#divider credit to @/saradika

[daisynik7]

You shuffle into the kitchen, wrapped in your favorite throw blanket, hoodie covering your head, sniffling. Nanami leans over a steaming pot on the stove, giving you a small grin as you approach him. “Hi,” you mutter, congested from your nose down to your chest. 

With a sympathetic pout, he replies, “Hi honey.” He checks you for a fever and when he senses none, he bows slightly to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Soup is almost ready.”

His homemade chicken noodle soup always hits the spot, especially when you’re sick like this. It’s hearty, full of fresh vegetables and shredded chicken, always filling you up with comfort that temporarily eases the aches in your body. You sit at the dining table, cuddling yourself tighter within the blanket, feeling pitiful in this sorry state you’re in. 

He ladles the soup into a big bowl, setting it in front of you with a small piece of a baguette next to it. You sniff it, letting the soothing aroma fill your nostrils, warming your entire body. He scoots a chair next to you, grabbing hold of the spoon to scoop a generous bite, blowing on it delicately to feed you. While you enjoy being pampered during your moment of weakness, you can’t help reaching for his hand, saying, “You really don’t have to do this, Kento.”

He ignores your protests, giving you another cooled-down spoonful. “I know I don’t. But I want to.”

You shake your head, arguing more. “But you’ve already done so much – ”

He cuts you off, shoving a piece of bread into your mouth to shut you up, affectionately of course. “Let me do this for you, sweetie. Let me take care of you just like you do for me.”

You chew slowly, relenting to his stubbornness, just as he would do to you if the roles were reversed. Still, part of you doesn’t feel like you deserve this, deserve him. You let the thought escape you, asking out loud, “Why do you do so much for me?”

He smiles at you, eyes crinkling with kindness. “Because I love you and I want to take care of you. Is that so hard to believe?”

You nod, wiping your nose with a tissue from your pocket. “You’re too good for me.”

He chuckles, patting the corners of your lips with a napkin. “Now I know you’re really sick if you’re saying ridiculous things like this.”

“I’m serious! You’re the perfect man, and I’m just…me.” 

Nanami removes the hood from your head, cupping your cheek lovingly. “But that’s why I love you so much. Because you’re you. And that’s what makes you perfect.”

You melt into his touch, already feeling the nourishing effects of the soup throughout your weakened body. He helps you finish the rest of the bowl, topping the meal off with a hot mug of tea with honey and a squeeze of lemon. Then, he leads you to the couch, massaging your temples until you fall asleep on his lap.  Leave it to your husband to know exactly the remedy to make you feel better. 

[heirloomgem]

Infatuation Series

Summary: Small snippets and cute scenes on your crush on Sung Jinwoo and how Sung Jinwoo courts and wins over you in high school after using the cup of reincarnation.

His sole purpose in this life is to win your heart, become your faithful husband, and have you be the mother of his children. No one else but you. (Mini chapters)

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything except for my characters and plot.

Warning/Genre: OOC, Romance, fluff, high school life (Sorry for the miss grammar)

Chapter 1: Chances

Lately, you have been too flustered for your own good but that’s because you’ve started liking someone.

In a classroom filled with students, the sound of pens scratching on paper echoed as students took notes while listening to their teacher.

Some people were diligent, some were dozing off and some were distracted, and you were among them.

Twirling your pen in one hand and leaning on the other, you did your best to listen to the lesson.

However, the calm spring breeze coming through the window seemed to lull you, and your mind gradually began to drift away.

Slowly, your eyes were closing.

Just as you were about to nod off, you caught yourself and quickly straightened up. Opening the back of your notebook you opted to doodle so you won't fall asleep.

It begins with a flower, followed by a bear, a knight's helmet, dragon wings, a dagger and various other unusual and unrelated items until finally you unconsciously draw a chibi version of him.

You felt your cheeks heat up.

Sung Jinwoo.

A second-year student in your high school, whom you started liking recently.

He was your senior by a year as you were in your first year. He was one of the handsome, popular and competent students in your school that most girls fawn over and for boys to idolize.

Like most girls in your school, you were no different from them, who accidentally glanced at him and were instantly smitten.

Foolishly and stupidly smitten.

You didn't know why, but after catching a glimpse of his soft black hair reminiscent of the night, his slender yet beautiful grey eyes, framed by long eyelashes, and his lips, which had a slight reddish tint.

That day, a deep sense of familiarity surged within you. Those feelings captured you and he entangled you with his very being without hesitation.

Even to this day, just remember that moment and how your eyes met made your body heat up, your cheeks flush and a deep aching echo inside you.

Finishing your doodle, you took a moment to admire your drawing of him.

Even though it's just a silly drawing, you couldn't help but caress his small face. A sweet smile appeared on your lips before shaking your head, catching yourself.

Looking at the front, you let out a sigh of relief when you saw that the teacher and your classmates didn't catch you making a silly face out of nowhere and were focused on the lesson instead.

You didn't want anyone, particularly your teacher, to catch you daydreaming especially when your mind wandered toward your silly little crush or else with just a slip everyone in your school would talk about it no doubt and soon he would hear about it.

Just imagining his uncomfortable expression made you shudder, scared and embarrassed.

There's no way you would be able to endure such humiliation if such a thing were ever to happen.

Slapping yourself awake, you flip your notes back and resume jotting down points.

Soon the bell rang, signalling for a break.

You gratefully took the time to stretch your stiff body, worn from sitting in class for almost half of the day. Hearing your bones crack, you let out a sigh of relief, you turn toward your friend before happily inviting her to go out and buy some snacks.

Walking down the hallways while talking to your friend, you furtively give a few glances at his classroom as you pass it. Hoping to catch a glance of him.

However, it seems that luck wasn't on your side, as you didn't even see a glimpse of his clothes. A sense of sadness envelops you, leaving you disheartened.

Unfortunately, you weren’t in the same class or year as him so there were only a few times when you could see him.

Although you envy the students that were in the same year as him, that didn’t dismay you from time to time to wander the hallways of his classroom to try to catch sight of him.

This was one of the few times you hoped to see him, but it seemed the gods were not in your favour today.

You haven't seen nor heard of him at all throughout the morning and now it's already past noon.

You were hoping to at least even just once, you would see him.

Glumly choosing some snacks, you paid right away and waited for your friend's turn before the both of you walked back to your classroom.

Your head hung low as you considered the rest of the day would be unmotivated and restless due to not seeing him.

You wonder why you weren't born in the same year as him. If you had been, you might have had the chance to be with him that year or, even better, have him as your classmate instead of your senior.

Probably because you were too busy weeping childishly, you didn't pay enough attention to where you were going, causing you to crash into someone.

Expecting the painful impact, you held your breath when suddenly, you felt a strong hand holding your waist and pulling you into a warm embrace, steadying your fall.

With your heart racing from fright and still dazed from the incident, it took you a moment to come to your senses before you looked up, ready to apologize.

But your eyes widened instead, your tongue stuck in your throat, and not a word came out.

You felt your face blush uncontrollably, and your whole body trembled. This time, you knew your heart was racing not from fright, but from the nervousness of your crush's sudden appearance.

Standing face to face with your crush, Sung Jinwoo, you could feel his breath as your faces were close to each other, his head bent down, looking at you.

“I’m sorry. Are you alright?” He asked as he gave you a worried look while you, in turn, could only look at him with your mouth wide open.

Both of your friends, who saw the whole situation stood frozen.

For one, your friend knows who your crush is while the other was bewildered with the whole situation.

Lifting his eyes, Sung Jinwoo’s eyebrow furrowed, concerned in his beautiful grey eyes, then brought a hand to touch your forehead which was now red from the earlier collision with his back.

“Your forehead’s bruised. We should go to the infirmary.” He murmured as he caressed your forehead.

Feeling his gentle touch, you snap out of your bewilderment and start rambling nonsensically, your arms flailing, your voice squeaking, and your face all messed up.

You couldn't help but cry in your heart.

Of all times, your bad luck just has to kick you when you least expected it and now you're making a fool of yourself in front of him.

Worst of all you just showed him yourself gawking at him unreservedly.

Not taking it anymore and embarrassed from head to toe, you immediately took your friend’s hand, apologizing before dashing away from the awkward situation.

You’re sure not only your face but your whole body is red as a tomato. Your back sweating profusely.

You’ve always imagined countless scenarios in your head. If you ever got the chance to talk to him, you would act smoothly and gracefully, ensuring that not a hint of your crush would show.

But now! BUT NOW!

You cried in despair.

God! You wish you could burrow yourself in a hole.

You were just grateful that only the four of you were in the hallway; otherwise, not only would you be mortified by your embarrassment, but you were certain that his fans would be furious with you for getting too close to him. And for sure you would be dead meat by the end of the day.

You were so grateful that wasn't the case.

As you and your friend were still running toward your class, a shameless thought popped into your mind, causing your once-red face to turn even redder.

Even though it was but a moment, you shamelessly recalled how his body felt against you.

His body was hard and built.

If you bet with anyone that he absolutely has abs even though he's only a high schooler, you will surely win.

With your mind clouded by immoral thoughts, you didn't notice the classroom door was closed, resulting in you running into it.

A loud sound echoed down the hallway, causing your friend to yelp in concern at your unhinged state.

You muttered a whole storm of curses under your breath.

You're certain the gods intended for you to die in shame today, leaving no corpse behind.

Meanwhile...

As Jinwoo watched you run off, he chuckled, his ears turning red from your cute reaction. After all this time, he had finally reunited with you.

He is eagerly looking forward to the days when you two can finally be together again.

A/N: Ahh, the taste of high school crushes! It’s so fresh but SO cringe at the same time, I couldn’t help but look back at my past crushes. SO CRINGE AND YET SO BITTER AND SO GOOD! Lol!🤣

Anyway, Sorry for the late post. Life has been too busy though I hope you enjoyed this fanfic!

{All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author}

[perlelune]

no body, no crime | Coriolanus Snow | Masterlist

Your childhood friend returns from his exile in district 12, but he's not the sweet, quiet boy you once knew anymore.

Warnings: NON-CON, Plinth!Reader, Gaslighting, Drugging, Murder, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Loss of Virginity, Somnophilia

𝔦.

𝔦𝔦.

𝔦𝔦𝔦.

𝔦𝔳.

𝔳.

𝔳𝔦.

𝔳𝔦𝔦.

𝔳𝔦𝔦𝔦.

𝔦𝔵.

𝔵.

𝔵𝔦.

𝔵𝔦𝔦.

Drabble #1

[generalsdiary]

you brought your partner a flower bouquet. it isn’t something they often receive, and you felt a desire to change that. being a solemn, thoughtful person after thanking you they said;

“yes… it is sad that I’ll have to watch them die.” “they started dying the moment they were picked. kind of like humans, from the age of 25 their bodies officially begin to die.” upon hearing your words they look back at you, sharing a knowing look. “that is too short. I…” they clench their jaw for a moment. “humans have too short of a life span. we- I will find a way” soft, whispered words flowing between you two like a breeze on an early spring morning.

depending on the context behind their words, that perhaps brought you joy, that your loved one would go above and beyond to have as much time as possible with you. or it filled you with fear, knowing their history with such ways of life manipulation.

“no matter how much time we have, we will be alright. I cherish every moment I get with you. and once I’m gone-“

“please don’t say that.” their voice fell to a broken whisper. noticing the change in their body language, you moved closer, cupping their face, and matching their quiet tone you said, “let’s stay in the present. I’m right here, living and breathing. focus on me, on my heart,” you take their hand and place their palm on your chest. “on how it beats for you. for us.”

Dan Heng, Jingliu, Blade, Dan Feng, Neuvillette, Xiao, Wanderer, Scaramouche, Capitano

divider cr: @saradika

[seaside-games]

Stuffed Animal/Plushie Selfship Reblog Game

Current Status: Closed

To kick off this blog, reblog with 1 (one) F/O (any relationship) and I will give them a stuffed animal.

🎯 No proship/comship/darkship or those who selfship with Jotaro Kujo, Hank J. Wimbleton, or Scarecrow (Lost in Space), please.

[drifting-starlight]

Shine ☆ Gemstone Heart Event

Please do not repost on other social media platforms. Thank you!

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Series Synopsis: A series of (mostly) unrelated one shots, featuring Oliver Aiku somehow getting involved with the love lives of various Blue Lock characters — whether he wants to or not.

SHOEI BAROU | AO3

SAE ITOSHI | AO3

TABITO KARASU | AO3

REO MIKAGE | AO3

SEISHIRO NAGI | AO3

EITA OTOYA | AO3

KENYU YUKIMIYA | AO3

OLIVER AIKU | AO3

[elysian-fawn]

⟣ 𝐅𝐀𝐖𝐍'𝐒 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄'𝐒 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 ⟢

user 𝒆𝒍𝒚𝒔𝒊𝒂𝒏-𝒇𝒂𝒘𝒏 invites you to let her read your cards pertaining to you and your sweetheart's relationship this valentine's week ! spanning from questions about how they truly feel about you in the midst of your slowburn arc to the butterflies that swarm in their stomach from something you do , you're sure to be left with a heartwarming and giddy message !

▸ duration : 𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑦 , 𝑓𝑒𝑏. 𝟏𝟎 , 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 ─ 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑦 , 𝑓𝑒𝑏. 𝟏𝟒 , 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 ▸ status : closed !

ℛ𝑢𝑙𝑒𝑠 ⦂

› send in an ask & you do not have to come off of anon if you choose ꒰ though if you choose to remain on anon : please give yourself a markerﾉemojiﾉkaomoji or wtv !! ꒱ , however please specify which dr you wish to get a reading for and your specific sig. other <3 › you can only request up to two things

ℳ𝑢𝑡𝑢𝑎𝑙𝑠 𝑒𝑥𝑐𝑙𝑢𝑠𝑖𝑣𝑒 ⦂

› req's are bumped up to a v special 4 (˶ > ₃ < ˶) ᰔ ˖⁺‧₊ › you can ask about more than one dr s/o <3 ꒰ my limit atm i think will be ~ 3 !! ꒱

𐔌  .  ⋮ 𝑤𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝘩𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 ₊˚⊹ ᰔ ꒱

✉︎ 𝐧𝐨. 𝟏 ✉︎ ⟡ ( if unscripted ) what brings the two of you together ? ✉︎ 𝐧𝐨. 𝟐 ✉︎ ⟡ what romance trope does your relationship mirror ? ✉︎ 𝐧𝐨. 𝟑 ✉︎ ⟡ what role do you each respectively play in the relationship ? ✉︎ 𝐧𝐨. 𝟒 ✉︎ ⟡ what specific habit of yours/thing about you makes their heart skip a beat ? ✉︎ 𝐧𝐨. 𝟓 ✉︎ ⟡ what does life in general feel like with them ? ✉︎ 𝐧𝐨. 𝟔 ✉︎ ⟡ which of your qualities do they like the most ? ✉︎ 𝐧𝐨. 𝟕 ✉︎ ⟡ what's their favourite way to express their love for you ? ✉︎ 𝐧𝐨. 𝟖 ✉︎ ⟡ what's the biggest challenge you may face in this relationship ? ✉︎ 𝐧𝐨. 𝟗 ✉︎ ⟡ how do they feel about you deep down ? ✉︎ 𝐧𝐨. 𝟏𝟎 ✉︎ ⟡ what's the first thing they noticed about you ?

fawn's note : oh gosh the last time i gave a friend a reading was like nearly 3 years ago =͟͟͞͞(꒪ᗜ꒪‧̣̥̇) i will try my very best to ensure that it is as accurate as i can get ,, but my reading skills are rusty & i'm using this as an exercise to better them (ᵕ—ᴗ—) to make up for that , i will be including channelled songsﾉsongs that speak 2 me when doing the reading hehe <3

[taintandviolent]

Tate Langdon and "don't ignore me" please

warnings: angst, underage reader.

“Don’t ignore me.” Tate whimpered, sounding like he was on the verge of tears. Again. He’d been crying a lot this week. He sensed a change in you, a change of heart. He wasn’t wrong; your heart had changed -- it had been ripped to shreds, corroded and decayed all in a matter of days. Information was deadly.

He looked so desperate, so desolate when he cried, and it killed you inside. But what he’d done… 

“Don’t ignore me…” he said again. 

But you did. You did. Even though it took every ounce of self control you had, you did. You had promised to have no secrets between the two of you, yet he had plenty. You wondered how he carried them all with such a stoic, couldn’t be bothered attitude. Was he truly not remorseful? At all? Everything he did? 

“Hey. Look at me.” 

Frustrated, you scooped your hair behind your ears, focusing hard on the paper in front of you. The words were blurring together because honestly the last thing on your mind was homework. Of any kind.

“LOOK AT ME!” 

Tate grabbed your chair, spinning it around to face you, and you cast your eyes to the floor, still avoiding him. You heard him grunt before reaching for your chin, yanking it up. 

“I said don’t ignore me. You can’t do that.” 

When your eyes still didn’t move to his, Tate frowned, his bottom lip jutting out slightly. The pout that usually worked, the pout that usually had you wrapping your arms around him, petting his hair. It wasn't working. He moved into your line of vision, forcing you to look at him. His eyes were welling up with big, fat tears. 

“Please…” He sniffed. “Please don’t ignore me.”

“Fine,” you whispered, before clearing your throat to find your voice. You yanked your chin away from his grasp, craning your neck to get away from him. With a sullen gaze, you focused on his dark eyes. “Fine, then… Tate. Tell me about Violet Harmon and her mother.” 

The way his face changed terrified you. He went from sad to sadder to a dark, roiling anger that you felt in the pit of your stomach. He set his jaw, wiped the tears with the back of his hand and said nothing.

“Who is ignoring who now?”

[alrightbuckaroo]

home is wherever i'm with you

Carlos says, “I love you” in so many different ways, and TK loves each and every one of them.

There’s one place that I call home and that’s because you’re there.

         - The Birdcage (1996) dir. Mike Nichols

May 2021

Carlos says, “I love you” in so many different ways, and TK loves each and every one of them.

There’s the standard, “I love you,”; that’s the one that fills TK with so much warmth; it could help him survive a cold winter's night.

He’s particularly fond of “I made your favorite for dinner,”; that’s one that TK could hear Carlos say every single night, and he would never get sick of it.

He’s even more fond of, “This song made me think of you,”; that’s the one that makes TK realize just how lucky he is. Carlos hears a story of love and finds a way to find TK in it.

Then, there’s his favorite,“Call me when you get home.” Maybe it’s a cop-out; seeing as it might be the one TK hears him say the most.

He first heard Carlos say it the first night they met. At first, TK found it a little strange. He thought it was overkill, in a way; the night had meant nothing. They had meant nothing; nothing more than a good time and a distraction.

Regardless, TK called Carlos and told him he made it home. TK could hear the smile in Carlos’ voice when he said, “Good, I just wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

And TK, well TK didn’t really know how to respond to that. All his life, he felt like he was the one who was meant to take care of other people. Take care of them, watch over them, make sure they were, well, safe. Even if they never felt that way about him.

Having someone feel that same way about him was foreign. TK hated it, he loved it, and he hated that he loved it.

He tried to suppress that part of him that didn’t want to fall prey to this same old story, time and time again. He tried to fight it.

Eventually, he lost that fight; and every time Carlos told him to call him when he got home, he’s so glad that did.

Even after they made it official, walk hand and hand and throw around the term boyfriend like a weightless force; Carlos never stops saying it.

When he leaves, and heads back to a bed that doesn’t seem nearly as warm, Carlos will kiss him goodnight and say, “I love you, call me when you get home.”

TK feels like he was being loved twice as much.

December 2021

Carlos stares at the dinner table; set for just one. He tries not to think too much about the break-up; but he’s found that he’s made TK’s favorite for dinner once again. He looks at his front door, like he’s waiting for TK to walk through it.

He lies in bed that night; just wanting to know if TK’s safe, if he made it home. Even if that home isn’t with him.

January 2022

Carlos is convinced his heartbeat has started to fall in sync to beeping sound of TK’s heart monitor. He’s exhausted, fatigued, irritable and he knows that he’s not going anywhere.

Not until he’s sure TK is safe.

When TK wakes up, Carlos is the first person he sees and he thinks he might be dreaming. When Carlos places a hand on his cheek, TK can’t help himself. He pulls Carlos in closer, grasping onto his shirt; a way to ensure that Carlos is there. He’s still there.

In Carlos’ arms, TK feels safe. He feels like he’s home.

February 2022

Carlos is getting ready for bed, he’s in the bathroom brushing his teeth and thinking about the fact it’s no longer his home; but their home. He still has yet to exhale at the thought of it; as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He hears the front door open, and waits for TK to greet him with his usual, “Hi babe.” Instead, there’s a beat of silence followed by his phone ringing. It’s TK’s favorite song.

He walks out to the bedroom and grabs his phone off the night stand. He picks it up, the caller ID reading TK Strand with a bright red heart next to it. “Babe?” He questions, knowing TK’s already in the apartment.

“Hey babe,” TK peeks his head in the bedroom doorway, the phone still next to his ear. “I made it home.”

Yet another tumblr cross-post! I hope you enjoyed <3

[voxofthevoid]

Skirtfic Wednesday #3—and the last one!

"Gojou in a dress" ended up being Gojou in a skirt and then half a dress and then a full schoolgirl get-up, and the fic itself turned into a whole 18k across 4 chapters...even after I scrapped the initial intercrural+intergluteal sex scenes that birthed this plot bunny.

Instead, there's some dick stepping, a whole lot of tit groping, and gratuitous cocksucking. You're getting none of that today though.

“Aren’t we having fun,” Gojou murmurs, his amusement gaining back its usual edge. “So tell me, Yuuji—what am I wearing?”

“Stockings,” Yuuji blurts out.

“And?”

“A skirt.”

“What else?”

“Uh, a shirt?”

“Almost there. Aren’t you missing something?”

“I don’t—” Yuuji freezes, equally hopeful and wary. His palms are still pressed to the stockings, but the insides of his forearms are brushing the skirt. There can’t be more than a few centimeters of bare skin between them.

But there’s a part of Gojou that he hasn’t touched.

Yuuji swallows a question, sliding his hands back up instead. They find the hem of the skirt—and slip under.

More warm skin molds itself against his palms, and Yuuji realizes he’s gripping way too hard. He tries to ease it, but it’s hard to think about anything except how Gojou’s skin gets hotter and softer the further up he goes, and he knows it’s not much, what with how short the skirt is, but it still feels like an eternity passes before his fingers touch more fabric.

Yuuji groans, a thousand violent hungers bursting to life in the pit of his belly.

“There we go.” Gojou sounds obscenely satisfied. “What’ve you found now?”

Underwear, Yuuji could say and it’d be right—but Gojou would make him pay for it, wouldn’t he? He’s that kind of mean.

“Panties,” Yuuji rasps. “You’re wearing panties.”

“I am,” Gojou practically purrs. “All for you, Yuuji.”

Yuuji shudders, and the hand on his nape clamps tighter like it’s trying to hold him together. “I want to see. Sensei, please—”

“Such a polite boy,” Gojou teases. “Alright.”

The blindfold is gone before Yuuji can react, plucked right off his face. The light makes him wince but not much. When Gojou blindfolded him, there was only the dying natural light coming from the windows, but now those are curtained. The room is lit up soft and gold—overhead lights that are definitely not there in the guest room.

Gojou’s golden too, the light and his soft smile sanding off all his edges.

And Yuuji likes him the way he usually is, but he likes this too.

He throws his arms around Gojou’s neck and kisses him full on the mouth.

There’s no resistance, only that smile widening until it opens up, turning the kiss wet and hot, and Gojou’s mouth still tastes sweet, but the flavor’s changed—probably the candy he had on the drive back here. It’s still better on Gojou’s tongue than it’d ever be straight out of the wrapper, and Yuuji finds himself pushing up to his maximum height and straining closer and closer, every cell in his body urging him to climb into this man, and Gojou holds him tighter too, pressing them together from lips to hips. A part of Yuuji’s still screaming about the clothes Gojou’s wearing—the ones Yuuji didn’t even really look at in the end.

Gojou breaks the kiss, licking his lips. His thumb swipes over Yuuji’s bottom lip, coming away glistening.

“Hungry thing,” Gojou murmurs, “aren’t you?”

Yuuji can only pant for air.

It’s Gojou who takes a step back, slipping out of Yuuji’s arms. He doesn’t go far, barely putting a few feet between them before spreading his arms and arching an eyebrow at Yuuji.

“Well?” he asks. “Am I to your tastes?”

“Yes.”

Gojou laughs at the vehemence of Yuuji’s reply, but he sounds pleased. Looks it too, from the curl of his mouth to the gleam in his eyes. This light is doing unfairly pretty things to them, bringing out shades of blue Yuuji didn’t know existed.

Maybe that’s because of the clothes too. Gojou’s dressed almost like a schoolgirl—plain white shirt with a collar, pleated blue–black skirt. But no way would those sheer, silky stockings pass any kind of school regulations. They’re just too…sexy. Bare legs would look more modest somehow.

“My eyes are up here, you know.”

Yuuji gapes incredulously. “You want me to look!”

Gojou pulls a surprised face. “That’s a serious accusation, Yuuji. Are you calling me easy?”

“Sensei, c’mon,” Yuuji sighs. “Don’t play games.”

“But they’re so fun,” Gojou says with a pout, which twists into a toothy grin. “You’re fun.”

“To tease, you mean.”

“That,” Gojou admits shamelessly. “But in many other ways too. Come closer and I’ll let you show me a few.”

Any thoughts of refusing Yuuji may have had die a fiery death when Gojou holds out an arm, fingers curled in a come-hither motion. Yuuji stumbles forward, reaching for that hand, and he’s allowed to catch it and keep it, and then Gojou’s walking backward and tugging Yuuji with him, closer and closer to the sprawling bed that’s clearly bigger than even the one in the guest room, and he must decide that’s not enough of an assault on Yuuji’s sanity because his free hand plucks at the first button of his tight white shirt—and the next and the next.

A little V opens up, exposing bulging muscles and bruised skin. The shirt was already stretched tight across Gojou’s chest, but the unbuttoning only seems to make his flesh even more eager to burst free, his pecs straining against the fabric and bunching up together at the middle. It’s like—

Cleavage, Yuuji thinks a little hysterically.

He stumbles, but Gojou just pulls him mercilessly forward. And he doesn’t stop even when the back of his knees hit the bed, and he doesn’t do anything as normal as sit down either, instead falling on the mattress with enough force to make him bounce on it, once and then twice, finally settling with a violent ripple of the baby-blue bedsheets.

Yuuji, he realizes, didn’t fall with him because Gojou had let go of his hand in the nick of time. It’s still stretched out, his fingers curled forlornly in thin air.

“Sensei?”

“Closer,” Gojou beckons.

Yuuji sways closer—and is stopped by the foot that flattens itself against his chest.

Hey, he thinks, this already happened.

Gojou seems intent on repeating it though, his foot sliding down Yuuji’s chest, slow but sure, every second of pressure a taunt as mean as the grin that’s made its way back onto Gojou’s mouth, and Yuuji knows where it’s headed, he knows what will happen afterward—he lived it all and dreamed of it too, all in the course of less than a day.

There are differences too. The foot sliding achingly down his torso is clothed in sheer white instead of bare. The angle has made the skirt peel back almost all the way from the offending leg, exposing that thigh almost to the crease.

And this time, in the forbidden dark between Gojou’s legs, there’s a flash of blue.

Yuuji grabs Gojou’s ankle and yanks it away from where it was digging into his underbelly, pushing it to the side to spread Gojou well and open.

“Yuuji-kun,” Gojou gasps, mock scandalized, “is that how you treat a girl?”

Yuuji takes a moment out of staring at the lacy blue panties to blink up at Gojou. “But, sensei, you’re not a girl.”

Gojou snorts. “Clearly, but that’s your type, hm? A tall woman with a big ass.”

There’s something very weird about hearing that from Gojou’s mouth, even though he’s definitely talked dirtier to Yuuji.

“Yeah,” Yuuji says dubiously, “but why are you bringing that up now?”

“A real mystery,” Gojou deadpans. Then he cocks his head, his fringe resettling over his eyes in new, insanity-inducing ways. “Well, I am tall. Good ass too, if I say so myself. And you did seem quite into these.”

Gojou punctuates that with his hands over his pecs, gripping tight and heaving like he’s weighing imaginary breasts.

Yuuji’s cock is trying really hard to poke a hole in his pants.

“Sensei,” Yuuji rasps, “that looks—”

“It could be enough for you to pretend, if you’re desperate.” Gojou lets go of his tits, folding his arms under them instead; it looks too stern for the lewd sprawl of his body. “Is that what you’re doing, Yuuji?”

It takes Yuuji a long second to figure out what Gojou’s asking—what he’s been saying all this time.

“Huh? No. You’re a man. Why would I pretend you’re a woman?”

“Why indeed,” Gojou muses, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. “Alright. I wouldn’t dare doubt my cute little student.”

“That sounds a little—”

The rest of Yuuji’s words slip back down his throat to heat up his lungs as Gojou reaches down and lifts his skirt, fingers pinched around the hem with perverse delicacy.

Despite the lacework, the panties are wide and thick, easily containing the impressive bulge underneath.

“Show me then,” Gojou says, “how you’d fuck a man.”

[forest-hashira]

'Til Death Do Us Part

hi everyone! this is my (first) entry for @kentopedia's "Love Through the Ages" collab/event! this is a retelling of the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, but with Gojo/Reader. if you want to know the full vibes for this, i listened to Moon Song and I Know The End by Phoebe Bridgers on repeat while writing this.

read on ao3 here | wc: ~3.3k | cw: gn reader, satoru is a musician, major character death (reader), hurt no comfort, unhappy ending

Falling in love with you was easy. In fact, it was probably the easiest thing Satoru had ever done in his life; even easier than picking up the lyre as soon as he was strong enough to hold it; even easier than the singing lessons he’d outgrown the need for when he was still just a young boy; easier than charming every young woman he ever came across, leaving a long string of broken hearts in his wake.

But not you.

With you, he’d taken his time, had actually gotten to know you until it felt like he’d known you all his life; he knew your favorite season, what times you liked to take walks in the fields outside of town, even your favorite place to watch the sunset. He also knew that you were the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

Falling in love with you was easy, and even after you’d fallen in love with him, too, asking you to marry him felt terrifying. But you said yes, and all that terror had melted into elation. 

There was hardly any time at all between your engagement and your wedding, both of you eager to belong to each other forever, so in love it was almost painful. Though the wedding itself was small – and barely a month after Satoru proposed – it was the most joyful day in both of your lives. Being surrounded by the laughter of your loved ones, everyone dancing and enjoying good food and dancing had made you feel lighter than air, even long after the sun had set; for once, you weren’t even sad that you had missed watching it from your favorite spot.

Falling in love with you was easy. Loving you was easier. Losing you was the most painful thing Satoru had ever experienced.

It was only days after your wedding, after you had promised to be at one another’s side until the end, in the very field where you’d first told him you loved him, where you’d shared your first kiss. 

You had cried out from a sharp pain in your ankle, and when both of you looked to see what it was, you watched a large snake disappear into the flowers. In a panic, Satoru had ripped the fabric of his tunic, wrapping it tightly around the wound, silently, desperately praying that the poison would move slow enough for him to get you back to the town, where he could only hope someone would know how to cure snake bites. He couldn’t lose you, not like this, not so soon after he’d made you his.

When he’d gone to carry you – to pick you up and rush back to town with you in his arms – he had seen your skin was already an unnaturally pale, ashen color, a sheen of sweat over your whole body.

“No,” he’d whispered, shaking his head, as if that would magically give him more time to save you. “No, no no no.”

You’d only smiled at him, though your eyes were already starting to go a little unfocused. “It’s too late, my love.” Your hands had tangled in the front of his tunic, the soft blue fabric crumpling so easily between your fingers. “But this isn’t such a bad place to die, is it? I’m with you, and the flowers are blooming, and the sun is shining.” With every word, you’d had to lean more and more of your weight into him, your legs losing strength by the second.

“Let’s just sit together for a moment, my love, and enjoy the breeze. I don’t want to be scared when I go.”

The words had nearly shattered Satoru, but he had nodded, easing both of you down to lay amongst the flowers, cradling you close to himself the whole time. He’d stared down at you without blinking, unwilling to miss a single heartbeat of the time he had left with you; the fact that you had looked up at him, too, was both a blessing and a curse.

“Don’t go,” he’d pleaded, throat tight with the tears he was fighting back. “I don’t want you to go. I love you.”

“I know,” you’d whispered back. “I don’t want to go, either. I love you, Satoru, and I wish we had more time, but we don’t.”

“It’s not fair.”

“No,” you’d agreed, a bittersweet smile on your lips. “It’s not fair. But neither is life. And I’m happy to have spent as much of mine with you as I got to.”

Words had failed him then, and he’d leaned down to press one last kiss to your lips, knowing deep down that this would be his last chance. And he had been right; you’d managed to return his kiss for a moment, before going completely still in his arms.

Satoru had stayed in that field with you and wept for hours after the warmth left your body, only forcing himself to stand and take both of you back to town when it began to grow dark and a chill drifted in on the breeze you had been so eager to feel in your last moments.

And so, he had carried you home, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen from crying, but his face otherwise blank, too numb to feel even grief at that moment. No one that saw him had tried to stop him, the sight of the typically lively musician so hollow, so quiet, had left everyone shaken.

The days after your death all blurred together; the only one that stuck out significantly from the others was the day of your funeral, because it was the only time he’d cleaned himself up and left the house, and even that was because Satoru knew he was expected to be there, the grieving husband to round out the picture of a Perfect Funeral. It had made him sick, and he’d excused himself as quickly as possible. 

He spent much of his time crying, or staring at the wall, or ceiling, replaying that last afternoon with you, obsessing over how he could have done things differently, how he could have saved you, even if he knew logically it was pointless; what was done could not be undone, especially not death. 

…Could it?

Once Satoru had the thought, he could not bring himself to abandon it, so he began instead to meticulously detail his plan. 

The days were already growing colder, which meant that Lady Persephone had returned to her husband’s realm of the Underworld; perhaps he would be able to use that to his advantage. 

Satoru had a purpose again, something to get him out of bed and moving; he had a goal to achieve, and no earthly force would stop him. He spent days polishing and tuning his instruments, and days longer composing and perfecting a song to play for the King and Queen of the Underworld; if he was going to convince the keepers of the dead to release one of their charges, everything needed to be perfect.

He was vaguely aware that a couple people – Suguru and Shoko, perhaps? Anything outside of his task was fuzzy at best – came to check on him occasionally, just as they had before he had manically begun to prepare to do the impossible. If they tried to talk him out of it, he can’t remember; even if they had tried, it wouldn’t have worked. His sole focus was on getting you back, and nothing would stand in his way.

By the time Satoru felt he had done everything he could to prepare for his journey, almost two weeks had passed since you’d died in his arms.

Your husband dressed warmly, both because he was unsure what to expect in the Underworld and because having your scarf wrapped around his neck gave him confidence that his plan would work; how could it not, when wearing the scarf wreathed him in your scent, as if you were already back with him again?

The sun was barely up when Satoru left your home, his lyre wrapped carefully in muslin and tucked into his bag. He knew the entrance to the Underworld was close enough to walk, but he didn’t know how long it would take him to get there, and he didn’t want to waste any time at all. Though he had left so early in the morning, there were still a few townspeople that saw him, asked him where he was going, but he ignored them all; conversation would only delay his journey, and he wouldn’t have that.

The musician made good time, all things considered, reaching the entrance to the Underworld about an hour past midday. He paused for a moment, took a deep breath to steel himself, then stepped forwards into the darkness.

He had no torch to light his way, but the path beneath his feet seemed to glow on its own, as if guiding him along; as if the Lord and Lady were expecting and didn’t want to be kept waiting because the foolish mortal lost his way. So, seeing no other option, he followed the soft, almost foggy glow as it led him deeper and deeper into the earth and – hopefully – to the throne room of Hades and Persephone. 

Time didn’t quite feel the same below the surface – it felt thicker, somehow, and heavier, catching on his clothes and sticking to his skin like honey – which meant he had no idea how long he’d been walking. The only thing that kept him from panicking was the faintest scent of pomegranates, coming from the same direction the path seemed to lead.

Eventually, Satoru did reach the throne room, though he couldn’t have recalled what it looked like later if his life depended on it. For as much as he looked around, the whole room could have been made of diamonds and liquid gold could have rained from the ceiling; none of that mattered to him, because it had nothing to do with you. His gaze went straight to the couple in their thrones, and he fought to keep his nerves under control; now was not the moment to get stage fright for the first time in his life. 

“Your Highness,” he said, bowing so low he felt the way his hair shifted to cooperate with gravity, the dusty purple of his undercut no longer hidden beneath the pale strands of his frosty hair, so white it practically glowed in the dusk of the throne room. 

“What brings you to my realm, mortal?” Hades asked, his expression impassive, though his eyes simmered with something dangerous. 

“I have come to play you a song,” Satoru answered simply, standing from his bow and removing his lyre from his bag, unwrapping the fabric from around it with great care. He adjusted his hold on the instrument until it sat nestled in his arms in the best position for him to play, then lifted his gaze back to the gods. “If it pleases my Lord and her Ladyship, of course.”

This was the one catch in his plan: if he was denied permission to play, he had no chance of returning home with you at his side.

“Oh, please?” Persephone turned to face her husband, a pleading expression on her face. “Let him play, my love. We never have mortal visitors, much less artists, and I want to hear what he’s prepared for us!”

The King of the Dead hesitated for a few moments, staring at his wife, but Satoru caught the way his smoldering eyes softened, the way the hard lines of his mouth eased, and the musician knew he would be allowed to play.

“My wife wishes to hear you play,” the god said, turning back to the man before him. “I hope you don’t disappoint her with your skills.”

With another, smaller bow, Satoru began to play, and soon thereafter began to sing. He sang about you: all the ways you loved him, and all the ways he loved you in return. He sang of his life before he met you: how he had played around, led people along and broken their hearts with his carelessness, simply because he was bored. He sang of your lives after you’d met: how you had brightened his mornings and sweetened his days and warmed his nights; how you had planned a future together you had never gotten to see. The harmonies from his lyre blended with the melodies of his voice, painting the image of you so vividly Satoru swore he could see your shape in front of him again.

It wasn’t until he finished his song that he realized he could see you there in front of him, though your form wavered around the edges, like you were a little less than solid. But you were there, and you were smiling, and he felt like falling to his knees and crawling to you right then and there; the only thing that stopped him was realizing that both Hades and Persephone were openly weeping.

He, Gojo Satoru, had brought gods to tears with his music, and with his love for you.

Emboldened by seeing your face again, Satoru spoke. “Please,” he begged, his voice eggshell-thin, cracking under the stress of his request. “Please don’t make me return home without my love. I cannot bear to make the journey alone again.”

At first he received only silence in response, and though he was not a patient man by nature, he forced himself to wait until he was spoken to, not wanting to risk upsetting the gods before him.

“Once a soul has entered the Underworld, it cannot be allowed to leave again,” Hades responded once he had composed himself, which felt like years after Satoru had made his plea. “I am very sorry.”

The musician felt his heart sink at the denial, and he began to consider begging to be allowed to stay, instead, if he couldn’t bring you back with him.

“Oh, please, my love,” Persephone cried, messily wiping the tears from her eyes as she gazed at her husband. “You let me go home again when my mother begged for my return. Why can’t you grant him this same mercy?”

“Because order must be maintained,” the Lord of the Underworld answered. “Rules must be followed, you know this. Your own return home has its own rules, after all.”

“Then give me rules I must abide by. I swear I will follow them as faithfully as possible.” Though he knew interrupting a conversation between gods could be dangerous, Satoru simply could not stop the words from tumbling from his lips.

“Please.” The goddess’s voice was petal-soft, a warm, hopefully breeze cutting through the chill of the Underworld. 

The silence was heavy, crushing the air out of every part of the room, suffocating the musician where he stood. Despite the pain, Satoru only had eyes for you, your warm gaze giving him the strength to push through, to wait for Hades’s answer before completely giving up hope.

“If I let you both return to the surface world,” the god’s voice, though low and rough, rang out clear. “You must follow one rule.”

“Only one?” It seemed too good to be true.

“It is a difficult one.”

“Anything,” Satoru rushed out. “I’ll do anything.”

“You will lead the two of you out of the Underworld, but until you both are on the surface again, out of my domain, you are not to turn around. I promise you will not be alone, that you will return with your love, but you must not turn around before you leave this place. If you turn around, you will have to leave here alone, and you will never be allowed to return until your own death.”

“If I’m not allowed to turn around, are we at least allowed to speak to each other?”

“Yes, you can converse on the journey. Now, take your lover and go. Once you leave the throne room you must keep your back turned at all times until you reach the surface.”

Bowing deeply, Satoru thanked the god profusely for several moments, then straightened and stepped forward, reaching out and taking your hands, helping you from where you sat on the floor of the throne room.

“Let’s go home,” you said, smiling so sweetly at him it made his teeth ache. He nodded eagerly in agreement, taking just a moment longer to take in your features before guiding you to the entrance of the throne room.

“Are you ready?” he asks, turning to you one last time as the two of you stand in the threshold. “I’m not sure how long the journey back is, and if you grow tired we can’t stop.”

“I’m ready when you are,” was your answer, giving his hand a light squeeze to show you meant the words. 

Satoru nodded back, once again pausing to admire your face, your smile, everything about you, before turning away, still holding your hand as he stepped out of the throne room and began the trek back to the surface, back home.

He was silent for a bit at first, feeling your hand in his enough to assure him you were there, but eventually both his nerves and his natural chattiness got the better of him. He said almost every thought that came to his mind, though he tried to make sure to ask as many questions as possible, eager to hear your answers, your sweet voice a soothing balm to his raw and frayed nerves. 

The journey felt shorter this time around, though whether that was because he was retracing his footsteps, or some other strange property of time in the Underworld, Satoru couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t going to complain about it, either, because not turning to look at you was proving much more difficult than he had thought when he was first given the rule.

When he finally saw the entrance to the surface, sunlight still visible on the horizon, a beaming grin broke out across his face. “We’re nearly there,” he told you. “See? We’ve nearly made it.” Unable to help himself, he picked up his pace, still pulling you along behind him. 

He didn’t notice your hand slipping from his own as he closed the last few paces to the entrance.

His joy was palpable as he practically leapt through the gates, back onto the surface, into the grass that waited for him as the sun began to set behind him.

“We did it!” Satoru cheered, spinning around to look at you. “Oh, my love, it feels so good to have you—” The sight of your sad smile had his gaze dropping to your feet.

You hadn’t yet crossed over the threshold.

And he had turned around and looked at you.

“No,” he begged, racing towards you, desperate for at least one last kiss, one last embrace, even if he could not keep you with him. “Please, my love, I’m so sorry.”

Before he could reach out and touch you, though, your shape had already begun to waver, rippling like the surface of a pool disturbed by the wind. You only shook your head, your smile never leaving your lips. “It’s okay,” you assured him. “I love you. I’ll see you again someday. Live well for me, okay?”

“I-I’ll try,” he choked out, tears thick in his voice even before they spilled from his eyes, though there was no stopping them as your form wavered more, then faded fully from sight.

He fell to his knees and wept, loud, heaving sobs, gripping handfuls of grass as he pressed his forehead to the ground, forced to mourn you a second time.

ok so this was baby's first sad ending/hurt no comfort so pls don't come for me if it was bad i'm so sorry idk how to do this i don't like sad endings but this is my favorite myth i couldn't bring myself to change the ending

tagging: @kentopedia @kentohours @mitsuristoleme

[cherryberry-sugarandspice]

Master list of this sexy daddy 😋🤤

Fluff:

Something cute 💕 Husband 💕 King of Aftercare

Smut:

Sugar Daddy 🤤 Neighbor 🤤 Pleasure 🤤 Drabble 🤤 Drabble 2 🤤 Drabble 3

[perlelune]

Tag, You’re It | Ethan Landry | Masterlist

Happy, carefree college days meet their abrupt end when every guy who approaches you mysteriously turns up dead.

Warnings: NON-CON, Stalking, Bimbo!Reader, Clueless Reader, Loss of Virginity, Incel Ethan, Cheerleader Reader, Skin Carving (w/knife), Canon Typical Slashing, Voyeurism, Kidnapping, Forced Masturbation, Filming, Blackmail

𝔦.

𝔦𝔦.

𝔦𝔦𝔦.

𝔦𝔳.

𝔳.

𝔳𝔦.

𝔳𝔦𝔦.

𝔳𝔦𝔦𝔦.

𝔦𝔵.

𝔵.

𝔈𝔭𝔦𝔩𝔬𝔤𝔲𝔢

[darliings]

doctor! doctor! whats the cure?

art by @/bunbunsheart!!

[seaside-games]

My Plushies Selfship Reblog Game

Current Status: Open

Original was by @/ryez-loveyz :)

Reblog this with up to two (2) F/Os and I will assign them a stuffed animal from my own collection. Duplicate assignments may inevitably happen, so just a warning.