a horror film—your eyes land on an all too familiar figure. Sarah, a girl around your age you used to envy for her toy collection, stands just feet away from you, long leash corralling a massive German Shepherd held tightly in her manicured hand. 

With two light taps on your back—Caleb’s signal for you to come down—you loosen your hold and land almost gracefully on the pea gravel below. 

This was a situation you’d only been in once before. When Gideon had crossed paths with you at the cemetery and learned his dead friend was, well…not. 

In any case, the circumstances then had been rare enough for you to carry on without establishing a protocol. And now, as you stand at the mercy of someone with no reason to keep Caleb’s secret, you’ll be forced to improvise. 

“Hi…Sarah,” you grin awkwardly, fiddling with your hands in front of you. “Thought you’d have moved by now.”

“Nope!” she chirps, not catching your apprehension. “We’re gonna give it one more year. After my husband saves up from his new job, we want to travel a bit before settling down.” 

You nod brusquely. 

“By the way, we haven’t really seen you here since the accident. I’m so sorry about your grandmother and Caleb—I know how close you two were. But—oh! Excuse my manners,” she pivots, looking behind you as if a lightbulb flicked on overhead. “Who’s th—”

Sarah’s tanned face blanches. 

“Hey Sarah. It’s been a while,” he greets casually. 

And the woman in front of you looks between you both as if she’s seconds away from siccing that dog on you. 

“You…caught us at a bad time,” you giggle nervously. “It’s kind of a secret, but…that was a…false report, after the explosion. Caleb actually managed to flee the area with a few burns. The authorities just kept the whole thing under wraps in case it was a targeted attack, or something. So I’ve been keeping an eye on him ever since!” you smile tightly, squeezing his dry palm with your clammy one. 

“Oh…well…what a relief, I guess!” she chuckles uncomfortably. “Well…if you’re not laying too low, Caleb,” she starts, extroverted nature beating out her rationality, “we’re having a get-together with all the neighborhood kids tomorrow! You guys should totally come. We’d hate to miss our favorite duo—you were always so funny, nagging each other like siblings.” 

You bristle at the term, gripping Caleb’s hand so tightly it could bruise. “Um, thanks for the offer, Sarah, but we…” you trail off, looking at him to help you. 

“We’d love to come!” he doesn’t. 

“Uh, we…would?” you question, perplexed by his sudden enthusiasm. 

“Yeah, why not, pips? It’d do you good to reconnect with some of the girls you liked hangin’ around. Plus, I’ll be right there with you,” he smiles brightly. 

Though his reasoning barely quells your anxiety, your heart softens at the gesture.

“Alright, then,” you turn to Sarah. “We’ll be there.”

The old mall down the block is halfway through renovations. 

Neon orange construction cones litter the parking lot, and every door but the main entrance is sealed off with yellow caution tape. 

Navigating through the weekend traffic, you and Caleb wander through the swarming, noisy corridors, leaving store after store empty-handed. 

You don’t know what to wear. 

Meeting so many people after such a long time…there’s an irrational need to impress, to look like you have your life together.

And somehow, every outfit seems off on you. It’s not false advertising—the mannequins are gorgeous as ever. But there’s something about you that ruins every look. 

As you rummaged through different displays, Caleb had done some light hovering—staying near, but letting you do your own thing, overall. 

But as you return another dress to the rack with a frustrated growl, he swoops in to put his scary intuition to good use. 

“This would suit you,” he grins kindly, brandishing a pastel blue sundress. “Wanna try it on?”

You eye the fabric skeptically. It’s not your usual style, but you take it into the dressing room anyway. 

And of course, the first thing Caleb picks out for you is perfect. 

“Told ya,” he laughs when you call him inside, back hugging you in the mirror. “You look beautiful. ‘Course it helps that it was my idea, and all.”

Swatting him gently, you giggle as you try to push him out of the cramped space, grunting with annoyance when he sandbags you. 

“Get out of here!” you protest. “We still have to find your outfit, and the mall closes soon.”

“Okay, okay, I'm going,” he relents cheekily. “Snap a picture for me before you take it off, though, alright?”

***

Once you’d paid—or he’d paid, having levitated your purse in the air while you scowled at him—you’d dragged him over to the men’s section, where you’d found an outfit just his size with a similar color scheme.

He’d preened when you held it out to him, puffing his chest out with pride at the fact you knew his tastes so well. And in his sparkling eyes, you’d spotted a flicker of possessiveness as he looked between your clear garment bag and the clothes in his hands, not so subtly comparing the blues to each other. 

And evidently, with the way he’d refused to even try anything on before heading back to the register, he’d been satisfied. 

As you make your way back to his car, Caleb tugs you in by the waist to claim your lips in a tender kiss. 

“It’s perfect,” he breathes. “It’ll be perfect. And even though we’ll be matchin’…I get the feeling you’ll be the one people can’t look away from.”

Caleb’s hand is on the small of your back as you step through Sarah’s front door, but it leaves you as he encourages you to mingle. “Go catch up,” he urges with his signature grin. 

You know what he’s doing. What this whole thing has been. A way to push you out of your comfort zone, a prolonged apology, and a promise to be less overbearing, all in one.

He needs it just as much as you do. Needs you to know that he’s trying. So as you nod softly and make your way through the throng of laughing faces, you hope he sees you trying, too.

Sarah’s parents had both been lawyers, and if the diplomas lining the far wall of the living room didn’t make that clear enough, the sheer size of their house sure did. 

The layout is vaguely familiar—Caleb had been friends with her older brother, and you’d practically begged him to tag along on playdates so you could see the fancy house down the street. 

As you take it all in—the flat screen TVs (plural) broadcasting different channels, the iridescent streamers lining the bannisters, the variety of appetizers spread out across the first floor—you only grow more envious. 

Turning away with a petty huff, you focus on the people instead. As you study faces new and old, you wonder how many guests here brought their partners. How many know that you brought yours.

Sarah—ever the gracious host, never the gossip—had informed the attendees about Caleb’s situation in hopes that he wouldn’t be bombarded the second he stepped inside. And it was working, somehow, as far as you could tell. Aside from a few wary glances sent his way, people greeted him just like they did before: as the golden boy whose presence was a gift. 

At some point, as you’d hovered aimlessly by the drink table, a girl you remembered fondly had strolled up to you. Marley, her name was. With her lively eyes, kind smile, and eagerness to play dolls with you, she’d been your closest non-Caleb friend in the neighborhood. 

“Who would’ve thought the girl next door would grow up to be a hunter, huh?” she jokes, gently elbowing your ribs. 

“It’s really not that special,” you laugh, halfheartedly dodging her pokes. “Just something necessary, I guess, since the Wanderers came. I thought it’d be cool, high-stakes action movie stuff every day, but I kinda feel like a firefighter saving a cat from a tree sometimes.”

“Oh, please. You’re practically a superhero! Caleb, too, being a whole pilot and all. Time really flies—I still remember when he helped you set up your lemonade stand that one summer,” she giggles. “You were always so in sync.” 

“Still are,” you smile softly, gaze subconsciously finding Caleb from across the room. He's chatting in a group of his old buddies, but as always, it’s like he can sense you looking at him. His eyes find yours in an instant, as if he already knew where you were standing—because of course he did—and he shoots you a boyish wink.

“But, if you don’t mind me asking,” Marley hesitates, her eyes shifting perplexedly between you. “Are you two…together…now? You seem even closer than you were as kids, if that’s even possible,” she mutters sarcastically, talking from the side of her mouth. 

As the question hits you for the first time that night, you plaster a big, fake smile on your face. “We sure are! It was five months last week.” 

“Well, congrats, I guess,” she tries to exclaim, but her confusion stunts her sincerity. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s just…I never expected you guys would date! You always seemed more like…ah…friends,” she cringes, her own fake smile twitching slightly.

Friends.

As the word fights its way out of her mouth, likely beating several less polite alternatives, the weight of her hesitance is not lost on you.

“Friends, huh?” you echo, and your smile is real this time. A show of your teeth, a hint that she’s just entered dangerous waters. “What kind of friends grow up in the same house, Marley? Raised by the same person, and all. Pretty rare if you ask me,” you cock your head in mock contemplation. “C’mon, what do you really mean to say?”

You’d been taught well. 

“Okay, okay!” she huffs, folding like a lawn chair under the pressure. “I always thought you were like siblings. Thought you guys thought you were like siblings. I’m just surprised, is all.”

“There’s nothing to be surprised about,” you nod curtly. “You lived next door, not with us. You don’t know how we felt about each other.”

Your voice is robotic as you meet her with a deadened stare. No matter how much you’d expected it, no matter how much you’d prepared, the judgment catches you off guard. 

The rumors, the gossip—it’s one reason you thought Caleb would decline the invite. To protect you, if nothing else. But with a bitter, inward laugh, you guess that him trying means letting you be in situations you might’ve begged him to shield you from.

“I need some air,” you decide suddenly, interrupting Marley’s frantic apologies to turn toward the door. “It was nice catching up.” 

A cool breeze kisses your exposed skin as you watch the fireflies blink from the patio. And as beautiful as they are, glittering in the night sky, there are other things on your mind at the moment.

If Caleb was ever a brother to you, he was the best brother anyone ever had.

You’d seen the way your friends acted with their brothers. Always kept a watchful eye on their interactions, as if comparing their relationships to yours. Middle school, high school, college.

And over all those years, no brother had ever been as attentive—as doting, as patient, as loving—as Caleb. 

After the explosion, when you were left to deal with your feelings alone—no nagging, oversized puppy to distract you—you’d pondered how you saw him. Deep down, under the structure and order and propriety that was forced upon you too young. Regretted that it was too late to ask him how he saw you. 

And if those quiet nights crying so hard it felt like drowning had taught you anything, it was this: as much as Caleb was brotherly, he had always been more—so much more than what he had to be to you.

He could’ve shut himself in his room for hours, leaving you to fend for yourself. He could’ve ghosted you the minute you no longer went to the same school. Could’ve found a girlfriend, had kids early, and moved his real family far away from you. All these things, you’d seen happen.

But through it all, Caleb had stayed, and he’d done it with his signature smile. Even when you’d worried he’d outgrown you, had outpaced you with his stellar achievements, he’d just pinched your cheek with a fond grin. Who d’ya think I do all that for, silly? he’d laughed. 

By your reunion, when he’d stared down at you so cruelly, you’d known what he was to you. The only man you’d ever loved, in all meanings of the phrase. That’s why it had hurt so much. 

And Caleb had scared you off. Your feelings were fragile, only newly realized. But his…were developed. Intense. More intense than you were ready for, coming from someone who’d been off-limits for 15 years. 

So you’d resisted. Resisted his spiraling admissions, resisted the feelings you knew he had for you, resisted his frantic attempts to steal you from the world. 

It would take time for you to accept a love like his. You’d told him as much five months ago—that you needed to meet in the middle. And he’d promised to try. 

As the days went by, you got used to treating him like a lover. To putting new meanings behind every touch. And every time you kissed him, he carved out more of his own paradise in your mind, escaping the liminal area he’d occupied in unfulfilling restraint. 

It was only in moments like this when prying eyes and hushed whispers wore you down. People who thought that, because they knew you once—for a summer, for a semester, for a school year—they knew who you were and how you felt. But there was something paradoxically mercurial about you and Caleb: the more you stayed the same, the more you changed. And only the two of you were privy to it. 

Even still, some leers and questions got to you, just as they had tonight. Apprehension and a resented sense of shame had filled your gut, as if you’d been “caught” stealing from your own wallet. 

But of all the things Caleb was to you, only one mattered: he was yours. And as a firefly lands on your outstretched palm, twinkling beautifully in the darkness that threatens it, you know no one can take that from you. 

Caleb had had better nights. 

He’d had worse, for sure—agony and loneliness come to mind—but he’d definitely had better. 

He’s spent this one mingling among the names he hadn’t cared to remember, all as an attempt to show you he won’t cage you in. You can have fun, have friends outside of him, as much as the thought makes his stomach churn. 

And what better way to start than with people he already knew? Baby steps.

As he cranes his neck to find you again (which shouldn’t be hard, since he just has to look for the one dressed like him), he vaguely registers an incessant buzz of a voice talking his ear off. Jared, he calls himself. 

“Anyway, I can’t believe you did that to her. That’s fucked up, man,” the voice says, clapping Caleb’s back with an obnoxious chortle. 

And as much as he needs to find you, Caleb really wishes he’d spared some of his attention for the homunculus beside him. 

“What exactly are you implying?” he asks lowly, lifting the hand from his shoulder with a firmness that any sober person would find threatening. 

He’s almost certain you’re not in the room, now, your calming presence lost in the sea of discarded memories. Alarms sound in his head at the realization, only to be drowned out by something more damning.

“It’s just…you grew up together! Had the same grandma. That's like your sister, dude. But you know what, to each their own. The way she looks, I can’t say I would've held myself back any better than you did. Probably worse, man. Matter of fact, you fucked her y—?”

The force of Caleb’s Evol clamps Jared’s mouth shut.

And, if his muffled yelp is any indication, hopefully breaks a few of his teeth, their bloodied chips settling on his tongue.

“This sorry excuse for a conversation is over. Leave. Now. And if I see you talking to her on your way out, I’ll make sure you never get the chance to again.”

Jared nods fearfully, and after one last snarl, Caleb lifts his Evol, albeit begrudgingly. It takes Jared a few seconds to notice his newfound freedom, but the moment he does, he’s scurrying out of the house. Good. 

You’re back in Caleb’s sight, now. But as he takes in your shy smile, the faint melody of your laughter filling his keen ears, he doesn’t feel the comfort he normally would. 

Instead, he feels his dog tag. 

Your precious gift to him. A symbol of how you needed him, of your anticipation that he’d always be in your life. Of his hope that one day, you’d return his feelings. 

He recalls the once comfortable weight, the way his body heat would flow into the cool metal, linking it to him in a warm embrace. 

The chain now burns against his throat.

Jared had been brash.

Crude, crass, and certainly cocky, thinking he was deserving of you. 

So as Caleb watches you chat among a mixed group of guests, swirling his full cup in agitation, he decides he doesn’t care about the delivery. It’s the content that troubles him. 

Because Jared, in his drunken state, had managed to hit a nerve Caleb had tried to sever five months ago. 

Are you sure you want this? he’d asked you shakily. Want it from me? With me?

And in clear confirmation, you’d claimed his first kiss.

But even still, the thoughts lingered at the back of his brain. That he was tainting you, taking advantage of you, stealing your life away. 

He knows Jared isn’t worth the scum beneath his shoe, but those unsavory thoughts made his own worries resurface. 

And as fickle as his mind was, he’d only ever known to trust it. 

So when Caleb sees you beam at another man’s compliment, glowing like you’d been sent from heaven itself, he feels like maybe he’d been right.

For the rest of the night, Caleb dreaded the drive home. Luckily, you’d slept for most of the way back. 

But as he parks outside your building, gently rousing you from your sleep, the feeling returns in full force. 

“Good morning,” you giggle, stretching drowsily. “Sorry I fell asleep on you—I can’t remember the last time I talked that much. Did you have fun?” 

“Something like that,” he says, popping the driver’s door open. “You?”

“I did, I think,” you start, opening your own side and sliding out of his car. “I really did. It was a little rough at first, but it got better. What about you? Anybody try to stab your brains out? Since you’re undead and all.” 

He chuckles dryly. “Not exactly.”

As you trudge toward your apartment, Caleb trails behind you. You’re so dazed, you almost don’t notice it. But you miss the familiar warmth of his left hand.

Your tired fingers quiver as you fail to unlock your door, and with a gentle nudge, Caleb slides the key in for you. 

Mumbling a “thank you,” you step through the doorway, making space for him to follow. When he doesn’t, you turn to face him, frowning lightly in confusion. Gleaming in the moonlight, the metal threshold separates your feet: yours on the inside, his on the outside. 

“I’ve been called back to Skyhaven. It’s nothing too serious, but I’ll have to cut this visit short. Don’t worry about me.”

The words pierce your chest like a dagger, but his cold delivery twists the knife.

“Oh,” you breathe, not knowing what to do or where to look or how to hide your disappointment. “I didn’t know they had any way of contacting you. Your communicator’s still in my nightstand, you know,” you quip lamely. “But I guess four days has to be enough this time. I’m lucky to have gotten that.”

Smiling weakly, you lean in to kiss him. But with his sudden reservation, the moment is more chaste than you’d intended. 

As he starts to turn away, you instinctively grab his hand. “Are you…is everything okay? You’re being weird,” you whisper, eyes searching him in concern. 

“No I’m not,” he retorts, forcing life back into his voice. The weight of his hand ruffling your hair feels wrong, somehow, and his airy tone is a contrast to the darkness in his gaze. “Get some rest, pip-squeak.”

Caleb never thought the jewelry box you’d left at his place would come in handy. 

He had no use for it—the only piece he truly needed to preserve stayed looped around his neck at all times. 

But as he stares at the silver chain hung carefully on a hook, its ruby-crested apple dangling in the evening sunlight, he silently thanks you for your forgetfulness. 

It’s been two days since he returned to Skyhaven, but the events of that night remain fresh wounds in a fragile mind. 

I can’t believe you did that to her.

I can’t believe you did that to her.

To you. Not with.

As if his love was an assault. 

All his life, Caleb had tried to show you only the good sides of him. To tamper down his intensities so you’d eat from his palm. You were a skittish thing, failed one too many times by an inadequate world. So he’d approached you gently, practicing docility until it became second nature. To keep his eager hands from defiling you. 

He’d molded himself into whoever you needed him to be, never admitting what he wanted to be to you. All so you would tolerate him, want to keep him around for his services, if nothing else. Because as much as he claimed to protect you, your safety was his anchor. If you were loved, warm, and unharmed—if he kept you that way—then every consequence was worth it. 

He’d learned to live like a chameleon, his temperament matching your mood. And as much as a forgotten part of him yearned for identity, it was a role he’d settled into playing—until his weakened back had snapped under the pressure. 

When you’d confessed that you felt the same—that you loved him in more ways than the one you should—he’d deluded himself into thinking those years of restraint were over. That he could stop watching over you and start walking with you. That you would fall from propriety hand in hand. 

He’d never thought himself naive. Always launched himself ahead of the curve so that would never be an option for him. Naive was something someone with his responsibility couldn’t afford to be. 

But now, as his lifeline swings back and forth on its new perch, jingling with what could only be mockery, the feeling swallows Caleb whole. 

It would’ve killed him to see you with someone else. He’d had nightmares about it every month, save for the last five, ever since he was a teenager. But even if you chose to live with someone else by your side…at least he would have gotten to see you do it. To watch you be happy, carefree, without you wondering if it was your right to be. Without the guilt of robbing your life from you, tainting your purity with his sin.

He knew you were wary. You’d gotten better about it—at hiding it, at least—but he could still feel the panicked clench of your hand in his when someone looked at you too long. You were trying, for him, just as he tried for you. But if trying meant the unfiltered scrutiny that Jared had spewed could one day reach you, it wasn’t worth it, he decided. 

You deserved more than the headache he’d give you. 

***

The days drag on. 

Caleb’s vacation ends as little more than purgatory, and when he dons his Colonel uniform once more, the Fleet’s affairs feel his presence now more than ever. 

He’s sharper now, meaner. Mistakes that would usually earn a light slap on the wrist now end in termination. Figurative or literal, the recruits aren’t sure. 

He knows he’s spiraling. He hears the whispers: “The Colonel’s finally lost it” met with “As if he ever had it.” But rebuke from any voice but yours doesn’t reach him. 

During flights, he plays his missions a little less safe, making rash decisions sure to end in incident, eventually. He justifies it, in his head, by thinking that maybe an injury would inflict upon him the suffering he deserves. 

He’s been drifting, lately. Through the hallways, through the streets, through space. 

But aimless as he is, Caleb can’t bring himself to desert you completely. Those 15 years of gentle servitude had become so ingrained in him, he thinks a total cutoff would only make him more reckless. So he pacifies you with brief, polite answers, sharing none of his usual charm and emoticons. This flighty, diluted version of himself was all that he could offer. 

But each day, when Caleb stumbles back into the necessary solitude of his house, wheezing with overexertion, he heads straight to the hidden room where you’d discovered his bionic arm. Where, under dark wooden panels, a row of monitors hide. 

Their feeds are clear as they’ve always been. Your cubicle, your route home, your front door, your kitchen. Your bedroom. 

And until he succumbs to exhaustion, Caleb watches you. 

Watches you sift through reports, eyes open but unseeing. 

Watches you stumble on the way home, your foot catching on a stray root that he would’ve spotted in time. 

Watches you crumble, after a while, and curl up on the side of your bed where he always slept. 

Watches until the rhythmic rocks of your crying body lull you to sleep in place of his heartbeat.

As the clock strikes midnight, you complete your count to 23.

It’s been 23 days since you’d received anything more than a one-word response from Caleb. 

At first, you’d given him grace—thought he just wasn’t feeling well. He was always one to withdraw from you when sick, locking himself away for a while before emerging like nothing happened. 

But even then, he was never this curt with you. He always reassured you that he was okay.

Days passed, and the mysterious illness theory flew out the window. As you fired off another concerned text, all but pleading for him to say something, you wondered if he was mad at you—but what could you have done? Not to mention that when he was mad at you, it usually ended with him apologizing, somehow. It’s always Caleb’s fault, huh? he’d cooed at you, rubbing your back tenderly. I’m sorry, baby. 

Something was just…wrong. Terribly, scarily wrong. And whatever it was, you had to figure it out alone.

With a frustrated growl, you snatch your phone up from its place on your nightstand and scroll to your latest messages, hoping he’s decided to take you out of time-out. 

you: hi. i know you’re probably sick of me asking, but can you call when you get a chance? haven’t heard your voice in a while.

>:( : later.

Nothing. He was giving you absolutely nothing.

You want to scream. Want to hunt him down, grab him by the collar, and thrash him around for being so difficult. But as your gaze flits to the photo on your desk—a silly selfie you’d taken on your first official date—your heart constricts from how badly miss him. 

You miss him so desperately that the pain in your chest is worse than when he left for college. At least you’d known he would come back to you, then.  

As hot tears well in your eyes—far from the first time—you remember the words he’d written to you once, never intending for you to read them: “Any man who makes you cry isn't worth your time,” you repeat, snorting softly at the irony.

But unluckily for him, Caleb wasn't any man.

Any man wouldn't braid your hair from childhood to now, never teaching you to do it yourself because he wasn’t willing to give up doing it. Any man wouldn't skip the senior trip he’d saved hundreds for just to nurse you through a stomach bug. Any man wouldn't dedicate half his life to making sure yours was painless. 

So no, Caleb wasn’t any man. He was smart, skilled, and devoted. He was reliable, doting, and selfishly self-sacrificing. He was the reason you’d grown up so well, always wanting to make him proud. And he was yours.

Tugging harshly at the roots of your hair—a habit he’d always tried to break—you pace around your bedroom like a frenzied animal.

You were going to go to him, that much was obvious. To ambush him and make him explain what you’d done for him to discard you like this. To apologize, if he’d hear it. 

But how, if he wouldn’t give you the time of day? The man lived in a giant sky fortress, for God’s sake. And with his neverending suspicions, it wasn’t like he trusted any other members of the Fleet enough to give you their contact informati—

Except, you interrupt yourself, freezing mid-step. He did.

Liam.

Caleb’s faithful adjutant, the one you’d spoken to—or spoken at, while he looked at you unnervingly—just a handful of times.

Sometimes, bad ideas are the only ones available.

Retrieving your phone from where it lies face down on your rumpled blanket, you scroll and scroll to the bottom of your contact list, where Liam’s name stares back at you forebodingly. 

Steeling yourself with a shaky nod, you press call and wait with bated breath. He answers on the second ring. 

“Miss, may I ask why you’re calling? Are you in any trouble?” his deep, dispassionate voice, devoid of any true concern, rings out.

You swallow thickly before trusting your voice enough to sound as anything more than a pitiful squeak. “I-I have Caleb’s communicator,” you maneuver skillfully despite your nerves. “He left it at my apartment. Can you take me to him? So I can give it back.”

“You’d be better off turning it in to one of our administrators. The Colonel is very busy right now and—”

“Take me to him, please,” you repeat stubbornly, raised voice echoing off ivory drywall. 

“Miss, I'm only allowed to speak with you if you’re in immediate danger. I'm under strict orders not to facilitate any interaction with the Colonel.”

He’s going to hang up soon, you panic. And then your only chance is gone. 

A flare of anger heats your skin as you realize you don’t have an appointment to see your own boyfriend. The one who can pester you and break your boundaries with a barely apologetic smile, but shuts you out the second you try to do the same.

Channeling your tears from earlier—they still line your eyes, after all—you sniffle into the speaker. Desperate times… 

“What do you think will happen when I tell him you made me cry? You won’t be under any orders anymore,” you bait him quietly, relying on the fragile hope that Caleb was still as fiercely protective of you as he’d been before. 

The pregnant pause on the other line tells you you’d succeeded. “I…” he clears his throat. “Please arrive at the Skyhaven airport at your earliest convenience. I'll be there to take you to the Colonel.”

When Liam’s aircraft lands on the familiar floating island, you rush out with a muttered “thanks” and jam your thumb onto the sensor.

But as the doors slide open and you stomp inside, the silence you’re met with tells you Caleb isn’t home. 

Sighing heavily, you survey your surroundings: the spotless kitchen, barren like it hadn’t been used in weeks; the dust collecting on his most-used surfaces; the tray on the coffee table, missing its usual array of apples. Had he been eating? Had he been coming here at all?

Your worries carry you through the other rooms, but none hold the answers to your questions. 

And as you step into his bedroom, the place you were most likely to find a clue, you wish you hadn’t. 

Because there, hanging tauntingly on a familiar looking jewelry box, is Caleb’s dog tag. The chain he never went without. 

The ache in your chest becomes a gaping void. 

Blood rushes to your ears and makes them ring so loudly that you can’t hear the despondent noise you make. On unsteady feet, you lurch farther into the room and lower your trembling body onto the mattress. 

As you stare at the mahogany jewelry box, looming mockingly on the dresser, you think the walls spin around you. 

In all the years you’d known Caleb, he had never been one to just give up—so what about you was so condemnable that it finally made him?

He wasn’t here to answer. 

So you take the chain for what it is: resignation. Eviction. 

It feels like you shouldn’t be here anymore. Like you’re an intruder in a sacred space. Like maybe you shouldn’t have even made it in, but he just hadn’t had the time to axe your thumbprint from the system yet. 

You need to leave. That much is clear. But here, stranded in the sky, you don’t exactly have a getaway plan. 

Without the leverage of Caleb’s love, you doubt Liam would take too kindly to being threatened again, just hours after the first time. 

As fruitless minutes tick by, it’s clear that waiting is your only option. But as you curl up in the center of the bed, chest heaving with labored breaths, you no longer anticipate Caleb’s return. 

When your eyes blink open in the dead of night, you know he’s there before you see him.

The air in the room feels different. Heavy and charged, like just before a thunderstorm. 

Anything could happen when you face him. But he’s deprived you of so much lately, that at least something would. 

Shoving the thought to the front of your mind for motivation, you raise your head to find him in the darkness of the room, lit only by a lone streetlight. 

And the sight of him makes your stomach drop.

Caleb, uniform torn and tattered, slumps against the wall closest to the bed, eyes closed and head lowered. 

A smear of blood paints his cheek, and as you zero in on it, you notice the eyebags so dark they look like bruises. Like he hasn’t slept in days. 

But even with his eyes closed, you should know by now that you don’t have the time to ogle him.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispers hoarsely. 

“Where else would I go?” 

And those violet irises find yours. 

“Do you regret it? That you have nowhere else to go?” he asks softly, bloodshot gaze searching your huddled form. Checking, like he always did. 

No is your immediate answer. But you figure you should ask him first. That way, when you say it, he might actually believe you. “What?”

“Do you regret what I’ve done to you?” he elaborates, voice dropping near the end. 

The explanation doesn’t help. “What have you done to me, Caleb?”

He winces at the phrasing, though he knows it’s not an accusation. 

Cocking his head cynically, he lets a hollow chuckle escape. “I shouldn’t have pushed you to go to that party. Guess that’s what I get for trying.” 

“What are you talking about?” you probe, shifting to the edge of the bed. “What’s wrong with you?” 

“What’s wrong with me,” he mimics, “is that I’m trying to stay away from you. For your own sake.” 

“You weren’t there to see it. Hung up in another room, or outside, or something. It was the only time I lost sight of you,” he recalls bitterly. “And this guy started mouthin’ off about how fucked it was for us to be together. Said I was sick for the things I must’ve done to you.” 

A sliver of understanding eases the tension in your muscles. But you need to hear it from him. “And you believed him?” you ask, eyeing him warily. 

“It wasn't him who I had to believe. I already knew. Have known, for a while now, no matter how much I tried to pretend I didn’t. The way I thought my hands deserved to touch you—it’s a sin, isn’t it? One you shouldn’t have to carry. That’s why I left—so you could live a life unburdened by me.” 

At his words, an all too familiar irritation stirs within you. Alongside sadness that he’d thought it best to feel this way alone. 

Pushing forcefully off the bed, you kneel between his knees, gripping his bloodied face between your hands. “Who said you had permission to leave?” you ask lowly, and you hear his voice in yours. 

“I asked you what happened that night,” you continue. “More than once. And I'd have listened if you told me. Would’ve been there to tell you that none of it mattered. But you said it was nothing—another way to protect me, I guess. And then you left me on my doorstep, wondering how I’d hurt you.” 

Caleb’s mouth drops slightly, but you don’t let him interrupt. “When you said you would try, you overlooked one thing. Part of trying is considering how I feel. Like when I saw your necklace—how do you think I felt? I thought…you didn’t want me anymore. That you’d decided I was too big a burden for you,” you breathe, and when your voice breaks at the end, Caleb covers your hands with his.

“If your sin involves me, you don’t get to live through it alone. You pulled away from me without wondering if I wanted to be complicit. If I wanted to share it with you. You don’t get to make me a victim without asking if I feel like one. And I never have.”

He freezes at that, gazing up at you imploringly. When he finds what he’s looking for, he turns his head slightly, lips brushing your wrist in a hesitant kiss. “I know—” he swallows. “I know you feel ashamed sometimes. Of being with me, now, when I was who I was to you. Even if you don’t want to be, when we go out together, I can feel it.”

“You’re right,” you nod simply, and he fails to stifle a choked gasp. “But I don’t let it change anything.”

Now, it’s Caleb’s turn to ask. “What do you mean?”

“Remember Marley?” you start softly, stroking his tousled hair. “Girl I used to play dolls with when you were too busy? She asked about us, too. And I told her the truth: we’re together, and we’re happy, and our story is ours. It’s not just your choice, Caleb. I’m with you because I want the same. I always have.” 

And as much as you know he wants to believe it, to accept it and move on, things were never that simple with him. 

“You don’t understand,” he murmurs shakily, returning your hands to your lap as if they’ve burned him. “I can't…I've only ever wanted to keep you safe. No matter who I had to be to you. And when you let me have you—how I want to, how I’d wanted to…I wasn’t strong enough to turn you away. I’m not strong enough to do what’s best for you,” he whispers with glistening eyes.

Slowly, gently, you reach out to him a second time. To splay a hand on his exposed chest, to get him used to the feeling of your touch again. 

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” you murmur, stroking your thumb against him. “Because I think you’re very strong.” 

“I thought you were strong when you saved me from those bullies in middle school. Still remember the black eyes you gave them. When I saw that…I thought you were a hero. And I wanted to be just like you.” Pausing, you lean down to kiss his collarbone, and though he shudders, you take his pleading gaze as a sign to continue. 

“I thought you were strong when Gran got really sick, and you had to do everything. Cooking, cleaning, taking me to school. And you did it with a smile.” Giving him one of your own, you cradle his flushed face in your hands, stroking his darkening cheeks tenderly. Violet eyes watch you with disbelief—a reflection of six months ago, when you’d entrusted your first kiss to him. 

“And when you kissed me back that first time? When I felt how much you wanted to, how you kept it bottled up inside you for so long—I thought you were so strong,” you whisper, mouth hovering over his. “You’ve always been strong, Caleb. It’s why I love you so much.”

In time with his sharp inhale, you press your lips to his. But as large hands flex against your sides, he doesn’t respond to your touch. 

So you press harder, deeper, as if your kiss will awaken what’s dormant within him: his molten, unabashed need for you. The need that holds purity in its paradox, even if he doesn’t know it yet.

And when you circle your hand around his throat, where his necklace once collared him in your name, Caleb kisses you back. 

It’s an exploratory kiss, but a passionate one. As if your reacquainted lips are making up for lost time. 

You guide him with the steady suction of your lips, and when you tug at his frayed lapel, Caleb takes the lead. 

His tongue surges into your mouth, reclaiming what he’d missed, and you moan at the welcome intrusion. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, backing away slightly. “Sometimes I just wonder…if you’d be better off without me.” 

“I wouldn't,” you soothe, pulling him in for a reassuring peck. “You’re a part of me. I want you wherever I am, whichever version of you will have me.”

“All of them,” he mumbles against you. “And then some.”

And as you slip his hand under your shirt, there’s no reluctance in his tender grasp. Like he belongs there. 

Soft strokes on your bare shoulder wake you as the sun rises. 

“I missed seein’ you like this,” murmurs the voice you’d missed just as much. 

“And whose fault is that?” you chide, cutting your eyes to glare up at him playfully. 

“Mine,” he concedes instantly. “All mine.”

“Mhm. Speaking of,” you begin, stepping out of bed gingerly. “If you’re going to be my Caleb, there’s one more thing you need to do. Close your eyes,” you instruct. 

And Caleb complies—something that’s come easy the past six months. 

The room is silent for a moment, with only the distant sounds of jet planes piercing the air. 

Then, a soft clink. 

And as the mattress dips with your return to him, Caleb lifts his head instinctively. And the cool surface of metal slips around his neck. 

As Caleb spares you a glance from the passenger’s seat, the apple charm on his dog tag glints in the sunlight. 

Row after row of familiar houses comes into view, but you seem calm, this time. Unburdened. 

With some compliments and exaggerated enthusiasm, Sarah had been more than happy to host another party. And you’d been more than patient as you’d encouraged Caleb to attend. 

He’d been cautious, at first, for obvious reasons. But you didn’t dare push. 

So as the date loomed closer, he’d decided to try. 

And when you cross the threshold hand in hand to a sea of curious faces, the tension he expects to compress his pulsing heart never comes.

Instead, something kinder blossoms: pure, weightless pride.

[seumyo]

pregnancy cravings with kageyama tobio.

You have always been the love of Tobio Kageyama’s life. It’s an undeniable fact, one he never says out loud but proves in everything he does. That includes waking up at three in the morning because you, his pregnant wife, are convinced you need to take a walk around the park at that exact time.

“Do you need fresh air?” he asks, voice thick with sleep as he throws on a hoodie.

“No,” you reply, swinging your legs off the bed. “I just think the moon looks nice today.”

Kageyama has, at one point, genuinely considered the possibility that you might be talking to the dead. The way you suddenly wake up, sit up, and make these impossible requests—it’s like you’re getting instructions from something he can’t see.

But he doesn’t complain. If you want to go moon-gazing, then you will.

Because that’s what a doting husband does.

The cravings are manageable at first.

You wanted a very specific fast food meal from when you were a kid? Fine. He’ll look it up, track down if the restaurant still exists, and, if it doesn’t, find someone who can replicate it. He doesn’t care how long it takes. If it makes you happy, then it’s worth it.

What’s the point of building a network of connections through volleyball and sponsors if he wasn’t going to use them to his advantage?

But then, things escalate.

-

You, wrapped up in a blanket on the couch, looking at him with wide, expectant eyes. “I need something.”

Kageyama is already moving to grab his car keys. “What is it?”

You hesitate, then mumble, “A photocard.”

He stops mid-step.

“A what?”

“A photocard.” You turn your phone screen to him, showing a picture of him and Hoshiumi, that one from spring of last year during a promotional beach photoshoot.

“This one. I want it. I haven’t even seen this yet until now.”

He squints. “How does that satisfy your appetite?”

You huff. “It’s not about eating; it’s about fulfilling my craving! I just need it, Tobio. I need it now. Please.”

Well, the magic words are said.

This is probably the most bizarre request he’s gotten so far. But he sighs, pulls out his phone, and calls his manager.

“Yo, Kageyama. What’s up?”

“I need a photocard.”

There’s a long pause.

“...A what?”

Kageyama pinches the bridge of his nose. “A photocard. Of me and Hoshiumi-san. The one from spring of last year—the beach one. Can you find it?”

His manager sounds amused. “What, are you collecting your own merch now?”

“It’s for my wife.”

Understanding dawns in an instant. It’s like a universal language for all spouses that aren’t the one who’s pregnant.

“Ohhh. Pregnancy cravings?”

“Yes.”

A laugh.

“Yeah, alright. I’ll see what I can do. But, uh, you might wanna brace yourself, man. My wife went through the same thing, and it only gets weirder from here.”

And his manager is absolutely right.

-

There’s that time you woke up at midnight and shook Kageyama awake, eyes wide and desperate.

“Tobio.”

He jolts upright, a bit disoriented. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I need you to find me a volleyball signed by Oikawa.”

“[Name].”

“I need it.”

“Can’t I get it in the morning, then? I don’t even think Oikawa-san’s awake at this hour.”

You sigh as you cuddle closer to him, letting him lean back against the bed. “Ok,” you answer, “but it has to be a specific color of pen. I want it green.”

He stares at the ceiling. This is some kind of divine punishment. Maybe he was an awful person in his past life. But still, he does it.

Because he loves you. Because you’re carrying his child.

And because, somehow, despite all these absurd requests, you always looked at him like he’s your whole world.

“To [Name]—Congrats on the baby! Clearly, you have a better eye for talent than your husband does! Much love, Oikawa Tooru ♡”

You squeal when you sees it. “Oh my god, I love him.”

Your husband blinked profusely.

“Huh.”

“Oh, of course, I love you the most. You’re my top one.”

“I better be,” he huffs softly as you kiss his cheek, “or the other men you love can grant your cravings instead of me.”

“Tobio!” You laughed.

-

March 14 – 3:12 AM

Demanded I make her an ice cream sundae.

In complete silence.

She said, and I quote, “If you make a single sound, I won’t eat it.”

I dropped the spoon on the counter. She made me start over.

March 17 - 4:12 PM

Wants a mango.

But only if it’s been peeled and sliced by me.

Also needs me to stare at it for a full ten seconds before she eats it. (?)

-

“Oh my god,” you gasp, turning to him immediately. “Tobio.”

His heart jumps, looking up from his laptop. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I need you to wear your jersey to bed.”

Kageyama stares at you. “...What?”

“I don’t know, it just—” You clutched your heart like you’re about to faint. “I just need to see you in your full uniform while we sleep. Knee pads, too.”

Kageyama swallows a groan. He loves his wife, but sometimes you make his life unnecessarily difficult.

Still, that night, he lies in bed next to you in his full volleyball uniform. You sigh contentedly and cuddle into him. “This is so nice.”

Well, at least he already showered before getting on the bed. He’ll be ready to go as soon as he wakes up and has breakfast.

Kageyama, stiff as a board, stares at the ceiling and wonders if this is what true love feels like.

It is.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

⋆⭒˚.⋆ Self-On Kode with Mark ⋆⭒˚.⋆

idol!Mark x f!idol!reader

summary: you and you boyfriend Mark are paired up for an interview, but do you even know you're texting each other? No.

(cw: f!reader, idol!reader)

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Mark got comfortable in the plush, pink chair of the Kode set with a shy smile, "Ah hello, I'm Mark from NCT." He pushes his earbuds into his ears and begins playing his music, "today I'll be known as Cheetah. Um, I couldn't really think of anything else and the fans already call me a cheetah so it was easy to think of."

On the opposite side of the wall, you settle into your own chair while smiling at the camera while introducing yourself, "I was so confused when I was asked to pick a wild cat as my screen name. It was such an oddly specific category, and even weirder when you told me cheetah was already taken. Anyway, I chose Tiger because they're the next prettiest."

Your music begins to play through your earbuds as your phone vibrates from the first message from your partner. "Yo?" you read in confusion, staring at your screen with pure confusion, "is that it? This is a man isn't it? Girls don't talk like this."

On the other side of the wall Mark laughs softly, covering his mouth as he reads the message. "This person is so happy. I've never seen anyone write hi with this many i's."

You and Mark text back and forth for a while, sharing your hobbies and sending memes back and forth until the both of your are giggling madly on your respective sides of the set. Of course, after nearly 2 years together you'd know how to make each other laugh, even without knowing you're texting each other. Your partner still doesn't give you any identifying traits or hints as to who they are. Well, besides clearly being a man based on how he texts.

Following the instruction of the staff, you send a screenshot of your home screen. You pout, feeling slightly bad for your partner. Just two days ago you'd gotten a new phone and hadn't yet had the time to make it yours. It was stuck with the boring default background and a handful of apps you considered to be essential. You explain as much with the text accompanying the screenshot.

And Mark's screenshot? Well, it might as well be just as boring as yours. He has the blur set on the photo so all you see is an indistinct mess of colors. Two distinct blobs which could be the shape of two people or two flowers or two guitars or two cats.

"Wow," you say as you typed out the word, "we are two very boring people. You really don't want me to know who you are."

Mark laughs out brightly while he reads your text, "me? You haven't even changed your own yet!"

"I told you I just got a new phone and haven't had time yet!" You laugh to yourself while typing out your message.

Your joking back and forth gets the two of you off track while you playfully poke fun at each other back and forth until the staff ask you both who you think you're texting. Mark looks at the camera while he tries to think, "I have no clue. It's a girl, surely but it could be anyone. Do you pick random people off the street to do these videos?"

On the other side of the wall, you blush softly, covering your face while your face cools down, "is it weird if I say it's my boyfriend? He just seems so much like Mark."

It's one of the few times you've ever referred to Mark as your boyfriend for any sort media. You and Mark had technically been a public couple for about a year now, since your respective companies had come out with their statements to reveal your relationship. How you'd been able to conceal a year of your relationship was beyond the both of you. Well, a lot of dark, oversized clothes and hats and masks to conceal your faces.

After the company statements, you and Mark seemed to be even better at hiding. You barely glanced at each other at award shows, and if you did, it was only friendly, nothing that could be interpreted as anything else. There were very few glimpses into your relationship beyond birthday and anniversary posts with obscured faces and sharing each other's most recent comebacks on your stories. Privacy was something you both valued and of course you were more than ok with doing any type of promotion with Mark, it just never worked out that way. Until now (not that you knew). Plus, it wasn't like this interview would give anyone any important details of your relationship anyway.

When the staff prompt you both to share a screenshot of your most recently listened to songs, you stare at your screen with a look of blank surprise, "this is just a mix of Drake and Justin Bieber. It's Mark, it has to be."

You zoom in on the picture, mumbling about how you see more music that is so distinctly Mark while on the other side Mark looks at the screenshot you send excitedly. "She's a fan! Of me! Wow, she's listened to Child and Golden Hour and 200! Ok, I have to chill out a bit," he tells himself even as he types out his message telling you that you have good music taste.

You snort at his message just as the staff laugh at the exchange at the same time. The head producer instructs you both to find your baby pictures to send to the other.

You look up from your phone, looking at the camera and the staff, "surely, you'd think a couple who have been together for this long have seen pictures of each other when they were kids, right?" The staff nods in response before you speak again, "well, we haven't! I've only seen what has been posted online. Same for him!"

Mark sends you a picture of him as a baby where he's a few months old and you coo immediately. You zoom in as close as you can drawing your phone closer to you face as you star adoringly at the baby on your screen. "He's the cutest little thing I've ever seen! I've never seen a cuter baby in my life! Oh, I just want to squeeze his cheeks and cuddle him," you gush over the adorable picture of the chubby baby boy with an adoring look on your face.

Mark looks at his phone, the camera, the staff, his phone again, the camera again with a look of pure and utter confusion as he looks at what he can only assume is a child covered in frosting. "You can barely tell this is a human, how is this supposed to help me figure out who I've been texting?" Mark asks, zooming in on the picture while the staff bursts out in laughter. When he finds out who he's talking to...

So when he staff ask for a final guess as to who you've been texting you say Mark's name confidently while Mark ultimately utters out, "Maybe someone from a girl group... maybe it's Yeri."

When the staff ask you both to stand and get ready to face each other to reveal yourselves. Instead of walking toward Mark, you find yourself behind the set so you're behind Mark.

Mark walks forward slowly, waiting to see when he'll spot his interview partner, but when he sees an empty spot, he faces the camera and the staff with a quizzical smile, "was I talking to a ghost?"

They laugh softly and murmur amongst themselves while you finally reach forward and tap his shoulder softly. Mark jumps, completely scared by the touch. He turns to you with his eyes wide with surprise, "you?!"

"Yes, me!"

After you're both seated at the high top table and calmed down from the surprise meeting with on another, you're both ready to talk to each other in front of the camera once again. You smile softly at your boyfriend, "I knew it was you."

Mark scoffs, "how?"

"Yo," you repeat the word from his first message with a poor imitation of his voice, "all the Drake, all the Bieber-- oh my gosh, Mark! Your baby picture!"

Mark laughs, taking your hand in his out of view of the camera, "speaking of baby pictures, what did you send me?"

Your brows furrow softly at his question, "I sent you a picture of me as a baby."

"There's no way that was you. You look like a little cake monster."

"It was from my first birthday..." you pout at Mark.

"Don't get pouty with me, you were completely covered, how could I have known? I can pout too! My face used to be your homescreen and now it's the plain default screen," Mark tells you with a playful pointed look.

"Mark," you deadpan, "you were with me when I got my new phone."

"Oh yeah..." Mark blushes with embarrassment.

"Anyway, who did you think I was?"

Mark squeezes your hand nervously beneath the table, his thumb rubbing at your knuckles a little anxiously, "I had no clue, to be honest. I knew you were a girl but I didn't know it was you."

When the staff ask Mark how he didn't know but you did, all he can do is blush and laugh out a nervous response. You turn to him with a playful accusatory look of your own, "yeah, how come you didn't know?"

"I don't really pay attention to how you text, just what we text about..."

You and the staff coo as you pinch his cheeks and cup his face lovingly, "you're so cute, but you were cuter as a baby."

"My mom says the same thing," Mark rolls his eyes.

Your conversation winds down and you both pose for the selfie at the end. You both pull silly faces, cheeks pressed together and eyes scrunched shut with your tongues sticking out.

Despite the stupid picture you both took, the screen fades to black with a completely different picture of you and Mark laughing while looking at each other with hearts in your eyes and bright smiles on your faces.

[kurooh]

WORLD CLASS SINNER ★ JUJUTSU KAISEN

⊹₊˚. featuring gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, fushiguro toji, & kamo choso fucking you nasty.

warnings. 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, car sex, creampies, overstimulation, crying, spanking, slight public sex, mirror sex, spit, hair pulling, freaky shit, motorcycle sex, riding (multiple things), filming, squirting, cunnilingus. | 4.7K words

xoxo, juno. happy belated birthday to satoru <3

GOJO SATORU.

“for the record, i love you,” satoru pecks a kiss to your cheek and his lips smack, “it is december 7th and ‘m getting my gift early.”

“it is not early!” you protest, snatching the phone from him and wiggling over to the side so you can mount it on the tall dresser. the camera app is open, overlooking the bed and ready to record satoru’s birthday celebration this year. bits of dry frosting color the corners of his lips, serving as the evidence of the cake you made him yourself.

“uh, no need to move so much,” satoru exhales coolly, hands finding purchase on your hips, “you said we’d take it slow, didn’t ya?”

“that was then,” you purr, voice low and sultry, “and this is now. unless . . you actually want me to?”

he shakes his head immediately, cheeks flushing a rosy pink while he pouts his lips. satoru sneaks a glance downwards, diamond eyes feeling a little wet at the sight — you’re sitting on his cock, with your cunt squeezing just above the creamy ring at his base.

“i thought so, ‘toru,” you giggle, blowing a kiss in the direction of the camera. it’ll surely add to the excitement when he’s watching this by himself some time along — after all, nothing else can get him off. your hands splay out on his chest, nails grazing his skin lightly.

“anyway, i’ve just been thinking . . and you’ve been such a good boy this year. i ought to spoil you for your birthday, hm?”

“what did you just call me?” satoru sputters, biting back a laugh although his voice trembles. “did you just say—”

the words die on his tongue immediately. your expression twists into one of pure bliss as you start to rock your hips into him, setting up a decent pace that has you crying out in delight. of course, he has no choice but to join you, his head tipping back while his eyes trace your features. god, you feel good — so tight, so hot, and oh so perfect. but sex feels even better because he’s pleasing you; seeing you falling apart on his cock all because of him will always get him going.

“shit, baby,” satoru gasps, groaning loudly when your fingers tangle in his snowy hair, “faster, please.”

you nod frantically, lifting yourself up and slamming back down on his cock so hard it’s like you’re being split open in the best way possible. out of habit, your fingers wander to your clit, and he pushes them away the moment he sees.

“no, don’t,” he replaces your fingers with his own and lets his free hand settle at the small of your back for support, “let me do it, babe.”

“toru,” you whimper as he flicks the sensitive bud around, “y-you always make me feel so good.”

“‘course i do, sweetheart,” he grunts, starting to jerk his hips upward. each deep thrust pushes his cock into places only he can touch, and your mouth falls open, face crumbling. “here, jus’ arch your back a little—yeah, you got it.”

satoru’s voice wavers as he tells you what to do, setting up a new position and angle for him to fuck into you at. beads of sweat roll down his temples while his chest heaves in exertion, the best kind — he’s never truly gotten tired when he’s fucking you. not only does he have the stamina of a wild stallion, but really, how could he get tired when you’re looking like an angel above him, crying out his name in a voice that’s a harmony if he’s ever heard one.

“so fuckin’ beautiful,” satoru grits out, eyes regretfully squeezing shut for a moment, “god, you’re gonna make me cum if you keep squeezin’ like that.”

curses and sobs of euphoria fall from your lips. as the seconds pass, you’re only getting more intoxicated by the heat between you. misty tears make your eyes shine, and arousal pools deep in your stomach, growing more pronounced with each shove of his cock into your sweet spot. your legs are trembling on either side of him, and your tummy’s slightly more rounded than usual—satoru’s cock is in your guts.

he feels you start to tense up, notices a few stray tears falling down your cheeks. this is it. “l-look at me, baby,” satoru pleads, as if he’ll die without it, “look at me when you cum.”

it’s perfect — you look directly into his eyes, and the camera captures your orgasm perfectly. your cunt flutters and spasms around his cock, and you’re shaking so hard you fall on top of him, flinching away from his insistent fingers. it takes everything he has to hold the urge to cum back, but he manages to pull it off, not even spilling a drop.

“toru,” you mumble into his chest, shivering as he strokes away the sweat on your back, “why didnt you—?”

“savin’ it,” he breathes, teeth sinking into his lower lip in an attempt to try and ignore the way your walls are flexing around him. “hmph. as the birthday boy, i expect you to blow another candle for me.”

your head lifts immediately and you shoot him a glare, eyes narrowed in faux annoyance. “you did not just say that.”

“careful, careful,” he hisses, hands flying to your hips, “don’t wanna accidentally cum right now.”

“right, but you’ll never push me off,” you challenge him, playfully wiggling against his pelvis.

“that is not fair!” satoru whines, looking ridiculous with the dried blue frosting at the corners of his lips. “don’t torture me, pleaseee.”

GETO SUGURU.

“keep your eyes open, sweetheart.”

“‘m sorry, sugu, i just—”

his hand comes down hard against your ass, and the crack of the slap reverberates through the room. you shudder, blearily opening your eyes and looking into the mirror.

behind you, suguru’s flipping a bit of his dark hair over his shoulder and out of the way while holding onto your waist to keep you steady. you can see how pathetic you look in your reflection — drool freely slips from your mouth and you look completely dazed, all sweaty and tired while hearts spin in your eyes.

“hm, that’s more like it. want you to watch yourself, honey.”

you nod, eyes tracing the edges of your thighs and ridges of his abs in the reflection. suguru’s got you on your hands and knees, making you look fucked out and fucked up.

“s-sugu, i wanna touch my clit—it’s not enough.”

he raises a dark brow, eyes narrowing as you slip a hand between your thighs and find your clit with your fingers. now, he settles his hands at your hips, lifting you up slightly to pound into you at a new angle.

“alright. only if you don’t fall over, sweetheart.”

what a bastard. of course he has to set you up with an impossible condition like that — the new placement of his hands is the first sign of your literal downfall. suguru closely observes your reflection in the mirror before his own: you’re covered in bite marks and hickeys, with a sheen of sweat all over your body, which makes your skin look sticky. your tits swing, building momentum each time he slams into you.

beneath the sound of ass clapping, suguru can hear your pathetic, fucked out cries—this is the result of too many orgasms and being an annoying brat to him all day. his blood boils with both frustration and arousal when he recalls a particular memory, so he reaches forward, gathering your hair into one hand before pulling you backwards. messing around with your hair is something that holds a special place in his heart; he loves it whenever you touch his hair in any way, and the same goes for yours.

“takin’ it like such a slut,” suguru croons, his dark tresses falling into his face, “but i really can’t hear you that well. thought i made myself clear when i said i want the whole apartment building to hear how well i fuck you.”

“y-yeah, you did,” you gasp, back arching beautifully, “sugu, need you to touch my clit.”

he smiles wickedly. instead of allowing yourself to fall forward, you’ve decided to give up and steady yourself at the expense of rubbing your clit. suguru almost wants to give you a reward for that.

“not right now, honey,” he revels in the frustrated sob you let out, watching in the mirror as your face crumbles in some kind of distress. so dramatic, he thinks after mentally laughing. as if he’d leave you unsatisfied — how many times have you cum so far? “someone’s fucking greedy, hm? tell you what, sweetheart. cum without your clit ‘n i’ll eat your pussy up right after.”

it’s a good enough deal, and it only seems more enticing when he sticks his tongue out in the mirror, showing off the silver ball in the middle of it. his tongue piercing, and your favorite part of him eating you out.

“o-okay,” you agree tearfully, and he tugs you back by the hair so you’re facing him.

“tell me, tell the neighbors, who’s fucking you this good? answer me, honey.”

“you, suguru!” you moan loudly, feeling a surprising pressure building in your lower stomach, “i-it’s you, ‘s always you!”

suguru nods, letting go of your hair and slipping his hand beneath your chin rather gently. then he lifts your head and tips it back. “open that pretty mouth for me.”

you oblige immediately, going so far as to stick your tongue out for him. he spits right onto your tongue, and it tastes a little minty because of his chapstick and tea when you swallow. the gesture is an erotic expression of dominance and possession, and it’s one that has your cunt quivering around his cock. he lets you go, making eye contact with you through the mirror.

“oh, i feel you squeezing me,” he grunts, smacking your ass and groaning when your cunt automatically bears down harder. “looks like i’ll be devouring that sweet pussy of yours, honey.”

“hah, i need it,” mascara tracks darken your cheeks as fresh tears roll down, “t-think ‘m gonna cum, jus’ like you asked.”

“such a good girl for me,” he praises, egging you on by pressing his palm into your lower stomach, “my girl listens so well, doesn’t she? cum for me.”

the creaking of the bed grows louder as he pounds his cock into you harder, forcing a mixture of slick and cum to pour out from your used hole in glossy strings that stick to your thighs. he’s breathing heavily behind you, pressing into your tummy just right, and oh.

oh, you’re about to make a fucking mess.

a pitched sob tears from your throat when you cum on his cock, pussy gushing all over him and onto the bedsheets. sparkling droplets of cum race down your thighs and your entire body shakes on his cock, gripping him so tightly that neither of you can move.

“s-sugu, ‘m tired,” you gasp, stars flashing across your vision. “feeling kinda . . lightheaded.”

“you’ve gotta rest, sweetheart,” suguru laughs, and it rumbles out from the depths of his chest. he leans so far backwards his back cracks, and then he hands you an open bottle of water.

“what—what’s the record now?”

“ten in an hour,” he strokes your back with loving fingers, curling up beside you even though you’re upside down on the bed together. “let’s try to break it again in a couple hours.”

“how about tomorrow?” you suggest with a yawn.

“okay, okay. tomorrow night, my balls are shriveling up right now.”

“ew, sugu.” your nose crinkles and you scoot an inch away, too exhausted to move further.

“oh, stop it. it’s your fault anyways.”

NANAMI KENTO.

“kento—kennn,” you whine breathlessly, glossy lips parting to release a useless warning. “y-you’re gonna make me cum again, shit!”

“let me feel it, sweetheart,” kento croons, pressing his thumb particularly hard into your clit. the additional pressure has your head spinning too fast for you to even come up with a coherent thought as you orgasm with a drawn out whine on his cock for the nth time tonight. “that—that’s my good girl.”

beneath your bodies, the polished oak desk creaks dangerously, sounding far too tired for something that’s worth thousands. but kento doesn’t give one damn — he’d been stuck working overtime because of his shitty boss, who’d left him cooped up in his office, expecting his orders to be followed. the ultimatum was simple: do a ton of work or get fired.

kento had been so caught up he didn’t get the chance to call you, and the stress he’d been feeling began to ebb away once you stepped through his door with a bag of food from his favorite restaurant. one thing led to another, and soon enough the food had been abandoned somewhere and you ended up on the desk.

papers lazily drift off the desk’s surface while others are inevitably dampened by a mixture of wetness and spit, which leaks from your puffy cunt in thick trails down your skin. again and again, kento’s cock pushes even deeper, the blunt tip of it kissing your cervix rather roughly. meanwhile, his fingers toy with your swollen clit, drawing unrestrained cries from your lips while tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

“ken, ‘s too much, i don’t think i can—”

“of course you can take more, angel,” kento huffs, firmly planting his hand beside your head for extra stability. the platinum of his watch glints in the light and his heavy breaths grow more ragged by the second, his chest heaving. sweaty strands of blond hair escape the gel’s hold, sticking to his slick forehead and making him look all the more ethereal above you. “i-i’m nowhere near finished with you.”

“oh god,” you whimper in realization, feeling that hot wave cresting in your tummy; it’s amplified by the rough rhythm of his cock and the attention he’s so generously lavishing your clit with. “g-god, ‘s coming . . ken, i think i’m gonna—”

a deep groan rushes out from him, all the way from the pits of his chest. hazel eyes squint as he watches your pussy push his cock out; it quivers momentarily before spraying cum all over his pelvis, and the sparkling droplets drip through his pubes, toward the shaft of his cock.

“did you just squirt, sweetheart?” kento asks curiously, heat rising to his cheeks and elsewhere.

“i think so,” you swallow nervously, too weak to sit up and look at the mess you’ve made all over him. “ken, i want you to cum inside me. stop holding it back.”

to be fair, this is probably the last time he’ll get the pleasure of fucking you on such an expensive desk. this despicable office he’s spent countless hours in is finally growing on him now that he’s got you in here like this — stripped naked and begging for his cum while making a mess of the shit all over his desk. and oh, he wishes he could see his boss’ face when he comes in demanding all of the finished work, only to be met with a sticky desk. the vision ignites an inferno in him and he guides his cock inside you, biting down on his lower lip when your greedy cunt swallows him.

“beg a little more for it, angel,” he chokes out, spreading your legs impossibly wider while drawing his hips back, leaving only the tip of his cock inside you. “need to know just how you want it.”

you gasp sharply, back arching off the desk and causing your tits to press into his clothed, sweaty chest. “i want you to fuck me like you mean it. t-then, fill me up. please.”

you can’t even say another word before kento’s holding your hips down and plowing into you with a sudden ferocity. if he’s lucky, he can get you to squirt again and maybe this time he can get a taste—yes, this is the thought he wants to cum to.

he shudders, “i love it—ugh, fuck—when you tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

“give it to me,” you cry out, eyes fluttering shut while your legs wrap tightly around his waist, drawing him closer. “h-haven’t i earned it, ken?”

kento comes undone at your words, teeth clenching with a loud grunt as he finally spills inside you. your squeezing walls milk him for everything he has, absorbing each throb of his cock into their sticky softness. his mouth hangs open breathlessly, and he weakly pushes his hips forward before carefully landing on top of you.

wood splinters and snaps beneath you, and you both tumble to the floor atop a heap of the desk’s remains. “kento, what just happened—”

“it’s fine, honey. let’s rest for a moment before we leave.”

“you aren’t gonna clean it up? what about when you have to come in tomorrow?”

kento nuzzles his nose into your cheek with a blissful sigh. “thank you for making my last day at this job special. i’ll be quitting and moving to the other firm closer to the house.”

FUSHIGURO TOJI.

“this is what ya wanted?” with a coy chuckle, toji flattens his tongue against your slit and licks a long, languid stripe upwards. he easily finds your clit, and swirls the sensitive bud around with the tip of his tongue.

“yeah, but not the teasing—” a breathy gasp pushes past your lips when he pushes two slick fingers inside you.

“heh heh. you’ll survive a little teasin’, dollface.”

he’s so flippant with his words, so nonchalant. but his fingers are anything but lazy or uncaring as he bullies them deeper into your cunt, curling them right against that sweet spongy spot inside you. with one leg over his shoulder and the other hanging off the edge of the backseat, you’re fully spread and at his mercy.

“come onnn, toji,” he rolls his eyes when he hears you whine, tonguing at the glossy slick that covers his fingers and the skin around your hole.

“you come on, princess. just wait a second, ‘kay?”

“but i’ve been waiting,” you huff, lower lip trembling in frustration as your fingers push through the dark tufts of his hair. you can’t help but breathe a little heavier, the building anticipation becoming suffocating in the small space of the car. “all night. since we left to go hang out with shiu.”

“don’t tell me that’s why you’ve been so handsy, doll. hmph, i had to pull over so ya wouldn’t make me crash the car.”

“i wasn’t even doing—”

“that much?” toji finishes your sentence for you, the corners of his lips quirking upwards when you look at him desperately. “weren’t ya trying to get in my pants while i was going sixty?”

before you can respond, toji interrupts your train of thought by spitting right onto your clit. the glossy glob trails down his fingers and becomes extra lube for him — he wraps his lips around your clit and starts to sporadically curl his fingers. heat sears its way across your face and your back arches off the backseat, eyes briefly scanning around to make sure the road’s still empty.

it’s dark out and difficult to tell, but what does it matter? there’s no need to focus on spotting other cars, you reason.

“ah, fuck!” the expletive leaves your lips in the form of a startled mewl, a delicious reaction to toji lightly nibbling at your clit with his teeth. the gesture is playful but it drives you wild and makes your head spin, thoughts turning into mush. “toji, that—that feels really good . . ”

impatient as ever, you push his head down, forcing his face into your pussy in a greedy attempt to get more.

“ah ah,” he snaps upwards, pulling free from your grip and moving on top of you easily. you’re nose to nose and he’s speaking directly over your lips, sharing your breath. “i get to eat this pussy my way. she’s all mine, don’t forget that.”

“f-fine,” you cede with a pout, which he kisses away, feeling proud of himself.

“be a good girl ‘n maybe you can ride my face. how’s that sound, doll?”

“it sounds good,” you squeeze your eyes shut when he finally returns to his old position between your thighs, two fingers stuffing your cunt while his tongue laps at your clit as though it’s the best ice cream ever. the temperature in the car seems to spike; your body’s growing hotter and hotter with each lick or curl of his fingers.

“greedy pussy wants some more, hm?”

“h-huh?” you ask dumbly, a little zoned out.

but toji doesn’t repeat himself. instead he shows you what he said by pushing a third finger into your already crowded hole, smirking in satisfaction when you suck him in despite your verbal protests of it being ‘too much’. toji’s big, every part of him, and you always take him even though you complain — what can he say?

“a-ah, so fuckin’ full,” you slur your words, rocking your hips into his fingers to make the stretch burn a little less. “tojiii, go slow.”

“again, girl,” he huffs, rolling his eyes dramatically, “don’t tell me what to do. ‘n you’ll be just fine, this pussy was made for me.”

there’s no point in arguing, so you just let your head lazily lean back against the door. you were supposed to look around for cars, especially police cars, and you’ve given up entirely, deciding to blame your inability to search on the foggy windows.

toji scissors his fingers in and out of you mercilessly, sucking your clit roughly and groaning to express his enjoyment. the wet squelches of your cunt make your cheeks burn hot; it’s just so filthy that you don’t even know how to react. on either side of his head, your thighs tremble, squeezing around him every now and then.

“mmm, you’re so fuckin’ sweet,” he smacks his lips loudly and devours your pussy in between each word, “shouldn’t have made you wait so goddamn long, dollface.”

“i told you,” is all you can utter, hips twisting wildly into his face, “jus’ like that, keep sucking my clit—fuck, yes. ‘m so close, gonna make me cum.”

“aw, i’m gonna make you cum?” he teases you, mocking your tone in a way that has shockwaves of excitement and anger shooting straight through your body. you can’t even find it in yourself to answer, and a sudden flash of red and blue has your eyes squeezing tightly shut.

“‘m cumming, ‘m c-cumming, toji!”

instead of using his tongue on your clit, toji decides to sit back and watch your cunt spasm. to prolong your orgasm and overstimulate you, he slaps your clit a few times, chuckling each time you jerk or nearly scream happily.

“hmph, ya ougtta taste yourself,” toji pulls his fingers out of you and shoves them into your mouth, feeling his cock swell in his pants as your tongue cleans his skin. it’s even better when you moan as you do so, thoroughly enjoying the taste of your cum. “how’s that, baby? if ya can sit up without any help, i’ll let you ride my face.”

a sharp knock on the window startles you, and the bright light of an officer’s flashlight shines in through the foggy glass. without wiping his face, toji reaches into the front seat and turns on the car, then rolls down the window. the light illuminates the glossy cum all over the lower half of his face, and yet he smiles widely.

“good evenin’, officer. what can i do for ya?”

KAMO CHOSO.

“keep it s-steady, baby,” despite his words, choso’s voice shakes, slightly muffled by his helmet. “gentle on the throttle—nghhh, fuck.”

one of his gloved hands is firmly holding onto your hip, gripping hard each time your cunt squeezes around his cock. the sky is now a dark curtain of nighttime, darkness speckled with stars above. in front of you, car lights flash occasionally out on the road. street signs are caught in the bright columns of the motorcycle’s headlights, greens and yellows glinting in the white glow.

you bounce your ass back on choso’s lap, nibbling at your lower lip and allowing a whimper to slip past your teeth. his cock is buried inside you, nestled deep in your hot, sticky walls and extremely sensitive. he lightly strokes his free fingers against your clit, but not too often that it’ll be a distraction—after all, you’re driving a motorcycle.

“there’s a light up ahead,” choso points out, heatwaves crashing over him despite the cool breeze.

“i see it, cho.”

the motorcycle slows as you apply the brake, and you smoothly stop at the light. instead of remaining bent forward, you sit back onto his lap, taking in the last few inches of his cock. choso startles beneath you with a gasping moan and rolls your clit between his fingers.

“cho,” you whimper breathlessly, leaning your head into his shoulder, “gimme a kiss.”

“okay,” he whispers, leaning in slowly. the helmets clash together, but he manages to peck his lips to yours in a chaste kiss. you whine when the light turns green, sitting forward to take off again. this time, your face burns as you steady your feet, and the position allows you to bounce back on his cock with newer efficiency.

“shit,” choso gasps, bucking his hips upwards to match your rhythm, “i—hah, you’re gonna make me cum, baby.”

it’s dangerous in so many ways, but you look over your shoulder at him and he sees the heat in your eyes. it’s almost like you’re daring him to bust a nut inside you while you drive his motorcycle—god, that’s exactly what you’re doing. normally, choso doesn’t enjoy playing truth or dare, but he’ll make an exception for his girl.

with one hand on your hip, he tugs you down onto his cock and jerks himself upwards to make it a little easier for you. tears prick at the corners of your eyes like they always do whenever you take his cock — he’s stretching you out and filling you up so perfectly that it’s impossible not to become overwhelmed.

“faster, baby—t-there’s nobody on the road, you can put s’more gas into it.”

so you do, watching the needle in the speedometer increase as the motorcycle gains speed. choso moans loudly, his face flushing dark red beneath his helmet while his eyes flutter shut for a moment. “g-gonna cum, baby, tell me i can, tell me i can—”

each word grows more urgent, and his voice begins to splinter and break as he begs you for permission. his fingers carelessly toy with your clit, thumb rubbing quick circles around the bud and enticing you to cum with him. you feel dizzy, seeing stars flash across your vision each time you bounce down on his cock, not to mention the additional stimulation on your clit. something hot burns in your stomach and seems to rush throughout every limb in a way that has your body and mind going numb momentarily.

“cum in me, choso,” you sob desperately, gripping the handlebars frantically, “cum with me, cum with—oh, fuck.”

your mouth falls open in shock as you have the most explosive orgasm you’ve ever had with him; your cunt flutters around his cock, drawing him deeper as if it’s the last time you’ll be together.

choso starts to babble thoughtlessly, praises and gasps falling from his lips like the words of a prayer. “yeah, ‘m cumming—ngh, i l-love you, god you’re jus’ so perfect.”

he finally spills inside you, spraying white hot cum so deep it’ll take hours to drip out. the motorcycle wavers, lurching forward toward the next set of lights. beneath the helmets, you’re both panting, coming down from your highs and trying to focus even though you’re feeling a euphoric numbness spread through your body. when his thumb nudges your clit, you jerk as though you’ve been electrocuted, whining from the sensitivity.

“are you okay?” he asks lowly, voice ragged while his hand massages at your side.

“y-yeah, i’m okay. i just—i need to do that again.”

choso laughs, causing you to do so as well. “maybe in a few more minutes. how ‘bout we change up the position so you’re on your back? if we do, i’ll be able to see that pretty face.”

[xinganhao]

cherry on top 🍒 mafia boss!seungcheol x reader. (3)

being in a situationship is already pretty hard. being in a situationship with a petty mafia boss who has never dated before? much, much harder. previous chapter + masterlist.

💰 Expense report filed by mafia financial officer, Lee Seokmin

SUBJECT: Personal Expenditures – S.Coups re: Civilian Target

CATEGORY: GIFTS / SURPRISES

Custom Silk Scarf (Monogrammed with "S.C.") – $1,350.00 └ Ordered from Paris boutique. Civilian target wore it once, commented: "It's soft, but why is his name on it?"

Limited Edition Vinyl Record (Frank Ocean – Blonde) – $880.00 └ Gifted after argument #7. Civilian target was seen smiling while playing track 14.

Midnight Ice Cream Delivery – From Rome, Italy – $4,700.00 (incl. private courier) └ Civilian target said: "You could've just gotten Häagen-Dazs." Boss replied: "This has basil. It’s romantic."

CATEGORY: DAMAGE CONTROL / APOLOGIES

Floral Arrangements (x12) from 12 Different Florists – $2,160.00 └ Delivered over 48 hours post-miscommunication re: "flirting waiter" incident. One bouquet was left untouched in the hallway. The rest were used as Instagram story props.

Therapist Retainer (Anonymous Booking, Civilian Target) – $3,000.00 └ Civilian target has not claimed these sessions. Boss insists it's "just in case she realizes she needs help processing me."

Reimbursement for Civilian Target’s Broken Mug (accidentally knocked over during jealous argument) – $25.00 └ Mug was shaped like a cat. Boss replaced it with an expensive glass tumbler. Civilian target was not amused.

CATEGORY: SMALL & QUESTIONABLE EXPENSES

Custom Engraved Bullet Pendant ("So You Think I’m Scary, Huh?") – $300.00 └ Intended as ironic gift. Civilian target laughed, wore it once to annoy him. Boss framed photo.

Spotify Premium (Family Plan – Only One Member) – $15.99/mo └ Boss created 17hr playlist titled "if i die it’s her fault but i’d still thank her." Civilian target unknowingly listens to it often.

Gluten-Free Baking Class (Online, Gifted to Civilian Target’s Aunt) – $220.00 └ She mentioned her aunt wanted it. He took notes. Civilian target unaware of mafia-funded culinary education in progress.

Donation to Shelter Where Civilian Target Volunteers – $5,000.00 └ Made anonymously. Boss requested they name a puppy after her. They did. Civilian target unsure why a rottweiler named "Beloved" exists.

CATEGORY: UNAUTHORIZED PERSONAL SPENDING

Rental of Entire Rooftop Restaurant for "Casual Talk" – $12,000.00 └ Civilian target refused to show up. Ate ramen alone at home. Boss sat through three-course meal with two phones: one for business, one specifically for her texts and calls.

Suit Tailoring (New Lapels for Better Hug Experience) – $900.00 └ Boss: "She said my suits were stiff. I made them hug-friendly."

Jet Fuel Surcharge – Roundtrip to Seoul, 3 hours total visit – $15,700.00 └ Purpose: "To see her smile."

TOTAL EXPENSES TO DATE: $49,250.99

RECOMMENDATION/S: Immediate financial intervention or a mandatory sit-down with Boss regarding boundaries, budgets, and basic human dating behavior.

👂 Surveillance transcript filed by mafia soldier, Chwe Hansol

DATE RANGE: ███████████-███████████ LOCATION: Civilian Target's Apartment, Unit 13S BUG #7: Living Room Lamp (Active)

TRANSCRIPT 001 – 23:43 HRS

S.COUPS: Why is there a toothbrush that’s not mine in your bathroom? YOU: Because I live here. And sometimes people visit me. It’s called having a life. S.COUPS: Who visits you? Give me names. Socials. Blood types. YOU: You are so exhausting. [SOUND: Footsteps. Fridge opens.] S.COUPS: Don’t change the subject. That toothbrush has a blue handle. Blue is a masculine color. YOU: Oh my god, are you jealous of a toothbrush now? [SOUND: Prolonged silence. Soft muttering.] S.COUPS: ...It’s suspiciously ergonomic.

TRANSCRIPT 004 – 07:12 HRS

YOU: Why are you folding my laundry? S.COUPS: Because you do it wrong. YOU: What does that even mean? S.COUPS: You mix textures. Cotton with wool. It’s chaos. This is what chaos feels like. YOU: You literally blow up cars for a living. S.COUPS: Yeah, but strategically.

TRANSCRIPT 008 – 14:09 HRS

YOU: Why is there a bag of gummy bears on my pillow? S.COUPS: You said you liked them. YOU: Once. In passing. S.COUPS: I take notes. On everything. You also like your coffee with oat milk and you talk in your sleep about octopus documentaries. YOU: That’s creepy. S.COUPS: It’s called “caring.” YOU: It’s called surveillance. [SOUND: Muffled laughing, presumably from YOU.]

TRANSCRIPT 015 – 00:03 HRS

YOU: Did you pick a fight with your own underboss because he liked one of my photos? S.COUPS: He put a heart and a fire emoji. That’s a double reaction. It’s aggressive. YOU: You are so—so emotionally constipated. S.COUPS: You say that like it’s a bad thing. YOU: It is a bad thing! [SOUND: Struggle noises, unclear. Presumed YOU threw a pillow at S.COUPS and he retaliated by tackling YOU on to the couch.] NOTE: Possible physical altercation turns to intimacy. Redacted for discretion.

TRANSCRIPT 017 – 01:26 HRS

YOU: Stop staring at me. S.COUPS: I’m memorizing your face. Don’t make this harder than it is. [SILENCE FOR 13 SECONDS.] YOU: ...Why is there a tiny blinking light in my lamp? S.COUPS: Oh no. YOU: Did you seriously bug my apartment?! S.COUPS: Okay, first of all, you’re being very judgmental right now. YOU: Because you’re a lunatic. S.COUPS: I'll give you one guess as to whose fault is that. YOU: Take the damn bug out of my lamp, you psycho! NOTE: S.COUPS neglected to turn bug off. Argument ensued; redacted for discretion. Intimacy ensued. Also redacted.

END OF AVAILABLE TRANSCRIPT. ADDT'L NOTE: REQUESTING TO BE MOVED OUT OF SURVEILLANCE DIVISON ASAP.

📓 Therapy session notes filed by Dr. Boo Seungkwan, licensed psychiatrist affiliated with ████████ Syndicate

SESSION: 3rd of prescribed 10-week cycle

INITIAL OBSERVATIONS: Patient arrived precisely on time, wearing a tailored black suit, slightly wrinkled as though he'd been pacing before arrival. Hair unkempt, hands clenched for most of the session. Eyes noticeably tired. Declined water. Brought a half-eaten bag of gummy bears, claiming "They calm me down. She likes them too."

Presented with guarded posture, alternating between overconfidence and sudden emotional vulnerability. Exhibits hallmark signs of high-functioning control dependence, paired with emotional suppression and limited interpersonal processing tools.

SESSION THEMES

1. Obsession with Control: Patient admits to bugging the civilian target’s apartment ("It was for her safety") and maintaining a detailed log of her daily habits. Claims these measures are a form of care. When asked what he fears would happen without this control, he replied, "She might stop needing me."

Expressed frustration when civilian target expressed autonomy: "She does things without telling me. Like she has a life or something." Tone was sarcastic but undercut with genuine confusion.

2. Difficulty Processing Emotions

Patient struggles to name his emotions beyond anger and protectiveness. When prompted to describe how he feels when civilian target smiles at him, he paused for 47 seconds before muttering: "Like I'm about to combust, but in a good way?"

Displays discomfort with perceived emotional weakness. Used humor and territorial possessiveness to deflect.

Quote: "She called me emotionally constipated. That's unfair. I feel things. I just don't show them. I'm not a chihuahua in a sweater." (Analogy unclear.)

3. Devotion to Civilian Target

His attachment is intense and deeply internalized. He referenced at least eight specific events he organized to make her life easier, ranging from "tailoring suit lapels for better hugs" to "funding her aunt’s gluten-free hobby."

Refers to her as "the only thing that makes me think twice before pulling a trigger."

Appears to be undergoing identity shift: from feared mafia boss to a man attempting—often poorly—to be emotionally available. Indicates willingness to grow, albeit via unconventional and often unhinged methods.

Notable Quote: "I don't know what being a boyfriend means. But if it means checking all her windows are locked and ordering her ice cream from Italy when she's sad, then I'm already trying."

TREATMENT PLAN

Begin cognitive restructuring around concepts of emotional intimacy vs. surveillance.

Introduce grounding techniques for obsessive behaviors.

Assign weekly "emotional vocabulary" journaling.

Strongly recommend cessation of all illegal tracking devices.

PROGNOSIS: Patient displays exceptional loyalty, obsessive commitment, and a deep desire to improve for the sake of the civilian target. Progress will be slow, as foundational emotional processing tools are underdeveloped. However, signs of potential are present.

Patient left session saying, "Don't tell her I cried. But also, maybe do. I don't know. What would make her like me more?" Then insisted that I forward these notes to her, threatening to cease sessions otherwise. Will have to consult with mafia leadership.

DIAGNOSIS: High-functioning attachment disorder with control dependency and romantic maladjustment. Currently treating with compassion, sarcasm, and an iron will.

NEXT SESSION SCHEDULED: ████████

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[art]

Creator Spotlight: @themetalhiro

Hi, I’m Metal! I’m a freelance artist from good ol’ New Jersey. My favorite things to work with are a lot of bright colors, exaggerated poses, and candid scenarios. I try to farm sensible chuckles whenever I can, so I’m also big into comics. I love making them about my life, and the media I’m into, and one day I’d like to publish my own series!  Thank you to everyone who has gotten me this far!!

Check out Metal's interview below!

Did you originally have a background in art? If not, how did you start?

I guess so! It’s funny, I don’t remember a single time in my life that I wasn’t drawing as a hobby… somewhere in middle school (a little late, I know.) I put the pieces together that animated movies were made by artists, and that it wasn’t just for fun, they were paid to do it. The moment I discovered people could be paid to make art, I decided I would do that, too. Now I’m here!

How has your style developed over the years?

I think the best way to answer this would be with an example! Over the last few years, I have made more of an effort to draw more intentionally, which sounds silly. Now, I put more thought into my poses and step out of my comfort zone with shape language and composition. I had a phase where I drew everyone with a huge, perfectly circular head and no nose. That definitely did not lend much variety...

Which 3 famous artists (dead or alive) would you invite to your dinner party?

Ack! I’m so terrible at history! I’d love to give a well-thought-out answer about fine artists of old, but I don't think we’d have much in common… Most artists I admire and who have driven me forward creatively are the people behind comics I’ve read. Andrew Hussie, Bryan Lee O’Malley, Eiichiro Oda... these guys have inspired me greatly and had a heavy influence in developing my art style and sense of humor. I’d love to ask them questions about their processes and upcoming projects. I think it would make for an entertaining night!

Over the years as an artist, what were your biggest inspirations behind your creativity?

Outside of pure aesthetics like searing bright colors, layered clothing, and loud noises…. the best and most inspiring moments in my life were those surrounded by friends and loved ones! I cherish the hell out of memories of hanging around in fun locations, trying weird food together, and impromptu midnight walks... so I try my best to capture that atmosphere and my own memories in my work when I can, even if I’m imposing fictional characters on top of them. That’s always the core of it.

What is a medium that you have always been intrigued by but would never use yourself?

I would never permanently refuse a medium, but every time I pick up clay, I’m like a baby using its hands for the first time. Absolutely dreadful. If one day I could make and paint a figurine like the ones I admire in videos, that would be awesome... But for now, I’m not counting on it.

How do you want to evolve as a creator?

I’ve had an absolute blast drawing fanart over the years, and it’s certainly played a massive role in my growth as an artist. But my dream has always been to publish my own stories for y'all to enjoy! I have lots of worlds I want to introduce to you before I’m old and gray. I want to get faster, work harder, and get better at drawing interesting settings so I can get the wheels turning as soon as possible. I also want to stop avoiding the color blue like a coward.

What do you wish you knew when you first started out creating art that you know now?

Pay your taxes quarterly. Tablets will break at the exact moment you need them most, so have a spare. Wear your blue light glasses. You’re going to need to wear a brace on every joint on the right side of your body. It can be lonely sitting at your desk all day. The car on the side of the road that costs $1000 cash….. don’t trust it!!!

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

@cranity—They use absolutely beautiful colors and weighty line work. Everything looks so sharp and clean! I wanna put it all up on my wall!

@vewn—Their ability to crank out quality short films and illustrations packed with detail is incredible. The off-kilter perspective they use really sells disorientation and catches your attention like nothing else.

@nelnal—They have absolutely banger character designs again and again, I can’t believe one person’s mind can come up with so many creative ideas!

@jinx88kc—They have a beautiful and recognizable style, and the way they incorporate animation into their illustrations sometimes is SO cool!

Thanks for stopping by, Metal! For more of Metal’s work, follow their Tumblr, @themetalhiro! If you haven't seen their Meet the Artist piece, be sure to check it out here!

[httpuckdrop]

surprise! – ws2

in which will comes back from a road trip to the best surprise ever.

pairing: will smith x reader

genre: fluff, established relationship!au

word count: 1.5k

warnings: hmm suggestive mentions

author's note: aaaa will will will !!!! sped-wrote this on the subway to school today lmao. will will will <3 do well tomorrow pls <3<3(i will love you either way)<3<3 (oh and the tattoo pic is just for the location! couldnt find a pic for what i was looking for but i think you get it!!)

will has never been the biggest fan of surprises.

instantly, when he hears even the word "surprise", a lump forms in his stomach. he's far too used to bad pranks and letdowns; plus, if it's actually a positive one, he has a habit of feeling like he doesn't quite deserve the surprise he's given. in conclusion, he usually gently declines when offered a surprise.

however, the second his eyelids flutter open this morning, he sees the sweetest surprise he's ever gotten. it's you, laid in his bed, with your head on his pillows.

you weren't there when he went to sleep about seven hours ago.

will has just been away for a longer road trip, and the team was supposed to arrive back home yesterday evening – but their plane got delayed, and he couldn't get back to his apartment until well past midnight. he had to reschedule the welcome home-dinner to 24 hours later, and you'd told him that you had a busy day in uni and couldn't see him until then. needless to say, he had not expected to see you here and now.

there's no better view to wake up to, will thinks every time he finds you in his bed. your tousled hair on the pillow, your slightly parted lips, your rosy cheeks… you're something surreal, like a goddess sent from above, a true blessing to his life. he's never been so thankful for anything in his life.

his instincts take over and he can't hold back from reaching forward with his hand, letting the palm of his hand smooth over your cheek and jaw, before ending up at the back of your head, fingers tangled in your locks. he knows you're still fast asleep and he doesn't want to wake you – you've been working so hard recently that every hour is important – but he really can't stop himself from pulling your head closer, meeting you halfway and pressing a featherlight kiss to your forehead. as much as he regrets his actions when your eyes begin to open, he's also thankful because when those sweet pearls look into his eyes, a jolt of excitement shoots up his spine.

"will?" you ask softly, blinking as you regain consciousness.

he chuckles at this. "you're the one who came into my bed when i had no idea," he says with a grin. "i'm the one supposed to be confused here."

a giggle flies from your lips and your eyes flutter shut again. "touché." you lean forward a little, letting your face nuzzle into the skin of his neck. "but you've been gone so long… i barely even remember what you look like."

"guess we have to refresh your cute little brain, hm?" you feel his adam's apple bob when he speaks, and it makes you sigh from content.

he's actually here. he's back. back in your arms, in your eyesight, in your life.

life tends to get so bleak without him. or, maybe it's better to twist it the other way: everything gets so colorful with him. the gray skies, that boring bowl of yogurt for breakfast, the routine errands. with will, it's all so much more bearable. every day is full of excitement, warmth, love.

he reaches for your sides, big hands wrapping over your curves under his old boston college-shirt you're wearing. when you finally retrieve your face from his skin, he instantly captures your lips in a slow and lazy kiss. you brush a hand through his hair, feeling the softness of his strands between your digits, and oh how badly you've missed this. his curls, his lips, his skin. the tender touch of his fingers as they trail higher and higher, the little sounds of pleasure he's unable to hold back, the taste of his lips, his natural scent combined with the lemony detergent he uses on his bedding. it all takes over your senses; everything you can think, feel and breathe is him.

you push him onto his back, climbing on top of him and straddling his hips, though not once separating your lips from his. the kiss is soft and unhurried; his lips move against yours with a tenderness that makes your heart race. it starts out as a sweet, slow kiss but quickly becomes more heated and passionate the longer it goes on. you can already feel his excitement poke up at you from below, and you can't help but grind down ever so softly against him. he grunts against your mouth, his hands on your hips suddenly gripping a little tighter and helping you repeat the action as he deepens the kiss. his tongue finds its way into your mouth, meeting yours and you can swear you feel lightning pass through your body.

it takes everything you have to pull away. he chases your lips when you do, but your hands on his shoulders pin him back down against the mattress. "i have a surprise for you," you breathe out.

usually, those words trigger a certain type of emotion in him – but that's not the case when they fall from your lips.

will has come to learn that when you're the one who has a surprise for him, it's always good. well, everything that has anything to do with you is good, he thinks; but when it comes to you, he has a different type of trust. the words even bring a smile to his lips this time. "you being here is enough of a surprise," he says, though he doesn't mind the way you sit back. his eyes follow your every little movement carefully, eyes widening when you reach for the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head, leaving you in just a white, lacy bra. it's not a new one – will has seen it plenty of times before – but it still has his heart racing. "well, i can't say i hate this type of surprise…"

you scoff at him and consider flipping him before you decide against it. instead, you let your hands wander to your back, unhooking the clasp and letting your bra slide down your arms and off your body.

will's breath hitches in his throat, and he finds himself wishing that time could pass by slower. he could spend all day just staring at your tits and not get bored for one second. his hands travel up from your hips, unable to think about anything other than feeling the softness of your skin, the bump of your nipples under the pads of his thumbs, the weight and roundness against his palms. unfortunately, you swat his hands away, sighing. "you can't be patient for just a second, huh?" you complain.

will just shrugs, hands wrapping around your waist again as he watches you throw the bra onto the floor. "you're just too-" he cuts himself off when you turn your upper body slightly, arms reaching over your head to give him a proper view of his surprise. "what the fuck…"

again, he can't hold back from touching you, but you don't stop him this time. his eyes have zoned in on the upper part of your ribs, right on the side of your breasts, where he sees it.

a little tattoo. #2.

he can't pull his reverent gaze from it, thumb brushing over the ink softly. it's easy to tell that about a million questions are swirling inside his little brain, but he settles for just a few. "a-are you kidding? how- you-" he stutters, looking like a toddler who's just seen a unicorn for the first time, and you're amazed that you could get this much of a reaction from just a little ink. "when did you get this done? how is it healed already? does this hurt?"

you giggle. "it's a little sore, but it doesn't hurt," you tell him. "you've been gone so long that i had plenty of time to get it done and let it heal. been dying to tell you about it- almost sent you pictures a week ago."

"good thing you didn't," he says, eyes flickering up to yours for just a moment before looking back down again. "i would've been an awful teammate. locked up in my room all the time… thinking about you even on the ice…"

he pulls you up a little so that you're seated on his stomach instead, just so he can tilt his neck up to press a kiss to the tattoo. a sigh leaves your lips and your eyes flutter closed.

"this is so fucking hot, you know that, right?" his lips brush against your skin again, very gentle since he's still a little scared of causing you pain, but he just can't stay away. "you're going to drive me crazy. i'm not sure if you'll ever be allowed to leave this bed."

"sounds fair to me."

[rainrot4me]

Rain’s Kinktober 2024 - 01

Jeff the Killer x Female Reader - In the Shower/Anal

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Anal, showering together, clitoral fingering, teasing, persuasion, mentions of blood, desperation

Words: 2.6k

Tag: #rainykinktober2024

A/N: Happy first day of October! The best time of the year is upon us!!!!!

“What the fuck happened to you?”

Jeff was snickering, your disgusted gawk making the smile on his face widen.

“Dude fought back. Got a little messy.”

He laughed again, pushing his matted hair from his face. The killer was completely covered in blood, horrendous streaks and splatters of the deep red color soaking his face and clothes, his white hoodie completely ruined.

You cringed as he grabbed the hem of his hoodie, bringing it up to wipe his face and smearing the already staining blots deeper into the cloth.

Better yet, it was dripping everywhere.

“I cannot believe you brought that in here, Jeffrey.”

Rubbing his hands on his jeans, he gleamed at you, finding so much humor in your well off revulsion. It didn’t matter that he had just gotten back from a very late mission, or that you were so annoyed you didn’t know what to think.

Then when you saw Jeff’s signature ‘I’ve got a good idea’ smirk, and you were immediately shaking your head.

“No. Jeff, no.”

But his arms were already outstretched and reaching for you, your feet immediately shuffling back on the hardwood as he laughed loud enough to alert everyone in the mansion.

“C’mon, I just wanna hug my girlfriend! I’ve had such a long day.”

It was the shit-eating grin that finally made you spin around to take off, pushing yourself into a sprint as you anxiously dodged through the corridors.

“Jeffrey!”

Your nervous giggles and yells as Jeff chased you through the mansion only egged him on, his wicked laughter sending your heart thumping as you felt him hot on your heels. You sprinted through doors, scampering around furniture as he easily cut through them all.

You thought you were smart when you swerved around the kitchen counter, standing opposite of him and moving left or right whichever direction he decided to edge. You smiled, thinking you had outsmarted him.

You sometimes forget that he’s a seasoned murderer.

Gripping onto the counter, Jeff’s jumping and clearing the space, pushing his body right towards yours as you brace yourself.

“Ahh, gotcha.”

You cringe as Jeff presses his cheek against yours, arms laced tightly around your back and soaking the blood from his clothes onto yours, soiling you both. You were panting, both of you nearly exhausted.

Despite the nastiness, the smell was worse. Your hands push at his shoulders, trying to shove him away as he nuzzles his face closer against yours.

When you’ve finally had enough, you force him away, his hands reaching to find a comfortable space on your hips as you examine the damage. You’re covered…

“Shower. Right now.”

That playful smile Jeff has sported this whole time drops, his eyes rolling as you take his hand in yours and begin to drag him up the grand stairs. He groans, lazily following as you tug him down the hallway to your bedroom. You’ll have to mop up the droplets of blood he’s left along the way later.

Nudging him in, you flip the bathroom light on and rip the curtain back to turn on the faucet. Jeff is already tugging his hoodie over his head, the revolting ‘plop’ as it hits the bathroom tiles is enough to make you gag.

He watches expectantly as he kicks his boots off, reaching to yank his belt out from the loops as you begin to unbutton your jeans and slide them down your legs.

Once you’re reaching to pull your shirt over your head, Jeff’s hands come to caress your hips once again, inching closer to you with excited eyes.

He’s met with your palm to his face, a displeased grunt leaving him as his hands fall back to his sides.

“Not after that, you little shit.”

It’s playful, but he’s irritated anyway, grumbling under his breath as he continues to undress himself.

When you’re both stripped, you use your foot to move the clothes out of the way, pressing your hands onto Jeff’s back and shoving him towards the running shower teasingly. Steam already fills the room, the hazy swirl comforting as he steps in.

A smile and he’s reaching for you, arms wrapping around your waist and smearing the blood further, hauling you under the hot water with him.

“Shit- Tryna’ burn my skin off?”

You laugh, cupping his cheeks and tilting his head back into the water, blood and dirt rushing down the drain. His hands rest on your hips, thumbs gliding across your skin as you swipe his bangs from his forehead and coax more water through.

Letting your hands roam over his shoulders and chest, you scrub the grime from his skin, his fingers gripping just a little tighter the lower your hands brush along his stomach.

Peeking up, you smirk, his eyes already heavy and expectant, a lazy grin plastered across his face.

“Baby…”

You’re shaking your head, pushing him out from under the water stream and taking his place, beginning to wash your own hair. You can feel the eagerness radiating from him, the heat from the shower swirling as the blood from your own skin runs down the drain.

You lean back, shutting your eyes as you begin to cleanse your face. You jolt when you feel hands wrap around your back, pulling you out of the water and flush against the killer’s body.

“C’mon…”

He’s burying his face into the crook of your neck, wet skin hot from the water and gliding together. Jeff kisses along your neck, little pecks down your now-clean shoulders and across your chest until you could feel your cheeks warm. His hands roam your back, rough hands gliding across your wet skin and coaxing you closer.

Before his sneaky little touches can tug you too far, you’re pushing off, turning around to the water and resuming your wash. Jeff groans, frustration setting in.

“And what makes you think you deserve anything from me?”

You tease with a little shove, cleansing the last of the blood stains from your face and chest.

Jeff is quick to press against your back, his half-hard cock evident now as it presses firm against your ass. You tense, his hands finding their all-too-familiar place around your waist and pushing you closer to him, his chin resting on your shoulder as he speaks.

“Cause I know you’d much rather have me fawnin’ over you like this than you acting like you don’t want me, [Y/N]…”

He’s kissing against your shoulder again, fingers trailing across your abdomen and brushing just a little too low on your waistline. Your breath catches, head instinctively leaning back when he dares to brush his fingers across the inside of your thighs.

“I don’t have any more morning-after pills…”

It’s nearly a whisper, a hesitant confession as he fingers dance around your now-excited cunt, getting so close but so far. Goosebumps trail wherever his fingers lead, you hips instinctively pressing back against him the more he kisses along your skin.

Jeff’s shushing you, pulling your body back to press you against the shower wall, the cold tile making you jump.

“That’s alright. I’ve got it.”

You want to question, but when his fingers dip down through your puffy lips and find their way to your clit, you’re immediately lost as you fall back against his weight.

The pads of Jeff’s fingers slip across your clit, the bud pulsing with every swipe as he continues his assault on your neck. Your thighs part, the resistance and teasing you had earlier slipping away with every pulse of your excitement. He was always so good at that: finding some way to break your restraint and force his way in.

“Relax.”

You aren’t sure what he means until you feel the tip of his index finger begin to press against your asshole, the tight ring of muscle resisting as you jolt with shock. Your hands immediately reach back to grip is arm, body tensing up.

“Jeff-”

“Just relax, babe.”

The twinge of his fingers has you leaning forward onto the tiles, cheek pressed into the cool wall as you try your best to untense your body. Jeff works your clit, your cunt swelling with arousal as you feel the tip of his finger press in, your back arching against the initial sting.

He works slowly though, bending and curling his finger to untighten that ring of muscle until he eventually can press another one in, your jaw falling open when he tries to spread them further. He pumps them so slowly, more focused on tugging that muscle loose than getting deep.

“Fuck…”

Jeff grunts, his cock twitching something terrible as he watches his knuckles get caught on the rim of your asshole, a light tug pushing them back in, the walls sucking them in. You swell so nicely around him, the flush of your skin complimenting so nicely with his eager hands.

You’re burning up, clit jolting with every touch and abdomen swelling the deeper he tries to probe his digits. You can’t handle it, the stretching makes you dizzy and eager, your hips unable to press back far enough to make him get deeper.

“Jeff… Hurry up…”

He’s more ready than you are, heavy eyes trailing to your flushed face as he reads you, tugging his fingers out. You’re probably not stretched half as well as you need to be, but you’re both too horny and desperate to care.

You brace yourself, hands and chest pressing against the wall as Jeff takes your hips into his hands, fisting his cock as he lines himself up.

“Mhmm…”

The resistance as he pushes in is nauseating, your shoulders falling limp as Jeff grunts, his jaw flexing as he tries to get inside.

“Relax.”

It’s a command now, his fingers gripping tighter on your hips as you feel the muscle opening around his cockhead, your eyes rolling shut.

The sting has arousal gushing from your cunt as his tip pops in, the muscle wrapping tight around his girth. Jeff moans out, the tightness coaxing him to push his hips in further, but you’re just so tense.

You’re being hauled off the wall, cheek leaving the cold tile as you feel Jeff’s arms wrap tight around your center. His fingers slip quickly to your clit, digits pushing through the slick of your arousal and rubbing quickly onto your clit.

“C’mon, babe. Lemme fuck you…”

He’s tugging your body limp with your clit, his cock rutting ever-so-messily further and further into the clench of your asshole. He couldn’t get enough, his face and body tensing and jolting as he worked you loose, every whine and hiss from your lips coaxing him deeper.

“God, Jeff-”

You whine out, the fullness of him pulsing inside of you as your cunt aches, the emptiness beckoning you for more.

You’re both panting by the time he bottoms out, fingers swiping quick circles onto your clit while the sting of stretch slowly dissipates. The tug feels so good now, your back arching into the feeling as Jeff holds you close, every inch of skin touching like electric shocks.

You cry out when he tugs his hips back, grunting loudly as he ruts back in. You try your best to stay relaxed, feet slipping further apart to give him better access.

The restraint finally breaks when Jeff plunges his hips, snapping them quickly against your ass like he could break you. You’re reeling, hips dropping to arch further into the feeling, your mind straining as you feel the tenseness leave your body.

“Yeah… Yeah, there we go…”

Jeff’s nearly growling as he stuffs his cock back into your asshole, the swell of his cock gliding in and out the smoothest he can. You’re whining, crying out as you strain to take him, his fingers never letting up against your clit.

Jeff’s nose presses into your neck, breathing deep and nipping at your skin as he fucks you. You can’t focus, reeling against him as his fingers work between your thighs, the killer trying his hardest not to cum immediately. His body is pressed so close, frame swallowing you as he hunches closer, forcing you to bend forward.

But it’s too late, and you’re far too tight for him to last half as long as he does in your cunt. Your ass sucks him in, more force needed to pull out than if he just stayed bottomed out and rutted messily against your ass. The friction is addicting, the tug and stretch leaving you both whining and clawing at one another.

He does, and you’re nearly crying, the press against your cunt from the inside all gummy and nauseating as you feel Jeff’s pace wither. His fingers are desperate, swiping harshly against your clit until you’re leaning back, head falling onto his shoulder as his arms grip tight around your ribs. You gasp when you feel your heels lift from the shower floor, his strength rippling as he holds you up. Your legs dangle limply, hands gripping onto his arms as he tries to fuck up into you, your body too weak to hold yourself up.

“Feels good? Yeah? Gonna cum? Gonna give it to me?”

He’s blubbering behind you, egging you on through gritted teeth as he fucks the last of his restraint out, eyes gently fluttering back as he can feel his abdomen knotting impossibly tight. His jaw hangs, a long groan all that he can produce when you both finally tip over the edge.

Your vision flashes white when you’re cumming, your body falling convulsing and leaving Jeff to haul you up, trying his best to get the last few thrusts into your ass before he’s cumming too.

“Babe-”

He whines, your asshole squeezing him to a painful degree as he’s milked, stripes of hot cum gushing so deep inside of you. Your skin is so hot, the shower water cascading over the both of you and overheating your already burning skin.

You’re both panting, whining, and hissing with every final movement, every last inch of that overwhelming pleasure you can ride out. Jeff’s holding you tight, damp bodies locked together as the killer’s fingers slowly slip out from between your folds.

“Oh my god-”

Jeff is so slow to pull out, cautious for both of you as he strains to tug his swelled cockhead from your rim.

The sight is heavenly, your stretched hole pulsing and fluttering as Jeff watches his cum slowly seep out. He smiles, dipping his fingers to glide his seed back into your asshole, screwing his fingers in and watching your body jolt.

It takes no time for you both to finish up, standing limply under the water until you deemed each other clean and evenly exhausted. Shutting the water off, you lazily dry each other off, heavy eyes roaming over ruined bodies.

You dry the two of you off, Jeff’s head resting against your shoulder as he breathes slowly. There was no energy to put clothes back on, or even wash the ones on the bathroom floor as you both trek towards your bed. Your body is sore, back fluttering with pain as Jeff scoops you into the bed and makes his own way in as well.

“Don’t ever bring that shit back in the house again…”

You mumble, sleepiness creeping as Jeff holds you close and quietly chuckles.

“But look where it got me…”

You roll your eyes, smiling with exasperation as you both settle against one another, the lateness of the evening overtaking you both.

Maybe you didn’t mind a little mess.

He’d be the one cleaning it up tomorrow though.

Thanks for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

Thank you to my wonderful editors: @h3llw1 and @solarbites!

[unclewaynemunson]

“I need to tell you something.”

Shitfuckno. Eddie doesn't even know why he's still surprised. This is how it always goes, after all. He should probably just give up and stop dating altogether – again.

Steve looks at him exactly as ominously as the words I need to tell you something require. Perfect Steve. Funny Steve. Sweet Steve. Sexy Steve. Steve, who Eddie had genuinely believed to be different.

Eddie sighs, barely suppressing a dark chuckle while he turns away from that perfect face. He doesn't want to look at Steve when he'll tell him the undoubtedly messed-up shit he's about to spill.

“Lemme guess, you're married?” That was what the last guy he dated told him, seven months after they got to know each other. It can't be much worse than that, can it?

Steve grabs Eddie's hand, causing him to involuntarily jerk up his head and meet his eyes.

“How did you know?”

Jesus H. Christ. Not again.

Eddie roughly pulls his hand out of Steve's grip and laughs a joyless laugh.

“Apparently I'm a good guesser.”

He stands up from the park bench the two of them had been sharing. “Well, Steve, this has been a blast. You should go back to your wife, or husband – don't tell me, I don't even wanna know – and I should um, get going. Maybe tell the next person right away what they'll be getting themselves into. Would save them a lot of wasted time, just in case cheating and going around other people's backs isn't really their thing, y'know.”

“Eddie, wait, let me explain!”

Eddie picks up his pace, but Steve, stubborn as he is, easily keeps up with him.

“I'm really not interested, man.”

“It's not – I'm not cheating on her!”

“Okay, so you have an open marriage, good for you. Still the kind of information you could've shared with me, say, three months ago, don't you think?”

“She's a lesbian.”

And that makes Eddie freeze on the spot. It takes Steve two steps before he realizes Eddie has stopped moving; he walks backwards until he's standing right in front of Eddie.

“She's my best friend,” he says, immediately using Eddie's stunned silence to his advantage. “Robin, my roommate – I told you all about her. We wanted to buy a house together and that turned out to be very complicated when you're not... Well, when you're not romantically involved. So we got married. For the, um, practical reasons. We never – we're like siblings. I love her like a sister. But she's also my wife. Platonically.”

It takes a few seconds until Steve's words sink in. Then, Eddie leaps forward and basically collapses into Steve's arms, needing to hold onto him to prevent himself from crashing to the ground.

Steve's arms are warm, strong, and as safe as ever.

“Eddie, are you okay?” Steve asks softly. His lips brush against Eddie's ear while he speaks, and worry colors his voice.

Perfect Steve. Too-good-to-be-true Steve.

“Jesus Christ, Steve,” is the only thing Eddie manages to say.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,” Steve says. “It's just – I've gotten some, um... Less than ideal reactions, in the past, whenever I told this when I was seeing someone. So I thought it'd be better to wait until things were getting serious.” He sighs, tangling his fingers in Eddie's hair. “I didn't wanna scare you off. Are we – are you okay?”

Eddie nods. He lifts his head from where it's resting against Steve's shoulder and raises his hands to squeeze them around Steve's face.

“We're okay,” he says. “And I'm sorry I didn't want to listen to you. I–” He stops; he can't find the words right away. It's still difficult to talk about those things; to let himself be vulnerable. But Steve has been honest with him, so it's only fair to return the favor.

“I've been hurt, Steve,” he confesses. “More than once. I've had some really shitty experiences with dudes not being honest with me. I thought that that was what was happening again, and I couldn't – I couldn't go through that again. Especially not with you.”

“Jesus, Eddie, I'm so sorry.”

“It's okay,” Eddie rushes to say, pulling Steve even closer towards him. “I trust you.” And as soon as these words leave his mouth, he knows it's the truth.

“I do want to be absolutely clear about one thing, though,” Steve says.

Eddie leans back in Steve's arms to give him an expectant look.

“Robin is my wife. I'm not planning on that to change anytime soon. We've been through a lot together. She's been the most important person in my life for years. We own a house and a dog together, and I love her more than anything. I like you a lot, and I promise you I'm all-in with you, but... Robin is still my number one. And that's not gonna change overnight. I need you to be okay with that.”

Eddie swallows. He looks into Steve's eyes. All he sees is a man who is honest, who loves his friends deeply, and who refuses to make any compromises when it comes to love – whether it be the platonic or the romantic kind.

It doesn't scare Eddie off; it only makes him fonder of Steve.

He smiles, glances around to check if they're alone, and presses a quick kiss against Steve's lips.

“I think I can live with that,” he says. “As long as I'm the only one who gets to do this.” He closes his eyes and lets his lips meet Steve's again.

The sigh that Steve breathes into their tentative kiss is one filled with relief.

[tradgedyinwaves]

his heaven on earth

I'm sorry I haven't been around much lately. Here's a random bit that implanted in my brain this morning.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x reader

tw: fatshaming behavior

something about Price's frumpy, round assistant, but the one who's really interested is Ghost.

Sure they all think you're gorgeous, but Ghost...Ghost has never seen someone so soft. From the roundness of your cheeks to the thick of your calves, he just wants to sink his fingers into the squishy parts of your body. And not even in a sexual way. (Well, not only in a sexual way.)

Everything about you screams peace and sanctuary and what he wouldn't give to press his face to the roundness of your tummy just to know what Heaven is like.

But despite his desires, the most you've ever received from him was a grunt when he turned in some reports for you to give to his captain. You had nodded up at him with wide eyes and the smallest smile, chirping out a 'thank you'.

When a military ball comes around and Price insists that you go, you immediately decline with the excuse that you don't have anything to wear. He tells you not to worry about it and that he'll take care of it. After fighting with him on it for twenty minutes, you conceded. Throwing up your arms as you headed back to your desk.

Did Price actually pay for the exquisite gown that now hung on the back of your door? Absolutely not. Ghost would rather set himself on fire before he let anyone else doing anything for you. Some people said he had a tendency to be possessive. He called it protective.

The military ball finally arrives and it requires a couple glasses of wine before you slide the gown on. It fits perfectly, tailored to your body shape and size and the color compliments your skin so nicely. The only information you'd provided to Price were your measurements (given only after you made him swear on his cigars that he wouldn't comment on the numbers - not that he would ever dare) and that you looked better in certain types of colors.

Your friend from base comes by to do your hair and makeup, keeping it light and fresh as you know you have a tendency to sweat in these situations.

And when you finally walk through the doors of the ballroom, Ghost is pretty sure his heart has never beat so hard. Not when he's laying in his sniper's nest about to pull the trigger on the head of a sex ring trafficker. Not when his team finally took out the leader of a terrorist group. Not even when he had a hook through his ribs.

You immediately fade into the background, grabbing a glass of champagne and standing against the wall. Price approaches you with that smile of his, the one that crinkles the corners of his eyes as he looks over you appreciatively.

"You look lovely, my dear. The dress fits you perfectly." You thank him as the apples of your cheeks turn pink before he tells you not to thank him - thank Ghost. That only darkens your blush as you duck your head when the captain leaves.

You don't go searching for Ghost to thank him and ask why he'd gotten you the dress because you're stopped by a gentleman you don't recognize. But you do recognize the smirk on his face and the sound of laughter coming from a group of his buddies.

As adults, one would think people would be mature enough not to poke fun at the big girl. But that didn't seem to be the case as the man struggled to ask you to dance through his laughter, eventually giving up and going back to his friends when he couldn't manage the sentence.

You wanted to leave after that, but that meant letting them win and you refused to give them that satisfaction.

So when Ghost finally found the courage to come and approach you, you thought it was another joke.

"Would you like to-" "Please, don't. Just...go away."

Ghost was not used to being interrupted and it showed in the way his black Balaklava twitched around his mouth.

"What's wrong, luv?" "Just...don't, Ghost. I'm not in the mood." "I just wanted to dance with you." "No, you didn't. You're just here to make fun of me like everyone else."

Ghost was stunned before it turned to anger. Who had hurt you like this?

"M'not. Just wanted to dance with you, promise."

You glanced up at him, meeting those dark orbs - the only part of Ghost you'd ever seen. They didn't crinkle at the corners like he was laughing at you and the way the fabric of his mask didn't move meant he wasn't holding back his laughter.

"You want to dance with me?" It was unbelievable to you that anyone would want to be seen with you, even if the dress you had on was gorgeous.

"O'course, yer stunning. Why wouldn't I?" Ghost had never been one to compliment women. His team got compliments all the time from him. "Well done, Gaz." "Good job, Johnny." "Nice shot, Cap." Those were easy.

With you, he was terrified he'd say the wrong thing and upset you. And that...he couldn't stand that. Watching those beautiful eyes of yours fill with tears because of him and his stupid mouth. It should be easy. Beautiful, gorgeous, ethereal, stunning. All words he felt described you and yet they didn't hold enough weight.

In the end, you agreed to dance with him. Just one, of course. But that went out the window as another bad joke of his pulled a giggle from you. He found he quite liked the tinkling sound of your laugh and the way your nose scrunched when he complimented you again.

And that night, he found out what it was like to watch his thick fingers dimple the roundness of your ass, to worship between your plush thighs as he deemed you a goddess. His grip left pretty bruises all over your body while his lips left his mark across your collarbone.

In the light of the morning, he leaned over your sleeping form as the suns rays gently shone on your face. There in that moment, you embodied peace and beauty, radiant even as drool slid from the corner of your parted lips.

His Heaven on Earth.

[archangeldyke-all]

isha being non verbal it's so important to me because i also go non verbal sometimes and i can spent days like that so i got a request about it 🙂‍↕️

so, despite trying to learn sign language, i got some kind of made up sing language that i use to communicate with my sister and my parents, it's not the most pratical but they understand me so it's fine

i was thinking about reader that sometimes goes non verbal, an then her and isha made up a secret sing language that only them can understand and sometimes sevika it's being grumpy or jinx more annoying than usual and they use it to talk shit about them, at first sevika and jinx don't notice it but at some point they start to get at the fact they can't understand those sign and be like "hey whats happening here"

or maybe just something about sev and a non verbal reader, anything it's fine 🤗

this is just so sweet omg okay

men and minors dni

there are a lot of adjustments you have to make in your life when jinx and isha come tumbling into it.

for one thing, any semblance of privacy you and sevika once had is out the window. neither isha or jinx find the need to knock, no matter how much you beg them to.

never in your life did you think you'd be making a category in your monthly budget for toys-- but here you are.

adjusting to jinx's picky eating habits (mostly her refusal to eat anything that isn't spicy enough to kill an infant) has been a challenge, but over time you've managed to find several dishes that get her veggies in her.

but, luckily, you never had to adjust to isha's muteness.

you go mute sometimes. sevika's known this about you since you first started dating, and when she moved you into her home a few years down the road, she started taking sign language classes, just so she could communicate with you on your mute days.

it's the nicest, sweetest thing anyone's ever done for you. and now it's paying off doubly, because you and sevika get to teach your girls the language.

jinx, surprisingly, is the most excited about it. she's always asking you or sevika to teach her how to sign something, and for the longest time you just think it's another thing the girl's freakishly good at.

but then, one night, you walk by the girls' room and catch them whispering under jinx's covers, a flashlight illuminating their silhouettes as jinx gently walks isha through the new signs she learnt from sevika earlier in the evening.

at the time, isha had rolled her eyes and gotten frustrated, her little fingers not able to keep up with sevika's; and she ran away from the dinner table to color in the living room.

and now, here's jinx, taking the time to gently, slowly work her little sister through the motions, encouraging her with soft cheers and claps. isha lets out an excited little giggle, and you hear a loud, wet smooch ring out from under the covers. "you're doin' it kid!"

your heart clenches, and you sprint back to your bedroom to tell sevika about the adorable sight you'd just walked in on.

over time, with you and sevika's teachings and jinx's special encouragement, isha starts to sign more and more.

it's great. you get a better understanding of isha's personality now that she can communicate with you, and you're always shocked by the little girl's humor. she makes you laugh so much you've been going to bed with sore abs almost every day.

best of all though, are the days when both you and isha are mute and signing all day. it usually ends with the two of you coming up with some secret codes-- mostly born out of mistakes, some born out of jokes about your speaking family.

it leads to the two of you having your own little language.

when sevika's acting particularly grumpy, or hungry, or protective-- you or isha will catch each other's eyes and quickly sign a single word. 'bear'

when jinx is locked in on an invention even isha can't understand, answering isha's questions with single word sentences, scratching her head and humming to herself as she scribbles on her notebooks; isha will come find you and sadly sign 'jinx went monkey mode.' you'll just giggle and find something to do with the girl to keep her entertained as jinx works.

sometimes, isha will flash you a special waggle of her fingers-- something only the two of you know. it's her request for attention, a way for her to ask for a hug or some cuddles. it always makes something special burst inside you, and you're quick to wrap the girl up in your arms.

when isha gets tired of signing, her mind tired from communicating all day, you'll check in on her and she'll give you a gentle little flick of her hand-- her way of saying she's done talking for the day. you've started using the little sign on your own, when talking gets too overwhelming, you'll use it to tell your family that you want to sign.

so, some of you and isha's private language leaks out into your whole family's use. but, most of it stays special between the two of you.

...until you get caught.

sevika's practically hanging off of you as you make dinner, nuzzling against your throat and taking deep breaths of your scent; when isha comes running into the kitchen, singing for help to tie her apron.

you chuckle, pulling her up onto the counter in front of you and wrapping the ties of her apron around her waist, tying them into a little bow and giving her a kiss.

what's wrong with big mama? she asks, reaching out to tug a strand of sevika's hair. you chuckle, and sevika grunts, stirring on your shoulder.

bear. you sign back.

isha giggles and sevika grunts against you.

"what'd you just call me?" she asks. you freeze, and isha bursts into nervous laughter.

"nothin'." you say. sevika nips your throat and you squeak. "ah! nothing!" you squeal.

"you called me a bear?" she asks.

isha bursts into breathy giggles, her feet kicking with excitement as sevika slowly pulls away to glare at you.

"no?" you squeak.

sevika grunts, and then she flings you in the air.

isha bursts into squeals and you curse, scrambling to hold onto sevika as she tosses you around.

"i'll show you a bear!" she growls, grinning at the sound of isha's laughs. you can't stop screaming and laughing, and when sevika finally sets you down, she turns to isha with a glower. "you think im a bear?"

isha's cackling and shaking her head no, squirming as sevika reaches forward to start tossing her around.

you watch with glee as you wife throws you screaming, squealing kid in the air, both of them laughing between sevika's attempts at bear noises.

jinx stumbles in with a confused look, until she sees the way isha's laughing. she ducks under your arm, leaning against you.

"what happened here?" she asks. you snort.

"sevika figured out some of our secret language."

jinx chuckles. "how you guys call her a bear?"

"you knew!?"

"you aren't subtle." she says with a giggle as isha starts to karate chop sevika's back and shoulders. "i know about you two callin' me a monkey too." she huffs.

you cackle and kiss her forehead. "that was isha's nickname."

"figures. little shit." jinx says fondly.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@lavandasz @strawberrykidneystone @sevikasfan @fict1onallyobsessed

[erenists]

Nerd!Gojo X Bimbo Reader

Part 5 MDNI 18+

“Wait— how did you know my name?” as that question spills out he realizes he doesn't know your name either. You turn around flashing him a big grin before winking and giving him a little shush signal before walking off again.

After Gojo had gotten home from school he immediately took out the piece of paper you handed him with your number in it. He exhaled softly not believing he actually has your number and he barely had to do much.

He quickly moves his fingers across his phone screen inserting your number he didn't even stop to think about how to text you he was too excited to finally get to text you.

XXX-XX: hey it's Gojo :) I realized I never got your name btw.. So what should I save you as.. oh and here's my address XXXXXXXXX you can come at 5!

He throws his phone to the side as soon as he sends you that text flustered and nervous to see if you'll respond. His eyes widen and he tenses when only a few seconds later he already hears his phone ping.

XXX-XX: hiii gojo sweetie ;)

sorry about completely forgetting to give you my name whoops it's 𐙚˙⋆.˚  make sure to put a cute heart next to it!!

Gojooo :3 💙: DW it's fine!! I'm glad to have it now.. it's a beautiful name :)

𐙚˙⋆.˚ 🩷 : aweee gojo you little flirt! ty cutie piee can't wait to see u toniteee 😘😘

Gojo smiles giddily like a middle school girl with her crush he hearts your message and swipes out of the app looking at the time in the corner of his screen, 3:02 He had enough time to clean and make sure he looks good, not for you but for himself he tries to convince himself.

He's looking at himself through the mirror fixing up his hair making sure no strands are sticking out weirdly he also makes sure to check his breath because well he never knows maybe he might get some action tonight. Gojo checks himself out making sure he's ready to have you over meanwhile you are in your room quite frankly doing the same.

You're applying lip gloss, your lips slightly parted as you sit in front of your vanity mirror. You look to the side looking at the notification from Gojo, he didn't reply, just liked your message but you still appreciated the notification anyways. you press your lips together getting up from your seat walking to your full body mirror.

You look at your outfit smirking at yourself proudly, it's not much really, just a very cute jean mini skirt and a tight white tank top that showed a peak of your blue lace bra which pushed your tits up deliciously and you topped your outfit off with a little sweater that matched the color of your bra.

"perfect m'sure he'll like this" You muttered to yourself running your hands over your body checking yourself out before heading over to your vanity once more and spraying yourself with your favorite perfume that always had you smelling nice. You picked your phone up you noticed you still had 30 minutes left and you thought to yourself why not show up a little early anyway.

-

Gojo swears his heart dropped when he heard the doorbell ring he looked at the time on his phone, it was only 4:45 meaning you were 15 minutes early NOT what Gojo was expecting but not that he minded anyways he wanted to see you again as soon as possible.

He practically tripped over himself rushing to the door, wiping his hands on his sweats one last time and running a hand through his hair as if that would somehow make him look cooler. When he opened the door, he tried to play it off with a lazy smile—but the second his eyes landed on you, it faltered.

“Holy shit,” he breathed before he could even stop himself.

There you were, standing on his doorstep with that teasing little smirk, your jean skirt hugging your hips and that snug white tank giving him an eye-full he absolutely wasn’t ready for. The little sweater draped over your arms made it look like you hadn’t even tried—but Gojo knew better. That kind of outfit was lethal, and you knew it too.

“Hey, Gojo,” you sing-songed, stepping past him like you owned the place. Your perfume hit him like a truck and he actually had to close his eyes for a second just to collect himself.

“You’re early,” he managed to say, shutting the door behind you. His voice cracked at the end. Great.

You turned, hands behind your back as you rocked on your heels. “Mhm. I figured we could get started sooner…” you trailed off, biting your glossed lip slightly as your gaze drifted down his body. “Unless you weren’t ready for me yet?”

He blinked, cheeks flushing despite his grin. “I—pfft, of course I’m ready! I’ve got the whole session planned out, down to the last equation,” he said, tapping the side of his head like he was a genius.

You cocked your head. “Oh? Equations, huh? Hope you’re better at math than I am Im literally the worst at it"

He softly laughed. “c'mon you can't be that bad, I promise as your tutor you'll be even better at math than me.”

“Well,” you said, placing your hand on his bicep looking up at him through your lashes “if you claim to be a good tutor… why don’t you teach me something already, Gojo?”

He stared at you for a second too long before finally speaking “r-right uh follow me to my room!” he chirped before turning around walking towards his room, you look around as you both step in observing everything in his room like his nerdy anime and digimon posters, his assorted collection of figures to your surprise he even had a gaming pc.

"wow Gojo so you're like a decked out nerd huh?" You smirk plopping down on his bed

"uhh yeah I guess you could say that" you assume Gojo must be blushing because he’s embarrassed about you seeing all his nerdy things but actually he's blushing because when you plopped onto his bed your skirt rode up just a little. what a perv. He looks away from your figure and grabs the material he prepared for today plopping down next to you.

"Ok..so tell me what you're more confused about in math and I'll try my best to help you through it.." He says sheepishly as he feels your eyes on him, your smirk at that last part deciding to be a little tease.

"yeah? you'll help me through it Gojoo~?" You press yourself against the side of him tilting your head and smirking slyly at him he gulps before looking down at you and nodding with uncertainty not 100% sure on what you're getting at.

Gojo clears his throat, clearly trying to act normal, like he isn’t hyper-aware of the way your thigh is brushing against his or how your perfume keeps sneaking up his nose and messing with his head.

“Y-yeah,” he stammers, trying to steady his voice, “like… equations. Fractions. Graphs. Whatever’s giving you trouble.” You lean in closer, pretending to glance at the notes he laid out, but your lips are dangerously close to his ear now.

“Mmm… I think it’s graphs that really get me,” you murmur, voice soft, sultry. “All those hard lines and curves… I can never quite figure out what to do with them.” Gojo almost chokes on his own spit.

His hands scramble for a pencil as he flips open the textbook in front of him, trying to physically shield himself with the material like it’s some kind of defense.

“Right! Graphs! Okay cool, cool cool cool—so this is, uh, a parabola…” You giggle quietly and lean your chin in your hand, blinking up at him like he’s the most interesting thing in the world.

“you’re cute when you get all nervous, y’know.”

“I’m not nervous,” he lies—terribly—his voice cracking at the end.

“mhm. sure you’re not.” You let your knee bump into his under the pretense of adjusting your position, but you don’t move it away. Your skirt has slid up again, and this time you don’t bother fixing it. You watch as Gojo’s eyes flicker down for just a second before jerking away, his jaw tight.

He shifts uncomfortably, suddenly sitting more rigidly. “Okay, s-so the x-axis goes here,” he mumbles, pointing to the graph. “And if you plug in the numbers—”

“Gojo,” you interrupt, voice slow and syrupy as you reach forward and rest your hand over his on the page, “I’m trying really hard to focus. But you’re making it kinda hard.”

Gojo’s head snaps to you, eyes wide. “Me?? I’m making it hard??”

You just smile and trace a lazy circle on the back of his hand with your fingertip. “Mhm. You just have that effect, y’know?”

He swears he short-circuits. His brain completely blanks—he’s forgotten what a parabola is, what numbers are, who he is.

“W-we should really get through this lesson,” he mutters, practically begging the universe to give him strength. His voice is shaky, but there’s a little edge of something else in there too. Something hungry.

You hum. “sure. Go ahead, teacher. I’m all ears.” But your smirk says otherwise. He starts explaining again, hand still trembling under yours, and you let him—for now. Every time he gets even slightly more confident, you lean a little closer, let your chest brush his arm, let your eyes wander just enough to make him stutter all over again. Gojo tries to stay focused. Really, he does. He’s clutching the pencil like it’s a lifeline, his other hand gripping the edge of the textbook so hard his knuckles go white. He’s halfway through explaining how to find the vertex of the parabola, and you’re… well, you’re definitely not helping.

You tilt your head, your lashes fluttering as you lean forward again—pretending to squint at the page, but you know exactly what you’re doing. The strap of your tank top slips just a little, falling off your shoulder. You don’t fix it.

Gojo’s eyes darted to it, then back to the book. Then back again. “Uh—so—when a is negative the graph opens, uh… downward…”

You smile like a cat who knows they’ve got the mouse cornered. “Downward, huh? kay think I get it” You rest your hand on his thigh looking at the graph.

“You’re killing me,” he mutters under his breath, pushing his fingers through his hair as his face burns.

“what?” you blink innocently. “I’m just trying to understand the material. You said you’d help me.” You scoot just a little closer and remove your hand. Now your thigh is pressed fully against his, warm and bare and impossible to ignore. Gojo freezes like a deer in headlights.

“W-we can… review another example,” he says, flipping the page too fast and nearly tearing it. He’s clinging to this tutoring session like it’s his last thread of dignity.

“Great idea.” You rest your chin on his shoulder now, peeking at the book over his arm. Your breath fans lightly against his neck and you feel the shiver run through him.

“You smell good,” you murmur offhandedly, like it’s just a casual little observation. “Like soap. And something else… is that cologne?”He swallows hard, ears turning red.

“Uhh. Yeah. Maybe. Just a little.”You smile to yourself, your voice low and warm.

“It’s nice. Makes me wanna get closer.” Gojo’s hand slips, dragging the pencil across the page in a messy line.

“O-oh, cool, coolcoolcool. Totally normal thing to say,” he rambles, trying and failing to focus. “You really are bad at math, by the way.”

You grin. “Mhm. I know. Guess that means we’ll need a lot more tutoring sessions, huh?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, dazed. “I think I’m in trouble.” he mutters to himself but you end up hearing it anyway. You hum, leaning back just a bit, the warmth of your body pulling away.

“Maybe. But only if you stop being such a good teacher, Gojo~” He’s barely holding it together. Every brush of your skin, every word laced with suggestion, it’s like a slow drip of gasoline on an open flame. He’s this close to combusting.

But for now, he nods, forces a grin, and mutters, “A-alright. Next problem…” You glance up at him through your lashes again. He’s fidgeting—his leg bouncing a little, his pencil tapping the page like it might save him. But it won’t.

Not with you this close. Not with your skirt riding high up your thighs, the scent of your perfume wrapping around his senses, and your eyes locked on his mouth more than the textbook. You wait a beat longer. Just to watch him squirm.

Then, without warning, you lift your hand and slowly slide it over his thigh—not high enough to be bold, but just enough to jolt him. Gojo freezes.

“Y-you okay?” he asks, voice cracking hard. He’s staring straight ahead, but you can feel the way his breath catches in his throat.

You tilt your head. “Yeah. Just trying to get comfortable,” you say sweetly. “You don’t mind, do you?”

His lips part like he wants to say something—anything—but no words come out. He glances down at your hand on his thigh, your bare skin pressed against his, the little peek of your bra still visible and you can practically see him sweating bullets.

“okay but..” Gojo says suddenly, tossing the pencil down with a soft thud. “You’re not even trying to study.”

You blink innocently. “Sure I am.”

“You're lying." he says, turning to you, and now his voice is different—low, frayed, a little breathless. “You’ve been messing with me this whole time.” You smirk, leaning in so your faces are inches apart.

“Maybe. But you liked it.” He swallows, eyes flicking to your mouth. You see the exact moment he gives in.

In one quick motion, Gojo leans in and kisses you—soft at first, like he’s afraid he’s imagining this, but when you melt into it, he groans low in his throat and deepens the kiss. His hand slides to your waist, gripping tight like he’s been dying to touch you since the second you walked through his door.

You gasp a little, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, and that’s all it takes—he pushes you back gently onto the bed, hovering over you now, eyes wild and wide with need.

“You’re such a bad student” he murmurs against your lips, breathing hot. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” You grin against his mouth, heart racing.

“Yeah? if im such a bad student what are you gonna do about it, Gojo?” that has him practically whining, God he thought you were so hot.

“D-don’t say stuff like that~ it’s too tempting…” he mumbles, voice wobbling like he’s hanging on by a thread. He’s looking anywhere but your face—down at your lips, your hand on his thigh, the inch of blue lace peeking from under your tank. Anywhere but your eyes.

You lean in, your voice a sultry whisper against his ear. “Tempting…? So you’ve thought about this, huh?”

Gojo makes a noise in his throat—somewhere between a whine and a gasp—and squeezes his eyes shut like he’s trying to delete the whole situation from his memory before it breaks him. “Th-that’s not what I meant—! I mean, I have, b-but—like, not in a creepy way! Just in a normal, completely average way! Like a guy would!”

You laugh quietly, and that does nothing to help the pink spreading across his cheeks. “You’re adorable,” you murmur, dragging your fingers up his chest slowly, watching his breath hitch with every inch.

His head flops back with a groan, glasses sliding slightly down his nose. “You’re seriously gonna kill me,” he mumbles.

You hum thoughtfully. “I mean, I could stop. Go back to learning about… parabolas or whatever.”

Gojo’s eyes snapped open, panicked. “No—! I mean. Y-you don’t have to stop exactly, just maybe slow down a little or I might—” He cuts himself off, pressing the heels of his hands to his burning face. “God. This is not how I thought tutoring you would go.”

You giggle and shift in his lap just slightly—enough to make him physically twitch. “Guess you should’ve made me study harder.”

He makes the most pitiful noise you’ve ever heard. “You’re evil.”

You smile sweetly, tilting your head. “But I’m your favorite, right?”

“…Yes. Obviously. Unfortunately. Please have mercy.”

You giggle at his barely-whispered plea for mercy and lean forward again, your fingers skimming just beneath the hem of his hoodie like you’re testing how far you can go before he breaks.

“Mercy, huh?” you murmur, brushing your lips barely against his jawline. “Didn’t take you for the begging type, Gojo.”

He lets out a sound that might’ve been a whimper, his whole body tensing like he’s holding on to the last shred of self-control he has left. “I’m not—I mean I am—but only because you’re being mean,” he blurts out, voice cracking. “You’re cheating. This is cheating.”

You pretend to be confused, blinking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Cheating? But I’m just trying to learn…”

“You’re not learning anything!” he practically explodes, hands flying up in exasperation, then immediately dropping as he realizes he’s yelling. “You’ve been driving me insane since you got here and—oh my god—I can’t think straight, you smell good, your boobs are out, and you’re touching me and you’re so close and I haven’t even finished writing the example problem and—!”

You cut him off by kissing the corner of his mouth, not quite a kiss, just enough to knock the wind out of him. “Then stop thinking.”

His breath hitches again—he swears he could combust on the spot. You can see it in the way his thighs tense under yours, in the way his fingers dig into the edge of the bed like he’s trying not to grab you. He wants to. So bad.

“But if I stop thinking,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, “I’m gonna do something stupid. And you’re gonna laugh at me.”

“I won’t laugh,” you promise, dragging your nails gently up his arm. “Unless you're secretly into it....” He full-body shudders.

“You’re actually insane.” You smile, eyes sparkling. “And yet you still haven’t told me to stop.”

“I can’t tell you to stop,” he blurts. “I literally can’t. You could say anything right now and I’d fold like a pathetic lawn chair.”

“Anything?” you purr, nosing up against his ear. You can feel him trembling. “Like if I said ‘I want you to touch me, Gojo’…?”

He whines. Like, actually whines, head dropping forward onto your shoulder as his hands finally come to rest on your waist—tight, needy, but still so nervous you can feel the tension buzzing through him.

“You’re not fair,” he mumbles, voice muffled against your skin. “You’re not playing fair.”

You run your fingers through the soft white strands of his hair and smile, leaning in close to whisper against his temple, “Good thing this isn’t a game then… or you’d already have lost.”

His breath hitches at your words and he stays still, trembling, like he’s deciding whether to run or melt right into you. But it’s already over. His fingers twitch against your waist, gripping harder now, and when he lifts his head, there’s a glassy look in his eyes—unfocused, lust-drunk, and desperate.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he mutters. “I was just trying to explain linear motion. That’s all I wanted. Now my brain’s—fuck—I can’t even remember how to spell velocity.”

You lean in until your lips are brushing his featherlight. “Good. Then maybe take a break from studying and indulge in me hm?”

His mouth crashes against yours in a messy, frantic kiss, all teeth and tongue. His glasses are skewed, his hoodie pulled taut between your bodies as he grips your hips and drags you down flush against the hardness straining in his sweats. He groans into your mouth like it hurts—like he’s been this hard since you walked in and it’s finally breaking him.

“God, you’re so—so—pretty, and mean, and smart, and mean,” he babbles between kisses, one hand sliding up under your top, shaky and reverent as he finally touches skin. “I was trying to be professional, I swear, I had notes and everything—”

You roll your hips down into his lap and he chokes, head falling back, lips parted. His cock twitches against you, leaking through his sweats.

“This is what you wanted, right?” you whisper, dragging your fingers down the front of his chest, his stomach jumping under your touch.

“Me on your lap, distracting you. Being such a baddd student, hmm??" He whimpers, nodding like he’s trying to keep his sanity through sheer willpower.

“I’m not gonna last,” he says weakly. “I’m—if you keep moving like that, I’m gonna—gonna come in my pants like some desperate virgin loser—”

“Gojo,” you say softly, smiling as you palm him through his sweats. He gasps, body jerking. “That’s because you are a desperate virgin loser.”

He moans. Full-body, high-pitched, humiliated. “Oh my god.”

“But,” you murmur, shifting to tug down the waistband of his sweats just enough to free him, his cock flushed and twitching in your hand, “you’re my desperate loser now, right?”

His eyes roll back as you stroke him, his hips bucking helplessly into your fist. “Y-Yeah. Fuck. Yours. Just—just don’t stop. I’ll do anything, just don’t stop—”

And when you sink down onto him, slow and tight, squeezing him inch by inch until he’s fully inside, he clutches at you like he’s drowning, sobbing out your name like a prayer.

“Holy shit,” he gasps, arms wrapping around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. “You feel so good—I-I’m not gonna make it—I’m gonna—oh god, I’m gonna come already—” "Mm..Gojo you're filling me up s-so well im so happy u-ugh been wanting this." You moan out into his ear and he whimpers loudly at that stiffening under you.

"W-what agh- do you mean you've fuckfuckfuck been wanting this?" You're kissing all over him before finally pulling back in a complete daze over him.

"G-gojo Ive mphh- wanted you since I saw you on the first week of school this y-year I fuck — Heard a teacher calling you Gojo w-while praising your work and you just looked so cuuteee~ needed to have you" Your arms are wrapped around his neck and Gojo swears he's seeing stars. so that's how you knew his name — wait you knew him before he even knew about you?

"D-don't hafta call me agh Gojo anymore just call me sat-agh satoru~" He draws out his eyes rolled back and his knuckles white with how hard he's gripping onto you, you look down at him and grin your hips grinding on him.

"T-toru m'close cum with me please?" You whine out your movement getting faster and faster being too much for Gojo to handle. "C-cum on me baby~ im right there pleasepleaseplease give it to me ugh you're so pretty" He cant shut the fuck up begging you to cum on him as hes so close to reaching his high.

One final snap of your hips and you both break. Loud, helpless, completely ruined. It hits him hard, his whole body jerking beneath you as he spills deep inside, voice cracking with every breathless moan of your name. And even as he twitches and throbs, face buried in your neck, he clings to you like he’s never letting go.

"god..that was a-amazing t-thank you.." you smile softly and lay your head on his chest listening to his heartbeat.

"no need to thank me toru hun.. but this makes me your girlfriend now right?" You blink up at him and he wraps his arms around you tight, placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

"definitely you're not going anywhere."

A/n: ok guys so basically.. this is the last part.. I KNOW IM SORRY but this is not the last of nerdjo.. i will be making more nerdjo series and just nerdjo content because I fear im hyperfixated on him atm.. I hope you guys enjoyed this mini series and this part :3

[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

Please can we have more Yan justice league?

Maybe the reader has a boyfriend in the military so she doesn't see him much and when he comes back to visit, the go on a fancy date before they crash it?

It would make it even better if they reacted to the boyfriend about to propose to her!

A Day in Life: Heartbreaks

Synopsis: A day in your life where your yanderes find a secret of yours and tell you another one.

Pairing: Yandere!Justice League X Assistant!Gn!Reader; Modern!40s!Bucky Barnes X Reader

Tw: Bucky you’re one of my fav characters from Marvel, I'm so sorry I did u dirty😭; Heavy mentions of cheating and NO forgiving; Stalking; English isn’t my 1st language.

Word count: 1k

Requested? Duh.

Extra notes: I should be studying instead of writing this. Also omg I got so many requests in just a few hours, thank you very much!! I'm writing them all!!

General masterlist | A Day in Life - Series masterlist

Since most of your days became filled with stress and anxiety, you started appreciating even more moments where you could just forget all your problems, from small ones — like, lack of motivation to go to the gym, bad hair days and an ingredient you forgot at your fridge and became rotten—, and big, out of your control ones — like seven superheroes, who you see almost everyday, stalking you.

Your boyfriend getting back was one of the best dic(k)strations.

Bucky was a sergeant, he spent weeks, even months, away from you on missions. It was hard, but you were both busy people, so your mind was usually too stimulated to think about boy problems only all day, most adults were, and you believed the hard work would be worth it one day. The future was hopefully bright.

The League never mentioned him. Actually, some of them implied more than once that they thought you were available, so they probably didn't know about your relationship. You didn't use much social media and your boyfriend got especially busy this year, so it made sense.

He paid for you to get your nails done earlier and took you to a nice restaurant. After that, Bucky took you for a walk around the city, lively and beautiful even at night, and stopped at the park where your first date happened. Everything was fine, until he got on his knees. Suddenly, seven, mostly colorful, figures descended upon you from out of nowhere, screaming.

— (Y/N)! YOU CAN'T MARRY HIM! — Flash’s voice startled you, confirming your suspicions to who the group was.

You growled.

— SERIOUSLY? LEAVE ME ALONE! IT'S MY DAY OFF! — Bucky, who had swiftly gotten up with his fast reflexes as soon as the heroes charged, blinked at the sight. He looked between you all.

— Doll? What’s this? — You looked apologetic at him.

— Sorry, Bucky. Since I got my job, my bosses got… Protective over me… — You didn't want him to get hurt. Bucky and his friends had a great sense of justice and hated bullies. He would surely want to do something if he knew the true extent of things. You also didn't want to ruin the vision he had of his idols.

Since their obsessive behavior started, you just counted your lucky stars that they would just get tired of you one day or wouldn't sabotage your relationships. They seemed fine with you having friends, but dating was different.

You turned to the League.

— Go! — They shook their heads.

— You can't trust this bastard, darling. We have proof of his betrayal to you. — You looked at Wonder Woman skeptically and crossed your arms. Bucky gulped.

— Oh, really? How so? — You raised an eyebrow.

Batman fiddled with his wrist computer, a second later, a protection was shown and different pictures and videos of your man talking and being very intimate with someone very familiar to you appeared. Your stomach churned and your heart ached.

— This is fake! Doll, you have to believe me! — Bucky cried out and got in front of you, holding your shoulders, trying to cover your vision from the images. You took a step back and kept looking at the images.

The League had more than enough means necessary to fake all of this, but you knew Natasha was Bucky’s ex, and they were still friends and coworkers, even with their intense heartbreak. You sometimes got insecure and worried since they spent so much time together, but he always told you you had nothing to worry about…

You gulped.

The League was all glaring at his back while he shouted a hundred words per minute, desperately trying to convince you he was telling the truth.

Superman growled and walked forward until he grabbed Bucky by his shoulders and pulled him away from you.

— Stay away from them, you asshole. (Y/N), I would never do that to you. — You ignored Green Lantern's words, like you were doing since the pacifier incident. You knew he was getting desperate and that made you specially scared, but at least he gave you some distance.

— Not now. — Batman took a step forward. — A few hours ago, we discovered your relationship. For security reasons, we searched, and found these pictures and conversations from his second social accounts, that he uses to commit his cheating.

— He didn't try to hide much, he thought he wouldn't get caught. — Flash stated.

— I-I need more proof… These could be old… — Your first words spoken made Bucky shut up. Mind scrambling for something.

— Let the Lasso of Truth speak for him. — In a second, the Lasso was thrown around Bucky's torso and he was squirming. — Speak, you worthless mortal! — Wonder Woman ordered.

Bucky was able to struggle for a few seconds, before he blurted out.

— It's truth! It's truth! I told her we broke up and started dating her again! I thought I could have you both at the same time!

You gasped. Your hand shot to your chest.

Flash was on your side in a second, trying to hug and comfort you, but you pushed him away. You started crying from heartbreak and anger.

— HOW COULD YOU?! — You glared at him and pointed at his face.

— Doll… I swear I love you both. But I'm also narcissistic, insecure and look down on women. — The Lasso was really doing its job. You laughed humorlessly.

You had nothing to say anymore. No reason to stay. You took advantage of his tied arms and got close, punched his nose, and stomped away.

The League contemplated going after you and trying to bring you comfort, but Batman and Martian Manhunter decided to just let Bucky go (after intimidating him so as to not get close to you again) and follow you discreetly, watching you from the shadows, intervening only if necessary.

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