#and having big text saying 'GUY' and pointing at him

[kawoala]

sorry, wrong number! — tanaka ryuunosuke. chapter seven; chrome tf up.

contents word count; 2,353. UNSAFE DRIVING PRACTICES; i do not endorse having more people than seats in a car while driving, please be safe. piercings. profanity. weird laugh nishinoya supremacy. making fun of kuroo’s age… again. oh also, kagehina implied.

< previous ; masterlist ; next >

“Well, that was bad.”

You can barely resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Yeah, no shit. I can’t believe I talked all that shit just for us to lose. Horribly.”

Nekoma lost. Somehow, they managed to lose 25-12 in both sets. They didn’t need to play a third because of their loss in the first two. The whole team had walked to the locker room dejected, but Karasuno had practically skipped into theirs with delight.

Tetsuro leans against the wall, and you mirror his actions, crossing your arms over your chest. Just down the hall, you can faintly hear the song Sticky playing on a speaker, paired with a few voices screaming along to the lyrics. It makes you want to roll your eyes even more. Cocky sons of—

“It wasn’t that bad,” Tetsuro tries to argue, shrugging his shoulders. “Kenma had a few good sets. ‘Tora  looked like he was working overtime. I bet he’ll feel that shit tomorrow.”

You don’t answer. Your eyes are trained on a poster in front of you, of the volleyball team. You take a few steps closer and scan the paper—not looking for Tanaka. But, your eyes do happen to land on him, and you don’t look away.

If you’re going to be honest, he looks stupid. His grin is too wide and his eyes are squinted shut and his chin is pointed up and his biceps aren’t even that big so you don’t know why he’s flexing and—

“Ramen? Again? Brother, you gotta get some real food in you, or you’re going to keel over and die. Seriously. I bet Saeko will make us some food tonight.”

It doesn’t sound familiar, but you know who it is. It doesn’t sound like how you pictured it to sound, but you know it’s Tanaka’s raspy voice bouncing off the walls. 

And when you try to look in his direction, you can’t.

It’s like your feet are cemented to the ground, head stuck in one place. You’re not even staring at the poster anymore, just spacing off into the wall. You don’t know why you’re suddenly so nervous, but you hate it.

“Kuroo? Holy shit, no wa—” The voice cuts out and somehow you know his eyes are on you. “Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

The cringe that shoots through your body is enough to shake you from your nervous state. Your face scrunches up and you turn around to finally look at him. “What are you, an anime character?”

He opens his mouth, probably for some stupid retort, but his words die on his tongue. For a long, stretched out moment, he just stares at you.

Awkwardly, you clear your throat. “What? Do I have something on my face?” He shakes his head and you look away, nodding once. “Okay, cool.”

“Dude, you’re being lame as shit right now.” A whisper, a different voice. Tanaka makes a sound of pain and from your peripheral vision, you can see Nishinoya elbow him in the stomach. “Chrome the fuck up.”

Tanaka scoffs, but it kind of turns into a snicker. “So, uh,” he clears his throat, shifting his backpack on his shoulders, “what are we waiting for? Aren’t you guys coming to my house? For Saeko, or whatever?”

“Kenma,” you and Tetsuro say at the same time. You share a glance, then shake your head. “We’re waiting for Kenma,” you say. “He takes forever in the locker room.”

Tanaka nods, rocking on his heels awkwardly.

The situation almost makes you laugh. Tanaka was so brave over text, and now? He’s acting like a middle schooler. You have to look down at the ground so they don’t see the smile on your face.

Finally—finally—Kenma comes out of the locker room, bag slung over his shoulder, eyes glued to his phone. What an iPad kid.

“You’re such an iPad kid,” Tetsuro says, rolling his eyes. “We’ve been waiting for, like, fifteen minutes. How difficult is it to change clothes?”

“I’m a minor, please stop talking to me.” Kenma doesn’t even look up from his phone. You snicker slightly and bump his shoulder as he walks past. At that, he looks up. “Are we leaving, or what?”

“If by leaving you mean going to Tanaka’s, then yes.” You nod, then look over at Tanaka and smile. “Well? Lead the way.”

You don’t know how or why, but somehow you pick up two more kids on your way out: Hinata, Kenma’s orange-haired friend, and Kageyama, Hinata’s freakishly quiet friend. Though, you use the term friend loosely, because you don’t think they can really be friends when Kageyama looks at him like that.

And then, somehow, Tanaka convinces everyone to pile up into one car. Seven people in a five-seater car. Tanaka is driving, you’re sitting in the passenger seat, and Nishinoya and Hinata are sitting on the ground in the backseat, while the other three sit in the actual seats. It’s not safe, by any means, but it is fun when a good song starts playing and everyone starts belting the lyrics. They’re all yelling over each other, Tanaka can barely keep his eyes on the road, the two on the floor are complaining about their backs, Tetsuro keeps saying that they’re going to get pulled over, and you haven’t stopped laughing since you got in the car.

You keep glancing over at Tanaka, though not on purpose. It’s like there’s a string that keeps pulling you towards him, a feeling you’ve never felt before. He’s so . . . in his element. He’s making people laugh, surrounded by friends—this is what being truly confident in yourself looks like. And he has that right, to be 100% confident. Admittedly, you watched him on the court more than you watched your own team. There’s something so enticing about him. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him.

Eventually, you make it to his house. It’s a small house, but it’s nice. The inside isn’t decorated too much, but there are quite a few pictures hanging on the walls and sitting on various end tables and cabinets. Tanaka and his sister when they were younger, them and their dad at theme parks, school pictures—you can’t help but notice the lack of a mother in the pictures. You press your lips together and stop looking at them.

All of the boys pile into the house and it suddenly hits you that you’re hanging out with a bunch of teenage boys. You scrunch your nose up and quietly sigh. Where’s Saeko when you need her?

“Saeko! Your client is here!” Tanaka’s voice is much too loud for how close everyone is to him, but he doesn’t seem to care. When no one calls back to him, he takes a deep breath and shouts louder. “Saeko!”

The sound of a door crashing open echoes throughout the house, then stomps coming from further inside the house. You’re all still standing by the front door, talking about different things. 

“What do you want, you little twerp?” A voice rings out. Saeko. You smile at the name calling. “I try to have a little peace and quiet while you’re gone and—“ she stops talking when she comes into view. “Oh.” She blinks a few times, taking in the teenagers in front of her. “Yeah, thanks for telling me we had guests, Ryuu.” She smiles sarcastically and you snicker. You love her already.

“Hi,” you say, bowing slightly. “I’m Y/n, it’s nice to meet you. Thank you for, uh, agreeing to pierce me? It was very nice of you—especially since it was such short notice.”

“Oh, I like you.” She smiles and hums. “Also, please don’t bow. I’m older than you, but I’m not old. Just treat me like a friend. Actually, we’re friends now. You can call me Sae. Come on, let’s get this shit set up.”

She turns on her heel and begins to walk the way she came from. You glance back at Tetsuro and raise your brows. He shakes his head and sighs dramatically. “Mom is so going to kill us,” he mumbles.

And then your eyes unconsciously flit to Tanaka. You’re half-surprised to see that he’s already looking at you, a small, crooked smile on his face. You can feel your face heat up and you look away. It’s so pathetic how he makes you feel. You follow Saeko’s footsteps, to where you think she went.

You find her in the bathroom, where a few piercing tools are laid out on the sink. You swallow hard upon seeing them.

“It’ll be fine,” Saeko reassures as she pulls on a pair of black medical gloves. She pops a bubble with the gum you didn’t know she was chewing. “You look like a tough cookie.”

There’s a stampede of footsteps down the hallway that stops right before the door. You turn around to find all the boys staring into the bathroom, eyes wide.

“Hey! Don’t you guys know what privacy is? Jesus, get outta here!” Saeko flails her arm in their direction and a few of them flinch.

“No, no. It’s okay!” You reassure, laughing a little. “They can stay, I don’t mind. But if they make fun of me for crying like a baby, will you kick their asses for me?”

She snickers, and nods. “Hell yeah.”

One of them audibly swallows and a wave of laughter rolls over the boys. You laugh too, glancing at Tanaka to see him smile. Jesus, you are so screwed.

“Okay.” Saeko claps her hands together and sighs quickly. “Can you sit on the counter for me? I have to sanitize your nose.”

You nod, not hesitating to hop up on the sink. She wipes your nose down with an alcohol wipe. It kind of burns, but you don’t say anything. She tells you that the instruments she’s using are sanitized, which is why they’re in a bag.

And then she puts a dot on your nostril, where she’s going to pierce. You look in the mirror, check the placement, and accidentally catch Tanaka’s eyes. He gives you a small, encouraging smile and it really does calm you down. 

“Looks perfect,” you say to Saeko, smiling nervously. “In your professional opinion, how much will this hurt?”

“Not at all.” She shakes her head. That doesn’t really help much, though, because she has about thirteen visible piercings and you’re sure her pain tolerance is much higher than yours. She puts the clamp in place and raises her brows. “Ready?”

You glance to the doorway, where all the boys have worried looks on their face, and take a deep breath, letting your eyes fall shut. You keep them like that and say, “as I’ll ever be.”

The next few seconds seem to pass in slow motion. You can’t see anything, but you can sense her hand coming closer to your face. The needle touches your skin and you almost flinch, but resist. There’s a sharp pain and then—

“I’m gonna put in the jewelry now, ‘kay?”

There’s some more jostling of the clamp and then something else slides into place. The clamp leaves your nose and then you can no longer feel her hands by your face.

Slowly, you peel your eyes open. Saeko is smiling at you, wide and almost unhinged. “All done,” she says. “Take a look.”

You turn around and look in the mirror once again, the blue dot now replaced by a stud. There’s redness, but no blood. You turn your head a little, looking at it from the side and from the front. It looks good—you look good.

A small giggle escapes your mouth and you smile, wider than ever. “Oh my god,” you mumble. You turn back to Saeko and laugh. “My mom is going to kill me.”

“You look so cute, though,” she shakes her head, pressing her lips together. “Maybe if you wear a Kakashi-style mask, she won’t notice.”

“A sheisty, if you will.” It’s the first time Tanaka has spoken in a while, but his comment gets a giggle out of you and makes him smile. God, that stupid, stupid smile. 

“If you will,” Nishinoya repeats, doubling over in laughter. Was it really that funny? His laugh is weird and loud and so ridiculous that everyone else starts laughing. When you laugh with them, you feel like you’re where you belong.

“Okay, who’s hungry?” Saeko asks, halting the laughter of everyone. Simultaneously, everyone’s hands shoot up in the air. “Right. I’m cooking for a small army, got it.”

The food Saeko makes is ridiculously good. The boys practically eat the Tanaka’s out of house and home with how much they consume. The table is completely full, more laughter filling the house.

You belatedly realize that Tanaka is really funny. You also realize that, yeah, you like him. And it’s not some huge moment, where time slows down and a romantic song plays in the background. 

You realize it as he looks at you, smiling, and you snort out a laugh when you spot some food stuck in his braces.

“What? What’s so funny? I didn’t even say anything.”

“You have—” you can’t even finish your sentence. You gesture to your mouth, hoping he gets the hint, but he just tilts his head. “There’s— oh my god.”

He laughs too, but it sounds more confused than yours. “You’re starting to freak me out, Y/n. What are you laughing at?”

“There’s food in your braces!” You finally manage to say. You have to set down your bowl so you don’t spill anything—that’s how hard you’re laughing.

His face turns bright red and he moves so fast that he spills his bowl of food all over his lap. He stands up quickly, hissing at how hot it is. And, of course, that only makes you laugh harder. 

And then it hits you. You like this kid. You like his stupid jokes and his stupid smile and his stupid braces and the stupid way he moves on the court and the stupid way he’s able to make you laugh so easily.

You are so astronomically fucked.

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[redrose10]

I hope you like it! Thanks for requesting. @suga-nya

<Confetti Cake Crush>

Idol Yoongi x Female Reader. Friends to Lovers

Warnings: Slight amount of angst, insecurities, hints of smut but nothing explicit

Prompts in bold

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

“Take the picture!”, you gritted through your teeth, “This cake is really heavy.” Taehyung was trying to shed to get the perfect shot but he did snap a few photos of you holding up your birthday cake at your “surprise” birthday party before Hoseok came and helped you put the cake on the table. It wasn’t really a surprise because being the executive accounting assistant you knew about all of the spending that went on at the company. When you saw a receipt for a birthday cake to be delivered on your birthday and balloons and a handwritten receipt that said birthday gift for Y/N…shhhh…don’t tell her, you knew it was coming. But it was still thoughtful and nice of them to go out of their way to set this up for you.

You couldn’t help but notice one important piece was missing though. Yoongi. Your best friend. For the last four years he had always been by your side. You hung out after work or before work if possible. Spoke on the one at least once a day. So for him to miss out on your birthday party stung a little bit.

You couldn’t say that you blamed him though. & it was the other way around there would have been no way you would have showed up to his party.

“I like you…like a lot Y/N. I uh I…I love you actually.”, he shyly said to you a week ago. You watched his ears turn bright red before he looked up at you, one of the rare times he held eye contact for more than a few seconds. You wanted to kiss him and tell him you loved him too, that you have for a while to be honest.

But his eyes looked so warm and sweet and loving and you just couldn’t be the one to hurt him so you decided to let him down early before you guys were in too deep,

“I’m…I…I’m sorry. I can’t. I have to go.”, you replied and walked out of his studio so he wouldn’t see you cry. Other than a text from him asking if you made it home safely that night you hadn’t heard from or seen him since.

“Not eating any cake?”, Namjoon asked startling you out of your day dream. “No.”, you laughed, “I saw a bunch of finger prints all over the frosting and I have a feeling they weren’t from the bakery.”, you said pointing at Jungkook and Jin manhandling the cake trying to slice and plate it.

“Yeah don’t blame you.”, he chuckled.

“Have you seen Yoongi today?”, you questioned even though you were already pretty sure of the answer, but you couldn’t help yourself.

“I saw him this morning. Said something about being busy in his studio all day.”

You hummed in acknowledgement.

“I can’t say that I blame him. Getting rejected by one of your best friends no less is pretty rough.”

“You know about that?”, you groaned.

“Of course I know about that. We’re like brothers. We tell each other everything.”

“How is he doing Joon?”, you quietly asked.

“Well.”, he chuckled, “He’s hurt, pretty heartbroken I’d say. I mean getting rejected sucks, but he’s a big boy. He can handle it. But…what I want to know is why?”

Your brows furrowed, “What do you mean why?”

“Y/N, we all know that you’ve had a huge crush on him for a while so why did you reject him when he confessed to you? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to…it’s just been something I’ve been wondering about.”

“I um I just…”, you sighed, “He’s him and I’m me. That’s all. It’s one thing for me to have a crush on him, but knowing he also liked me made it too real. I panicked.”

“What do you mean by that?”, he asked. You hated that he did things like that. He played dumb so that you would have to talk through what you were feeling. You had seen him do it a million times with the rest of the group, but now you were on the receiving end.

“You know what I mean. He’s talented, successful, rich. He’s only dated other idols who are just as talented and beautiful as he is. And I…I sit behind a desk answering phone calls and collecting paperwork and inputting numbers into a system. I’m nowhere near being on his level. What will people think of they find out we’re dating? So I rejected him for his own good. I didn’t want him to regret it one day and then we’ll both be more upset.”

The way Namjoon let out a deep belly laugh surprised you. When he saw your face of anger he quickly coughed and changed his demeanor, “Sorry sorry, but Y/N you should know better than anyone that Yoongi doesn’t care about things like that. He doesn’t care about status or money or what others think. He likes you because you’re you. And you know he doesn’t take something like confessing lightly. So if he told you he loved you that means he really does love you. He’s never told anyone that before.”

Deep down you knew he was right, but it was hard to accept. You genuinely thought you were doing the right thing by rejecting him now so it didn’t end up in heartbreak later, but you were living with immense regret ever since.

“I’m not telling you how to live your life Y/N, but …”, he said reaching over and grabbing a slice of cake with the least amount of finger prints, “You know Yoongi loves confetti cake just as much as you do.”

You got the hint he was giving and took the cake, “Thanks Joon. I’ll take this up to him and maybe have a talk.”

Normally you’d just enter in the code to his studio and let yourself in without much thought. But after the recent events doing that felt strange and that saddened you. You knocked and waited a few moments before knocking again this time a little bit harder. When he still didn’t answer you were a little impatient so you decided to put in the code and enter the studio on your own before you lost the courage you currently had.

“I told you guys I’m busy.”, he grumbled when he heard the door beep without even looking away from the computer screen.

“Too busy for cake?”, you spoke making him jump because he wasn’t expecting to hear your voice. You giggled when you saw him spin around in his chair so fast nearly falling out of it.

“Y/N, wh-what are you doing here?”

You held up the slice of cake, “It’s confetti. Our favorite!”

“Thank you. I’m uh I’m sorry I couldn’t make it. I’m just really busy and have to get this song done by the deadline and…”

“It’s okay.”, you cut him off before he could continue his rant, “I understand why you weren’t there.”

He sat down on the leather couch next to you giving a tight lipped smile, but didn’t say anything.

“Y/N”

“Yoongi”

You both laughed at the coincidence. “You first.”, you said.

He took a deep breath, “Y/N…I’m sorry about the other day. I never meant to make you uncomfortable. I guess I…I guess I just misread some things between us and I thought you liked me too.”

“I do!”, you jumped up before feeling a little embarrassed and clearing your throat and sitting back down, “I mean I do like you too.”

“Then why…”, he turned to look at you, “Then why did you leave like that the other day?”

“Um…well I just thought I was doing the right thing because I didn’t want you to end up regretting it.”

“What?!”, he laughed, “I would never regret anything about you or us.”

“I know I know. It’s just that you’re you and I’m me and I didn’t see us working out in the long run because of that.”

“Mmmhhm I see now.”, he said scooting a little closer to you, “Y/N, I didn’t mean to fall in love with you, but that doesn’t mean I regret it one bit. I love who you are as a person. I love how kind you are and how sweet and thoughtful you are. I think you’re beautiful and smart and the best thing to ever happen to me. I mean all of that. And I can’t guarantee we’d be together forever, but I have no plans of ever letting you go.”

You buried your face into his neck feeling overwhelmed, “I love you too Yoongi.”

You could feel him shuffling around a little bit. “Hey look at me.”, he said tapping your forehead, “Happy birthday Y/N.”

You looked down at the black box wrapped in a red bow.

“I was gonna have Jimin distract you so I could put it on your desk before you left for the day.”

Excitedly you untied the bow and snapped open the black velvet box. “Wow Yoongi. It’s gorgeous. Thank you so much!”, you said handing him the necklace and turning around so he could clasp it around your neck. When he was done you looked down at the sparkly daisy pendant with a smile.

“Oh! Here have some cake!“, you said reaching for the plate, but he beat you to it.

“No, I should be feeding cake to the birthday girl.”

“But confetti cake is your favorite.”

“Yes, but it’s also your favorite too.”

The two of you bickered back and forth while fighting for control of the fork. One thing led to another and next thing you knew somehow the slice of cake toppled over and slid down your face onto your chest leaving a trail of frosting all the way down to your thighs and onto the floor.

“Oh no I’m sorry.”, he giggled while searching for a napkin to clean you up.

“No it’s okay. I don’t mind. I hate this shirt anyways.”, you giggled along with him.

“You could always take it off.”, he said while wiping away at the frosting on your cheek, “Only if you want to that is.”, he added. Both of your cheeks blushed.

Your fingers had a mind of their own as they quickly undid the buttons pulling off the scratchy material you always hated. You sat there just in your skirt and black lace bra feeling very exposed.

When you noticed Yoongi staring at you intently your cheeks heated up in embarrassment even more and you tried to hide your face with your hands, but he stopped you.

“Does it make you nervous when I stare?”, he rasped. His voice deeper than normal.

You nodded, “Yeah a little.”

“Don’t be.”, he shook his head, “You have nothing to be nervous about around me. I think you’re beautiful Y/N. Every single bit of you.”

He leaned over and engulfed your lips into a kiss which you happily reciprocated.

“Do you want to go further?”, he pulled away to ask.

You nodded, “Yes please.”

So he pushed you back onto the couch spreading your legs to make some room for him.

He took the slice of cake smearing more of the frosting all over your body.

Then he licked at the frosting on your skin. First on your chest before moving down to your thighs. His tongue warm and soft and causing your excitement to build.

“Okay princess. Let me make this a birthday you’ll never forget.”, he smirked before undoing his belt.

He leaned in for another kiss before pulling down your skirt and tossing it somewhere in the corner of the room.

His kiss tasted like sugar and cream and vanilla and god you loved confetti cake.

[kimoralov3]

click cute - 16

<- previous next -> | masterlist

your suitcase rolls behind you as you step into the air bnb, taking in your surroundings. being friends with sarah definitely had it’s perks.

“y/n, you’re here!” you hear a voice call from the top of the stairs. you remove your glasses with a smile, bracing yourself as sarah runs up and hugs you.

“sarah! oh my god, you look so good! fresh highlights?” you ask as you pull away, taking in your friend’s new look.

“of course. you know i had to look good for vacation.” she says as she does a little shoulder shimmy. you snort at that. she was really something else. “how was your flight? sorry i couldn’t go with you, i had to get here early to make sure everything was all good.”

“girl, you flew us first class. even if i did have complaints, you would not be hearing anything from me.” you say as you loop your arms together. she throws her head back in laughter, bumping her hip with yours.

“glad you enjoyed it. only the best for my girls.” she says teasingly before turning her head towards the stairs. “john b! come down here really quick!”

the sound of quick footsteps follow sarah’s call, along with the visual of a brown haired boy taking the steps two at a time. “oh hey, you must be y/n.” he says as he holds his arm out for a handshake.

“yeah, i am! it’s nice to meet the guy sarah won’t shut up about.” you say, causing sarah to playfully elbow you in the side. john b laughs at that, pulling sarah closer to him and slinging an arm around her shoulders.

“all good things, i’d hope.” he says as he presses a kiss to her head. as much as you hated to admit it in an attempt of solidarity with lex, the two of them were cute together. really cute together. 

“so, is anyone else here? or are we the first ones?” you ask as you grab hold of your suitcase once more.

“oh no, jess and jj are upstairs ‘blessing’ their room.” sarah says with barely contained laughter. you make a face of disgust, a hand coming up to your chest.

“ew, gross. please tell me my room isn’t right next to theirs?” you ask with a laugh.

sarah quickly shakes her head. “oh no, i could never do that to you. me, john b, and lex’s room is right next to theirs.” she explains. oh, thank god. you could not handle sleeping next to an overly “touchy” couple and— wait a minute.

“wait, you guys are sharing with lex? why?” you ask as you look between the two of them. god, let’s put those facial muscles to use to hide your shock at how bad of an idea this was.

“there’s only four rooms. we figured jess and jj would need their own rooms, and pope and rafe can’t share for some reason—” sarah starts.

“rafe complains about pope staying up all night to play his games, pope complains about rafe waking up at ungodly hours to do his in room workout routines or whatever.” john b intercepts as he scratches his eyebrow. there was definitely a story there. 

“so i’m rooming with pope?” you ask for clarification. judging by the look on sarah’s face, that was not quite the case. 

“no, actually. you’re uh, you’re rooming with rafe.” she says, looking anywhere but your eyes.

this was fine. it wasn’t a big deal. the two of you had made up or whatever, so you weren’t really mad at him anymore. but there was that whole thing about you possibly hearing him call you cute, so it was still awkward, as some people would say.

“that’s fine!” you say, pretending not to notice how high your voice had gotten. you clear your throat before speaking again. “so, does that mean pope is rooming with cleo and aubs?”

“oh, yeah. there really wasn’t anywhere else to put him. plus you know how aubs is, she goes to sleep pretty late anyways.” sarah says. she had a point; you had woken up to one too many 2 am text messages from aubree about any and everything that was on her mind. 

“well good luck to pope.” you say with a chuckle, ignoring that pesky feeling in the pit of your stomach. you were overreacting, really. it wouldn’t be that bad, or awkward, or weird or whatever to room with rafe.

right?

taglist: @arkofblake @ivysprophecy @murdockcastleslut @lmaowhatt @fruitcakerafe @ayy1234567 @freyawhitexxx1 @my-name-is-baby @baocean @yesshewrites1 @gxuxhdjdu @cyberkitty1 @hypnotizedstarkey @eddxemxnson @amterasuu @bee-43 @dreamybabbyy @hello-therree @marleymarleymarleymarley @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @starsval @cali-888 @chalametlover444 @uarmyhopeworldwide

[anpanbun]

share gay treebark facts about stagelight au immediately

1- Ren laying in bed watching very old song cover clips Martyn has on his AUstagram with a silly smile on his face

2- Ren loves listening to Martyn speak. Martyn loves watching Ren's mouth move when he's mouthing along to a song.

3- Their first kiss is after Martyn plays a gig and the crowd is just so so into the performance and it goes so so well and Ren is just so happy and excited for Martyn that he cant stop himself from just grabbing Martyn's face and kissing him

4- Martyn recognizes Ren as Red King instantly from an old photo because no amount of dramatic stage makeup will stop him from recognizing the face he spent a long time staring at

5- Before they're dating before Martyn even knows Ren was in Red King, someone flirts with Martyn after an open mic, and Ren gets so jealous. He's not one to just let it pass idly by at that point though, so he channels some of that old rockstar energy. He pushes his sunglass up off of his face and they push back his hair, he does the rockstar strut, he gently brushes his hand against Martyn's to let him know he's there, before wrapping arm loosely around his waist in a clear show of possessiveness. [This is so out of character for the, as Martyn as seen so far, shy, quiet, hot guy he's slowly befriending via texts and AUstagram messages. And this is a very funny scene to me cause of it]

6- I need to remind everyone that Ren has big hands, this is just an actual fact about the real life man. So with that here's something my friend Beans said: "i was just thinking about martyn sitting there with ren’s big hand on his shoulder like wow never noticed how big his hands are. haha. well anyways."

7- After Martyn knows about Ren's history, Ren offering to teach him his trick to doing this one super iconic riff from a Red King song. And of course, clearly the best way to show Martyn how to do this is to have Martyn sit in between Ren's legs with his back to Ren's chest so that he can slot his hands over Martyn's and rest his head on Martyn's shoulder to see their hands. Clearly.

8- Important knowledge, Ren has trauma related to alcohol because of the car wreck scandal and the press accusations (even though he was sober during that). So if Martyn drinks even a little bit while at or near Ren's house, Ren makes him stay the night. The first time this happened Martyn accidently fell asleep on Ren's bed while they were talking, and Ren can't just wake him up to ask him to move..... and he's kinda trapped cause Martyn is laying too close for Ren to be able to get up and go sleep in the guest room without disturbing him so.... oops guess theyre sharing a bed now. And what do you know that habit just continues every time Martyn sleeps over, oops.

9- Important knowledge, Ren is touch starved. Ren sitting on the floor so that Martyn can pet his hair and scratch behind his ears.

10- Ren gets horrible nightmares, and Martyn's voice helps soothe them, so on nights when Martyn isnt there. Ren listens to recordings of Martyn's song covers over and over again or calls Martyn in the middle of the night and Martyn knows to just yap about anything and everything until he hears the soft noises of Ren's sleeping breath.

If I say anymore anon I might explode into a million pieces

[respectthepetty]

At one of the nearby-ish universities, researchers can use the lab that attaches those little pads to people's heads and see their brains light up (the sign-up list is loooong), and I always think my brain would look like fireworks going off while I watch color-coded boys fall in love because once Black Brooder Yotha said that Green Guy Gun was his boyfriend to his Blue Boy brother and Gun's Blue Boy best friend in Perfect 10 Liners' sixteenth episode, I'm sure my brain stayed lit!

Even when I saw Yellow Yal Arm and Red Rascal Arc not in their colors, my brain wanted to shut off right here, but I think Arc's shirt has yellow highlight over the text (for his man), and every time I see that Manchester United poster, -I- see red from my rage, so I guess I'll make the colors happen with or without the show giving them to me.

But Sam makes up for it since he has consistently been a Red Rascal in the second portion of the show, always popping up to talk shit and bounce, and it appears Arm is wearing a light yellow, so my brain is, once again, lighting up!

However, I wish we would have gotten more of the other color-coded friends since we don't get enough Orange Oddities (Book) or Pink People (Franc) in BLs. But I know every story is going to have the Blue Boys (Kong AND FAIFA!!!!)

I won't be too mad at it though because, as I've mentioned every single week, this show's color coding is just so damn good, so my brain is always lighting up. Like these are the exact faces a jovial Green Guy and a mean Black Brooder would make. Perfect faces. Perfect colors. Perfect 10 Liners.

Even Faifa's rage is perfect!

Because even though Faifa's dark blue shirt is telling him to "Seize" the day and "Just trust yourself then you will know how to live," as a sign of the dark Blue Boy coming his way, he can't see his own happy ending when he is listening to Gun say stupid shit like "Love makes you tiny." I'd also be plotting murder if I was him.

COLOR-CODED BOYS IN LOVE ARE DISGUSTING(LY ADORABLE)!

Random: Someone at GMMTV likes puppy play because every single show has some aspect of it, so good for that person getting everything they wanted!

Because I got matching birthday ties! So Yotha got matching binary tattoos with Wa, but he has matching bracelets and ties with his current boyfriend cementing that Yotha is an emo who likes sentimental gifts.

Emo Black Brooders in love are the best!

I'm not going to get over that there was a whole ass Pink Person and Orange Oddity in this portion of Color-Coded Boys The Series, and I know minimal information about them.

But thank goodness I know everything about these two yin yang colored boys!

Because they are meant for each other. They are toxic AND in love!

They fight just so they can have make-up sex.

Good for those beautiful bastards!

That could never be these two color-coded boys though.

Gun doesn't understand anger or foregoing sleep in favor of sex unlike these other color-coded boys.

Good for him!

And the more light Blue Boy Faifa cries about not having someone, the more I scream that he is about to meet his match in dark Blue Boy Wine. Newton is going to hate BOTH his brothers.

Now Yotha and Gun are putting on matching pajamas just to take them off the way God and Arm intended.

Have I mentioned how happy my brain is about color-coded boys in love? Because I'm very happy about color-coded boys in love being there for each other when they have to deal with big emotions.

Even more so when they are color-coded brothers who yell at each other that "You're too pessimistic" and " You're too optimistic" since the colors only emphasize those points!

Newton remains neutral, the dad is blue, and the mom is pink. This is Heterosexuality 101, which is why Yotha and Faifa do not comprehend it.

Yes! Keep saying this Gun! Keep reminding me that the people who worked behind the scenes on this show deserve a raise! Keep saying you bring light to this Black Brooder's dark world!

Because your shirt will explicitly state it later ("Sunshine on my Mind")

All is right in the world. Everyone is in the color, and Yotha got jokes.

AND ARM AND ARC ARE FINALLY IN THEIR COLORS TOO!

Thank God for small miracles and color-coded boys in love.

NOW BRING ME MY LAPIS LADS!

[luckypunklemonade]

| "I'm Going Nowhere You Won't Find Me."

[Smut MDNI 18+; Established relationship; fem!reader; 3k words] BackwardsCap! Stiles Stilinski didn't mean to worry you. Don't worry, he'll make amends.

This work belongs to me, luckypunklemonade (Minte_Condition on AO3). I do not give anyone permission to distribute or share my work without consent.

“You could’ve gotten shot?!”

You slapped the table, standing up as Scott spouts excuses. All “I didn’t even want to go in!” and Stiles counters with “Scott found the key! And he wasn’t gonna shoot me!”

You shake your head, trying not to overreact and deciding between if it’s okay now that they’re here and safe or if you should freak out. “Are you kidding?”

Stiles followed your unsure train of thought, “Look, we talked to him, and we left. He was never really gonna shoot us.”

You brushed him off and uncomfortably kept your eyes out the window into the dark. Imagining a gun pointed at your boyfriend and his best friend was already scary, given how often it could happen. He didn’t seem to understand your anxieties being on the outside. He thought the fact that it was over would calm you down. You did, too. 

Your big issue was that he didn’t tell you he was about to enter a dangerous situation. You knew what you signed up for in being his girlfriend, but that was one of your requests. That he at least told you so you weren’t left with nothing. He promised you would never be in the dark if he could help it. It was a mutual agreement that you could help, so he’d trust you, and you’d trust him You weren’t mad, but you couldn’t articulate just how you felt. You figured you’d be able to after a night's rest and then some.

“You guys need to get home. It’s late, and your parents are probably worried and clueless.”

Scott nodded and grabbed his coat, but Stiles stood firm in front of you.

“C’mon, can we talk?”

He stepped up to you, hands sliding around your waist and asking for your attention.

You ignored the ploy, “Did you drive Scott here?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, get him home. It’s too late to be out in this town. Please.”

“Okay, okay,” he noted the frantic tone in your voice, emphasized by how much you knew about the supernatural in this town from him. Stiles grabbed his keys and walked with Scott outside. “Love you, honey.”

“Love you.”

And then he came back. You were lying in bed, taking deep breaths and winding down when he knocked. You shot up, sifting through what you know about the supernatural for something that could mimic his knock. You padded over the cold floor to the door and looked through the window at the top. It was Stiles. Of course, it was Stiles.

You opened the door, and Stiles stepped inside without hesitation. As you were closing and locking the door, he pulled you by the waist into him. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Don’t be mad at me.”

“Stiles, I’m not mad. I just- I wish I weren’t left so clueless. I hate looking stupid, and then you come to me with something like this. I would feel much better if I had known you were going into that, I could’ve been prepared.”

Stiles smoothed your hair behind your ears, “I know it was stupid, and you should not have to suffer because of it.”

“I’m not saying you can’t go out and do whatever you want like you did before. I won’t ever want to change that. I don’t want to be the overbearing girlfriend who mothers you. I’m just– What if you go out there and get shot or hurt or worse, and I’m not there to help? I don’t want to be clueless and helpless when it comes to you. You know I’ll always be here for anything, and I can try to chill out, but-“

“Listen, you don’t need to do anything. I didn’t text you. That’s my fault. I agreed to let you know if I had planned anything stupid and failed. I wish you wouldn’t have to worry, but I’d do the same thing if it were reversed. I’m glad I have you on my side, okay? I’ll do better, I’m sorry.”

You huffed, not satisfied with him taking the full weight of shame that comes with an apology. “I just care about you. And Scott. I guess.”

He smiled and kissed your cheek, “Thank you.”

Another kiss, followed by several more peppered around your face, punctuated with, “Thank you, thank you, thank you-“

You cracked a smile and limply attempted to push him away. He shook his head, languidly walking you back from the front door into the kitchen. His lips followed in pace, listlessly pressed against your temple. 

“I should’a known better. Should’a known you wouldn’t be satisfied with that.” He mumbled as he guided your hips to the counter. “Not my girl.”

“Well, it’s your girl’s bedtime.”

Stiles kissed behind your ear, just where he could reach, while he spoke in your ear. His voice was the same tone he used when he spoke up an innocent excuse, just a few octaves lower and so, so close. “Is it?”

“Yes, and you know how I get without sleep.”

You could practically hear him bare his teeth in a grin, his fingers tracing just beneath the hemline of your shirt, “How do you get?”

You laughed and pulled his hands away from your stomach, holding them in yours. He looked down at you, barely hiding how his eyes flicked to your lips every few seconds before ducking his head down into your neck. He subconsciously leaned into you, pressing your lower back into the counter. You felt him inhale deeply, his lips pressed into a spot just under where you applied your perfume. He went after the scent, however faded it was, and you felt him push his face deeper. His nose, his broad smile, his eyelashes all against your neck. He licked that spot on your throat before kissing it gratefully. His head dipped with each movement of his jaw, sucking at the point where he could feel your pulse on his lips. His fingers aimlessly tangled with yours on the counter behind you.

You had to give it to him. He could be reckless. Sometimes, it was hard to be his girlfriend, but he always made it up to you. He’d realized how little he’d been getting a hold of you and spend the next few days and nights with you, making sure you could see how much he loved you. He was erratic, but he wasn’t inconsistent with that part. He wasn’t on and off checking texts or stopping by; he was always committed to that, and it never stopped, but there were exceptions. Of course, you knew what you signed up for. He was worth it, you trusted him, and he was really good at making it up to you.

You brought your hand to the back of his neck, knocking his baseball cap sideways on his head. “M’sorry.”

Stiles bent slightly, hooking his hands on the backs of your thighs and lifting you up to sit on the counter. His smile hooked at the side, making every look of insane emotion sort of playful. He reached up, taking the hat off when you stopped him, “Keep it on.”

“Yeah?” His smirk grew more confident, a look you didn’t often see on the genuine side.

“Mhm. It’s hot.”

Stiles’s smile broke into a grin, although he was sort of distracted by the hickeys he’d left on your neck. Repeating what you say as fact, he let his eyes wander, “It’s hot.”

Your laugh pulled him back in, along with you grabbing a fistful of his flannel, “Very hot, sweetheart. Can you please fuck me now?”

It took him a second to think of a response, of course, after every thought he had was replaced with your words. “I can definitely do that.”

You helped him take his shirt off, repositioning the hat backward on his head after his shirt hit the floor. He smiled as you kissed his cheek and hooked your thumbs under his jeans, Mumbling against your lips as they traveled across his face and down to his neck, touching down every so often. Mumbling about how he’d wear whatever you told him if you liked it. Stopping you from doing any heavy lifting, he gently withdrew your hands from his waistband and led you to crawl into your bed. Instructing you to just sit there and look pretty, he slowly stepped out of his jeans and kneeled on the bed to help you with your shirt. At the pace he had going, by the time he had his eyes glued to your chest, you were already pushing your shorts down. When he saw your impatience, he chuckled and watched you struggle to maneuver them off underneath him. You huffed and gave up, moving your arms out of the way. 

“Atta girl.”

Your interest in his new look made him cocky. The attitude that came with it was no doubt attractive. You found yourself searching for more openings for him to use his confidence and for you to encourage it. You started by humming at the praise, watching him drop your shorts off the side of the bed. At the same time Stiles leaned down to kiss you, your hands flattened against his lower stomach, against his happy trail. You both let out respective sounds of need, and Stiles’s hips lowered between your legs. With the feeling of his dick through the thin material of his boxers came your hips bucking softly. He opened his mouth and closed his eyes slowly, huffing out what was going to be a grunt. “Shit, honey. You make it so easy, don’t you?”

You hummed in response, letting him press himself into you and tell you fondly exactly what a guy like him should do to keep a girl like you happy. “I didn’t just know what I should just do with you, y’know. I thought about it a lot.” Stiles’s mouth turned up when he saw you weren’t really focused on his words. He leaned in, “Like a lot.”

“Mhm, just—“

“Alright, I know. You like it when I talk to you, though, right?”

“Yeah, honey. I like it.” You smiled up at him, the gears turning in his head. Stiles slowly dipped his head to your chest, sucking another mark into where the skin got plush. His eyes tracked yours, doing as much as he could while keeping your eyes on him. You’d been so frustrated lately, not just with Stiles. School issues, problems at work. The stress was irritating, but you couldn’t imagine what Stiles was going through. That understanding was a bare minimum in your mind, but for Stiles, you were the most considerate person in the world. He didn’t want to make you feel like he was just using you because you were available. So, he made sure to check every box he could for you. 

“Fuckin’ love you.” He bit the breath coming out into his lip, and his eyelashes fluttered. He was doing everything to keep his eyes open and watch you. You mumbled it back, eyes squeezed shut as he thrust steadily, but he leaned his way into kissing your temple. “What was that? I’m sorry, honey, I can’t hear you.”

You cracked a smile; that’s all he wanted, but you ventured to use your hand buried in his hair to push his head back down so that his ear was by your lips. You held down a moan, replacing it with, “I love you, too.”

It came out with the same needy tone, though, and he found your mouth to kiss his smile onto yours. While he took a second to hold himself up and take a deep breath, your cheek rested against his wrist. When he felt you gently take his wrist between your teeth jokingly, he looked down and chuckled. “I deserve that. I’ll be a better boyfriend, promise.”

“Honey—“ You began, not wanting him to wallow in self-created guilt.

“I know, but still. Just let me…” Stiles’s smile opened as he moved his hips forward, hand molded around your thigh. He pushed himself deeper into you, eyes erratically trying to find something to focus on. Your face, your chest, your hands, down to where you took his dick so well, his eyes got overwhelmed. But he wasn’t going to close them. He’s not an idiot. He couldn’t figure out which would make him cum first. Closing his eyes and imagining you doing the thousand other things you had talked about, or keeping them open and watching you try to smile up at him through the haze, also struggling to keep your eyes up. It didn’t help that you tend to whine for him, showcasing how blank your mind really was. His thumb was less circling your clit than just trying to savor how messy he’d gotten you. He fed into his curiosity, which he would’ve done regardless of how good it made you feel, but especially because you arched your back off of the bed and pushed your hips up, meeting his thrusts, letting him bury himself deeper. 

He encouraged you, feeling the need start to deepen, pushing him harder. He was driven, you’d told him, thank god he didn’t gamble. Anything verbal was hopeless. He just mumbled emphatically at each movement. He opened his mouth, a clue he was almost there. He just needed a little more. Just having him like that made you clench yourself around him, moaning when he almost lost his hold of himself above you. 

“You gotta…” He almost ’woofed’ out his breath. “Fuck, honey, y’take it so good.”

His voice cracked on ‘honey,’ and you could see it sort of shook his confidence. He’d never really said anything like that with you. He was the first in the relationship to be vocal about most things. He said he loved you first, despite all the inner turmoil, even if it was sort of an accident. It was your encouragement that made him say it, your reaction to his confident demeanor. You saw an opening to make him feel good about himself; you took it. His eyes closed, gears turning and undoubtedly overthinking what he just said, but you said his name, prompting him to open his eyes and look at you.

With a sort of assured grin, you nodded at him, “Keep going. Wanna hear how well I take it.” 

He mirrored your smile, getting shy about it, but his next thrust had him to the hilt and holding it there. You yelped a little at the feeling of him holding you, of him driven into you and bracing you while you squirmed. You moaned, and he twitched, hearing it sound like he’d knocked the wind from you. “Look at you. Fuck, you’re doing so good. Just like that for me.”

Mewling his name, extremities limp, you let him see exactly how much you liked seeing him try new things. He liked the way you tightened around his dick when he pushed himself inside little by little until you started to reach for his arm, and he’d stop there. You strained a little, taking deep breaths, the muscles in your stomach contracting and squeezing your cunt around him. You came around him, cursing and fawning. Stiles let out a groan that turned into useless and incomprehensible praise. His hips slowly retracted, slowly met yours again, speeding up until he found the release he was chasing. He struggled to keep the pace, though. He’d revert back to his other method, get restless, and try to keep up with his needs. 

When Stiles came, his chest was pressed down against yours. All he had to do was turn his head, and he was kissing your neck again, breathing harshly. He built up the strength to roll over beside you and rest his head on your shoulder. He looked up at you with a little exhaustion when you sat up and brushed your fingers through his hair, the baseball cap forgotten for the time being. His fatigue was clear in his voice when he spoke, and he let his head roll off of your shoulder. “I’ll be better.”

You tilted your head, about to comment how what he just did was pretty damn good, but more than grateful he could recognize how stressed his being in danger made you. You leaned down to kiss his nose, laughing when he tried to croon his neck so that you met his lips. You reached over the side of the bed, your fingers finding the soft material of Stiles’s shirt and pulling it over your head. You managed to find his boxers as well, frowning when a hand took them from you. Stiles put them back on, still lying down and tired. You moved to sit on your heels next to him on the bed, your hand softly tracing shapes into his chest. Stiles tried really hard to keep his eyes open, but you ran your hand over his torso and up through his hair in a way you knew would put him out. He tried to keep talking, but every “mhmph” felt like a monumental effort from his entire body. He ended up letting you trace the veins on his arm while he listened to you, being soothed to silence and held just over the edge of sleep by your voice and your hands. When you finally lay down next to him, Stiles had fallen asleep. He liked waking up to find you had slid yourself into his arms after making him so pliable. Of course, you got a notification and had to check it before you went to sleep for the night, and, of course, it was Scott. He was asking why Stiles hadn’t been responding to his calls or texts and that he had a few ideas they could look over with Derek. You messaged him back that he’d been busy. That you both had been busy with heavy implications in the message. You sent a picture of Stiles fast asleep to help explain how you had put him to bed. Scott’s plain reply of “oh” was enough closure for you to put the phone down for the night. 

[hugheses]

Team USA won’t play its first game of the 4 Nations Face-Off until Thursday night, but it’s already suffered a big blow with Quinn Hughes bowing out due to a reported oblique injury.

Hughes, the defending Norris Trophy winner and one of the front-runners again this season, agonized over his decision on whether to once again wear red, white and blue for his first best-on-best tournament with his younger brother, Jack.

But the Vancouver Canucks captain, who looked to be in discomfort during a skate Saturday morning as he tried to test the injury that has kept him out of four games, ultimately decided it would be most appropriate to rest and heal during the 4 Nations break so he can get healthy for the Canucks’ stretch drive. With the Calgary Flames starting to fade and the Canucks 6-1-1 in their past eight, the Canucks are now three points up on the Flames for the final wild-card spot.

“I’d say it was probably the hardest decision that Quinn’s ever had to make,” Hughes’ agent, Pat Brisson, told The Athletic. “He was looking forward to representing his country along with his brother, Jack. But at the same time, he’s been carrying an injury that could continue to linger and perhaps make it worse while he also hasn’t played in a few weeks. He did everything he could in his recovery to be ready.

“The decision not to play the tournament was finally made (Sunday) after a long marathon of conversations. He was completely devastated.”

This is obviously a huge blow for the U.S. as Hughes would have been its No. 1 defenseman and likely quarterbacked the No. 1 power play. Hughes, 25, is second amongst NHL defensemen with 59 points and 22 power-play points. He leads the Canucks in scoring by 24 points.

Devils star Jack Hughes was obviously disappointed but said, “It’s hockey at the end of day. People get injured all the time, and I was looking forward to spending time with him, but it’s all good, and hopefully he heals up and is ready to go for a big second half with Vancouver.

“He wants to be a part of this. He was really excited to come with this group and put the USA jersey back on. So it’s frustrating. But if you’re injured, you’re injured.”

Ottawa’s Jake Sanderson, a 2022 Olympian who came awfully close to making the initial roster in December before the United States brass chose Noah Hanifin, replaced Quinn Hughes on the roster. He stuck around Florida, where the Sens last played, and waited well into Sunday until finally being given the word that Hughes was officially out. Sanderson, asked Saturday by GM Bill Guerin to be on call just in case, canceled a tropical vacation and flew to Montreal.

Brady Tkachuk, Sanderson’s teammate with the Sens, called him “one of the best defensemen in the league” and said it was a well-deserved honor. Sanderson looks like he’ll start the 4 Nations as the United States’ seventh defenseman, with anticipated seventh defenseman Noah Hanifin elevated to the third pair with Brock Faber.

“Quinn’s such a special player,” Detroit Red Wings captain Dylan Larkin said. “It’s really unfortunate that he was unable to go. And I know he’s at home and he wanted to be here. It’s hard on him, but he’s looking after his body, and he’s just unable to go. So it’s just an unfortunate situation, and you’re going to look at guys like Zach Werenski to step up. But we’re going to miss (Hughes’) offensive abilities and how he moves the puck.”

Hughes has medaled in four international tournaments. He won silver in the 2019 World Junior Championship, bronze in the 2018 World Junior Championship and World Championship and gold in the 2017 World Under-18 Championship.

Jack said when the decision was finally made, Quinn texted him, “Sorry. I was so pumped,” and Jack texted him back, “We’re both gonna play a long time.”

The good news is the NHL is committed to the 2026 and 2030 Winter Olympics, and the hope is there will be World Cups into the future starting in 2028. Jack Hughes recalled that last year, the Hughes bros also couldn’t play together during All-Star weekend because he was hurt.

“At some point, we’ll play a … maybe the third year,” Hughes said. “Last year was All-Star Game. Didn’t happen. This year, this. So hopefully Olympics next year we’ll get it done.”

[foxgirlmoth]

So F1nnster just came out as genderfluid but still I super fucking hate him. Making trap content and constantly making money off of a performance of being a fake girl, getting a name change and gender marker change and posting about going through that all while basically shoving it in the faces of trans women who have struggled over years and years. You've been a performance and you've gained wealth essentially making fun of us and enforcing horrible stereotypes, and saying "Yeah I just don't care about gender" Does Not Make Me Fucking Forgive Any Of That. What fucking hatred you've tossed onto your channel towards trans women will not go away easily, and Fuck You.

[bayetea]

seeing non-black people critique rick's portrayal of black characters is interesting sometimes. only like 30% of the critiques I see make any sense to me to be honest

[sysig]

He’s my little meow meow, my darling, my bbygirl (Patreon)

[monachopism]

am i autistic or am i just paranoid. level: impossible

[apfel07]

:((

[ctl-yuejie]

definitely too old for apartment sharing nonsense. this guys place i am staying at advertised his flat in a way you'd assume he had experience hosting people, but turns out any time his friends or family come over there can't be any evidence a woman is staying in one of his rooms.

I already agreed to stay outside for the day but now he suddenly needs to get all my clothes into one of his overcrowed closets? (i had like three things on hangers in the room since the closets smell like damp) + he also wanted to take my clothes from the drying rack outside (i checked with him beforehand that i could do laundry) to also put them - still damp - in a closet.

my dude. do not offer to have people stay over if that is how you are living. and has the gall to self-advertise that he wants people to feel at home while they are at his place.

(this is only temporarily because i needed a place for 10 days and the owner of the place i actually live at arranged everything, so i feel even less bad about imposing a bit since he is getting paid quite a bit for this)

also, i feel like there is no need for this. if it's dark outside, no one will check the balcony. he could always say he just allowed a friend to use the washing mashine and his room as storage while traveling etc etc.

on a general level i feel for him, like growing up in such a patriarchial society that you have to do this elaborate play to somehow connect your families sensitiveties with your own open-mindedness...but my guy...this seems stressful for everyone involved.

[hassianlovebot]

i've seen some people talk about einar's romance dialogue and how it feels offputting and rude to him but i'm gonna be honest,,, i never really saw it that way?

like i do agree that the player's dialogue options Suck compared to the other romances. something about it just feels really childish and definitely not as,,, "serious" or even committed as the other romance dialogue options. that being said, it never felt patronizing toward him.

to me, it feels like the player is just. being human. while einar is being galdur. the player doesn't get mad at him for not understanding certain jokes or not showing affection in the same way. and einar doesn't get uncomfortable with the player being human, making human jokes, or showing human affection. they're just Being Human and sharing their humanness with einar. which einar, while not always understanding of it, is completely used to and Does understand and enjoy it later on in the 3-4 levels. not that he didn't enjoy it before, but once you get closer to him, he Does understand more of the jokes and even joins in on certain ones (like the catch one!).

idk man it just always felt like the player and einar are just sharing their perspectives, personalities, and culture with each other. and of course there is the chocolate thing where he says he doesn't need it and the player has to learn what he actually wants from the relationship (ie spending time together). and there are still jokes that he ends up taking seriously, which yknow, that's kind of what i meant when i said the player's options often feel very childish compared to other ones. but it just never came off as patronizing to me, especially since einar repeatedly says that he enjoys spending time with the player and engaging in their "togetherness".

like to me it always felt like he enjoys learning about new things, even if he doesn't want to participate. like at the maji market when he says that while he doesn't understand the hotpot game, watching it fills him with "oneness". he enjoys learning about human and majiri culture and seeing them just be themselves! none of his dialogue implies that he's uncomfortable with the way the player shows affection (there Is something to be said about the dialogue options only ever showing one form of it,,, but tbf they can't put in 50+ options to cover the minutia of human brains lol)

idk i want to be clear im not shitting on anyone else's opinion on this!!! there's room for all perspectives here. i just wanted to share! i've seen SO many people say that romancing einar feels patronizing and like. i've just never seen it that way ! and it always confuses me when i see it akjhgd tbf i think some people are also neurodivergent (same lol) and don't appreciate the dialogue options that einar doesn't understand because in real life it Does feel patronizing when someone does it on purpose even knowing you won't get it. but for me, einar being galdur and not a neurodivergent human/majiri is an important distinction. he shows multiple times that he enjoys learning about human cultures and perspectives, that he enjoys talking to the player even when they don't understand each other, and that he's capable of understanding the player's jokes and sarcasm once explained to him. he Likes that they're different !

einar seems to enjoy the player acting "human" with him because he gets to learn about them! and he wouldn't want them stifle their true personality just to please him! einar is alllll about being true to yourself, your beliefs, your oneness, etc. he wants the player to understand him and his affection, but he also wants to understand the player's personality and affection. he wants them to share each other's "quirks". and don't get me wrong, i do wish there was more we could do to share in his way of affection (especially if his way is our way,,, like i'm Not flirty or jokey like that irl at all and i'd love to have more options where it really is just "hi i enjoy parallel playing with you :)))" lol) and that the dialogue options were less jokey or at least more affectionate/serious but idk,,, i think for me, i've just always seen einar as someone who wants to know and appreciate everything about the player, even the things he doesn't Immediately understand. he wants the player to explain things and share their culture with him SO bad

[pankomako]

sometimes i think about interactions boat and i have had and things he's said to/about me over the years and it makes me feel as though i must occupy some little space in his heart. like i live in his mind rent-free the way he does for me, although not nearly to the same extent lmao.

speak of the goddamn devil i just got a steam notification he's playing tf2

anyway i never thought i'd have that kind of effect on a person, much less my favorite content creator. but it sure appears to be that way, and idk. it makes me feel special. warms my heart n all that :)

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | oneshot smut [18+]

title. around the clock

Hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision.

ᰔ pairing. babysitter/boxing au - underground boxer & babysitter!gojo x college student!reader (f)

ᰔ summary. when underground boxer gojo satoru becomes a little strapped for cash, he gets a day job as a babysitter for a five-year-old kid named yuuji who most definitely has adhd (but that’s besides the point). the kid’s mom gave gojo two rules, and two rules only: don’t accidentally kill my son, and do not flirt with my daughter. he’s pretty sure he’s got a good hold on the former, but he’s got no self control over the latter.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, smut, casual sex, lil bit of fluff, lil bit of crack, slight age gap (reader’s 22 & gojo’s 27), cum play, creampie, unprotected sex, praise kink, slight degradation, gojo is a sleazebag that cares?, sort of porn-coded smut except there’s a lil bit of lore so it’s kinda porn w plot, uhh having sex with risk of getting caught, gojo beats people up at night & then plays father figure to a 5 y/o during the day, mentions of violence/alcohol/drugs/blood/cigarettes

ᰔ word count. 12.6k

a/n. hiiii friends jeez it feels like FOREVER since i've posted some good ol' smut (still has plot tho xd)...hopefully you enjoy n see ya at the bottom! lmk if i missed any warnings! if you asked to be tagged but didn’t get tagged it’s bc you have your tags off aaa :( even when some ppl tried to fix it i still couldn’t tag them i’m sorry!!

alsoooooo so very much love to @starmapz for beta reading this for me :”) really helped me w my posting nerves haha. she is also a wonderful jjk author pls go check out her works!! 💕 ART CREDITS: @/3-aem

➸ masterlist

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): heyy um i’m sorry if this comes off kinda rude i just am kinda bad with this but i was wondering if you could text my mom for questions about yuuji’s care instead of me?

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Oh 2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Yeah, sure

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sorry i know my mom doesn’t know much ab how to take care of him bc i was the one that took care of him for a while but i just really want to separate myself from that guardian role now that i’ve transferred to NYU yknow? :/ i think it’s not my place anymore. i just wanna be big sis now haha

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: I get it. Sorry if I was making you uncomfortable with my texts

2:48pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): no no not uncomfy by it, thanks for looking after him. it’s just i’m kind of busy n stuff so it can be distracting 

2:49pm Gojo Satoru: Ok, got it

2:52pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): and it was kind of an issue with his last babysitter

2:53pm Gojo Satoru: Oh?

2:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeahhh like he would keep textinf me n stuff uhh kinda weird things… i told my mom about it and she was super pissed so she fired him

2:55pm Gojo Satoru: Weird things?

2:56pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah he was always “accidentally sexting me” n like he sent me a dick pic once sooooo yeah

2:56pm Gojo Satoru: Who tf 2:56pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll go beat him up

2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): oh no no its fine lol 2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): please dont beat anyone up 2:58pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i’m not saying you’re like him tho i just think maybe less texting unless its an emergency okay?

3:00pm Gojo Satoru: Are you sure because I will totally go beat him up for you

3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO I DONT WANT YOU TO BEAT ANYONE UP FOR ME 3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): also no offense but you dont look like you could beat someone up

3:01pm Gojo Satoru: WHAT 3:02pm Gojo Satoru: Tf you mean “no offense” that’s literally the most offensive thing you could say to a guy

3:04pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeaa i mean you have muscles ofc but in the ‘ohhh i wanna look good for instagram’ way and not like real man muscles yknow

3:06pm Gojo Satoru: Ok princess next time you visit home and go on one of your stupidly large grocery hauls I’ll make sure you carry all those groceries in by yourself 

3:06pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): I WAS JUST JOKING 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): YOURE SO STRONG TY FOR ALWAYS CARRYING THE GROCERIES INSIDE 3:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): PLEASE KEEP CARRYING MY GROCERIES INSIDE

3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Nah 3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Should we be texting right now? I’m not sensing any emergencies here

3:11pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): pls. my groceries :(

3:16pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll let the kiddo know you say hi 👋🏼 

The irony of it all was that, if Gojo really wanted to, he absolutely could beat the shit out of someone. And he has, hundreds of times, pseudo professionally. Although that isn’t something he’d admit to you, out of fear that you might relay that info back to your mom who would then become mortified that she’s entrusted her five-year-old son’s life to the hands of an underground boxer. 

But he needed the money. A night-time job didn’t really make daytime money, not when they could easily replace him with the next dude the second he gets knocked out of the ring more than twice, let alone if he let it happen once. And although he sometimes made large sums, it wasn’t stable income. He needed a back-up plan, and so babysitting it was. 

The babysitter working nights at unsanctioned dojos and gyms located in the back of cartel blocks, knocking teeth out of men twice his size, would put any decent mother into a coma or induce some episode of syncope, hence why it wasn’t something he put on his resume before he got hired. Not that he even needed to provide a resume; your mom seemed desperate to cover the position as fast as possible, that promotion at work was moving faster than she wanted to, and Gojo’s beneficial attribute that he possessed as a candidate to look after her son, compared to all the other potential hires, was that he had a penis.

He likes the kid. Yuuji. He’s got kind of a short attention span, and makes Gojo weary of his age. Hold up, that makes him sound like he’s geriatric, he’s really only the ripe old age of twenty-seven, but the immortality and infinite stamina that a five-year-old boy has on him is enough to have him huffing and puffing at the end of every single evening shift he takes on with the rascal. 

Fighting is all sprint, and no stamina. Sure, there might be some more seasoned boxers that might disagree with him, but for someone as young as him in the field, it’s the tactic he’s been forced to gain. If he draws a fight on for too long, he'll get killed by a forty-two year old man with steroids clogging up his adipose tissue and enough  testosterone to grow a full-body beard by the time the sun starts to set. No, his strategy is to knock them out within the first fifteen seconds. Use their weight against them, and whatnot. A tactic he’s found has worked, since he’s been undefeated thus far. 

He can never wrap his head around it. The drug lords that run the rings who’ve gained millions the night before from selling crystal meth only to lose it all the night following in the second Gojo hooklines a solid punch to their betting boxer’s chin, making them see God & their Momma before they tap out (if they’re even able).

He doesn’t pocket much money from it, not anything compared to what the men who bet on him end up making at least, but it’s a decently solid sum. How lucrative it really is depends solely on what he thinks the value of his life is.

It’s not unheard of, boxers dying in the ring. Turns out, rich drug dealers care very little about the sheep they’ve captured to perform their entertaining little stunts. But Gojo wasn’t doing all of this to feel some sense of work-life pride, no, it was just sustenance. When basic needs are not met, humans resort to the most animalistic of all behaviors, and while he’s not proud of what he does, he can’t deny the fact that it’s turned him into an adrenaline junkie that gets a rush in his veins every time he knocks a jaw loose.

But balance was key. And hence why he’s a boxer by night, babysitter by day. For at least four days a week, he gets to pretend he’s the king’s most trusted appointed knight, or he’s the radioactive tyrannosaurus rex that wants to tyrannize all the other dinosaurs, or maybe he’s the evil power ranger (he always forgets which color that one was) that is determined to make the world a living hell by smashing mr. potatohead against the bunk bed post a billion times for all the other toys to see. Or whatever other imaginative hyperfixations Yuuji imposes on him in the later afternoon once he’s had his bowl of spaghetti-O’s and is ready to play. Lately, the kid’s been really into space. They’ve got all sorts of space toys these days. Back in Gojo’s day, he just had a good ol’ Buzz Lightyear.

“One rule, that’s it: don’t accidentally kill my son. Actually, one more rule. Don’t flirt with my daughter.” 

There’s a part of Gojo that believes your mom kind of knows he’s up to shady shit at night, otherwise why else would she clause for him to not flirt with you if she didn’t read the slight swell to his eye and the healing gash across his cheek as anything other than this boy is trouble and I want him nowhere near my too-good-for-him daughter of reproductive capacity since that’s the exact tale of how I became a single mother in the first place. Or maybe he inherently looks like he’s up to no good? He’s not sure which angle is more offensive, and which one was more flattering. Well in any case, she entrusted Yuuji’s life to him, despite acknowledging the plausibility of harm, and that means she overall thinks positively of him, right? ……right?

The first night he met you, it was awkward to say the least. Gojo spends most of his nights performing deadly stunts for middle aged men with potbellies, and most of his days hanging out with a five-year-old (one who he’d argue is his only friend at this point). Sure, he’s got some people he sees occasionally back in his high school hometown when he can brave hearing about how everyone’s in college now or doing a masters or they’re working respectable nine-to-five day jobs meanwhile he has to lie to his Pops that he’s been working in insurance for the past two years. Listen, in fairness, he probably makes the same amount of money as an insurance broker would anyways, but he can’t exactly own up to the identity of his craft. 

Anyways, the point is, he’s not used to seeing other people his age anymore. There’s the occasional hook-up with girls he hasn’t seen since Mrs. Tracy’s homeroom period back in sweet two-thousand-sixteen, or his twice-a-year hangout with Suguru where he only learns the day of where he's visiting from since the guy moves around more than Gojo can keep up with. But save for that, he mostly just sees your mom and then Yuuji. 

So seeing you standing in the kitchen for the first time when he went to put Yuuji’s half-finished GoGurt back in the fridge was startling to say the least. When the sight of a woman startled him, he knew he needed to start getting out again.

You were on your tiptoes, reaching up to grab at something over the fridge, and wearing these ridiculously short shorts to where he could see the curve of your ass, his line of sight trailing down the skin of your bare legs. He couldn’t see anything of your form above your shorts, given you were wearing an extremely baggy t-shirt with NYU on it in big bolded university letters. As far as he knew, you were a senior at NYU, studying psychology, made dean’s list consecutively for the past three years given the way your mother posted all your stellar transcripts up on the fridge (he gets that she’s proud of her daughter, but doesn’t that kind of stuff usually end in grade school?) But other than that, it was all the information he had on you.

“Here,” he said, pressing his front to your back, maybe just to get a feel, as he reached over to you to finally grab the box of cereal you were swatting for, the one that he purposefully placed at the back because Yuuji learned how to climb counters recently. “Is this what you want?”

He had heard you gasp, spinning around on your heel fast, staring up at him with wide eyes like you weren’t expecting some random man to be in the house right now, and your first instinct ended up being to grab the knife out of the kitchen knife block and lunge it straight at his torso.

If it wasn’t for his boxer reflexes, he’d have ended up at the ER that evening. Or dead. All depending on the strength you could pack into a stab. But instead, he deflected it, though not without a gash to his torso through the fabric of his shirt, one that you spent the rest of the evening profusely apologizing for and eventually mending to with cotton balls and neosporin. 

“I didn’t know you were my little brother’s babysitter,” you mumbled with a small wince on your face as you dabbed ointment on the wound while he pulled the hem of his shirt up to his shoulder. He’s never had an injury tended to before. It was nice.

“It’s fine, I get it, totally acceptable response to seeing a random dude in your house.”

He remembers the curl of your eyelashes while you stared down at his bare upper half, something he imprinted on his memory rather than the concern in your face as your fingertips traced the scars across his chest. He hoped they made you feel better about the one you just slashed into him, because after all, what was one more? 

He knows he shouldn’t have, but he kissed you that night. Two minutes before your mom came home, and right after you bid him goodnight with one more apology, he backed you up against the door of your bedroom, his hands on your hips pulling you towards him, and his lips pressed against yours. Something seamless, from candid conversation that was heading towards an end, to full fledged making out against white-painted wood, his teeth nipping at your lip and he wondered just how touch-starved those university boys were leaving you given the desperate way you’d clinged to his shirt for dear life as he deepened the kiss.

The moment only lasted one minute and fifty-seven seconds, and in the remaining three, your mother’s key pushed into the front door and he had to pull away. Always, on the dot, 10PM, she was home. It was how he knew he had two minutes left to make a move in the first place.

So much for no flirting.

6:57pm Gojo Satoru: Bahahah I accidentally forgot where yuuji’s epipen is 6:58pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 6:59pm Gojo Satoru: Turns out this can-o-soup was just covering it in the cabinet

7:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): ??? why did you need to find his epipen

7:08pm Gojo Satoru: Oh he accidentally took a bite of my pad thai 7:09pm Gojo Satoru: I freaked cuz I thought it had peanuts in it but I remember I asked for it without any  7:09pm Gojo Satoru: shit’s crazy

7:10pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY THE FUCK DIDNT YOU TEXT ME????????

7:12pm Gojo Satoru: YOU SAID YOU DIDNT WANT ME TEXTING YOU UNLESS IT WAS AN EMERGENCY ?

7:13pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): SATORU YOU THOGHT HE ATE SOMETHING W PEANUTS IN IT AND YOU FORGOT WHERE HIS EPIPEN WAS THATSS A FUCKIGN EMERGENCY

7:15pm Gojo Satoru: THE KID IS DOING FINE HES ALIVE JESUS LEAVE ME ALONE 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: See. he’s chill 7:17pm Gojo Satoru: with intact airways might I add 7:18pm Gojo Satoru: Also isn’t he a little too old to still be watching baby sensory videos?

7:20pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah my mom thinks he has adhd :(

7:22pm Gojo Satoru: oh

He tried to keep his word though (although he doesn’t recall ever giving it) out of the respect he had for your mom. She was a hard-working lady, single mom of two who went from working three jobs to now being a major administrator at a big law firm near the outskirts of town. It was an underdog story if he’d ever heard one, and he loved an underdog story. 

But a little texting here and there wouldn’t hurt, right? Or so he thought, until you told him to cut it out with the contact. Maybe you were just trying to be the good one in this situation. After all, hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision. Still, he’ll eventually get your replies to his which shirt should Yuuji wear to the park? and look, the toothfairy gave him the butt of a joint and a couple thumbtacks for his front tooth. he’s ecstatic texts, although in a less timely manner than before when you weren’t trying to preserve propriety. And when you’d occasionally visit every other weekend, he’d do his best to keep his hands in his pockets, and you’d fill up your nights with hangouts with your hometown friends to avoid spending too much time with him at the house. A silent agreement to not fuck each other, it was. 

4:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): send pic of yuuji pls i miss him :(

5:04pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo]

5:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): IS THAT BLOOD?!?!?!?!

5:09pm Gojo Satoru: chillllllll it’s fake. We’re working on his halloween costume

5:09pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY DOES IT HAVE BLOOD?!?!?!?!?!?

5:10pm Gojo Satoru: He wants to be a baby xenomorph and I'm his parasitic host. You know that iconic chestburster scene from the old school alien movies? yeah

5:12pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): satoru please for the love of god just dress him up as a dinosaur or something

5:13pm Gojo Satoru: I’m not the one that came up with the idea, okay? It was him

5:14pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): because you let him watch adult swim with you before putting him to bed. you’ve deranged his brain.

5:14pm Gojo Satoru: He needs it. Builds character.

Gojo was living a double life, and if someone asked him, he’d say it was less of a Clark Kent way and more of a Bruce Wayne way, although in reality, he knows it’s close to neither. He’s no superhero with a concealed identity fighting crime, he’s a con artist that’s tricked a hard-working woman into hiring him just because he’s trying to save up enough money to get the fuck out of this godforsaken town, given he’s not knocked dead before then for the crime’s amusement.

But Yuuji looks up to him now. And Gojo’s grown attached to him too. He taught the kid how to tie his own shoes and piss inside the actual toilet like a real man. And that kid’s the only thing that’s made him question any of this. Maybe that’s what dads feel, suddenly held to all this impossible responsibility and the pressure to stop doing stupid shit so that you’ll stick around to see your kids get older. The thought that there are eyes on you now, eyes that are innocent and hopeful and learning, and because they know nothing at all, you feel the responsibility to protect them from everything. For fucks sake, remind him to never become a dad. 

“Do you like my sister?” Yuuji had asked him out of nowhere one afternoon after he just got home from preschool, stacking a blue cube over a yellow one at the dining table.

“Uhh,” Gojo starts. He wondered if your mom had put a wire on the kid, so his answer was as diplomatic as he could manage. “Yeah, she’s cool. You’ve got a cool sister.”

“But. But.” Yuuji stutters, trying to find his big boy words. He stretches up higher to reach the top of his stack of blocks, but he only has so much arm real estate at the age of five. “Do you like her like you wanna kiss her?”

Gojo grabs the block from the kid’s hand, for a moment questioning Yuuji’s decision to want to put a blue block over another blue block, but he figures aesthetics are the least of a kid’s concern, and so he places the block where Yuuji wanted it. 

Why does the kid know what kissing is anyway? Do kids know that kind of stuff at that age? Isn’t a kiss to a five-year-old just something their mom gives to them before they head off to preschool for the day? And not something that happens between adult men and women? Maybe he should stop watching that adult swim in front of him.

“No. I don’t want to kiss your sister,” he says, again, because he is suspicious of a wire. It was a lie and then some, because he wants to do a lot more than just kiss you.

Gojo lifts the RedBull he was nursing up to his lips and watches Yuuji in the corner of his eye as the kid stares at his growing stack of blocks with a concentrated expression on his face, his chubby fingers squeezing tightly into little round dimpled balls, like he’s putting together all his tiny brain cells together to form another coherent thought before turning to face Gojo on the chair.

“It’s ok. You can kiss her if you wan’ed to. You can marry her too,” Yuuji says.

Gojo almost spits out his RedBull. He barely manages to swallow it, a broken cough immediately leaving his throat when some of the liquid goes down the wrong pipe and he’s smacking a fist against his chest to knock the sanity back into himself.

“Where the fu—…where the flip did that come from?” he asks, blinking back tears from the rasp in his throat.

Yuuji’s small shoulders sulk as he sits back on his heels. “I want a papa.”

Oh fuck that hurt. Jesus christ, there was nothing more sad than that. Yuuji has literally never known what it’s like to have a dad, since his had left before he was even born. Gojo’s not really close to his old man by any means, but he had still been a fatherly figure in some pivotal moments when he had needed it growing up. Kids need their dads. And he’s seen enough people lose their way without one to know that the value of them is really underestimated.

He’s also kind of shocked that Yuuji really did think of you as his motherly figure. Maybe since it had always just been him and his dad, Gojo learned how to self sustain from a young age, and he and his dad became accustomed to just looking after their own interests to avoid the headache of tending to one another. My land is my land, and your land is yours, and there was the occasional Saturday night spent together with his dad’s millions of beer bottles emptied dry on the carpet in front of the 1992 box TV as the two shared a greasy pizza from the place down the street. That was the extent of family solidarity that he knew.

But he can’t imagine being barely eighteen and having to take care of your little brother all by yourself because your mom was too busy trying to put food on the table and was too poor to hire a babysitter. Your mom tried so damn hard to keep you away from the single teenage mother life, but somehow ended up giving it to you by proxy in the end anyway. It was no wonder you wanted space now that Yuuji’s a little older and your mom can afford a babysitter. No matter how much you might love your sibling, being their effective guardian out of pure necessity had to have taken a toll.

Gojo clears his throat before he speaks. “Buddy. If I married your sister, we’d be brothers. I wouldn’t be your dad.” 

Yuuji’s eyes light up at the word brother. “Brothers? Me and you?”

“Yeah. Bros.”

The kid giggles, all bubbly with cheeks rounding fully and eyes sparkling. Gojo reaches out to ruffle at his hair before Yuuji gets down onto one stubby leg at a time from the chair then bolts towards the kitchen.

“Juice!!” he yells somewhere around the corner out of sight.

Gojo sighs, staring at all the toys he pulled out for Yuuji to play with, all left in a scattered mess across the table. He gets up out of his chair and heads towards the fridge. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get you your juice, you little demon.”

The conclusion he comes to, and it might read like an obvious one, is that kids don’t really know the reality of life, hence why adults hide so much from them. 

This is what he thinks of tonight when he wraps his worn out boxing tape around his hands and his wrist, tightening it with his teeth, and he can smell the sweat and grime from them. The back of the underground gym had an old dated locker room, and as Gojo stretches his neck side to side while sitting on the stiff metal bench, he eyes the peeling red paint of the locker in front of him, blurring vision making it look like spilt blood. 

His phone pings with a text. He shuffles inside his duffle bag to look for it while his other hand scratches at his bare chest.

1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): hhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): omgomgomg sor y i’m 

He blinks at the screen, confusion flashing across his face. He types one letter, but then he sees three dots and a speech text bubble in the bottom left, so he waits for you.

1:09am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i drunk :(

The corner of his mouth ticks up slightly. 

1:09am Gojo Satoru: Yeah I can tell

1:10am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): at a apartyyyy

His eyebrows raise slightly, the thought of you tipsy on some frat party couch flashing through his mind, yet of all things you could be doing at that frat party, you’re texting him? Must be a really boring party.

1:11am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): whyyy are you aawake?

1:12am Gojo Satoru: Couldn’t sleep 1:12am Gojo Satoru: Don’t you have a midterm in the morning?

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): wtf hwo do you knwo that

1:15am Gojo Satoru: Your mom keeps your schedule posted on the fridge

1:15am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): im so fucked;’;(((

He snorts. He’s got a bit more life experience than you, five-ish years to be exact, more than enough time to master the no-hangover hangout, but just before he can offer you some advice, he sees another text from you. 

1:16am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): can i tell u smething 

His gaze flits up to the ceiling briefly, and he hears commotion outside the thick walls of the locker room. The previous fight was over, and fast. The guy must’ve been knocked out in under twenty seconds tops, which means that Gojo was next up against whatever superbeast just beat him up. 

1:17am Gojo Satoru: Sure

He stands up, placing his phone down on the bench before he flexes the muscles in his arms a couple times to get the blood flowing into them. And there’s the noise of another ping. Actually, four.

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sonetimes 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i thikn of  1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): when u kisse me 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): *kissed me

His eyes widen slightly, irises dry to the ashy cigarette smoke from outside lingering in the air, and his heart rate picks up a bit. An adrenaline junkie with close to no fear in his veins due to the way his amygdala’s been fried to a crisp from years of boxing, yet he’s got his breath hitched from the memory of your soft lips against his. It makes the blood rushing through the muscles of his arms rush somewhere down south instead.

Loud banging on the door of the locker room jolts him out of his trance, and he’s stiff around the edges once more.

“Satoru! You’re up, man,” he hears Danny, the fight coordinator, yell at him from the other side of the heavy & poorly-installed steel door.

Gojo sighs, glancing down at the texts on his phone. To respond, or not to respond. You’re off your face, clearly chatty from the alcohol, and he knows for certain you’ll regret every life decision you’ve ever made once you wake up in the morning and see the self sabotaging behaviors you’ve engaged in tonight. He knows that responding to you might put you at ease rather than straight up ignoring you, but the feeling will pass, and he has a match to win with no more room left to stall.

He makes his way out the locker room, pushing past the crowded halls of people underneath dim flashing club lighting, some dudes angrily jerking to face him when he pushes past them with a stiff shoulder, only for their eyes to widen when they see just exactly who pushed them. 

There’s strippers in the ring, doing some routine for pre-match, and Gojo narrows his eyes at the man he sees laying back over the rubber boundary rope, head tipped back up to the ceiling with a wicked grin on his face. So that was his opponent? He’s never seen the guy before. Was he from a different district? Different district talent was tough, you had no background info on them, while they’ve been preparing to be here for weeks. Hence why boxers tend to do better when they visit a different district than they do in their own. There have been rules made to limit these types of fights, mostly over outrage that it was unfair to bid on them, but they were also usually more entertaining to watch. Gojo’s got a sick feeling to his stomach as the strippers clear the ring.

“Hey,” Gojo calls out, grabbing Danny by the back of his collar and dragging him towards him and away from the girls stepping down onto the floor, “what’s in for this fight?”

Danny glances up at the ceiling. “Tarp’s bettin’ tonight, so it can’t be anything less than ten grand for you. I’d say tops fifteen?”

Gojo narrows his eyes further, then glances off into the ring again. The man stands up, and Gojo gets a better look on his face. He’s got short hair, neon green in color with a dark fade underneath and tattoos all over his face. But those eyes. They were freakishingly red, and it made him uneasy. He knows the type. The type of boxers that do this to genuinely hurt people for thrill. Make no mistake, Gojo understands he’s made himself out to be like that too, gaining some kind of rush out of this profession, but this type of fighter was different. The type to literally continue smashing a dude’s face into the floor until they’re a bloody mess even minutes after the winning call, and no referee to stop it because that’s the kind of action the spectators wanted.

Danny reads his line of sight. “That’s Gale. Newton’s new boxing toy. Came outta nowhere about a month ago. He’s undefeated so far in his district, and Newton specifically wanted to see you up against him tonight,” Danny tells Gojo, resting his elbow up on his bare shoulder. “Chances are he’ll compete with Tarp for final bid if you win this one. I’m talking twenty-five grand in the next if you can knock him out in this.”

“Uh-huh,” Gojo acknowledges, rolling his shoulder so Danny’s elbow falls from it. Forget the money, he just wants to make it out of this alive.

He sets his foot up on the square, ducking through the dividing boundary straps and the tacky caution construction tape that the gym thinks creates an exciting ambience. He hears the static of the speakers as the announcers call out Gojo’s name, then this other guy, loud bass club music booming through Gojo’s chest as he tries to take a few deep breaths through the thick air of this low-ceiling arena. 

The dim overhead lights flickered, casting shadows over the makeshift ring, and the crowd pressed tight around at every perimeter area, yelling and pushing, one even tosses a beer bottle on the square and it shatters, spreading glass all across, a few shards reaching Gojo’s feet and he looks down at them with a shudder. A fight immediately breaks out in the crowd over something related or possibly entirely unrelated, and he’d have no way of knowing as he swipes the shards away with his heel.

The influential men always sat up on higher seating, off towards the back in their own VIP section where they suck in the smoke of fat cigarettes and peer through 100% tinted sunglasses to assess the boxers they’ve bid thousands on. The light reflects off the golden grills of their teeth with every snarl at any passerby that gets too close, like a lion in its den. That’s what the sanction was called. Lion’s den.

Gojo sighed, eyeing the twisted grin of this Gale guy across from him. Was that his real name? Usually, foreign district guys get nicknames. Gojo’s always thought the nicknames were tacky, and he’s accumulated some of his own over the years, but to his ears, none of them ever really landed, although The White Fox admittedly was kinda nice. Reminded him of throwback shooting games. 

He sucked a breath in through his teeth, holding his hands up in front of his chest in weak fists, storing energy in them in the form of pure anticipation alone, and then the bell rang.

His opponent lunged towards him immediately, fists flying in a barrage of reckless strikes, and Gojo’s eyes momentarily widened in the briefest moments of hesitation he had been allowed before ducking and dodging every one of this guy's shots, then jumping a step back to create distance.

Fuck. He was fast. Not just boxer fast, athlete fast. There was a difference. And it wasn’t a good one to be up against.

Gojo picked up light on his feet. He couldn’t win this one fast, that much was certain. One single careless or reckless move, and he’ll get tackled. He knows that by the malicious look he sees on that guy’s face, grin wide like he’s some cannibalistic beast. 

Stepping back towards the center, Gojo purposefully set himself up for Gale to swipe a vicious hook towards his head, before Gojo last minute ducked down, crouched to the floor, and swung his leg out to knock the guy off balance by his ankles, and he falls onto his back with a loud thud!

There’s a moment of momentary silence from the crowd, right before Gojo put the man in a torso-lock, twisting him in a way a human body should absolutely not be twisted, hearing the grunts of pain and the crack of spine even through the shouts of the crowd.

He can hear it. Kill him! Knock his fucking teeth out! Snap his neck like a goose, man! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM!

He feels like throwing up. 

Gojo looks up at the referee, who wasn’t really a referee, just there to run the clock when there was action and only barely stop it before near death. “This is enough, right?” he asks.

The referee nods. “1-0, next round.”

Gojo lets go of his opponent, leaving him there to heave for a moment before he gets up onto his feet again. Just needs one more, and he’s a winner. Ten grand in his pocket, and he won’t have to come back here for a couple weeks.

Gale gets up, swiping at the spit that had trickled out the corner of his mouth down to his chin, and he had an enraged look on his face. The second the bell rang for the second round, he exploded forward towards Gojo with even more fervor than before, gritted expression with a thirst for violence fueling the storm of punches he was throwing towards Gojo but he tried to remain calm, light on his feet, swiftly duck and avoid before he can find another opportunity to clear a sharp, clean jab right to the ribs—

sometimes, i think of when you kissed me

Gojo misses his strike, leaving his guard wide open, and Gale takes the opportunity to land a solid punch straight to his jaw, sending his mouth guard flying straight out of his mouth into the air, and knocking him backwards onto the ground with a thud and then he finds himself staring up at the rusting metal ceiling and a ringing in his ears that almost matches the roar of the crowd.

His head is in a haze, dizzy like where one second could feel like a millennia. He feels a soreness underneath his chin, a pain that radiates to his mouth, and he briefly swipes his tongue over his front teeth to make sure he still has all of them. 

What the fuck was that? That intrusive thought. There’s no intrusive thoughts allowed in life or death situations, not when he was always just one smash to the head away from a permanent concussion. But, fuck, he can’t help it. Can’t help thinking of you. Even when his vision has gone blurry and he should really be weary about what happens next in this ring, his mind’s just thinking about you, at some frat party, tipping back shots of tequila and waiting for a text-back in response to your tipsy ones. Were you even waiting up on him? Have you already passed out on the couch, or were your friends dragging you back to your dorm? Or are you fucking some other dude right now? Has he got his hand up your top, squeezing at you, sleazily feeling you up before spilling beer all down your shirt, and are you kissing him back with the same enthusiasm, your phone now somewhere long slipped between the cushions of the couch and out of sight?

Even though it’s still sore, he tenses his jaw. Grinds his teeth, even. Tasting blood somewhere along the line of his gums, he realizes his lip is split. He licks at it, the flavor of copper more rich on his tongue, and he clenches his fists tightly. Why’s he thinking of that right now? It just pisses him off, the thought of you with some other dude. Maybe that’s what he needs to win this fight. Spite. Although he’s not sure why the guy across from him at the ring has to pay for it.

He lifts his head up off the ground, and while it felt like years he had been down, a glance at the timer tells him it’s only been a solid four seconds. A solid four seconds that his opponent had to fully charge a lunge towards him with the look of death in his face, raising his elbow up into the air in time with his leap, ready to come straight down, and Gojo’s eyes widen at the sight above him from where he’s still lying on the wood.

“Shit—” he cusses, rolling his body over to the side so that the dude falls straight down onto the floor rather than elbow Gojo in the fucking ribs, and then he gets back up on his feet. 

Stakes were high, he has to end this, he has to end this now, and he flexes the muscle in his right bicep, channeling everything he has into this one blow, and before Gale even really has a chance to turn around and face him again, Gojo’s already three-fourths set up a knockout undercut that he drives straight up the guy’s chin, with so much force it has him lifting up off the floor, a vertebrate stretch to his spine before he’s sent flying backwards and slammed against the tight rubber lining of the ring to where he was half hanging over it.

The room fell silent for a split second, then erupted in a roar as the referee fell to one knee beside Gale, checking him for any semblance of consciousness, and when he found none, he waves the match off. 

Gojo’s eyes flit up towards the lion’s den, the only opinions that he really needed to care about were sitting in those mahogany chairs with glasses of scotch swirling around in their hands, and he sees some of them looking straight at Gojo before leaning towards one another and discretely talking about something he can’t make out because he doesn’t know how to read lips.

He feels someone tug at his arms from behind, pulling him to crouch down and he balances back on the balls of his feet. He glances down through the ring at the floor. Danny was leaning against the wooden surface of it. “Dude. Go.” He jerks his head towards Gale, who still laid there sprawled across the now stretched out rubber perimeter bands. “Go fuck him up. Knock a few more teeth out, I don’t know, get some more blood out of him.”

“What?” Gojo huffs, yanking his arm away from Danny’s grip. “The fuck are you saying?”

“I told you, man, Newton’s here and he’s got his eye on you. Go give him a show,” Danny says, “do it.” And when he sees clear frustration on Gojo’s face he sighs. “Twenty-five grand, consider that, will you?”

Gojo sneers at the man, an awful taste in his mouth as he spits blood towards Danny’s feet. “Go fuck yourself on his cock if he wants a show that bad.” And then he ducks underneath the bands and hops back down onto the floor, pushing past people who were trying to grab at him and pull at him and lift him up and even throw him down until he made it through flashing hallways and back to the locker room.

He shuts the door behind him, sliding the bolt lock into the frame so no one can follow him inside, and then he leans his weight back against the chilling steel before tipping his head back until it hits the surface too.

He lets out of a few deep breaths, then stares down at the sting he finds over his knuckles. Red and blistering from the last punch he delivered, and he’s almost certain he broke a bone in his hand. Fuck. It was bleeding across the cuts, too. He had to figure out a way to get it all healed by tomorrow, as if that was humanly possible, just because he doesn’t want Yuuji questioning him about it.

Yuuji. For fucks sake, when has he ever thought about the kid this much? When has he ever thought about much of anything when he’s out here or in the ring? He’s a babysitter by day. He’s a “part” of your family when the sun is up and normal functioning society is breathing their lives into the clean air. That’s it. He’s no five-year-old’s caretaker in front of all these primetime drug lords, and he certainly shouldn’t be thinking of you when facing big, burly men he’s aiming to rough up, all within the dead hours of night. So then how come these thoughts are on his mind at all times, twenty-four-seven, around the clock?

He heads further into the locker room, glancing down at the bench where he’d left his phone, then picks it up, neck craned all the way down to glance at the screen as he holds his phone by his hip because he doesn’t have any energy to pick it up any further towards his eyesight. 

He sees your messages. You never sent any follow-up ones, just your horrendously typed out sonetimes, i thikn of when u kisse me *kissed me across the span of four texts, and Gojo runs a tired hand down his face.

He tips his head back to groan at the ceiling, guttural with no basis other than a release of all the pent up frustration of every sort, then he types in a couple messages to you,

3:23am Gojo Satoru: That’s nice 3:24am Gojo Satoru: I think about fucking you all the time 

—and then tosses his phone into his duffel bag to call it a night.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You’re awoken to your alarm blaring heavily, and you whack your arm across your nightstand table beside your tiny twin-size bed to hit the snooze button, then rub your eye with a loose fist while smacking at the residual taste of alcohol you have on your tongue. 

“Mm…” you mumble to yourself. And then the thirst hits you. The overwhelming, intense, unquenchable thirst that leaves your mouth feeling like the Sahara desert before you grab your twice-dented Hydroflask from the nightstand, twist the cap off and chug about twenty ounces of water in one breath. 

You let out a deep exhale and fall back into bed, your hand resting on top of your water-filled tummy, and you stare up at the ceiling of your dorm. 

Last night was horrible. You knew you shouldn’t have gone to that frat party, especially given you have an exam in—you checked the time on your phone—about an hour, and an hour was not enough time to recover from the raging hangover headache that’s pounding through your head. But your roommates insisted you went, and so go you did. You never knew what to expect, always torn between shaving your pussy before you go or throwing on a stained pair of sweatpants to keep the guys away instead. Sometimes, it was a combination of both. But last night, you ended up drinking more than you usually do, and that always led to poor, poor, poor decisions, in which all the sense of pride you had in yourself was washed down with the puke that you hurled into the upstairs toilet. 

You grab at your phone again, briefly seeing that your friends had sent you some photos from the night. You immediately swiped off to the side to dismiss the notifications, because as far as you were concerned, you never wanted to see those photos in your life.

And then, in the briefest of moments, you saw a familiar name in your notifications that made you heart skip a beat.

Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter)

With an immediate gasp, you pulled your phone to your chest and held it there, blinking up at the pale yellow ceiling, your heart picking up in rhythm.

Oh fuck.

That was right.

You drunk texted him last night.

You drunk texted your little brother’s hot babysitter.

Fuck.

Mortified was an understatement, possibly because you don’t even remember what you said, and so you don’t even want to see what he replied with.

You groan, rubbing both your hands across your face then kick your sheets back with your feet like a child having a temper tantrum because you were so embarrassed you had even texted him at all last night. I mean, he was hot. A little older than you, really gorgeous eyes, tall, and, yeah, you gave him shit for the Instagram muscles thing, but that’s only because you thought he’d find it cheeky that you were trying to humble him despite the fact that he’s more toned and ruggedly sculpted than any other man you’ve ever met. You didn’t want to have a flustered schoolgirl attitude because it would just seep through to his ego.

In any case, he was hot, there was no denying it, so can you really blame yourself? But still. There was collateral with this. You had to see him every other weekend. He knows your family, even your extended since they invited him to Thanksgiving dinner a couple weeks ago. A high-risque drunk text recipient if he ever was one (of course he has been, look at that face). Why couldn’t you have just drunk texted ECON160 guy from last semester who Clit DJ’d you underneath your desk at the back of the lecture hall instead?

The thing that made you nervous about Gojo Satoru was that he was just so…confident? Like, in that I was raised to be this way confident and not that I fought inner demons my whole life to barely end up this way confident, y’know? Never had to fake it ‘til he made it, he just was. At least that was the kind of energy you got from him, and unfortunately for you, it was nerve wracking but enticing all at the same time.

You sigh. “Stupid. Stupid. Stuuuuuupiiiiidddddddddddd. You. Are. So. Stuuuuuupiiiiddddddd,” you sigh, running your hands through your hair to grip at the strands.

You pull your phone away from your chest, and finally brave yourself to read the texts from your notifications screen, but not without blurring your vision a little to further stall. And then you finally refocus it to read them. The first one you see has you gasping—

3:24am Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter): I think about fucking you all the time 

It has heat spreading across your cheeks, and you blink at your screen, then quickly swipe up to read the previous messages with rushed glides of your index finger on the screen to see that he had sent it to you in response to your barely coherent texts about how you still so often think about that time he randomly pressed you up against the door of your bedroom to kiss you that night you first met him.

I think about fucking you all the time

At 3 in the morning? He decided to send that text at 3 in the fucking morning? That was the devil’s hour. What’s he trying to tell you? 

Oh come on, you’re not stupid. And you know he isn’t either. The sexual tension was palpable, it was there since the day you two met and you almost stabbed him, and also everytime you were visiting the house, and his shoulder brushes against yours when he’s trying to get past you in the kitchen, or when you’ve got Yuuji in your arms and the kid is clinging to Gojo’s sleeve because he wants him near him at all times. There’s even sexual tension over the phone, in those stupid texts he sends you all the time about meaningless child care stuff, and honestly, those little updates made your day.

But… you don’t know much about him, and your mom would kill you if she ever found out you wanted him. And she’d probably pulverize him if she found out he ever made a move on you. Cremated without leaving a trace behind would be an understatement. She thinks he’s no good and she thinks you’re too good. You know she’s warned him before to not get close to you, as if she was pre-emptively expecting him to try to get in your pants like it was some canon force of the universe, hence why he’s probably so fucking awkward around you whenever she’s there too. Like if he accidentally got caught staring at your ankles, your mom would light him on fire, so he’d rather not risk it by just avoiding looking at you at all.

Your mom has always been protective of you. Your father was a deadbeat, one she thought she loved, only to watch him leave. And she had to raise a baby all by herself. He re-entered your lives right before you graduated high school, knocked up your mom again with Yuuji, and guess what? Left again without a trace. To be doubly humiliated by a man is a fate you wouldn’t wish on any woman, but that’s exactly what your mom went through. It was a wake-up call for her, though. No more living paycheck to paycheck like you had been your whole lives up until Yuuji was born. The kid doesn’t even know how lucky he is with everything he has right now. Your mom worked her way up the corporate ladder and made something of herself and now you guys were comfortable, so it was safe to say she had some sort of right to look after her daughter, of whom she simply doesn’t want to follow in the same naive footsteps of her youth.

You get it. She wants to break the generational cycle. But it made being with men tough on all fronts, let alone dating. You could never bring a guy home because he’d never be enough, even if he cured cancer or could make you orgasm while doing a sixty-nine handstand. And while her overbearing paranoia over what you do or where you are or who you’re with has since dimmed slightly since you officially moved out to finish your last year of higher education at NYU, you can still feel her disappointment from a hundred miles away when you’re making out with some random frat guy on his beer-stained couch at eleven AM on a Tuesday.

But you got to college. You’ve already made it this far. You’re on dean’s list. You graduated high school as salutatorian. You’re the most highly decorated cello player in the state. You won Miss County pageant when you were sixteen for your philanthropic efforts towards feline leukemia. You did online community college for three years so you could stick back after high school and help your mom raise Yuuji, which meant that you had to forfeit your scholarship to Cornell. You’ve spent your whole life being good, you just wanna be bad for a little bit.

And if bad meant fucking the hot and mysterious babysitter, then so be it. 

You pick your phone up, begin blasting what the hell by Avril Lavigne on your dorm room bluetooth speaker, then type a message to him that says—

10:34am you: do it then

—then shove your phone under the sheets and belt out the lyrics aaaall my life i’ve been good, but now, ahhhh i’m thinkin’ what the hell!!! while kicking your feet and clutching your pillow.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Gojo has no clue what divine entity has overcast their gratuitous spirit over him on this blessed Monday afternoon, but he’ll thank them for it later once his balls are empty. 

He’s got you on your back, sprawled across the couch in the living room, the first fuck being a rushed one that you offered him with before he has to go pick Yuuji up from circle time at preschool, which wasn’t ideal, but he’s delirious at the sight of you underneath him right now. Your little NYU shirt, a tighter one this time, bunched up over your bare breasts, otherwise entirely naked other than the flimsy panties dangling at your ankle, and the view of the tip of his cock looking hot and heavy against the velvet of your cunt, slowly pushing in, feeling the warmth of your walls squeeze around him paired with the sweet moan that leaves your lips, makes him fall forward with a bracing hand dug into the cushion by the side of your head because the sensation feels so fucking good he can hardly keep himself upright.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunts, pushing himself in further to try and bottom out but he’s still got a couple inches he needs you to take, and so you curl your hips upwards towards the cieling to make more room for him, practically putting yourself into a mating press and soon enough he’s balls deep, “you on any birth control?”

“Uh-huh,” you moan, eyes closed and head tipped back with one hand squeezing your own tit.

“I can cum inside then, yeah?” he asks you, pushing your knees to your chest, slowly drawing his hips back and you squirm underneath him.

“Let’s get there first, and then we’ll discuss,” you breathe out.

“I’ve been there for the past ten minutes, baby. I could cum at any second with the way you look and feel,” he informs you flatly, because it was just the truth and you had to know it, then he feels himself twitch inside, slowly working up to a languid rhythm, almost fearfully like your mom’s going to pop out somewhere around the corner with a camera crew ready like one of those retro TV shows just to humiliate him on national television for not keeping it in his pants like she’d told him to. 

“Harder,” he hears you whisper, and he rolls his eyes shut to just focus on the feeling. The feeling of your nails grazing down the skin of his chest and his abs, tracing the scars he’s collected over the years, and he feels you tightening around him. He leans down to kiss you, fucking you properly now with the squeak of the couch springs echoing across the room, your hums of moans seeping through his lips until he’s fully taking them on with an open-mouthed kiss of sloppy tongue. 

The fact that it was wrong felt right to him, and he realizes in this moment he’s lost all sense of control. He wasn’t just an adrenaline junkie that liked to rough up dudes, he was an adrenaline junkie that wanted to fuck you against all better judgement or moral compass. The way your tits were bouncing, the slap of skin on skin, his balls slapping against your ass while you wrap your legs around him tighter, all convincing him that any consequence made it worth it.

“Good,” he groans the praise, pinning your hands above your head as he rams his hips against yours, your cute moans and squeals sounding like literal music to his ears and he feels heat spread all the way up his neck, “goooood, keep squeezin’ me like that, fuck.” He slows down momentarily, just to take a moment and watch, really look and see the way his length disappears inside of your pretty self with every push forward, and then he works back up to a relentless pace that has you tipping your head back with a slack jaw and eyes closed tightly shut, sprained expression of pleasure spread across.

“Oh, oh my god, Satoru—” you mewled and he felt dizzy from the sound of his name from your softly parted lips.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” His hand finds it’s way between your legs, calloused pads of his fingers brushing against your clit and you jolt underneath him, gasping as your hand shoots out to dig your nails into his bicep for purchase. “I’m gonna cum, better tell me where you want it.”

“In me,” you moan, “nowhere else.”

He presses his mouth against your cheek in a lazy smile, “Atta girl,” he drawls before pushing your ankles down as far as they’d go near your ears, folding you in half and then reigns all hell into your cunt. He should really care a bit more about your pleasure, but testing your flexibility like this with both his hands holding you down was doing sinful things to his brain, and besides, you had yourself covered with the messy circles you were rubbing over your clit. It was hot to see that too, your nimble pretty fingers so close to the place where he was pounding into you. 

“Oh shit, shit, shit—” he grunts when starts to see blistering white in his vision, balls straining with a pleasure that was almost painful. The moment he finishes feels like hot flashes in his brain, a heat like the cum he begins to paint inside your walls in time with your release, thrusting over and over and over, each one more staggered as he lets off a long, drawn out groan that comes from deep within his chest with the feeling of you milking him dry and the sound of you enjoying every second of it. He can’t remember the last time he came this much or this hard and even after coming down from the high, he feels the remnant pulse of your orgasm around his now half-flaccid dick.

He leisurely pulls out, hearing you let out a soft whimper as he marvels at the sight of his cum slowly dripping out of you and down towards the couch, before he scoops it up with a couple fingers and pushes it back inside. You grip his wrist tightly, but you weren’t stopping it, that motion of him plunging it all back into you.

“Want a taste?” he asks, casually.

“Mhm,” you nod, face looking flush.

He pulls his fingers out of you, coated with sex, then plugs your pussy with the fingers of his other hand because he kinda likes the idea of you walking around all day with him inside of you, so he doesn’t want it getting out. He’s then pushing his other fingers past your lips, pleased to find he’s met with not even so much as a grazing of teeth, and he grins, “bet you take a dick in your mouth as good as you take it down here.”

Your furrow your brows at him, the pout of your lips seen in the way they were puckered to lick his fingers off clean, and when you release the suction with a smack of your tongue and his fingers were wet from your saliva now, his eyes narrow with desire. You push his face away with the heel of your palm to his forehead. “Flattery won’t make me suck your dick.”

“Alright. So? How is it?” he jerks his chin towards your face, pushing against your hand with his forehead until he’s hovering over you again, “taste good?”

“It’s cum, Satoru.”

He shrugs. “Bad?”

“No,” you say, and you can’t make eye contact, “good.” You sigh. “Hot. I don’t know. Salty, sweet. I’m the sweet. You’re the salty. And this conversation is obscene.”

He kisses you, capturing your lips softly, tongue darting out to taste what’s on yours. “I like it that way. Dirty. Nasty. Obscene, whatever.”

There’s the slam of a car door heard from the driveway, and the two of you instantly make eye contact with round eyes.

“Sa—” you stutter, “Satoru.”

He gets up off the couch in a panic, and heads to the window of the living room fully butt-ass naked, then peers through the blinds to see—

Your mom was making it up towards the front door, rustling with her keys in her purse. And the last thing he sees before he turns around to face you is her pushing the keys through the lock.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” he cusses, finding his boxers off of the floor, hopping on one foot with his cum & slick coated dick flapping around and slapping against his thighs unceremoniously as he tries to get one leg in through them and then the other. You’re trembling as you hook your panties back into place, pull your shirt back down your torso, and even in his extremely panicked state, he’s still sad he can’t freely stare at your tits anymore. You’re rummaging for your skirt in a haste, looking everywhere for it, and he finds it underneath the coffee table before tossing it to you and then he side-to-side hops towards the coat closet while he pulls his sweatpants up over his ass, in time for you to quickly run and shut the door of the closet closed just before the front door of the house swings open.

The inside of the coat closet is dark, barely enough space in there for a six-foot-four two-hundred-and-twenty pound man, but it’s better than being balls deep inside his boss’s daughter on the couch when said boss just came home from work.

He hears conversation on the other side of the door, albeit muffled, and he presses his ear to it to hear better while he tucks his dick into his boxers from where it was hanging over the waistline.

“Mom! You…you’re home so early,” he hears you squeak out.

“Yes,” your mom says, “The rest of my meetings today are online, so I figured I’d come home when there’s less traffic.”

Gojo feels you lean against the coat closet door.

“I see, I see, how was your day at work?” you ask with a tremble in your voice.

“Fine.” And then nothing. The silence could mean that was all she had to say, since your mom wasn’t really a woman of many words, or it could be a silence that means she’s suspicious about something. “Darling, why is your skirt flipped up and tucked into your panties? Your whole butt is showing.”

Through the wood of the door, he hears you softly gasp. “Oh, um, I just went to pee. Must’ve—…must’ve got caught when I pulled it back up.” 

“I see,” your mother says, and Gojo can hear her dropping her heels down near the shoe rack at the entrance. “You know, I really don’t like those short skirts you wear often. Maybe it’s just your generation, but I think it looks tacky and cheap.”

“Mom,” you say, in as stern of a voice as you can manage without sounding embarrassed.

Your mother sighs. “In any case, where is Satoru? I still would like him to go pick up Yuuji. I don’t have the patience to sit in preschool & daycare traffic right now.”

“Oh gosh, I don’t know,” you chirp, and then he hears you let out a small oh no before you lean even more weight against the door, this time somewhere lower, and he realizes you’re pressing your ass against it. His eyes narrow with a small frown, and then he realizes— his cum must still be trickling down your thighs. You couldn’t put your panties on fast enough. 

Shit. That’s hot. A little fucked up, but hot. He feels his dick harden against the fabric of his boxers, and he rests his forehead against the door, fringe stuck to his forehead with sweat as he slips his hands down his sweatpants and then gives his cock a firm squeeze. The thought of you discretely swiping his cum up your inner thigh and smearing it against your thin panties so your mom doesn’t catch sight of it dripping down your legs has him slowly working up to a rock-solid erection, and he almost lets out a broken grunt from the feeling.

“What?” your mother says, “what do you mean you don’t know?”

“I’ve just been watching TV this whole time,” you say, “last time I saw him…he was…um, in the backyard pulling weeds?”

He lets out a small scoff through his nose at your cover-up. Cute. And not bad. 

Your mother sighs loudly, and he glances down at the strained veins on his dick as he tugs it through his hand, the tip rearing and appearing flushed and dripping with precum. God, you were just on the other side of this door. Less than a few inches away, and he’d be inside of you. 

“I’m going to take a shower. Go find him and tell him to pick up Yuuji soon. But before then, change into something less revealing,” your mother says in a more or less detached tone, and he can hear the stomps of her footsteps up the stairs from above him in the coat closet.

The two of you wait at least a solid minute, and just when the coast is clear, he hears you turn the knob of the coat closet and slowly crack it open.

“Okay, I think she’s in the shower, I hear the water running,” you whisper at him, “you can go now—” You glance down towards his groin, your jaw dropping. “What—…Satoru, why the fuck is your dick staring at me right now?!” you whisper-hiss at him.

He pulls you into the coat closet, pushing your front against the door to where it clicks shut, and you gasp when his hands pin your wrists crossed behind your back and his dick presses into the plush of your ass.

“You talkin’ to your mom while your pussy’s stuffed full of my cum was the single hottest thing that’s ever grazed my lizard brain,” he tells you, flipping your skirt up and hooking your panties to the side, his index finger briefly brushing against your entrance to find it still leaking from the way your walls were pulsating from his words. And then he aligns his tip to your entrance. “Now keep quiet while I do this, ‘kay?”

“Oh—” you gasp, your cheek pressed against the door as you arch your back and push your ass out for him, “okay—” you say, barely vocalizing the first syllable before he’s already stuffing himself inside of you with one solid glide of a push, making you yelp loudly and he has to instantly cup a hand over your mouth.

“Shhhhhh,” he hisses at you, immediately starting to pound you from behind, “told you to— fuuuck,” he catches sight of his length covered with a mix of your glassy arousal and his white cum, now starting to cream at the base of his cock, “jesus christ—” he breathes out, squeezing the flesh of your ass harshly with his other hand and you let out another yelp, “I told you to fuckin’ keep quiet.”

“I’m—mff,” you muffle against his palm, “I’m trying but,” your hips move back in time with his, “feels good, feels too good,” you mewl, and his hand desperately yanks up the fabric of your shirt so he can squeeze at your breast.

“Yeah?” he grunts, hypocritical for telling you to keep it down when he was slamming his hips against your ass with so much fervor he wouldn’t be surprised if the sound was reverberating across the entire house, “you like it when I fuck you while your mom’s all clueless just up the stairs?” His rhythm falters, feeling his release building, and his hand reaches in front of you to rub your clit, making you drop your head against the door with tightly closed eyes. “Gets— you—wet, doesn’t it?” he torments you, his lips near your ear as he slams his hips against you harshly with every enunciated syllable. 

“Mhm, mhm,” you easily agree, or maybe that’s because it’s all you can really articulate, and he angles his hips up so his balls slap more fervently against your clit, making you scream into his palm while he picks up the pace of the circles he draws on your clit and in one, two, three— beats of his pounding heart, he feels you come undone around his cock, gushing wetness leaking out of you, he can feel the mess of fluids splattering on the skin of his thighs due to each of his heaving thrusts as he cusses out a fuuuuuuckkk before spilling his cum inside of you, a short-lived and thicker release this time that has you mewling from overstimulation, and in a few following thrusts, he’s given you everything he had to give.

His eyes open, he wasn’t even aware he had shut them in the first place, and he glances down at where the two of you were joined. Rings of arousal coat the length of his half-pulled-out dick, and the second he retreats all of it, a bulging push of his cum seeps out of you, dripping and pooling all over the hardwood floors.

“Holy shit, I wish I could take a picture of this,” he says, taking a step away to commit the sight to memory, your legs trembling and still slightly spread, ass pushed out and when you wiggle it a little, he lets out a huff of an exhale because he just can’t believe how sexy you are. Are all college girls like this? He’s never been to college, his old man’s been trying to get him to go for years, but maybe this is what finally convinces him.

“No pics,” you breathe out once you catch your breath, standing up straight slowly, “that’s my one sex rule.”

He takes a step closer to you, flipping your skirt back over your ass while you shimmy your shirt down to cover your chest. “That’s the only rule you have? Anything else goes?” he asks.

You spin around to face him, his eyes briefly flitting down to the still exposed skin of your midriff. “I have a feeling I’d be making up more specific rules if it was with you.”

He smiles, his hands grabbing your hips before pressing you up against the door again. “I also had a rule. It was to not fuck you. Wait, no, to not flirt with you. Which, technically, I didn’t do.”

You blink your eyes at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“What?” he asks, genuinely confused, “I didn’t.”

“Huh—” you scoff, “how do you think we got into this situation in the first place?? You didn’t just say wanna fuck? You were insufferably flirty with me.”

“Nahhh nah nah nah nah, baby, that’s not flirting,” he tells you, thumb running circles over your hips, “that’s, like—…I don’t even fuckin’ know how it worked on you to be honest, I was just being stupid.”

“Oh okay so I’m stupid.”

“I never said you were stupid?”

“Well you said you were being stupid so me falling for it must mean I’m stupid.”

“Pshhh. You’re cute. Pulling weeds, by the way? Adorable.”

Your hand slowly roams up the front of his shirt, the fabric bunching at your wrists until you uncovered up to his collar bone, and you stare at his skin. He tries to not let the way his heart’s beating faster show through the heave of his chest. 

“Why do you have all these scars, anyway?” you whisper to him.   

“Too many girls tryna stab me,” he tells you.

You roll your eyes. “Seriously.” Your thumb traces the one you had left on him. 

“I—” He stops himself.

Does he tell you? Should he tell you? What, just because he’s seen you naked and you took his dick like a queen he’s supposed to open up to you about these things now? He doesn’t know. Maybe he could? Maybe you already suspect what he does at night. And if not, at the very least, I’m an underground boxer might make you think he’s hot? At the very worst, you’ll report him to the cops and he’d get fired as your little brother’s babysitter then thrown into jail, but not before the busted cartel gets him first.

“Maybe I’ll tell you some other time,” he says, his hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling it from his chest, “no hyper personal details until you’ve had my dick in your mouth at least once or twice. That’s my one rule.”

You snort. “I could’ve guessed that rule from a mile away.”

He hums. And then there’s the sound of steps creaking down the stairs above the two of you.

You both make eye contact, eyes widening, internally yelling at each other: how the fuck did we get into this situation twice?!

This time, Gojo opens the door and stumbles out of the closet, leaving you inside of it, just in time for your mom to come down the stairs.

“Satoru. I was looking for you,” she says as she rounds the post. “Have you picked up Yuuji? He has to go for his swimming lessons soon.”

“Ah, nope, was just about to head out,” he says, letting out a cough to diffuse tension, “sorry, I was—” he points his thumb over his shoulder to behind him, “…pulling out some gnarly weeds.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “I see. Well, thanks. If you want, I can add a gardening stipend to your paycheck. Let me know.” And he’s not sure how to respond because he’s not sure if she’s joking. 

He heads out the door, the keys to your mom’s minivan in his palm as he throws them up into the air and catches them a couple times. And just before he gets inside the car, he turns on his heel to face the house and pulls his phone out of his pocket to type in a message for you.

3:22pm Gojo Satoru: Send over those me-specific sex rules soon

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[the end]

a/n. hope u enjoyed im shitting bricks posting this bc i haven't posted a oneshot smut since february but thanks so much for reading i appreciate u!! i got way too invested in the whole underground boxer thing 😂😂 but the fact i managed to keep everything under 12k is an accomplishment to me bc if u read my other fics you know i’m a yapper LOL i have another kind of a similarly written smut oneshot n it’s a lil angsty (totally different au tho) i’ll probs post that one next but yea i really like, hmm, i really like exploring entire characters within a short amount of time i enjoy writing the obscure lore drops xd it’s been kinda fun so far anywho much loveee hope to see u around! <3

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