#can i just jump into my own story or what like

[startanewdream]

can you write a fan fic on Sirius giving Harry advice on Ginny. I need Hinny fluff!

This was sent so many years months ago, hope you'll still read it, Anon!

godfatherly advice

Summary: Sirius and Remus discuss Harry's love life. Set during OotP. Around 1600 words.

“Do you remember a girl named Cho Chang?”

It is the sudden change in their talk — they had been exchanging stories of their favorite Christmas dinners at Hogwarts — that makes Remus blink, surprised. He turns to Sirius, but his friend is now looking at the far corner of the kitchen where Harry is playing Explosive Snap.

“What?”

“When you were teaching at Hogwarts,” Sirius answers, sounding impatient. “There was a girl called Cho Chang, right?”

“Right,” Remus agrees slowly. “Ah—she was in the Fourth Year. Ravenclaw. Bright girl. She wrote this essay about curses—”

Sirius waves him off. “Fourth Year,” he muses. “One year above Harry, then. Different houses. Not much in common.” He shifts his weight from one foot to another. “Pretty girl?”

He jumps. “I didn’t notice it! I was her professor—”

“Oh, get a grip.” Sirius rolls his eyes. “Think like a fifteen-year-old boy—never mind, you never mentioned your crushes back in school, I don’t think you were ever a teenager.”

Warmth floods Remus’ face, and he deviates his gaze. “Why are you asking, anyway?”

“Hum…” Sirius seems as embarrassed as he gets. “Rumour has it that Harry’s got a crush on this girl.”

“Rumour.” Remus glances at where Tonks and Hermione are talking with the Weasley twins. “I guess this rumour is friends with one of Harry’s best friends.”

“I am not discussing my sources with you. But if you can trust this particular rumour, and you can… Harry and this girl, Cho, got friendly before the end of the term.”

“Oh.” Remus watches Harry for a moment. With his overly large shirt and laughing freely as he plays Explosive Snap with Ginny Weasley, Harry doesn’t look his age. “I forgot he is old enough to have a girlfriend.”

There’s a grunt in answer. Sirius is frowning, displeased.

“What?”

“I don’t think she is his girlfriend. From what Ton—my source mentioned, it was just a snog or something like that. “

Remus raises his eyebrows. “Just a snog? That doesn’t sound like Harry.” Sure, Remus may have missed a few — a lot of — years staying away from Harry, but he got to know him during his time as a professor. And between Voldemort and the Triwizard Tournament, not to mention all the stress of this year, he doubts Harry has turned into some kind of Casanova since then. 

“No,” Sirius shakes his head. “But from what I got, Harry has had feelings for this girl for ages, but it is complicated—she was the girlfriend of the Diggory boy. The one who died in the Triwizard Tournament.”

Remus sighs. “Nothing is ever easy for Harry, is it?”

“Maybe,” Sirius mumbles, seemingly to himself. “But when Harry finally snogs the girl he’s been pinning for so long—you would think he might mention something to me.”

“Is that what’s bothering you?” Remus can’t help his smirk. “You know you owe him the talk, right?”

Sirius flushes slightly. “It’s not his silence that’s upsetting,” he says haughtily, clearly determined to ignore the second part of what Remus told him. “But rather—do you remember when James and Lily finally snogged?” That familiar jolt of pain hits Remus; his smile is wistful as he nods. “James kept smiling so much that it looked as if he had overdosed on an Euphoria Elixir.”

“And he couldn’t stop babbling about it—it was three in the morning, and he was still gushing.”

“Yeah.” Sirius looks older for a moment, his gaze far away before he nods towards Harry. “Does Harry look remotely like James did?”

“I don’t know. He seems quite happy now.” And as to prove his point, Harry’s laugh echoes in the kitchen for a moment. The cards have exploded, drawing everyone’s attention, though neither Harry and Ginny seem to mind. They are chuckling, and even though his own face is painted with soot, Harry jumps to smooth the small flames over the tips of Ginny’s hair. 

“Exactly!” Sirius beacons him to come closer, his eyes shining with mischief. “And not because of this Cho Chang girl, but rather…”

Sirius’ voice drifts away, conspiratorially. It takes Remus a few seconds — during which, impatient, Sirius glances meaningfully at the place where Harry and Ginny are — before he understands.

“Harry and Ginny? They are friends.”

“So were James and Lily.”

“Yeah, but aren’t you forgetting the part where James made a fool of himself whenever Lily Evans was around?”

Sirius shrugs. “Things never happen twice the same way. In fact, rumour has it that Ginny used to have a massive crush on Harry.”

“Hmmm.” Remus considers this for a moment, before deciding it is no big secret. “This one is true, when I was her teacher, I saw how she acted whenever Harry was around… but I thought it was because of that Chamber of Secrets incident.” He shakes his head. The things Harry faced at Hogwarts…

“Very romantic, I guess. The hero saves the girl… and usually gets the girl.”

“I think the hero was too young then to care about these things.”

“And now he is older, but he doesn’t seem to be caring for the right person.”

Remus blinks. “Aren’t you being too judgemental? You have just heard about this girl.”

“I am judgmental, but not of Cho Chang. I’m judging Harry.”

“Who is acting as a teenager for once?”

“I just mean… I thought they would make a good couple. Harry and Ginny. They share the same slightly twisted sense of humour and they seem good together.”

Remus sips from his goblet, allowing himself some time to consider it. Harry and Ginny have split up now; while Ginny is chatting excitedly with Tonks and Hermione, Harry has joined Ron, but now and then he glances at Ginny’s back — fondly, not exactly romantic, but maybe there is a spark there, a seed that could grow. There had been some storm over Harry’s head during that Christmas break, something related to the vision of Arthur being attacked; that storm is gone now, and though Remus has no idea of what exactly unfolded, somehow he thinks it was because of Ginny Weasley.

“They would match,” he agrees, and then, because this is Sirius he’s talking to, he adds carefully, “but you shouldn’t meddle with them.”

“I would never,” Sirius rebuffs at once, but there is a mischief spark in his eyes, so alive, that Remus knows this isn’t the end of it.

“Sirius—”

“Speaking about match-making, don’t you think my cousin looks splendid tonight?”

The inevitable flush that floods his cheeks is enough to make Remus change the subject.

He isn’t really surprised to find out, a couple hours later, that Sirius has cornered Harry as they clean up the last remains of supper. 

“How are things at Hogwarts? Any good news?”

Harry seems taken aback. “You know how things are,” he says, looking at Sirius as if he’s considering his godfather lost his mind. Remus winces, then unsuccessfully tries to get Sirius’ attention.

“I was thinking about things you might not mention in a letter or during a fireplace call, like… Maybe some romance in the air?”

Smoothness, Remus considers, was never Sirius’ strength. Harry flushes a deep red, all his attention in drying the dishes as if his life depends upon it.

“Er—okay. Not anything worth mentioning, just the same.”

“The same,” repeats Sirius slowly. Perhaps he senses that Harry is ready to run — his eyes have shifted to the door a couple times as if he is considering how many steps he needs to be away from there — because Sirius suddenly smiles. “You know, your father never had eyes for anyone but your mother.”

Harry’s eyes open. “Really?”

“Really.” Sirius looks only encouraged. “Now, James was a popular guy, a Quidditch hero, had a great sense of humor, and of course an amazing taste in his best friend, so there were girls chasing after him, but he never cared for anyone else. And he was right, because he and Lily… they were just perfect, destined to be together.”

There’s a dreamy expression on Harry’s face. Remus knows Harry is away thirsty for any information he might receive from his parents, so he may just be considering this new piece of the puzzle that are his parents. But as he drifts, destined or not, Harry’s gaze seems to fall on the corner where Ginny is now sitting by herself, playing with the cat.

And Sirius, bless him, notices it. He barely contains a grin.

“So, you get what I mean, right? When you find the one, you know you did. Someone with whom you really connect, someone who makes you laugh, who gets you. You don’t waste your time snogging anyone else…”

Harry blinks, suddenly pulled back to Earth. “Snogging?” His gaze is suspicious. “Who said anything about me… snogging?”

“No one. This is not the point, I just—”

“It’s late, I should get some sleep.” Harry glances helplessly at Remus, who nods.

“We’ll leave for St Mungo’s early tomorrow,” he agrees.

“Right.” Sirius looks as flustered as Harry does. “But Harry—you understood what I said? About the one—”

“Yes, yes.” Now Harry is almost at the door. “Good night!”

Remus gives him a few seconds before shaking his head at Sirius. “You should not have—”

“I just did what I am sure James and Lily would like me to do. They would adore Ginny.” The mischief is back on Sirius’ eyes. “Speaking of—I heard Ginny might be dating someone, I think she needs a piece of advice as well.”

“Fred and George have mentioned her Bat Bogey Hex—” But Sirius is not listening to him anymore, already crossing the room. Remus sighs as he sits to watch the scene; he supposes he could use a last laugh before going to bed.

[lilacgaby]

Your stories are wonderful ♥️♥️

I couldn't stop reading ✨✨

I was thinking about a fantasy AU, where we have the big dragon bakugou and his tiny fairy friend a Tinkerbelk vibe lol

And what would their routine be like, perhaps scaring away some treasure hunters?

I love your stories ♥️✨

dragonking!katsuki was the most feared king in all the lands. he was strong, wielding a sword he welded with his own flames, magic stronger than a clan of witches, and unforeseen knowledge that always gave him an edge.

how did he get this knowledge you ask? it was a secret to most, however.. only his most trusted dragonknight knew it was because of his pocket-sized fairy, you.

you wore a flower dress of your favorite color, always glowing and shimmery because of the fairy dust you used to keep yourself healthy and flying. you'd found katsuki when he was a prince, he was teary eyed as he sat out in the gardens, upset that his childhood rival had been revealed to have royal blood.

you were lost, still in a white, orchid gown as you slowly flew around, eventually landing on his knee. he eyed you oddly, jumping slightly when you landed on him. though, as he examined you further, he realized that he was being touched by a real fairy. something he'd only heard about in tales he'd hear at night. you spoke to him, though at first he could only hear a bell sound.

he saw you looked frustrated, until smacking your forehead with a "duh!" and flying up to sprinkle him with some fairy dust. after a bit of confusion, he kept his red eyes locked onto you as you cleared your throat. "can you hear me now?" you said, making him speechless. he managed a nod and you continued.

"i don't really know how to get back to my hollow so.. can i stay with you?" you asked, shyly putting one leg behind the other at your request. he sputtered, before managing a, "t-that's cool, fairy girl."

"it's actually [name] random guy!"

"okay [name], uh-- katsuki's fine."

he soon realized not everyone could hear you, and you explained that the fairy dust you used was too valuable to let just everyone use it. he smirked though, happy that he'd be special to you.

you were there as he was sent off on his crowning journey, telling him where to find the best loot, the best resting places you'd remember, and even how to scavenge for food. you'd keep him company through the uncomfortable nights, and he'd carry you in his gloved hands during winter, since your wing's would freeze over.

he'd make you tiny leaf beds and let you sleep a safe distance from his head, he'd make sure you ate and would take you to collect pixie dust from the various trees you'd remember.

with your help, he was the first successful one of all the heirs to help awaken the crimson dragon, officially crowning him king.

he celebrated with you, treating you to maple syrup and finding you the best flowers to finally make you a new dress, topping it all of with a baby's breath crown.

you were always on his shoulder, always hidden by the fur coat he'd adorn. people would find the king randomly smiling as he heard your jokes or comments, but when questioned he'd slam his fist.

the casual day for you two would usually be hunting for treasure. for some reason, fairies were hardwired with amazing intuition that was always correct, so you were like his own metal detector. he'd hold you close to him, a habit he formed after you were snatched out of the sky once by a hawk, and you'd point in the direction you'd need to go.

when he arrived, seeing the pirates already in process of looting the place, he'd ready his magic, whispering to you to get under his coat. he fought off the 20 some men alone, leaving with not only the treasure in the cave, but on the pirates ship too.

as he called his village people to come get their share of the fair amount of treasure, he smiled softly at you, who was now eating some more maple candy he'd got for you on top of his thumb.

he owed it all to you, his fairy.

can you tell i loved this req??? ty for the support always <3

[wakacreations]

Raphael: I Am Always Waiting

Author's Note:

I saw this neat animation by @smnc45. I do not write Raphael often but I wanted to try my shot at their prompt.

Prompt:

Can someone please write Raphael x reader angst where they’ve been married for like 50 years and now it’s time for reader to pass on and they’re having this bittersweet moment together in reader’s final moments

Word Count: 2935

Summary:

The cat and mouse game has come to an end. When the mouse's time draws near who came out victorious?

It is almost that time again when a devil would celebrate the most joyous occasion. When a thumping of a heart becomes a precious coin. Currency to pocket, to twiddle between one's claws and to eye at the brilliance of its metallic polish. The great tragedies within these circular vessels tell tales to other archdevils of the beautiful follies of man. What depraved sacrifices they would make out of their own hubris. I have acquired many a coin through my millennia. There to amass my strength in the hells but I have grown fond of a few in my possession. There is but one that awaits, a soul coin that holds my palm so dear. I find you laying on your death bed.

You were but a mere mortal for some unforeseen circumstances were chosen by fate to be a tadpole inhibitor. It would be easy for I to acquire such a desperate soul. You truly were desperate you know. I watched from afar to see you squirm. You did shop around quite a bit before you accepted your only option left, mine. There were the words of a lullaby from Cormyr that I spoke to you when we first met. In those times, I called you mouse and I the fox but these days you call me a domestic house pet, a cat. You are lucky that I am quite fond of such creatures. Dogs are duller but I thought through your journey you would become one. You do look lovely chasing after my heels. Whether it be for that spawnling or that little swindler of a tiefling girl, you were adamant she wouldn't be in good care. Like an irritating pest, you entered my sactome where you do not belong despite your agreement to meet at Sharess’ Caress. You left quite a bit of chaos in your wake. Your flowing locks looked beautiful against the emerald glow of my pillars. Even now as you have aged so gracefully. I pluck a hair back behind your ear. 

“You had every right to kill me on that day.”

There were tears in your eyes as you resheaved your blade. Was that pity you showed me back then? You brought mercy on me as I was prone at my own door. You jumped through the portal with Hope and Mol’s contract in hand with not even a glance back. I am but the big bad devil in those fairytale stories you listen to when you slumber.

“I could never be anything more,” pulling back my hand.

Those all too familiar taunting eyes that stoked my obsession were before me. There is not anymore of you left in that feeble mind of yours. “You never did give me that crown I desire,” I chuckled dryly. You blinked at me trying to recognize these human features of mine.

“You spent the good first ten years running away from me, mouse.”

Through the hells you searched for the cure for one of Zariel’s warmachines and the “Blade of Avernus” close behind.

“All you needed to do was ask and we could have cut another deal.”

The next ten you were off in the Underdark away from the sunlight. You and that Spawn were off to find a cure. You knew I was still waiting for you as you felt my infernal heat lurking in the shadows. I held the artifact of your sole desire for your little “friend”.

“I could have dragged you into the Hells against your will, you contemptuous creature. You went willingly for that decade only in exchange for his precious sunlight!”

You just smiled at the words I uttered. Even when I had opened my doors for you, my House of Hope. Yet, you chose to find any means of escape for that time you spent with me in the Hells.

“I allowed you to rest in your own company in Faerun. I do take care of my pets.” I closed my eyes.

You wandered through the material plane with no company but my watchful eyes. The ten years you spent there, you looked so peaceful but what joy it was to tear you away from it all.

“You asked me to form one last contract with you. When your time ran out on your home plane.”

Your words echoed in my mind like an accursed song.

“I will show you why devils obsess with mortals. Why you yearn so desperately to chase me through the planes?” You looked up at the sky as you laid in a field of wildflowers. You never looked so at ease for as long as I watched you. “That's quite a presumption on your part, little mouse. I know when something or someone is of value,” blocking your view of the clear skies above. “Make this contract with me and in exchange my time will end as fate decides.” You reached your palm out to me. There is still that tenaciousness in your eyes. “What do I gain out of this exchange? It seems you think contracts are only for your benefit? Make me an offer I can't refuse.” I leaned down to get a better look at you. You waved your arm waiting for me to shake it. You never grew out of your childish ways have you? “Aren't you curious, Raphael? What is life's value to a mortal? You know the answer to. What is life's value to an immortal? Maybe I would change your mind? You would have my soul coin for all eternity, no?” You smiled that mischievous grin as such from the day you inked your name on our first contract. Your small hand wrapped in my heated infernal clawed grasp.

I have watched your struggles and your despair on the long nights on your journey. The begging to your companions to stay right of justice when uncertainty lies in wait for them. The screams of agony of whom you rescued meeting their untimely destined fate. The endless slaying of the army of the Absolute who set to cause chaos to your home, Faerun. The chosen three all prone to your blade but when it came time to pay your dues for a sacrifice to be made I answered your call. You couldn't stand by and become a mindflayer. Yet, you put that horrible image of tentacles caressing your body in the forefront of my mind out of fear of what is to befall you. There was luck I still held use for you when I put the Orphic Hammer in your palms. I reopened my eyes.

"You owe me more than you are worth." I restoked the fire when a little sneezed escaped you.

We have two different minds when it comes to being a savior. Your body is still riddled with scars as you take in your shallow breaths. I could have kept you the way you were before. I turned my head away from the sight of you now. Korrilla kept updates on your whereabouts after the fall of the Netherbrain. You still sacrificed yourself for those companions who've left nothing for you in return. There is a madness to you, mouse but perhaps is there abyssal that runs through your family's line?

“A debt is still owed by you, little mouse.” I attempted to coax a reaction out of you.

How many times must I catch you out of the clutches of Kelemvor? Day after day I watched you writhed in pain for unnecessary sacrifices you've made. Do you choose to run after death so eagerly? Withers, your Jergal will not be bringing you back! In the Hells, I helped vanquish Zariel’s forces when you scurried into her forges. I presented you with the means to free your darling, Astarion. I turned a blind eye when you still chose to meet with the other companions in your “solitude” in Faerun. What mouse could you show me what I haven't already known? What am I an immortal being could I experience that I haven't in my entire existence? You have proven to always surprise me.

“This last contract with you will be the death of me. I spent decades chasing you but I could enjoy this last one. We would make for such a great tragedy that would be played throughout the Nine Hells.”

For the last time you grabbed my hand into your own. You kept your promise and your word.

On the first night, you whispered such sweet words that could rival the burning alluring taste of succubi/incubi spittle. Was it because you have accepted your fate? When sleep cradled your head you sang a lullaby of your restless heart. Let your tears fall. There will be no other who will witness them. One night I overheard a confession in the privacy of the company of you and that Astarion many moons ago. “I like him too. But I'd never say it to his smarmy face.” Was such a thing true, little mouse? I watched as you stirred in your sleep. I left you that morning in your final home called Hope. 

Time is but a blink to the eyes of the Hells. I took you to see all I could offer you and what otherworldly indulgences mortals have spent with the precious coin they held in their chest. We watched a theater production of the Netherbrain and the valiant heroes who sought its demise. I had to jostle you from your insistent snoring. There you gave me your signature glare. I would admit the production does not do it justice. We fought and bickered like time never moved. 

You are quite frail these days. You got winded as we passed by the taverns you used to haunt. I asked you if you would make an addendum to our contract but you politely declined. Time will catch up to you as I eyed them. My, what former shadow you are now mouse?

You have been coughing as of late. You waved it off saying you were fine. The air in Avernus is not suited for those of sensitive lungs. I summoned forth a cleric to see to your care. You argued with me for the first time in a long while. I almost assumed the great savior of Baldur’s Gate was reduced to such a sorry state. I must have been mistaken.

The cleric came to my office to give their report. Our dwellings will need to be mended for you to exist in my home. They suggested a visit to Faerun will improve your recovery. I asked you at lunch, where do you plan to visit this evening? You would come back to the same conclusion… Baldur’s Gate. I don't blame you. The scars of that parasite did ingrain into you where you are supposed to be.. but you are free to go anywhere, now my dear. You still insisted that is where you wish to spend your time. By all means as we reappeared in the city square.

Your mind has been wandering for quite some time. You asked what had happened to your companions. Were they alright? Those would be appropriate questions if not for having conversed with them a moment prior before. If I knew you would start babbling like one of my debtors, I would have put having a sound mind as part of a clause. It was time for dinner but you still refused. You said I poisoned you whenever you ate. I made it clear time and time again it was to keep you in sound mind. You screamed at me. You wouldn’t become a mindflayer! I held you close and stroked your hair as you weathered another one of your fits again. I felt your tears soak through my doublet when I carried you to bed. Is this how you truly wish to spend the rest of our days, mouse?

How could you smile so sweetly on our final day together?

“You know, I have truly come to despise you.” Your hand squeezes my own.

“You do not recall half the words I utter!” I felt the hellfire coating my palm. You didn’t pull your hand away from my own when the flames threatened to engulf you. You wailed in agony but still you did not let go.

“What is the value of a life to an immortal?” Your words that day came back to my mind.

“Where has time gone?” For the first time my voice had wavered, the hellfire dissipated. You pulled my hand over your heart.

“You know my precious cat, devils love a good chase. If I were to give in to you long before, would you have obsessed with me just the same?” There is that giggle that rings like church bells.

“You never gave me much choice in the matter, little mouse.” I growled at them. Something rattled in my chest. What is this foreboding feeling? Tears streamed down your face. I couldn’t help but press my forehead against yours. How can such an insignificant being be so cruel.

“Open your eyes, mouse! Let me see you!” Your eyelids fluttered open. What was this feeling clawing at me?

”I gave you the freedom to choose the only option you had left,” you sniffled. Who were you to decide on when we should part? I couldn't take it anymore.

“Ask for anything, mouse and I will bring you life.” I felt their heartbeat slow beneath my palm.

“You wouldn't want that Raphael. You only desire the truth.” You shook your head.

“What do you know of me! You know nothing.” I should stop this accursed thing’s beating. You winced at my words.

“Raphael? Did you enjoy our time together?” You asked tentatively. You won't slip away, mouse.

“Of course, why wouldn't I have?” No, I had not enjoyed any of this charade but yet I told you otherwise.

“Good, I am glad. I am sorry for the amount of heartache I will leave you with. There is a reason why mortals are an indulgence to your kind.” Your voice cracked. The water works started anew.

Don't you dare, mouse..

“We make seconds seem like lifetimes. We make life meaningful in the mundane. We leave our mark that would be remembered for a millennia if we're lucky,” you smiled.

Don't you dare keep speaking.

“You know mortals can be like devils?” Your breathing slowed to a crawl.

“Demand anything, mouse and you will have it.” You didn't listen to a word I said. 

“Mortals can be obsessive too, you know? I think there is something wrong with me that I spent the last four decades running from them. I think their name is Raphael.” I smothered you in my arms.

“Stop with your babbling!” You still continued on.

“He is there watching me wherever I go. You know I never had anyone that would go to such lengths to get my attention.” That wasn't true mouse, all of your companions fought desperately for your attention. I squeezed you closer to my chest.

“Maybe I am insane for trying to maintain the obsession of a devil but.. I have known humans who are more devilish than the one at my heels.” I couldn't help but chuckle.

“You are not insane but just a foolish mortal. You all are in the end.” I whisper in your ear. Why do you only speak your truths now? You pushed me to loosen our tight embrace. I could feel you slipping away. Your time is near.

“I cannot let you do this mouse. I am in control of your soul.” What a beautiful coin it would make for my collection. You are nothing but my possession! That is what you solely are.

“But you know I wouldn't be me left. Your obsession with me will end on this day.” You held my head in your worn palms.

“I will tell you the truth, you longed to hear.” Blood rushed to my eardrums. Was this truly what I yearned for? Was this the way I wished to earn your coin? Your fingers ran through my hair. You cleared your throat. Your eyes never wavered from my own.

“I like him too. But I'd never say it to his smarmy face,” you choked out. Stop! Just stop, mouse! With ferocity our lips danced for one last time. Why must death's kiss taste so bittersweet? Our tears intertwined. My hand raised to cradle your head.

“I will not let you get the best of me,” as I pecked away your tears. I felt your tiredness in my arms. Your head nestled into the crook of my neck.

“We can make more time,” I pleaded. How far have I fallen? What was this emptiness? Why did it have to take your end for you to confess, Tav? I stroke your hair while you let out the last of your cries till silence fell over you.

“This won't be the end.” Your body settles against my own.

“Say anything! Something you pipsqueak!” My voice no longer sounded like my own. What have you done to me? I placed one long hard kiss at your temple. Something shattered from deep within.

“How could you not desire to live?” I choked on my words. I felt a sheer coldness that ached from within you. Mortals won't survive if they are cool to the touch. You no longer fought when I pressed you to my chest till you could feel the beating of this infernal heart of mine. You needed to feel warm again. The fires have long since extinguished. Loud inhuman wails echo in these empty grand halls.

“You are mine! Now and forever. For all eternity, my precious little mouse.”

[tragicallyuncreative]

Johnny looked at me quickly. "I didn't mean nothing. I meant, well, Soda kinda looks like your mother did, but he acts just exactly like your father. And Darry is the spittin' image of your father, but he ain't wild and laughing all the time like he was. He acts like your mother. And you don't act like either one." -The Outsiders, Chapter 5

~

It’s funny, because Darry emulates his late father in so many ways (not just in looks and a shared name), despite trying his best to create his own path and not live that lifestyle. Don’t get him wrong, his father was his hero and he admired him beyond words, but didn’t want to struggle the same way his father did. He didn’t want to be stuck in a town he hated, break his back in construction all day for 20+ years, only to barely keep his family afloat and above the poverty line, and to have people look down on him despite trying his best. He wanted to be more, to get a degree, a high-paying job, be able to live comfortably, and yet here he is, stuck working for the exact same construction company his father did his whole adult life to keep a roof over the boys’ heads, always worrying that it’ll never be enough, secretly ashamed of his social status.

Soda, on the other hand, mirrors his father not in looks, but in personality and strives to live just as he did. He recognized from a young age that, like his father, his brain didn’t work the way his brothers did. Nothing came easy to him academically, but he doesn’t see why that should hold him back. After all, his father dropped out in 6th grade, and led a life that Soda views as nothing but successful: a steady job he enjoyed, a beautiful family that despite not having the latest car or fanciest home, was full of love, and a carefree attitude that kept him young at heart. What Darrel Jr. saw as a hard, sad, dead-end life, Soda sees as everything he could hope for. So while his brothers mourn what they view as the only way for Soda to lead a successful life (education), Soda embraces the opportunity to do something he truly loves, work he takes pride in, despite others not understanding. Why should he spend time trying to be good at something he’s not? He can earn money and contribute to his community and build up his trade career. He’s happier at the DX than he ever would be in school, just like Darrel Sr. was working in the cornfields of his adopted parent’s farm all those years ago in that little one-road town in Texas that was ravaged by the Great Depression. And when the Vietnam War breaks out, Soda jumps at the opportunity to again mirror his father in what he sees as the bravest and most noble thing a man can do: serve his country. His brothers and friends beg him not to enlist but he does, full of pride as his hair is buzzed and dog tags are placed around his neck, joining his late father’s, the ones he hasn’t taken off since the day of his funeral. On the first day of boot camp, he stands straight-backed and determined, ready to serve, to defeat the enemy, just like Darrel Sr. defeated the Nazis in 1945.

~

Hi! I have so many headcannons for The Outsiders universe rattling around in my brain, and I can't always share them fully in my stories, so I figured it's about time I started to share them here. Stay tuned for the backstory of The Curtis Parents, Darry and Two-Bit's friendship, and The Mathews Family. Enjoy!

[academic-clown]

I Was A Teenage Dirtbag

written by @hellfireloserclub |||  art by @academic-clown (formerly @acaademicqueer)

-> @steddiebang2024 ||| @steddiebb2024

DO NOT RE-POST MY ART ANYWHERE WITHOUT MY EXPLICIT WRITTEN PERMISSION.

under the cut is the full image (since it's a bit spoilery) as well as some commentary and detail shots, since apparently tumblr eats quality ಠ_ಠ

long time steddie fan (and bless this community because hoooooboy are we lucky with so much lovely content!), first time participant in any sort of ST fandom event! boy-oh-boy was it a trip! This was the biggest bang I've ever participated in with over 100 fics during claims time which made it incredibly hard to make any sort of pared down list... however, I really loved the concept behind this particular fic, and luckily I was able to claim it! It was awesome to work with Pez on this, and I really hope you enjoy reading the fic as much as I enjoyed illustrating it.

Below the divider I'll be explaining a bit of my process / reasons for doing what I've done if you've any interest!

⚠️ !! WARNING !! ⚠️ FIC SPOILERS BEYOND THIS POINT! ⚠️

the scene I chose to illustrate takes place during Dustin's bachelor party, where the boys are at a bar performing karaoke. I wanted to emphasize the dramatic build up that Pez managed to create in the scene itself within my own illustration, and so I used panels to move the eye around the whole image.

By first showing the lower half of Eddie's face, the way he's clutching the microphone and then the eager, open grin on Steve as he holds out the tickets before panning down to the full body shot of Eddie on stage, clearly excited and happy as he stares at the rear-facing view of Steve, it can tell the story of what's happening even without the context of Pez's fic.

I really wanted it to serve as both a promo and a scene straight from the text itself, and hopefully I've done it justice.

The shirt choices were purposeful, as in the fic Pez has the bachelor party wear Dustin's old nerd t-shirts (and there was no doubt that Steve would have absolutely loved the prequel movies (and been so in love with Ewan McGregor as Obi Wan) so he'd deffo have jumped on the Weird Al Saga Begins t-shirt. the Camp Know-Where one just looks cute on Eddie tbh) and the glow bracelets were fun to pick too. If you squint, Eddie's are the bisexual flag colors and Steve's are an approximate pansexual flag. Was this purposeful? Technically no, but it's a cool little easter egg.

I had a lot of fun playing with the lighting of the karaoke bar, because I really wanted to lean into the kitsch of those late-90s, early-2000s dives that had those hideous colored stage lights and the sticky, shitty stages. Like the karaoke was an afterthought rather than the real draw.

Here are some detail shots of the finished piece!

From Left -> Right: close up on Eddie's hands, his lower face

From Left -> Right: close up on Steve's lower face, his hands with concert tickets

From Left -> Right: close up on Steve from behind, close up on Eddie's face, full body shot of Eddie

Total Tracked Time: 19hrs 30min

reblog divider || music note dividers

[bullet-prooflove]

Sending hugs always!

There's a war up against my heart and head

For Mitch Ripley please and thank you!

Tagging: @kmc1989 @spaghettificationandpretzels @mini-bee-bee @mandy426 @jareaulamontagnes

Seperation!Series:

Marley 2.0 - Mitch doesn't realise your hiding a secret from him.

Not Your Problem - Mitch feels you pulling away from him.

Pill Popping - Mitch confronts LJ about what happened in St Clair.

Not Enough - Mitch realises he won't ever be enough for you after you reveal what happened in St Clair.

Therapy Sessions - Mitch talks through his issues with his counsellor.

Hollow - Mitch returns home to an empty house.

Swings - You and Mitch discuss what your mother told him.

You shouldn’t be in Mitch’s bed, you shouldn’t be straddling his hips, you shouldn’t be fucking him but you are because right now you need to feel anything but this crippling numbness that’s eating you up inside. His hands grip your hips because he’s there on the cusp, his eyes locked on yours, his jaw clenched.

Your hand comes to rest on his throat, squeezing hard and he thrusts up into you unwillingly.

“Don’t.” You say, your voice stern. “Don’t hold back from me.”

And Mitch can’t help himself, his release overcomes him, crashing through his body like a freight train and he’s coming in long, hard spurts inside of you, your name tearing from his throat. The feel of his release filling you, tips you over the edge and you climax around his over sensitive cock, gripping him so tightly it steals away his breath because it’s such a beautiful mix of agony and ecstasy.

You slip out of the sheets when he falls asleep, dressing in the light from the dawn as it breaks outside before you walk down the stairs of the home you built together and leave out the front door, locking it securely behind you.

You don’t go back to your parent’s house instead you head to the fire station. It’s quiet tonight, the folks on the shift before yours are all tucked up asleep in the bunk room. There’s just you stalking the corridors like a ghost. You shower the essence of your estranged husband from your skin, redressing in your paramedics uniform, ready for your shift in a couple of hours

“Marley.” Cruz calls out when he sees you coming out of the locker room. You’d forgotten he was covering for McCleary tonight on Squad, that’s the Lieutenant in charge. “You’re here pretty early, is everything ok?”

No, you think. Nothing’s ever going to be ok again.

“Yea.” You say with a smile that doesn’t feel like your own. “I just wanted to get a jump on things before the audit next shift.”

“Marley.” He says gently, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders as he studies you because the expression on your face. It’s one he’s never seen before, not in all the years he’s known you. “You know you can come to me if there’s anything…”

“I fucked Mitch tonight, right after I found out I couldn’t have kids.” You find yourself saying and Joe doesn’t quite know what to respond to that.  

“Are the two of you…” He trails off because they all know you’re separated and they all know it’s not that simple.

“I don’t know.” You tell him despondently, tucking your hands into your pockets as you tilt your head away from him. “I don’t know anything anymore Joe.”

“Ok.” Cruz says, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as he guides you towards the Squad table, pulling out Severide’s plush leather chair for you to sit in. “Let’s get you settled and you tell me all about it.”

Love Mitch? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[avaantares]

Verify.

Getting really, REALLY sick of all the botspam pretending to be refugees in Gaza. Just in the last couple of days I've had more than 20 new money requests land in my inbox, many of them exact duplicates sent from various randomly-generated URLs. Some of them seem to be AI-generated, or at least following a set Mad Libs format ("our beautiful ___-story house" is a perennial favorite; who knew Gaza had so many homes with 6 to 11 floors?).

Nearly all of these claim to be verified by some third party, but almost none have proof of it (links to a database, exact spreadsheet line numbers, etc.). Some that do give such information don't exist when you actually look them up; they're just assuming that nobody will bother checking.

This is why I never send money to unsolicited cash requests. Too many vultures are posing as victims to steal funds, and it's risky to trust a random DM without reliable third-party verification. By all means, support refugees and fund evacuation and relief efforts! But do it through safe/verified channels, and (for your own safety) never send random cash to a stranger on the internet without doing at least the bare minimum of fact-checking.

If you're considering donating to an individual campaign, ask for proof of third-party verification, such as whether it's listed on the fundraiser spreadsheet compiled by @/el-shab-hussein and @/nabulsi. While this is not 100% foolproof, it would require a dedicated scammer to jump through enough hoops to get listed, while most bots/scattershot scams are just pointing you directly to a GoFundMe link without taking the effort.

Here are a few more bot-free ways to help:

Gaza Funds - a safer way to give directly to those raising money for evacuation, medical treatment, or rebuilding. This site randomly displays a vetted campaign every time you load the page, so it helps all campaigns get equal exposure. All campaigns in the database have been screened to weed out likely scams.

Charity Watch Gaza Aid list - Choose your own charity to support from this verified list of humanitarian and relief services. From this site, you can learn what your money goes toward and what percentage of it will be used for direct relief, rather than administrative costs.

Connecting Humanity/eSIMs for Gaza - This organization uses donated eSIM cards to provide internet and communications access to refugees and displaced people.

Operation Olive Branch - A grassroots organization, OOB helps verify individual fundraising campaigns and supports relief organizations.

UNRWA - The United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine and the Near East provides food, medical supplies, educational materials, and more to affected areas.

Arab.org daily clicks to help - It's free and only takes a few seconds! You can click all six categories, once per browser per device per day (so different browsers, mobiles, desktops, tablets, etc. can all be used on the same day).

For more reading, here's the FCC guide to donating safely.

[cum-a-calla]

i went a little insane on this Jack Delroy tidbit (is it still a tidbit if it’s 4800 words? get back to me on that)

Jack Delroy visits a diner in the middle of the night to wind down. He has very little in the way of expectations in the midst of fighting his own demons, but one thing he doesn’t expect is meeting a starstruck waitress that forces him to truly reckon with his urges.

under the cut: the lightest touch of dubcon, rough PIV fucking, fingerfucking, oral sex, public fucking, internal misery, and the suggestion of possession.

…

The late-night circuit is taking its toll on Jack.

It’s not so much the show - he lives to host, lives to act and react, lives to hype up his guests, to engage the audience. Genuinely enjoys the silly little skits they do. It’s living a dream, being in front of the camera and feeling that very specific, special feeling - not quite acting, not quite being himself. It’s less a façade and more a specific side of him - just a sliver of Jack, a flavor. A taste.

It’s not even really the late-night circuit, is it?

Ever since - …since, Jack’s been off. And why wouldn’t he be? The loss, the never-ending grind, the… the events that precluded this loss. The carving out of something inside of him, and to that end, when did that start? When the ratings fell? When Minnie did? When everything between those two massive events in his life took place? That secret in-between time, the woods, the eerie hooting in the trees, the costumes; God, the costumes had been so hack. He’d come so willingly, veins sluiced with booze, laughing, jeering with the rest of them. Until… until they weren’t.

Until he was kneeling in the pine needles, feeling them crunch under his knees, and had he ever paid so much attention to his surroundings? Had he ever stopped and noticed how it smelled in the forest? Perhaps not until then. Green, thick, heady. The sound of flapping wings, the whispers of his cohorts in the night. The metallic taste in the cup. Feeling something so unlike anything else, coursing through him, and wasn’t it so easy to chalk it up to nothing? It was easier. It was easier.

And then… and then.

It had been a time between sweet Minnie’s passing and his almost-reluctant return. But how long can tragedy keep you from your ultimate calling? There can only be so many mornings, noons and nights spent in a stupor, crying, vomiting, drinking, drugging. Only so much time avoiding every single part of your life, your livelihood. And what an unfair thing, to neglect one love of your life for the loss of another; Minnie’s face, her voice, she still lives in the back of his brain like an aneurysm. Capable of taking him completely out at any given moment.

And so the meetings in the Grove certainly helped, and perhaps did not at all. Before, after - what difference does time make, anyway? Minnie’s passing feels at once a hundred years in the past as well as five minutes ago. Time. Distortion is the only thing Jack knows anymore. There is only his life as the leading Night Owl and his life as Jack, and what in the fuck does that mean anymore unless he masks it with whatever else he can get his hands on?

His hands.

They tremble a little on the table, slid into a booth at a local diner. It’s a perfect imagining of a fifties spot, the plush, scuffed seats, the ridiculous outfits the largely female staff are wearing - the modest skirts, the aprons. The little notebook balanced against his waitress’s arm as she glides dutifully to his table.

“Evening,” she begins, glancing at him for barely a second before flipping a page. “Or - well, I guess it’s more like… good morning, right?” She laughs a gentle little laugh and it tugs at him, somehow. He watches her as he sweats, resisting the urge to wipe at his damp hairline. It’s been a fucking night.

“Evening and good morning to you, young lady,” he responds. Always genteel, always On.

She glances at him again and it’s a classic double-take. Eyes a little wider, she shifts in place and stares at her notebook, making every effort to conceal her recognition. Jack’s seen this look hundreds, thousands of times, so used to it that he can only smile warmly in return. The price of fame, but also the pleasure. She’s turning pink in the cheeks and it’s endearing, the way it lights her freckles up, the way it makes her squirm in place. Jack is charmed. He’s used to all ranges of attention - clamoring women, shy women, forward men. He takes it all in stride, but it’s the shy ones that get him. Demure, unsure. Something in his gut twists, and he waits politely for her to organize her thoughts before he says anything else.

“Th-thank you,” she stammers, blushing. “I… I know you must uh, get this a lot, but… you look like somebody,” she hints. She flicks her eyes from her notepad to Jack’s own eyes, guarded, giddily scared.

“I do get that a lot,” he says warmly. He drops her a quick, clever wink. “You’re clearly up late enough to know for sure, considering.”

She lifts the pad and covers her mouth with it, making an adorable, almost-silent squeal of excitement. The tips of her ears are burning, she’s so flustered. Jack can’t help but grin, laughing at her genuine and unbridled reaction.

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry, I’m being so dumb! I just - I love you,” she gushes, and the words tumbling from her lips embarrass her even further as she cringes at herself. Absolutely gorgeous - Jack can’t help but run his eyes quickly along the line of her body, noting the curve of her waist, the length of her legs. The hint of bare thigh under her skirt. “I’m such a fan. I know everybody must say that, I.. wow, I’ve never met somebody famous before. Especially not somebody I’m such a big fan of.”

“That’s incredibly sweet. Must be my lucky night, being waited on by such a lovely fan,” he flirts. The dark twist in his pelvis keeps him eyeing her, and he’s forced to take the linen napkin on the table and blot at his forehead. “Excuse me - been a long, long night.”

“I bet,” she says. “I imagine you’re constantly busy. Mister Delroy, I’m so sorry for keeping you waiting - what can I get you?”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that. Just a… a black coffee will do me for now.”

She nods and the woman scurries away, glowing with excitement. It’s just one of the many perks, the hoards of beautiful women that lose themselves in his presence. The power there. Jack is easy, kind - hearted. He has no need for applause, not in the way you’d assume - he lives to be enjoyed, lives to be an entertainment, sure. But the drive isn’t for the droves of people begging to worship him - and isn’t that cliché? Isn’t that just something a famous, rich asshole would say, or convince himself of?

But it rings true. All he wanted - all he wants, all he sacrificed for -

All he sacrificed for… is to be needed.

The girl comes back with his coffee, placing it down on top of a napkin in an oversized, chipped mug. Jack smiles warmly at her and winks again, watching her thighs under her skirt as she hurries away again. It’s cute, really. It’s heartening in a way, but mostly… it stirs. Jack forcibly turns his head and stares down at the scratched formica tabletop, coffee steaming. A single drop trails its way down the cup and stains the napkin, bleeding through to the table. In the low of his gut, in the back of his brain, a whisper begins. He sweats - he’s always sweating these days. The cocaine, the alcohol, the various other substances he blinds himself with… and -

And…

The… thing. The thing that makes his belly hot, the thing that turns his cock hard even when he least expects it. It’s like a black, swirling possession over him; it’s the only thing that he doesn’t need a substance for, but a substance against. It’s not a drunkenness, not a high - it’s something else entirely, a tingling, pervasive kind of darkness.

It’s been easy to overcome it most of the time…

Most of the time.

It gets harder every day, little by little. What makes it really hard is when he finds a person, a thing, a place, a situation - something that makes his fucking balls ache, something that fills him to the throat with blackness, with need, and he follows. It’s all part of it. Resisting makes him… not himself. Giving in makes him not himself. Where the line between who he thinks he is and who he is now has been blurred, irrevocably lost in the dust of things, impossible to decipher. The ruins of his life have been buried so many ways in such a short amount of time. He looks in the mirror and it’s a miracle to recognize himself anymore. He rakes his fingers through his hair, straightens the lapels on his suit jacket. It’s hot. He takes the napkin, blots his sweat once more.

He stares serenely out the window at the darkened sky. Stars are out, now, piercing through all that velvety blue-black, like freckles, like pinholes embedded in some luxurious cloth. He checks his watch - just about a quarter to three in the morning, and not even a wink of an urge to sleep. Nothing satiates, nothing helps him rest. Constantly on the hamster wheel, doing his little dance.

“Mister Delroy - I, uh - well - I know you just ordered the coffee, but… we had some extra things, so… I just thought - in case you were hungry… On the house, of course.”

Jack turns to the waitress as she carries a plate to him, steaming with all kinds of fixings - hashbrowns, eggs, bacon, toast. She toes her shoe on the floor, and again he steals a look at the little bit of exposed thigh, the way she nervously straightens the apron affixed to the front of her uniform dress. He smiles up at her and there’s a whisper in the back of his mind - he watches her struggle to try to look away, but she can’t. He indulges her in her sweet gaze, refusing to break eye contact just to see what she does. She squirms a little, pleasantly so - her pupils dilate, flicker from his mouth back to his eyes. Trying not to be obvious. It makes him laugh a little, a hum under his breath as he takes a sip of his coffee.

“Thank you very much, dear. You sure know how to take care of a tired man.”

She looks at the floor, smiles so big. She ducks under the length of her hair but it does nothing to dull the sheer delight making her face glow so. Jack wants to grab her by the hips - a line of racing thoughts boil his blood, stir his cock as he sits. Thinking about her lips on him, the warmth of her mouth, his fingers digging into her. Stop. Not now. Please. Fighting the urges, the impulses.

“Anything for you, Mister Delroy.”

He almost winces, dick jumping in his slacks. God, she’s adorable. There’s an almost coquettish quality to the way she looks up at him again, under her lashes, hands clasped chastely behind her back. She licks her lips and he feels suddenly so, so feral. He can almost taste her by power of thought alone.

“Jack is fine… I insist.” He reaches out and takes her hand. Her fingers tremble the slightest bit and it sets his soul on fucking fire. He brings her soft hand to his lips and kisses her tenderly on the knuckles, resisting the urge to take her fingers into his mouth, to gently bite on the tips of them. He imagines pushing his own fingers between her pink lips and feeling her tongue, reaching back toward her throat until she’s teary-eyed. He watches her as she exhales, shaky. Uncertain. Absolutely excited.

“Jack,” she parrots under her soft breath. “Jack it is, then.”

As she hurries back behind the counter, fielding some of the other late night owls in the restaurant, he contemplates what exactly brought him here. Why the cocaine never jumps him the way it used to, at the beginning. Before the - the… gathering. Why the booze doesn’t calm him the way it used to. Why nothing works, why nothing can settle the hot, despicable urges, the constant crawling underneath his own flesh.

He spends the better part of the next hour switching between gazing out the window, sipping his coffee (and then another, and then another) and picking at his plate, forcing himself to chew the food, to taste it, to appreciate his server’s gift. It does nothing to satiate him. He can barely feel hunger these days - it’s just going through the motions.

Minnie used to make a killer breakfast. On lazy weekends, while he slept off a hangover, and -

He pushes those thoughts away.

3:55 A.M.

The cute waitress comes around again and seems pleasantly surprised to keep finding him here, alone, lingering. Is he lingering? Why is he still here? He should be trying to sleep everything off, getting at least a snatch of shut-eye before another busy day tomorrow trying to up his ratings. There’s a very special show in the works - still in the idea phase, still scouting for a story, but… it’s shaping. Things are rolling, building up. The smart thing to do would be to pay his bill and catch a cab to his hotel room so he can rest fitfully for a few hours.

He asks for the bill and she swallows her own crestfallen feelings as she turns to retrieve it for him. He glances at it, pulls bills from his cracked leather bifold and tips her so generously that her eyes almost bug out of her head. She begins to refuse his tip and he rises from his seat, shushing her. He towers over here and she has no choice but to gaze up at him, like the very length of him is hypnotizing. The shared hunger. He can feel it like electricity, and for a split second they’re so close to each other that he could hook his hand behind the curve of her skull and pull her into a kiss. There’s zero doubt she would give it to him.

Instead, he grasps her shoulder and gives her a light squeeze.

“Thank you for a delightful breakfast - or dinner. Whatever is appropriate for this time of night,” he jokes.

She smiles, beaming at him like he’s the sun and she can do nothing more but bask in his light. “Of course, Mister Del - er, of course, Jack. It was such a pleasure to meet you. A dream.”

“I’m flattered,” he says, and he means it. That’s one thing about his job, and about protecting the shreds of humility he still has left - he always means it. There is nothing more intoxicating, nothing more rewarding than meeting a person who lights up at his very presence. Isn’t that what it’s all about? Touching somebody in such a profound way that brings a little joy, a little entertainment? “The pleasure’s all mine.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true.” Her voice is low, quiet and sweet. He stoops just slightly to catch it, that dark little voice tickles the back of his brain as he finds himself just a touch closer to her, and he swallows against the urge again to crush her against him, to sip her breath into his lungs and feel her tongue against his. Her eyes glitter in the old, yellowed lights of the diner. He, the Jack Delroy, finds himself utterly speechless and hanging on to her silence like a life raft, awash in his own deafening desire. “I’ll never forget this night, Jack.”

He’s the one basking, now, wondering what her feverish cheek might feel like against his, what other parts of her might feel just as hot, just as deliriously pink and warm against his own flesh. He summons a graceful smile, but it comes out as more of a gentle smirk, a huff of a laugh. Since when does Jack get nervous?

She waits and he regains control of himself, running his fingers through his hair and swiping the back of his hand across his damp hairline, straightening up, taking a deep breath.

“I’m sure I won’t be forgetting this night any time soon, myself,” he jokes. She’s delighted, practically vibrating in place. He can almost smell her, her sweat. Some delicate kind of perfume or soap.

He makes his way outside and waves at her as she returns behind the counter, scurrying into the kitchens - he imagines her in there pressing her hands to her own cheeks, shaking out her adrenaline and excitement. It’s endearing. It sets him on fire.

There are a line of pay phones outside of the restaurant, and he steps into one and lights a cigarette, flipping through the pages to find a cab service. He finds himself eyeing the building, seeing if he can see her through the windows as she continues serving. Mere glimpses - he sees her flit back and forth a little, remaining largely out of his view.

He closes the abused phone book and drops it to hang on its heavy chain, the pages nearly in tatters by years and years of use. He exits the booth without having so much as put any coins into the slot, opting instead to walk across the parking lot. He glances at his watch - 4:14 A.M. He seats himself on a cement block at the edge of the lot, finishing his cigarette just to light up another one directly after. God, he could really use a scotch or two - not that it would help any.

Minutes tick by and he waits. He rubs his sweaty palms down his thighs, constantly checking his watch. 4:21 A.M.

By the time 4:45 A.M. rolls around, he spots her. The lot is dark, the flickering neon sign of the diner doing little to expose him to her. She has a purse slung over her shoulder and not much else. Jack rises to his feet, wincing at the pop of his knees, the stiffness in his back. He flicks the butt of his cigarette to the ground and smashes the lit end with the toe of his shoe.

He approaches her and the gravel crunching under his feet has her suddenly alert, jerking her attention toward him. He watches her tense up, eyes wide, clutching the strap of her bag. Her features distort with fear, confusion. She can’t seem to decide how to feel, expression blurring and resetting, blurring again.

“Jack…? What are you - what are you doing here?”

“I was, uh… well, I suppose I was waiting.”

“Waiting for…?”

“For you.”

A hint of delight seems to ease her tension, but not enough for her to relax. She shifts from one foot to the other. Jack aches. He feels the heat pooling in his pelvis, feels that pull. His cock is already half-hard, pulsing with his heartbeat as he comes closer. She’s frozen to the spot, unable to do much else but watch him.

“For me? Wh-why?”

“There is something very special about you, I think. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, if I’m being honest.”

He’s nearly touching her, and he slowly brings his finger to her chin, lifting her face to his. He leans down until he can feel her shuddering little breaths against his mouth. She licks her lips, anticipating him, and he finally bridges that gap. Her lips are so soft, her kiss so submissive, inviting. It’s even better than he’d been fantasizing about, and inky black tendrils of desire creep up through his spine, dripping behind his ribs like ichor. Roiling down from his belly to his balls, stiffening his cock. The violence. The utter, blind, salivating need as he pulls her close, buries his fingers in the fabric of her cheap uniform as he does so. She resists for a moment and seems to melt into him, moaning into his mouth.

He could eat her alive.

They stumble together across the gravel, her hands on his face, skating over his sharp cheekbones to muss his hair. He grabs at her ass, squeezing the generous flesh there. He imagines biting her, leaving a mark that she’ll feel for days to come, imagines her craning to look into a mirror and running her fingers along bruises, bite marks. God, how he wants to mark her.

He guides her clumsily into the mouth of an alley behind the diner. Pressed against the wall, he has the freedom to roam further under her skirt. He tucks his thumbs into the band of her sheer, nylon tights, pulling them down to her calves. Kneeling before her, he watches her flushed expression as he rips her panties off her body with his strong hands, relishing the way she squeals his name. Like a trapped animal. A lamb trembling in the jaws of a wolf. He dips his fingers between her thighs, sliding them into the tight heat of her cunt. She gasps as he fills her this way, stroking, thrusting until she’s practically panting. He ducks under her dress and a growl rumbles up his throat as he tastes her. He wants her dripping down his face. He wants her to beg him to stop, to feel her tighten exquisitely around his fingers as he fucks her with them.

She’s alternating between gently pulling his hair and petting it, thumb slipping occasionally down to trace the bridge of his nose. She does this many times, and it’s so unexpectedly intimate it catches him off guard. Feeling him, painting the image of his profile on the inside of her mind’s eye like a tattoo - it’s not enough to be able to look at him, touch him, kiss him, watch him on TV. She traces him. She memorizes the shape of his nose, the gentle slope of his brow, fingers tickling over his cheekbones. It has him leaking in his trousers.

Her breath catches in her throat and his name is on her lips, sweet and soft as silk, thighs shaking, and there it is - she climaxes. He pulls his fingers out of her and stoops even lower, tongue pushing as far as he can into her folds, nosing her clit. This seems to do something animalistic to her; she nearly screams, covering her own mouth as she grinds against him. He wonders idly if she’ll buck hard enough to break his nose (and so be it, he decides).

Jack can’t wait any longer. He wipes his face off on his sleeve, spins her in place and yanks her hips back. She’s still catching her breath, face so red in the shadows of the alleyway. Eyes half-lidded and dreamy, lips swollen. She glances back at him and watches him struggle to unbuckle and unzip himself, pulling his hard cock out to rub between her wet thighs.

“Jack - please,” she whines. “Please, please.”

“Please what?” God, she’s so fucking slippery. He could swoon on the spot. She makes a soft, whimpering sound and he pulls the head of his cock away, teasing. “Come on. Say what you want.”

“Please… make it hurt.”

For a moment, he stares into her eyes in surprise, and she offers him a coy smile. It changes her features into something a little more sinister than he’d expected. It sets him on fire. Without another word, Jack lines himself up to her plush, slick, waiting cunt and fills her in one brutal thrust. She stiffens on the spot and screams, and now it’s his turn to clap a hand over her mouth.

“Oh, but you wanted this, little dove,” he coos in her ear between grunts. He fucks her hard, fast, feeling all that silken flesh rippling around him. “I had no idea you’d be so filthy. Are you like this for other men? Older men? Spreading your legs in an alley for them to fuck you open?”

The sounds she makes against his hand are probably words - surely they are, but all he hears is her desperate mewling, her high-pitched moans and near-shrieks, the feeling of her breath and drool, her teeth as she considers biting into the flesh of his palm.

“Just me, then? How long have you wanted this, how long have you fantasized about Jack-fucking-Delroy pounding into your little pussy? Do you think of me when you try to sleep? Do you touch yourself thinking of it? Is it what you expected, darling?”

He can barely control himself. There’s a special place between heaven and hell, some secret universe they’ve created with all the heat and pressure of their bodies, with the whispering darkness coursing through him, clouding him, transforming him. There’s nothing else but the urge to rip her in half. To make her scream, to fill her so violently that she feels it for days, for weeks even. He releases her mouth in order to grab her hips, hooking his fingers around the soft flesh there to yank her back against his brutal thrusts. He no longer cares how loud she screams. He likes the way her hands flutter back, grabbing at his wrists, reaching for this thighs in a poor attempt to escape his violence, to temper the way he hammers into her. But he’s too far gone - the smack of his hips into her ass, the way their bodies make the most infernally wet sounds… it’s all there is.

Jack hears a sound, something that nags him in the back of his mind. A rhythmic, gentle noise in the distance, something familiar but unable to breach the ferocity of his current focus. As the pressure builds in his balls, cock harder and more rigid than ever before, he recognizes it. Delirious, he recognizes the sound of an owl somewhere among these buildings, the gentle, almost mocking call of it every couple minutes.

Something about it pushes him over the edge, sweat rolling down his forehead in hot, fat drops, tickling the tip of his nose. He holds her flush as release frees him from all that pressure, muscles tightening and relaxing and waves of molten-hot pleasure surge all through his belly, between his thighs. She’s nearly sobbing at this point, and who can blame her? Each throb of his cock has him grunting against her, draped over her body, teeth bared.

Jack’s easing up, now. He rocks through his orgasm and fills her with his cum, pushing himself as deeply as he can as if a slave to his biological urge. Coating her, marking her with his seed. Mine. I did this.

As he’s emptied himself into her, so empties his mind. No more owl sounds, no more swirling thoughts, the darkness dissipating. He pulls his softening cock from her body and tucks himself away, doing his best to help the poor woman straighten up. Tear tracks shine on her cheeks, little sniffles accompanying her embarrassed smile. There’s fear there, just a little. It hides beneath the veneer of guilty satisfaction, of still being starstruck by her company. It seems that she can barely believe everything that’s just happened. He puts an arm slowly around her shoulders and guides her out from the alley, taking a secret and perverse satisfaction in the way she has to limp a little at first.

“Hey - that was… well, that was something, wasn’t it?” He laughs nervously, searching her to make sure she’s okay. “Are you all right? Do you need a cab? I’d be happy to get one for you, to share?”

“That would be great, actually, if - if it isn’t a pain, Mister Delroy.”

“Jack,” he corrects her gently. He turns her toward the phone book and she waits beside it as he makes the call, staring into the night sky and hugging herself warm. He reemerges, and the way she looks up at him fills him with something he can’t quite name. Some kind of near-familiarity. He’s suddenly struck with his need for the affection, to hold her, to lean own and kiss her lips and be tender to her after all of that. He shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it over her shoulders, drinks in her warm little smile as she tugs it around her. They wait in a comfortable silence, occasionally smiling at each other until a car pulls into the lot. It doesn’t take very long at all. He escorts her to it and slides into the back with her once she’s seated, resting his heavy hand on her knee.

“Would you like to… do you need a place to stay the night?” The nip of loneliness. The need, poking its head restlessly into his mind, his body. So different than what they’d done against the wall, so much scarier. “If you’d like to join me…”

She tries unsuccessfully to hide a grin, turning to stare out the window at nothing at all. Hiding her delight, her own need. “I’d love to, Jack.”

[identityquest]

lizzie get two wolves 👍

[the-lady-hestia]

so in the past month-ish there have been two separate instances where a friend of mine has had reason to show me that the fandoms I enjoy (namely star trek and a niche book series I'm obsessed with) have thriving fanfiction communities (context: While I did already know this about Star Trek, I have never read fanfiction or dove into that corner of the internet b/c I find it a little intimidating lol)

Anyways I've been thinking about Star Trek Voyager a little too much, specifically the ending and how unsatisfying it is.

There's a little voice in the back of my head telling me to spend what little free time I have writing something from the perspective of various crewmembers like a month after the Voyager gets back to Earth. It would inevitably be bad and I know this but like what iffffff?????????

[lem-argentum]

everyone should make bad art and bad writing and bad comics and bad games it is good for the soul

[britneyshakespeare]

around 6 o'clock (east coast u.s. standard time) some guy from fucking australia, with no mutual friends obviously, friend- and message-requested me on facebook saying he hoped i didn't mind the add, but "you came up in my recommended and are the cutest ginger i've ever seen." and it like literally gave me chills because holy hellllll, how the FUCK did this guy find my profile? i have no public posts; i hardly ever comment on public posts; i don't post in large, active groups; etc etc etc etc so it creeped the FUCK out of me. sometimes fb puts ppl w no mutual friends in my "people you may know" but, creepily enough, they often are people i... know, if not have some sort of mutual connection with? like they might be old classmates or friends of friends creating new profiles (so no mutual friends yet), etc. and this is true for ppl who also don't have info on their profile saying they live in/near my hometown, went to my school at some point, etc. like THAT is very creepy how meta somehow knows that. but this guy from australia i am absolutely sure i have no connection to whatsoever. WHY WOULD I???? i have no connection to australia at all other than a couple of mutuals i have on here.

so anyway i took a screenshot of the message and showed it to my friends cuz i was freaking out about it and needed to get that off my chest and one friend was like "why dont you block him" (me reading that 4 hours later) and im like you know what i didnt think it was necessary but not a bad idea. and i go to check the message request and the message was unsent, and he also deleted the friend request. lmaooooo. maybe his girlfriend found his phone

[designernishiki]

You asked for a fic rec so I’ll toss this one at ya: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46767358?view_full_work=true Stick through the formatting for the characterization, tone, and really the whole vibe of this fic. I haven’t been able to get the bathroom call between Daigo and Majima out of my head for weeks since I read it with how naturally it all flows. My own little Daigo characterization booklet to review when I feel like I need a refresher on him.

so I may have stayed up until 6am reading this (would’ve slept earlier but I couldn’t stop reading it) and hgggahaghhhhaggahshhhhhhhh that was one of the most well-characterized fics I’ve ever read what the fuck. like the differences in how each character speaks (both tone-wise and in differing levels of authenticity) and how they speak to specific others (the daigo and majima dyanmic specifically- how they actually take into account how long they’ve been working really closely- SO good), the mental anguish and chaos vs the overwhelming emptiness of being daigo dojima but no longer The 6th Chairman Daigo Dojima……….I could keep going but I think you get it.

tbh I’d been wanting to write something exploring a similar set of dynamics/situation (post-kiryu’s fake death, interactions with haruka, daigo, and/or majima specifically, reflecting on his shortcomings while acknowledging the heavy Grief left behind) but now I’m like. well I still could but this was so well written in regards to daigo and haruka that, as far as something between those two goes, I don’t feel the need to.

thanks for the recommendation! my brain is broken now (affectionate)

[waywardsalt]

tag rant but man i fuckin hate the new direction for loz

[dutybcrne]

Bouncing back real quick to say I rlly want the Pyro Archon to be a full on irredeemable enemy

[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.