#but this looks at that world from a different angle

[vibeswithdivs]

He’s more patient than he looks

pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

The hum of conversation filled the Red Bull Racing headquarters as employees bustled about with an energy that was almost infectious. Engineers huddled over laptops, mechanics leaned against tool racks with grease-streaked hands, and the faint smell of coffee lingered in the air. It was a world that thrummed with purpose, speed, and precision—qualities that the newcomer sitting at her desk felt slightly out of sync with.

You can do this, she told herself for the hundredth time that day.

Being a social media manager for one of the most prominent teams in Formula 1 was a dream job. Yet, as she stared at the screen, where a half-finished tweet about race day statistics blinked back at her, that dream felt a lot more like a free-fall. She wasn’t just crafting posts about breakfast specials or gym memberships anymore—she was managing the online presence of an entire racing empire.

And, truthfully, she was floundering.

“Morning!”

The cheerful voice made her jump, and she turned to see her colleague, Sophie, leaning over her cubicle wall with a grin. “How’s the newbie settling in?” Sophie asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh… good!” she replied quickly, pasting on a smile that she hoped masked her nerves.

Sophie tilted her head, unconvinced. “You’ve been staring at that screen for an hour, and the only thing you’ve posted today is a retweet from Pirelli. Do you need help?”

“No, I’m just—” She paused, biting her lip. “I don’t even know what half these terms mean. DRS, power unit, undercut… it’s like everyone here is speaking a different language.”

Sophie’s face softened. “It is a different language,” she said with a chuckle. “Give it time. It’s only your first week. You’ll get the hang of it. And if you’re still lost, you’ve got plenty of people to ask.”

“Like who?”

“Like me,” Sophie said with a wink. “Or, if you’re feeling brave, you could ask the drivers. Max and Checo are usually good sports about answering questions.”

“Right,” she said, laughing nervously. “Because it’s totally normal to walk up to Max Verstappen and ask him to explain tire degradation.”

“You’d be surprised,” Sophie replied with a grin. “He’s more patient than he looks.”

She didn’t expect to test Sophie’s theory quite so soon. Later that afternoon, while she was setting up her phone to record a behind-the-scenes video in the garage, she heard a familiar voice behind her.

“Need help?”

She turned, almost dropping her phone when she saw Max Verstappen standing there, dressed in his Red Bull team kit and holding a bottle of water. His blue eyes were bright with curiosity, and his expression was disarmingly friendly.

“Uh… no! I mean, yes. Maybe?” she stammered, fumbling with the tripod. “Sorry, I’m still figuring all this out.”

Max chuckled, setting his water down on a nearby workbench. “Don’t worry about it. What are you trying to do?”

“I’m supposed to get some footage of the engineers prepping your car, but I can’t get the angle right, and—” She broke off, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. “It’s my first week. I’m still getting the hang of everything.”

“You’re doing fine,” Max said, his tone reassuring as he stepped closer. “Here, let me see.”

She handed him the phone, watching as he adjusted the tripod with practiced ease. He crouched slightly, angling the camera until it perfectly captured the scene in the garage.

“Like this?” he asked, stepping back to let her check.

She stared at the screen in amazement. “That’s… perfect. How did you do that so quickly?”

“Years of media obligations,” he said with a shrug. “You pick up a thing or two.”

She smiled, feeling some of her nervousness ebb away. “Thanks, Max.”

“No problem,” he replied, picking up his water bottle. “And if you ever need help with anything else—questions, technical stuff, whatever—just ask. It’s better than guessing.”

Max wasn’t kidding. Over the next few weeks, she found herself turning to him more often than she expected, and he answered every question with surprising patience.

“What’s a DRS zone?” she asked one afternoon during a lunch break.

“It’s where we can open the rear wing to go faster,” Max explained, demonstrating with his hands. “But only in certain areas and under certain conditions. You know, to make overtaking easier.”

“And what’s an undercut?” she asked the next day while filming a promo video in the paddock.

Max smirked. “That’s when you pit earlier than the car ahead of you to get fresher tires and gain track position. But timing is everything. If you mess it up, it doesn’t work.”

“Right,” she said, nodding along even though she still felt a bit lost.

Max seemed to notice her confusion because he added, “It’s like beating someone to the front of the line at a concert by taking a shortcut. Make sense?”

“Ahh,” she said, grinning. “That actually helps.”

With Max’s encouragement, her confidence grew. She started experimenting with different content ideas, from quirky Instagram stories to polished YouTube vlogs. Her colleagues noticed the change, offering praise and feedback that bolstered her even further.

But it was Max’s quiet support that made the biggest difference. He never made her feel stupid for asking questions or stumbling over her words, and his humor often turned stressful moments into something lighter.

One evening, as she sat in the media center editing a race weekend highlight reel, Max walked by and paused to watch over her shoulder.

“Not bad,” he said, nodding at the screen.

“‘Not bad’?” she repeated, turning to him with a mock glare.

He grinned. “Okay, fine. It’s great. But you missed the part where I overtook Checo in Turn 3. That was the best move of the race.”

She rolled her eyes, laughing. “I’ll add it to the blooper reel.”

“Bloopers?” he said, pretending to look offended. “That was pure talent.”

She shook her head, unable to suppress her smile. “You’re impossible, Verstappen.”

“And you’re doing a great job,” he said, his tone softening. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

By the time the season reached its midpoint, she felt like she’d finally found her footing. The fast-paced world of Formula 1 no longer felt overwhelming; instead, it felt exhilarating.

One evening, after a particularly successful social media campaign, she found herself standing on the balcony of the team’s hospitality unit, watching the sun set over the paddock. Max joined her a few minutes later, leaning against the railing with a relaxed smile.

“Long day?” he asked.

“Always,” she replied with a chuckle. “But I think I’m getting the hang of it.”

“I’d say you’re more than getting the hang of it,” Max said. “You’ve been killing it lately. Everyone’s noticed.”

She glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. “Really?”

“Really,” he said, meeting her gaze. “And in case you haven’t noticed, you’ve made this job your own. You’ve brought something new to the team. It’s good.”

Her chest swelled with gratitude, and she looked down, trying to hide the blush creeping up her cheeks. “Thanks, Max. For everything. I don’t think I would’ve survived my first month without you.”

He chuckled, reaching out to nudge her shoulder playfully. “Anytime. You’re part of the team now, and we take care of our own. Even if you still ask a million questions.”

She laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Get used to it, Verstappen. I’ve got plenty more where those came from.”

Max smirked, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Bring it on.”

[extinctlesspains]

ooo kwon with a reader who sings?? or an idol! reader??

A/n: YES YES YES YES AND YESS.

𝑅ℎ𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑚 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐹𝑢𝑟𝑦:𝐾𝑤𝑜𝑛 𝐽𝑎𝑒-𝑆𝑢𝑛𝑔

𝐵𝑦 𝑒𝑥𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑡𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠

»»——⍟——««

»»——⍟——««

𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝐾𝑤𝑜𝑛 𝐽𝑎𝑒-𝑆𝑢𝑛𝑔 𝑥 𝐼𝑑𝑜𝑙!𝐹𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑒!𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑠𝑡.

𝑆𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: 𝐻𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑎𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘 𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑛 𝑖𝑑𝑜𝑙 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑑, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑚𝑠 𝐾𝑤𝑜𝑛 𝑐𝑎𝑛'𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡.

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: 𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑌/𝑛, 𝑎𝑟𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑛𝑔.

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○

The stage lights are blinding, but you’re used to it by now. The roar of the crowd fills your ears as you hit the final note, your body moving effortlessly to the rhythm. Each move, each breath is calculated, but the thrill never fades. The music stops, the lights dim, and the audience erupts into applause. You smile, bow, and let the wave of energy wash over you.

Backstage, you peel off your headset mic, sweat dripping down your temples. Managers and staff buzz around you, talking about the next performance, the next interview, the next flight. But all you want is a moment to breathe. You slip away from the chaos, finding a quiet corner in the shadows of the venue.

That’s when you see him. Kwon , leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He’s watching you, those dark eyes unreadable, intense. You’ve seen him before—on TV, in clips of brutal karate fights. But here, in the dim light, he seems different.

“Enjoy the show?” you ask, breaking the silence.

He smirks, a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Not my usual thing. But you… you’re impressive.”

The words are simple, but there’s something about the way he says them. No flattery, no pretense. Just raw honesty.

“High praise from someone who fights for a living,” you tease.

He doesn’t smile, but you can tell he’s intrigued. “What are you doing back here?”

“Hiding from reality.” You shrug. “You?”

He pushes off the wall, stepping closer. “Same.”

There’s a tension between you, something electric and dangerous. He’s nothing like the people in your world—no glitz, no cameras, just pure, unfiltered presence. And you like it.

You start seeing each other more. At first, it’s casual—coincidences that aren’t really coincidences. He waits for you after rehearsals, you show up at Cobra Kai practices. You sit on the sidelines, watching him spar, marveling at the precision and brutality of his movements. He watches you dance, eyes dark and intense, as if he’s trying to memorize every move.

“Show me,” he says one night, after everyone’s gone.

“Show you what?”

“Those moves.”

You laugh. “You want to learn to dance?”

He doesn’t answer, just steps closer. You put your hands on his shoulders, guiding him. His body is rigid at first, all sharp angles and tension. But then, he relaxes, following your lead.

“You’re not bad,” you tease. “Just… stiff.”

He grabs your waist, pulling you closer. “Careful, Y/N.”

Your breath catches. “Or what?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. The look in his eyes says enough.

But the closer you get, the harder it becomes to balance your worlds. Your schedule is relentless—rehearsals, concerts, press tours. His training for the Sekai Taikai is brutal. The distance between you grows, filled with missed calls and unanswered texts.

One night, after you cancel plans for the third time, he snaps.

“You’re never around anymore,” he mutters, his voice low.

“I’m trying, Kwon. This is my career.”

“And what am I?” His eyes are hard, his jaw clenched. “Just a distraction?”

You reach for him, but he steps back. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it?” His voice is rough, filled with something you can’t quite name. “Because right now, I feel like I’m fighting for something that doesn’t matter to you.”

The words hit harder than any punch. You want to explain, to tell him he’s wrong. But all you can do is watch as he walks away.

The Sekai Taikai is brutal. You follow the updates online, watching clips of his fights, your heart in your throat. He’s different in the ring—cold, ruthless. You wonder if he thinks of you, if the anger he shows is because of you.

Then, you decide you can’t stay away.

The final match is packed, the crowd deafening. You slip in quietly, hiding in the back. He doesn’t know you’re there, but you need to see him.

The fight is intense. He takes hit after hit, but he doesn’t fall. Every move is calculated, every strike precise. And then, finally, the referee raises his hand in victory. The crowd erupts, but he looks distant, lost. Until he sees you.

You push through the crowd, tears in your eyes. “Kwon.”

He stares at you, breathing hard. “You came.”

“I had to.”

His eyes soften, the hardness fading. “I thought you chose them.”

You shake your head. “I chose you.”

He pulls you close, his forehead resting against yours. “I thought I lost you.”

“You never did.”

In that moment, the noise, the chaos, the world—it all fades away. All that’s left is you and him, two people from different worlds, somehow finding their way back to each other.

And for the first time, everything feels real.

[starshower1215]

Thoughts on Levi's First Impression of Hange

During a writing session, I went back and referenced Bad Boy, the manga detailing the awakening of Levi's Ackerman powers, and noticed some differences in the way the characters dressed.

The reader sees Levi in fairly simple clothing. A dark cardigan thrown over a tattered, oversized shirt bound at the waist, dark trousers. The men attacking him are in a similar state of dress, one that holds resemblance of the way Eren dresses, as seen here:

So it can be supposed that this would simply be the way that people of lower or middle class dress. However, there's one man in Levi's group of attackers who remains in the back, and doesn't lay a single hand on Levi. Though we don't have a full view of him, it becomes quickly clear that he's of a higher class, given his cigarette, his waistcoat, the collared shirt (see the second following panel). He looks to be the person buying from these men.

It was the fact that he had glasses which caught my attention. This man is set apart from the beginning as a "foreigner," most prominently when he specified that Levi is an illegitimate child from the Underground. He's a foreigner to the Underground, and therefore, a foreigner to Levi. The way he treats Levi here emphasizes the chasm between their two worlds. Glasses also seem to be a general sign of intelligence, or more accurately, of education, which is mainly accessible by the rich. Not even Armin, who shows high levels of intelligence, wears glasses, and this could correlate to the fact that he's not only from Wall Maria, but from one of the towns jutting out of the wall, acting as bait for the titans. This is more clear in that scene of ACWNR where Isabel is shown to be able to add, just very slowly, but I digress.

So, in the introductory scene between Levi and Hange, Hange is automatically a puzzling character. The contrast of their cheerfulness with the tense mood of the scene, the various portrayals of their glasses whited out...

That first panel of them, with the angle from below, maybe Levi's first person perspective. They are basically a different specimen, lol. We saw in Bad Boy how the man in glasses tried to gaslight Levi into believing he was a good man, who tried to help Levi, so the wariness written all over his face is well founded upon seeing this glasses person showing up unexpectedly.

On top of their general kindness (as Levi had really only received offhanded remarks on his upbringing from the Survey Corps so far), they are also, from his perspective, the first "upper class" person to have treated him with so much respect. Not only this, but they're treating his friends kindly, they're in the Survey Corps willingly as a supposed upper class citizen, and they're complimenting him. The initial distrust on Isabel and Furlan's faces is clear, but even they show some surprise when Hange recalls their names, indicating that this is really unusual behavior for someone to pay attention to them this way. With respect? And grace? With humanity? Truly unheard of.

So in conclusion, Hange really is an abnormal in his perspective, aren't they? Of course, they had just heard him discussing his murder plans with Isabel and Furlan, but don't rain on my parade, it's fun to think.

[kathlare]

between us

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Amid the backdrop of Barcelona's F1 testing, Lando finds himself distracted by thoughts of Amelie, whose recent Instagram post stirs both admiration and nostalgia. A teasing but insightful Carlos pushes Lando to confront the depth of his feelings, ultimately leading to a heartfelt confession about their relationship.

Wordcount: 1.6 k

Warnings: just fluff

request over here!

February 11th, 2024 - Barcelona, Spain

Lando Norris sat on the edge of his hotel bed in Barcelona, the crisp winter air blowing in from the slightly cracked window. His phone was clutched in his hand, the glow from the screen illuminating his face as he scrolled through Instagram. F1 testing was in full swing, and the pressure of the season loomed, but his mind kept wandering back to a different kind of distraction.

He paused when he saw the notification: Amelie Dayman posted a story.

He didn't even think twice before tapping it open. The screen was filled with a glamorous shot of Amelie, dressed in a bold black outfit, sitting with Taylor Swift in a luxury suite at the Super Bowl in Nevada. The camera angle hinted at the stadium below, but it was the smile on Amelie's face that caught Lando’s attention. Her eyes sparkled, that confident, radiant grin that always had a way of drawing him in.

She looks incredible, Lando thought, a smile tugging at his lips as he replayed the video.

He was so absorbed in her story that he didn't even hear the soft knock at the door.

—Lando, you in there?— Carlos Sainz’s voice cut through the silence.

—Yeah, come in,— Lando replied, quickly swiping away the Instagram app and setting the phone down on the bed, hoping Carlos hadn't caught a glimpse of what he was doing.

Carlos walked in with a grin that immediately made Lando nervous.

—You know, it’s a little early in the morning to be watching that story, mate,— Carlos said, raising an eyebrow, his gaze flicking to the phone.

Lando’s face flushed, but he quickly recovered. —What do you mean? I wasn’t... I wasn’t watching anything. I just... I was... checking my notifications.—

—Right, of course,— Carlos said, his grin widening. —Just like last time when you were “checking notifications” during the race weekend in Mexico City, huh?—

Lando's heart skipped a beat. He had hoped Carlos wouldn’t bring that up. After all, that weekend had been a turning point.

Carlos flopped down on the chair beside Lando’s bed, his gaze never leaving the British driver. —I saw the way you two were acting back then, mate. You’ve been pretty cozy lately. I’m just saying, if you’re getting back to your old habits...—

Lando shot him a look, but Carlos wasn’t letting it go. —You do know people still think you two would make a perfect couple, right? Fans, I mean. Even after all the... history.—

Lando rolled his eyes, trying to act cool, but it was hard with Carlos pushing all his buttons. —What’s your point, Carlos? Am I not allowed to have friends?—

Carlos leaned forward, his voice dropping to a more teasing tone. —I’m not blind, mate. You’re not just friends with Amelie. You’re... way more than that, aren’t you? Just admit it.—

Lando sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. The last thing he needed was Carlos playing matchmaker. He had already dealt with that enough during their time as teammates. But this time, it felt different. This time, it was serious.

Carlos didn’t let up. —Come on, Lando, it’s obvious. You two are practically inseparable. I’ve never seen you act this way with anyone else. And you’ve always had that... thing for her, right? From way back when you first met her. Back in 2019? You’d never shut up about her. So, what’s going on now?—

Lando was quiet for a moment, weighing his options. He could deny it, pretend everything was just as it seemed to the outside world. Or he could admit the truth. But saying the words out loud was a different challenge.

Finally, Lando let out a breath, looking at Carlos with a mix of exhaustion and relief. —I’m... I’m dating her, Carlos.—

Carlos blinked, his expression shifting from playful teasing to genuine surprise. —Wait. What? You’re actually dating her?—

Lando nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment. —Yeah. We’ve been seeing each other seriously since last November. It’s... it’s different this time.—

Carlos leaned back in his chair, absorbing Lando's words with a raised eyebrow, clearly processing the confession. He let out a low whistle, then a chuckle.

—Well, well, well. Look at you, finally making it official. I thought I was going to have to keep hearing you whine about her forever, mate,— Carlos teased, his grin widening. —But you know I’m not gonna let you get away that easy, right? You’re dating her, and you still haven’t told me the most important part. What about the other guys? What about Checo?—

Lando’s stomach tightened at the mention of Checo. He had known this would come up eventually, but he wasn’t ready to hear it.

—Don’t— Lando started, his voice sharper than usual. —I don’t want Checo to know. Not yet. Promise me, Carlos. Promise you won’t say anything. Especially to Checo. He can’t know yet.—

Carlos paused, studying Lando’s face for a moment. Then he nodded slowly, the playful gleam still in his eyes. —Alright, alright, I won’t say anything. But you know Checo is going to flip when he finds out, right? I mean, it’s not like you two have ever been shy about your... chemistry.—

Lando’s expression darkened, his fingers tapping nervously on the bedspread. —It’s not that. It’s just… I don’t know how to explain it, Carlos. Things are… complicated. We were friends first, and I don’t want to mess that up again. And if Checo knows… it’s going to be a mess.—

Carlos laughed, shaking his head. —You’ve got a death wish then, Lando. Checo is gonna kill you, mate. He’s got a temper. Especially when it comes to her—

Lando groaned, running a hand through his hair. —I don’t want to be in the middle of that. I’m not ready for the whole family to know. It’s not just about Stella and Checo, though. Amelie... she’s still figuring this out too. We’re not ready to make it public.—

Carlos, still smirking, leaned forward. —So, this is a "secret" thing? What, you two are still pretending to be just friends to everyone else?—

Lando nodded, his eyes darting to his phone as he unconsciously grabbed it, tapping the screen to see if Amelie had messaged him yet. He couldn’t help it; it had become second nature. —Yeah. I mean, we’ve been good about keeping it low-key. People think we’re just close friends, which... honestly, isn’t wrong. We were friends first, before all this, and I think that’s what makes it work now. It’s... easier that way, you know? But that doesn’t mean it’s any less real.—

Carlos leaned back, tapping his fingers on the armrest, clearly amused. —I think you’re the one who’s overthinking this, mate. It’s obvious to everyone around you that you two are into each other. Hell, the fans think you’re already together anyway. They’ve been shipping you two for years. I guess they’re right, huh?—

Lando’s lips twitched into a small smile, even as his heart raced slightly. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of warmth at the thought of how everyone else saw them—how their relationship seemed so natural to others, even when it still felt new to him.

—Maybe,— Lando said quietly, looking at Carlos. —But it’s still... complicated. I just want to get it right this time, you know? I don’t want to mess things up again. She’s... she’s too important to me for that.—

Carlos’s expression softened slightly, a rare moment of seriousness overtaking his usual teasing. —You’re a good guy, Lando. You’ve always been there for her. But if you hurt her again...— He trailed off, a knowing look passing between them. —She’ll never let you live it down.—

Lando’s jaw tightened, a flash of guilt hitting him. He didn’t need Carlos to remind him of the past—the history between him and Amelie wasn’t something he liked to dwell on, but it was always there.

—Don’t worry, I’m not messing this up again,— Lando replied, his voice low but firm. —This time, I’m doing it right.—

Carlos raised his hands in mock surrender. —Alright, alright. No need to get all serious on me. Just remember what I said. Checo is gonna find out eventually, and when he does... I want a front-row seat to that show.—

Lando rolled his eyes. —You’re such a shithead.—

Carlos grinned. —You love it, Norris. Now, go ahead and text her. I’m sure she’s been waiting for you to stop obsessing over her Instagram feed and start thinking about something else for a change.—

Lando shot him a playful glare, but Carlos’s teasing had hit its mark. He grabbed his phone, quickly opening the messages to find the thread with Amelie.

Lan🧡: How's the Super Bowl?

Ames💛: Tiring, but fun. I miss you, though. Can’t wait to see you soon.

Lando couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face as he read Amelie’s message. The words were simple, but they carried a warmth that made his chest tighten in the best way. Before he could reply, Carlos’s voice interrupted his thoughts again.

—Is that her?— Carlos leaned over, trying to catch a glimpse of Lando’s screen.

—Mate, seriously?— Lando laughed, pulling his phone away. —Can you not?—

Carlos smirked, leaning back in the chair. —Just making sure you’re not getting too soft on me, Norris. Don’t let her distract you too much, though. Testing’s in a few hours, and if I catch you staring at her photos in the paddock, I’m telling everyone.—

Lando shook his head, still grinning. —You’re insufferable.—

—And you’re whipped,— Carlos shot back, standing up and stretching. —But I get it. She’s... she’s special, mate. Just... be careful, alright? And remember, I’m here if you need someone to laugh at you when Checo finds out.—

—Helpful as always,— Lando muttered, watching as Carlos made his way to the door.

—Oh, one more thing,— Carlos said, turning back with a devilish grin. —If you’re really serious about this, maybe think about not getting caught scrolling through her Instagram during the drivers’ briefing. Just a thought.—

Lando picked up a pillow and threw it at him, but Carlos dodged it effortlessly, laughing as he closed the door behind him.

Alone again, Lando let out a deep breath, the grin still lingering on his face. He looked back down at his phone, typing out a quick reply to Amelie.

Lan🧡: Miss you too. Can’t wait for Melbourne. Save me a spot in the crowd, yeah?

Her response came almost instantly.

Ames💛: Front row, obviously. Just for you.

Lando smiled to himself, the stress of the upcoming season momentarily forgotten. Whatever challenges lay ahead, he knew one thing for sure—this time, he wasn’t letting her go.

[aparticularbandit]

Love Is Not A Victory March!

WIP Info Game!

Love Is Not A Victory March is the fourth fic in The Time of Your Life series, which is roughly a soulmate timer AU rewrite of the first season of Jane the Virgin. Perhaps only the first half of the first season, if I'm really honest with myself about the scope of what that series was doing. (There would have been one more fic after.)

The file in question is the entire finished rough draft. It has been finished for three? years? at this point. It is also longer than the other three parts combined.

Love Is Not A Victory March also continued the pattern established by the other three fics, wherein it continued the forward motion left from the last fics (in this case, picking up pretty much immediately where the last fic left off, with Roman Zazo's death) but also focused in some detail on two of the main characters' timers - when they'd gone off (previously or in the fic at present), if they were still counting towards something, if they'd zeroed out and suddenly started counting again for no apparent reason, etc.

The first fic focused on Rose and Luisa's timers. The second fic focused on Jane's timer. The third fic focused on Rafael's timer. The fourth fic focused on Petra and Michael's timers.

Mostly, the intent with this fic once the rough was finished was to reread the other three fics and then do a second write with this one for consistency and cohesion before posting it. I didn't make it through rereading the third fic and didn't get around to the second write, although I keep saying I will - it keeps showing up on my goals for each year! I mean! It's an entirely finished rough draft; it shouldn't be that hard! And yet.

....

It's also nearly 75k and 20 chapters long. >.>;;;;;;

Snippet below the cut!

Point in her favor, Rose didn’t see any empty bottles.  Point lost because Luisa was nowhere to be seen.

Rose took a deep breath.  No Luisa in the suite.  No video of Luisa leaving the suite.

That could only mean one thing.

Rose stepped out of the suite and turned down the hall, only to see Jane staring at a woman she knew all too well – one who shouldn’t have been here at all.  She took a deep breath, shoving the worry and concern that only continued to grow even deeper into the center of her chest, trying to let them combine with her anger into something much more intimidating.  It didn’t work.

Jane glanced up at Rose and raised an eyebrow.  “Rose?  Do you know who this is?”  She gestured to the woman in front of her.  “She says she’s here to see Rafael and that it’s an emergency.  You don’t know her, do you?”

Rose took a deep breath and forced her jaw to unclench.  “No,” she lied, meeting her other soulmate’s dark eyes with the harshest glare that she could.  “I have never met this woman before in my life.”

Mutter just smiled and gave a little nod, glancing up at her in as demure a fashion as she could fake.  “My name is Elena di Nola,” she answered, covering her tracks.  “I’m Rafael’s mother, and I would very much like to see my son.”

[hellishfig]

god… rewatching neverafter again

and the intro scenes are a mixed bag in terms of terror

rosamund is kind of freaky with the vines and the dead princes, but then we have gerard’s, which is very amusing. pib’s is also pretty funny. mother goose’s is dark bc his son is dead, but they still joke about the gander

then we get to ylfa. and brennan and emily show the darkest and saddest origin story i have ever seen for little red riding hood. a little girl, lost in every way possible, confused and alone and scared, begging her mother to let her in, and her mother refuses. her mother says that her daughter is dead and gone and a monster stands in her place. ylfa doesn’t want to be a monster. she wants to go home. but she is different, and her home turns on her, and that betrayal turns her on them. she huffs and she puffs and she blows the family that left her for dead away

and pinocchio. pinocchio whose mother is a shadow in a doorway. pinocchio who became a boy by being good, only to lose that gift by lying to save his father. pinocchio who loves his father enough to lie, and must now keep on lying to serve a woman he has never even looked in the eyes

there’s something very fitting about the children in this fairy tale land having the most horrifying stories. those stories about children straying from the path or needing to never tell a lie or misbehave in order to be real, they’re meant as warnings. be good, children, or you’ll never have the respect that adults get. be good, or the monsters in the shadows will come for you. be good, or you’ll die

in a season that was meant to be horror but was subverted by the players knowing the theme, i appreciate even more the darker corners of the story

[cluescorner]

Arlecchino's whole deal is unbelievable

Arlecchino: Huh I wonder what's causing my weird powers? I can't really worry about that right now tho, I've gotta become King and then kill my "Mother".

*Kills Clervie and "Mother"*

Arlecchino: Huh I wonder why I was able to defeat a Fatui Harbinger when I'm like 17 or so? I can't really worry about that right now tho, I've gotta be in jail and become a Harbinger.

*Is in jail for a while and becomes a Harbinger*

Arlecchino: Huh I wonder why I am-

Pierro: Hey what's up hello, anyways you're descended from the Crimson Moon Dynasty of Khaenri'ah. I'm sure that this is a lot for you to take in so-

Arlecchino: Ok.

Pierro: ...You're just cool with that?

Arlecchino: IDK maybe? I can't really worry about that at the moment, I'm a father now. This orphanage full of children I love (who also are child soldiers and are not allowed to leave or else I'll execute them except maybe now I'm just gonna wipe their memories IDK I'm morally complex) isn't gonna run itself.

*Runs the orphanage/spy recruitment initiative*

Me, the fucking player: WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU ARE KHAENRI'AN? WHY WASN'T THIS BROUGHT UP IN YOUR FUCKING QUEST?? OR ANYTHING ELSE????

Arlecchino, talking to me through my phone: I honestly don't know why you care, I'm too busy to give a shit. Anyways, I'm gonna go fight fate itself I guess. I'm sure that I don't share any thematic parallels with any other Khaenri'an characters (particularly as it relates to acting and family angst) and that I haven't made the idea of 'curses' on Khaenri'ans and what they entail even more complicated than they already were. See ya.

[canisalbus]

I love the shapes you use to draw machete, or really any character!! The way you draw noses, ears, bodies, fur, it looks like of I were to reach my hand out I could actually feel it, the bumps in the skin the squish of the flesh the softness of the hair. Not to mention the colors you use are very pleasing to the eye. So lovely... keep up the phenomenal work!!!

Ah, thank you so much!

[yurki-posts]

The Nopony

(I made the eye wrong on the upper right aaaghhhhh)

[wildandmoody]

Billie Jean - HIStory World Tour - Munich 1997 (rare alternate angles and shots part 1)

[yayakoishii]

Taiga Reference Screencaps Pt. 1

I'm just putting all some of the screenshots I took together so I can study the shape of his head later;;

[uselessnbee]

i want to see the progression of Will's art skills with all the drawings of Mike he's done in his life

from the little cartoonish drawing of little Mike he did when he was bored at six yo through the sketches of Mike's face he secretly did when in Cali and was missing him and just wanted to remember his face to the gorgeous portrait of Mike Wheeler he spent months painting in college

[brionysea]

idk if i can explain this succinctly but mike wheeler's overall character arc is, in summary, a leap of faith

[hiiragi7]

Not my usual content, but I made something I wanted to share...

Edit: Now with an ID from @a-captions-blog! Thank you for writing it!

[Art description: A Pokémon-themed comic featuring OP as a Pikachu. Long description follows.

1. The tips of Pikachu’s ears are shown with text that says, ‘I’m a Pikachu / My world is filled with lots of cool stuff. Sometimes it feels like anything is possible!’ Under this is a collage showing a Charizard, a Pidgeotto, a Nidoking, an Eevee, and an Ivysaur, all in the background as the Pikachu looks up in wonder. Text reads, ‘All sorts of types, all sorts of attacks, all sorts of Pokemon.’

2. Text says, ‘But...only two ways a Pikachu’s tail could look.’ Two boxes in the upper corners show the male and female Pikachu tails, respectively. The male has a rectangular end to his tale, and the female has a heart-shaped end to hers. Text continues, ‘So then, what am I?’ A large drawing of the narrator Pikachu is shown, with an arrow pointing to their tail, whose end is split somewhat like scissors and doesn’t match either the male or female drawing above.

3. Text says, ‘Too pointy to be [female], too much of a V-shape to be [male]. I thought there was something wrong with me.’ Under this are three cascading panels showing the Pikachu from below at an angle emphasizing their tail. The second panel shows mel further away, and in the final panel she have disappeared entirely. Text on the panels reads, ‘I felt / very, very, very / alone.’

4. Text says, ‘But then, something happened. I found others like me.’ The art shows the narrator reaching out to another Pikachu. Under this are three other Pikachu. One has a rounded tail, one has a tail that has been stitched up to be rectangular, and one has a tail with a slight spike at the tip.

5. Closeups are shown of each of the tails from the previous panel, with text that says, ‘Round tails, scarred tails, spiky tails.’ Under this is a drawing of the Pikachu all hugging with lightning coming from their cheeks. Text reads, ‘They told me nothing was wrong with me, and I wasn´t alone anymore.’

6. Text says, ‘There are many ways a Pikachu’s tail can look. I’ve heard there’s at least over 30 different variations.’ Under this are two panels. The first panel shows the narrator lying on their back on a background of male and female symbols. Text reads, ‘Some days are still hard.’ In the second panel, the Pikachu with the scarred tail is shown with text that says, ‘My friend tells me her tail used to look just like mine. It was taken from her.’

8. The narrator is shown sitting and looking upwards. Text reads, ‘Some trainers won’t accept Pikachu that aren’t [male] or [female]. They alter our tails without our consent. But things are getting better. We are making change. We’re fighting so that our tails will be left alone.’ Under this is a panel showing the four Pikachu running happily towards the right. Text reads, ‘We’re all on a spectrum. Every tail looks different; anything is possible.’

The final text reads, ‘This is a comic about intersex people.’ The watermark in the lower right says @ PostManic. \End descriptions

[minakoaiinos]

Animating this season like you can't have the slightest bit of jest and god forbid jesting about yaoi

[tonycries]

One More? Please? - G.S.

Synopsis. A kiss always solves everything! But when a kiss turns into something more…well, it’s only a desperate attempt to unseal yourselves from this damned prison realm, right? Right?

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected, coworkers to lovers, being stuck in that damn box, oral (female), mutual másturbation, spitting, fáce-sítting, máting press, Satoru is down bad for you, chóking, overstim, multiple rounds, créampie, pet names (sweetheart), swearing.

Word count. 4.4k

A/N. Happy belated two months to this blog! Concept inspired by this post by @kingkonoha.

“Maybe we should kiss and see if the box opens?”

“That’s the dumbest fucking thing to ever come out of your mouth.”

“Hey- it works in the movies! True love’s kiss and all-”

You heave out a heavy sigh that makes even the skeleton at your shoulder shake its head in pity. Goddamn, if these curses weren’t going to kill him then you will. 

“I take it back. That’s the dumbest fucking thing to ever come out of your mouth.”

Satoru hooks a thumb over his blindfold to gaze at you with mock seriousness. Oh, how the mighty have fallen - and how you were teetering dangerously close to a stroke with each dramatic bat of his long lashes.

“C’monnn~” he whines, with the flair of someone that was not sealed in an inescapable prison, “Don’t tell me that in all these years you’ve never once been at least a little tempted to kiss me, sweetheart.” 

“I’d rather kiss that dusty skull.” Shooting him a pointed look that makes even the skulls at your feet recoil. It would almost be hilarious if it wasn’t for the fact that you were trapped. In the prison realm. With Gojo Satoru of all people. Possibly forever.

Shit, is this karma for all those times you ditched Satoru with Nanami instead of dealing with him yourself?

Now, Satoru might be going about it with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, but just a few minutes ago when his life flashed before his very eyes at the mere sight of Suguru - or at least, the monster wearing his body - he’d expected some of his favorite memories to be the ones with you in it. 

You - his lil’ coworker - in all your gorgeous, smart-mouthed glory. And maybe if he was lucky, he even expected a couple glimpses of you in his future. Preferably with a giant rock on your finger.

But that’s a story for another time, what he certainly did not expect was for your stupidly heroic (and quite beautiful) ass to jump right in the middle of the prison realm’s ensnarement. 

Although, honestly, right now he doesn’t think he’d want to be locked up in here with anyone but you - and that withering glare you send him. 

Undeterred, Satoru has the audacity to throw his head back and laugh. Laugh. A sound you’ve come to realize over the years, as innocent as it sounds, does not bode well for you or your sanity. 

A sanity that’s been slowly dwindling since your first day of meeting Satoru. Back then, a brash, cocky new teacher that waltzed into the halls of Jujutsu Tech in those pretentious sunglasses like he owned the place. 

Well, not that he was any different right now. Lounging over some disgruntled skeletons, you half-expected him to pull out a deck chair and start sunbathing amidst the bones. Your begrudging coworker - and occasional bane of your existence - seemed right at home. 

You, however, were decidedly not having the time of your life. 

“I swear, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you grumble, wincing at the bones prodding you from almost every angle. 

“Can you blame me?” he hums, now fully tugging down his blindfold to hang around his neck, “It’s not every day I get to spend quality time with my favorite person in the world.”

You scoff, strangely self-conscious as those striking blue sweep your figure from head to toe. “Lucky me. Well why don’t you spend this quality time helping me figure out how the hell we can get out of here.”

“I already told y-”

“Anything but that.”

With a sulky huff, Satoru peers down at you, “Then we just wait till someone gets us out of here. I’m sure Megumi-chan is just tearing his emo hair out trying to unseal this thing.”

“...”

“You’re absolutely correct, Yuji then. Or…” he tilts his head towards a sad pile of bones, “We end up like our little friend over there. Though I’d make a far better looking skeleton-”

You don’t hear the rest of Satoru’s rant over the small noise of concern that falls from your lips. Something hot and prickly pooling in your stomach at the fact that yes you really were stuck in the prison realm with Gojo Satoru. Possibly forever. And no this wasn’t some strange dream like when you and Shoko accidentally raided the wrong brownie box in the kitchen.

Shit. 

And perhaps it showed on your face, because you’re jolted out of your reverie by warm fingers intertwining with yours. Grounding. Satoru’s eyes now searching yours with an intensity that made you squirm uncomfortably. 

“Hey, we’ll figure this out, okay?” he mutters softly. “Remember that time we accidentally set the training ground on fire?” leaning in closer now, “Or that mission we got chased by that cursed vending machine?”

You roll your eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite yourself. “Yeah, and then you nearly got us killed trying to order a sweet tea. ”

Satoru chuckles, squeezing your hand reassuringly. “See? It worked out, didn’t it? It always does, sweetheart.” 

And if your heart does a strange little lurch, well, then you just blame it on the femur jabbing into your side. 

All is quiet in your little hell. That is, until.

“Hey, Satoru…does kissing really work in the movies?” 

You barely catch the way Satoru’s breath hitches ever-so-slightly as he leans in closer. eyes sparkling with mischief. And oh you knew that look - one that was usually accompanied by a lecture by Yaga, one that sent shivers down your spine. He grins, “Well, there’s only one way to find out, hm?”

Embarrassment and amusement bubbles inside you, tumbling out in the form of a barely-audible, “A peck. One.”

“Awww. Eight?”’

“No.”

“Five?”

“Satoru.”

Minty breath fanning your face, “Okay okay, one peck and a kiss to your forehead. C’mon, it’s a bargain~”

Pinching your nose, you sigh out a weary, “This is so stupid. Fine, but if it doesn’t work then I’m strangling you.”

And it’s all that is said before his lips are on yours.  

Soft. Satoru’s lips were so soft. And he tasted so unfairly of caramel apples and sweet, sweet mischief. Just like him. Feather-light and fleeting - yet the kiss burns into your brain with an intensity that you strangely didn’t mind.

It’s over before you know it. The cold air hits your lips as Satoru’s words ring in your ears, a disappointed little, “Aw, that didn’t work.”

Barely even risking a glance at the still very sealed realm, your body reacts before your mind - the expensive cotton of his uniform collar soft against your fingers as you pull Satoru towards you with a sense of urgency you can’t quite explain.

And then you’re kissing him. And he’s kissing you because shit this is all that Satoru’s been dreaming about since he turned 23 and suddenly realized that oh you were frighteningly everything that he ever wanted. 

“S-Satoru,” you whisper, breathless against his lips. 

“Shhhh, my girl. One more. Didn’t work.” 

His lips are searing on yours. Urgent and greedy, because fuck if it took getting trapped in the prison realm to finally kiss you then God knows when he’ll be able to again. 

Which is why he breathes you in like he doesn’t have enough time, and probably never will - even in this godforsaken box where time never passes. 

“Shit. O-one more.”

Drinking in your sweet gasps as he intertwines his tongue with yours, tasting how sinfully delicious you were. Satoru’s hands wander the expanse of your body, cupping your head to kiss you deeper, snaking down to squeeze your ass - and everything in between. 

Pulling away ever-so-slightly with a playful bite to your bottom lip, he leaves a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. The disappointed whine that leaves your pretty mouth makes all the blood in Satoru’s body rush to his cock. 

“Sweetheart.” he grunts into the crook of your neck, lips ghosting over your racing pulse. “Y’think I kissed the wrong lips?”

Oh? 

Satoru’s words send a jolt of electricity running down your spine - all the way down to your heated cunt. “W-what?” you managed to choke out, cheeks flaring as he raises his eyes to meet yours and-

Oh.

Oh, shit. If the curses weren’t going to kill you then Satoru sure might. 

You’re snapped out of your thoughts by Satoru carefully jostling the two of you so that he’s lying on his back, your body manhandled to straddle his pretty face. 

“Satoru, when you mean ‘wrong lips’...here?” you trail off, still reeling from him and the abrupt change in position and him. 

“Exactly what I mean,” he chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating beneath your dripping cunt. “Now, spread ‘em wider f’me. Let me taste you- Need it s’bad.”

Body moving as if on autopilot, your knees part wider to let him greedily take in the sight of your soaked panties. Beads of slick seeping through the thin fabric each time his hot breath meets your cunt. 

But not for long - the cool air hits you before you realize what’s happening. Because Satoru is ripping your flimsy panties off with one hand. Throwing it behind to God-knows-where with the urgency of a madman. 

“Shit, so wet f’me already.” he groans, mouth watering at the obscene sight of you clenching around nothing. “S’gorgeous. You really are perfect everywhere, huh?” he mutters through lazy, languid kisses along your thighs. Tongue darting out just so to leisurely trace circles along the heated skin. 

Strong arms wrap around your thighs, the stretch nothing with the two long fingers spreading your swollen folds apart. Your face burns from just how adoring Satoru looks below you.

You buck into his touch, “Hngh- Please. Wan’ your mouth on me.”

And perhaps the great Gojo Satoru decided to be merciful for once in his life, because without another word, he’s surging forward. Tongue flicking out to tease your sloppy entrance, pooling your juices before tipping his head back, back, back to let it slide down his throat so sinfully.

Shit, Satoru could just cum in his pants right now, of course you taste heavenly. Better than he could’ve ever imagined on any lonely night. 

You shudder as he flattens his tongue across your folds, sliding teasingly between them, grazing your swollen clit just barely at an unhurried rhythm that almost has Satoru forgetting where he was. But quite frankly, he couldn’t give less of a fuck about it either.

“This what you wanted, sweetheart?” he hums around your clit, the vibrations making you squeal. Sucking gently, tongue rolling harshly against your bundle of nerves, over and over- “Cause it’s what I’ve been wanting for years.”

The words ring in your ears almost as much as the lewd squelches below. Years?

“F-fuck- feels hngh- What do you mean y-years, Satoru?” 

Oh, Satoru thinks he could pass out just at the way you whine out his name so prettily. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, a hand hastily snaking down to unbuckle his pants. “Mhmm~ Couldn’t go a day without sparring with you where I didn’t think of bending you over and tasting you right there y’know.”

Your eyes snap down to meet Satoru’s hazy, half-lidded ones. Something dark and feral shining within them. And right now, thighs wrapped around his head, you don’t think he’s ever looked happier. White locks splayed out, a fucked-out expression on his face as his tongue bullies past your folds, you could feel the slight smile curling his lips against you. 

It’s overwhelming - both his confession and the way Satoru was making out with your cunt like a man starved.

Nose-deep in your pussy, tongue alternating between its abuse on your throbbing clit and dipping in and out of your sloppy hole at a maddening pace. Mouth only speeding up ruthlessly at the way you convulse and grind involuntarily on top of him.

God, Satoru was going insane at the way your walls were sucking him up so good, clamping down with each push of his tongue. 

“Shit- made jus’ f’me. You like that, don’t you?” he growls against your cunt, voice hoarse with desire. “Like fucking my face with your pussy?”

“Oh! Ngh, yes Satoru- L-love it-”

A bruising grip on your hips, encouraging you to rock against his face. Harder. Tongue more desperate. He couldn’t get enough. Meeting your every grind, tongue lapping at your cunt so obscenely. 

Breaths ragged and hot against your cunt, drinking you in with the desperation of a man that wouldn’t mind giving up air for your essence. And it was Satoru - of course he wouldn’t mind.

Especially with the large hand snaking up your thigh, going from drawing reassuring patterns at your hips to rubbing tight, little circles on your pulsing clit. Hasty, and urgent - like he had no time to waste. “Tha’s right, my girl. Give it up for me,”

Every cell in your body is on fire, every nerve ending singing with pleasure at the way Satoru plays your body like an instrument. 

“M’close, Satoru- Hah- s’close.” you moan breathlessly, a hand tangling in his soft strands. Using it as leverage to ride Satoru’s pretty face just the way you like it.

But you didn’t have to - because Satoru seems to already know exactly what to do. Exactly how to quirk his tongue just right to brush against all your most sensitive spots. Exactly how to match the rhythm of his abuse on your clit to the way he was tonguefucking you into delirium. Exactly how to look at you with such a hungry expression that devours you almost as much as his mouth. 

“Cum f’me, sweetheart.”

Satoru didn’t even have to ask. Because you’re cumming with a strangled gasp of his name. White-hot pleasure coursing through you like lightning, body trembling as you cum all over Satoru’s pretty face. 

Hands moving your limp, boneless hips across his face, forcing you to ride out peak after peak on his red lips.

As the blood roaring in your ears bates, and you blink back your vision, the first thing you see are those familiar blue eyes gazing up at you. Holding you steady, lips brushing gentle kisses along your inner thighs. 

Oh, how beautiful he was like this.

“S-S’toru?” you mewl, still sensitive from your orgasm as Satoru shifts underneath you to sit you prettily in his lap.

“Mhm?” he nuzzles your neck.

“One more. It didn’t work.”

Oh, if you knew the only way to shut up Gojo Satoru was to say something like this then you would’ve done it a lot sooner. 

But Satoru’s stunned silence doesn’t last for long, because he grins, low and sultry, “You’re right. It didn’t work.”

The metallic clinking of a belt echoes in the stuffy chamber as Satoru hastily pushes down his pants. Cock springing free to hit his lower abs, “What a shame.”

You blink at the sheer size of him - he was going to split you in two. It was unfair, really. Water is wet. Gojo Satoru has a big dick. 

But oh was he pretty - so pretty.  Prominent veins glistening in the dim lighting, fat tip flushed your favorite shade of delicate pink, leaking furiously in between your thighs.

Gulping, you reach out to wrap your hand around his achingly hard cock. So warm and heavy in your hands. “Y-yeah, what a shame.”

Both of you watch - entranced - at the way he twitches in your grasp at the mere sound of your voice. A maddening little bump! bump! bump! against your palm as you begin pumping him slowly - so agonizingly slow. 

“Oh- Feel s’good, sweetheart.” Satoru hisses lowly as you swipe at the precum beading at this head. Thumbing teasingly under his sensitive slit, tracing delicately along his veins. 

And by God does it do something to you to see the great Gojo Satoru falling apart for you, hair tousled, lips kiss-bitten, and eyes looking at you like he wanted to positively eat you alive. It made your cunt throb so desperately, slick forming a dark wet patch on his trousers. 

Not one to be left behind, his long fingers deftly snake down to your dripping cunt. Not wasting any time before bullying his fingertips past your swollen folds, curling expertly to press down against that one spot that has your fist faltering on his cock. Hard. 

Pretty little moans left your lips at the way Satoru so easily matches your pace. Thrusting knuckle-deep into your pussy in and out - hitting that spot over and over.

“Shit, Toru- s’deep inside me. I’m- hngh-”

Satoru was in heaven, really. You were so warm and wet around both his fingers and his throbbing cock. 

Only two thoughts running through his mind right now - 1. He was right, your hands were softer and more sinfully delicious around his swollen cock. And 2. The hardest battle he’s ever fought was probably right now - at your mercy, trying not to spill all over your hands because he’d be damned if he finally scored the girl and came in two seconds.

Shit, he thinks fingers almost erratic now, he needs you to cum. Right now. 

As if sensing his urgency, your moves become more frantic, Satoru’s brows furrowing at the way you increase your pace. His hips twitch, as if trying to thrust into your fist. matching your pace as you start stroking him harder, faster. 

Ah, but alas, the great Gojo Satoru’s reputation precedes him. 

“Oh, fuck- M’gonna-” And soon enough, you’re seeing stars behind your eyes - or maybe those were tears - as you cum. Hard. 

Body moving before your mind, you’re clenching around Satoru’s fingers, grinding down so ferally as you edge him closer and closer. “C’mon, Toru. One more, right?” you whisper brokenly, lips ghosting his ear.

Breath coming in short, strained gasps of what sounded like your name now, “Oh- fuck ngh- so close.” he warns, voice hoarse. “If you keep doing that, I won’t be responsible for what happens next.”

You smirk, raising a brow, “Is that a threat, Satoru?”

Willing his fucked-out eyes open, they bore into yours as he utters, “No, ah- it’s a p-promise.”

Without warning, Satoru clasps your wrists, forcing you to stop pumping him. The disappointed mewl threatening to spill from your lips is cut off just as your back hits the ground.

Slam!

You think you could almost get whiplash from how swiftly Satoru had you caged and splayed out so shamefully beneath him. 

You whine, “But you didn’t even get to-”

“Fuck, not now. Gotta feel you or else m’gonna cum so embarrassingly all over your fist.” He rests his throbbing erection laid out so enticingly across your stomach, leaking hot precum onto your skin. And that makes you shut up, eyes mapping where it ended and realizing that yeah, you might’ve faced more mercy with the curses outside of this box. “Besides. One more, right?”

And before you can respond, Satoru’s spitting on you once. Twice. Thrice.

You flinch as the wads of saliva hit your dripping cunt, mixing with your slick so obscenely as Satoru smears it across your swollen folds. Your mouth drops into a soft oh! of disbelief as he promptly pops his thumb into his mouth, groaning at the taste. 

“Shit.” Satoru hisses lowly, “One more might just not be enough.”

Not wasting a moment longer, he’s bullying his throbbing cock into your snug cunt. Head thrown back as your plush walls desperately try to accommodate his size.

“Oh. Oh shit hah- should’ve been locked up here ngh- sooner.” he groans, words straight from his cock. “Feel s’heavenly around m-me.” Because God Satoru thinks he wouldn’t even mind staying here for the rest of his life if it meant he got to have you like this.

You moan at the positively delicious stretch of your pussy, plush walls unable to decide between pushing him out and milking the soul out of him. “Hah- Toru s’too big. I can’t-” 

“You will.” he grits out, teeth clenched and brows furrowed as he focuses on letting you adjust. Pressing inch by fucking inch. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he fights that feral part of himself that just wants to plunge into your pretty pussy till his tip kisses your cervix, and you’re drunk on nothing but his cock.

But he didn’t have to - because you’re immediately wrapping your legs around his toned waist, pulling Satoru to you recklessly until his heavy balls smack your ass. Tufts of snowy white hair - already so wet with your slick and his precum - finally meeting your cunt.

“Ah! Shit, s’full Toru.” you keen, body bowing into his.

There’s not even a hair's breadth between your bodies now as Satoru chuckles darkly. “You little minx. Thought you couldn’t handle me, but you really wanted to be split apart on my cock, huh?”

You feel almost shy under his gaze as you mumble out a quiet little, “Well you did say one more.”

Ah, Satoru thinks deliriously, if you aren’t Mrs. Gojo by the time you two get out of this then there’s seriously something wrong with him. 

But he doesn’t tell you that. Instead with a satisfied smirk, he claims your lips in a searing kiss, sucking your tongue so lewdly as he did with your cunt. Parting for only a second before pressing his lips to yours again. And again. And again, as if it hurt to part.

“Mhm. Always wanted to do this, sweetheart.” he hums against your pretty lips. “Fuck ever since you hah- walked in on that first day.” 

Kissing you sweetly with a tenderness that doesn’t translate to his hips as pulls back, back, back. All the way till his angry, hard tip was just grazing your sloppy entrance. “One more.”

Body moving before his mind, his hips start fucking into your dripping cunt recklessly. Satoru doesn’t fuck you with the finesse he imagined he would all these years, rough, harsh thrusts fueled by pure need and all the desperation from these last few years.

In one, fluid movement, the burn of the stretch hits you before the realization that Satoru has thrown your legs over his sculpted shoulders. 

“Ah- So good, Toru. Oh my god- hah-” you mewl at the change in angle. His pulsing dick expertly hitting that one spot inside you which has your words slurring together, body arching off the floor to press so impossibly close against him. 

And, well, Satoru isn’t any better - because he’s slamming his cock into you mindlessly. Hitting that spot over and over. 

With one hand, he caresses your stomach. Whispering out a ragged, “Feel me inside? Feel me right…” Pressing his palm down hard, “Here.”

The other forces you to look up at him, drinking in your whines of “Yes yes yes, can feel you s-so deep hngh- inside me, Toru.” 

You’re so cockdrunk and full of Satoru that you barely notice the hands groping their way down your body. Catching harshly on your swollen clit, starting to draw, quick, frenzied circles that match the cadence of his hips smacking into yours. 

“Look at me.” he murmurs raspily, “Open your mouth.”

And you can do nothing but take it, tongue lolling out so lewdly for the warm stream of spit that hits it. Once. Twice. 

You look up at him with teary eyes, as you take it all -  anything and everything he was giving. And it makes Satoru bow his head with a fucked-out groan, cock twitching so animalistically as it keeps plunging inside you roughly. Deft fingers on your clit becoming more desperate.

Harder. Faster. Balls squeezing so painfully. Like a lamb to slaughter, he was going to eat you up - and you were going to let thim.

You squeal at the overstimulation, hips bucking up for more more more-

“God, sweetheart, you don’t know what you do to me.” he moans, voice strained with desire and the euphoria of getting everything he’s wanted for so long. It was driving him insane. “Now c’mon. One more. Give me one more like my good girl.”

“Hngh- yes- Toru!”

You don’t even know what “one more” means anymore - all you do know is that you’re cumming and cumming all around Satoru’s unforgiving cock. Walls fluttering so snugly, your body convulses as you cream around his cock. Nails dragging down the expanse of his sculpted back, Satoru’s name leaving your bruised lips and into the heady air like a prayer every time his tip kisses your cervix. His new favorite melody.

And that seems to be what makes him snap as well - because with a final, sloppy thrust, he’s painting your walls such a sinful white. Pumping thick, hot ropes of his cum into your quivering cunt. 

“Shit- yeah, my girl. Take it. Take it all f’me.” Satoru shudders above you, head thrown back, chest heaving as he fucks you through your high. Movements nothing more than shallow, mindless little thrusts to get you both off so animalistically. 

It was so fucking filthy - and exactly what you needed so badly. He was exactly what you needed so badly. 

Now, Satoru only had to take one look as you use him so obscenely for your pleasure - eyes dazed, drool trickling down the corner of your mouth - before he thinks he might just cum again. And again. And again until he physically couldn’t anymore.

But first…

Pulling out of your heavenly pussy with a lewd pop! His long fingers delicately collects the mixture of slick and cum now gushing out of you obscenely. 

Aw, what a waste, Satoru muses as it pools below you sinfully. If it was up to him he wouldn’t waste a single drop from your pretty cunt. 

But no matter. 

Abruptly, Satoru bullies two fingers into your mouth - forcing you to taste yourself, to taste him. Pressing right at the back of your tongue in a way that has you choking and gagging around him, teary eyes just begging up at him. Perfect - you were so perfect for him. 

Kissing your forehead with a tenderness that doesn’t match his actions, he hums, faux innocence lacing his words, “What a shame, the box didn’t open yet.”

And oh does he love the excitement lighting up your exhausted eyes. Pretty thighs twitching underneath him as a slow, fucked-out little smile curls your lips. 

“One more? Please?”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.