#everything in life is a chore. the whole thing

[samah-h]

A Confession from the Heart of Suffering: An Unbearable Reality

I hope you read my confession, and thank you. This is the reality of all the people of Gaza.

Whenever I think of the life we used to have before the genocide, I have to struggle to hold my tears so I don't cause my children more pain than what they already feel. Our life, then, was neither easy nor perfect but it was full of warmth and the simple joy of being together under one roof .

We have never felt completely free because we have always been under a siege that has only gotten worse during this war but at least we felt somewhat safe and we had quite a decent life with the means that we were allowed.What kept us going was our belief that the future might be brighter one day.

Unfortunately, there seems to be no better tomorrow for us anymore. Nothing remains of our previous lives but rubble and memories, and the future is so bleak and full of uncertainties.It's not just the walls of our house that were turned into ruins, it's our hopes and dreams that were reduced to ashes. Now, we only dream of things that might seem so trivial to other people around the world like being able to sleep in and wake up in a comfortable bed or having a meal without standing for it in line for hours.

We dream of having enough clean drinking water so we don't have to worry about dying of thirst. We dream of the days we had a home with a regular kitchen and stove, the days we could celebrate special occasions with family in peace. Above all, we dream of not losing the people we love in a split second and of living safely and with dignity.

Instead, we have been wrongfully sentenced to a life of fear, displacement, and humiliation beyond belief. It is a living nightmare here now. Everything needed to ensure the bare minimum of decency and normalcy is denied to us. As you well know, there is no safe place in Gaza anymore and We are deprived of simple rights like having having a roof over our heads or enjoying some peace of mind for even one single day. The airstrikes and the buzzing of drones almost never stop. We live with a very real sense of impending doom day and night.

The water and food scarcity are only getting worse with time. Even regular chores like cooking or doing the laundry have become true challenges. I cannot propely bathe my children because the little water we get is polluted and their sensitive baby skin keeps getting irritated.

Before the war, my nine- year-old daughter was so picky about which outfits to wear; it made me laugh that she acted that way at her age but now we don't even have enough warm clothes for the winter. It kills me each time she says she doesn't need fancy clothes anymore and only wants to feel warm and go back to school. What makes it worse is our tent has recently been flooded by rain.

The whole camp turned into a swamp overnight. The children woke up soaked, shivering and terrified. It was almost impossible to calm them down as the rain kept pouring. We are doing our best but even if we succeed in finding the treatment, it's going to cost almost a fortune. This is why we need your support even more now.

All we do now is fight for survival every day. I never imagined,even in my darkest nightmares, that I would be searching high and low to put food in my children's mouths and keep them warm or that I would be begging the world to literally save their lives but I have no other choice now.

Despite the unbearable suffering we're daily going through, I still believe in humanity. please keep us in your prayers and help us anyway you can. Donate if you're able to,reblog and share our story as widely as you can.We are grateful to each and every one of you

Vetted by @bilal-salah0

7,464$ / 10,000$

[sunshowersanddandelionwine]

au where ghost, by recommendation of his therapist, starts writing as a hobby. its not very helpful, at least at first. it feels like a chore, but ghost is nothing if not tenacious. hes going to prove the doc wrong and show them that he cant be helped. his journals (because he was going to give this thing his all, and handwriting everything was the best way to do it) are mostly a lot of angry scribbled thoughts and self loathing. but slowly, over time, things start to shift. more positive things start peppering the anger and the melancholy. the whole process feels less like a burden and more like a release.

then he starts writing less reality. more little anecdotes sprinkled with a smidge of hyperbole. some outlandish dreams he had the previous night. small fictions that still act as an outlet for his feelings.

as his skills grow, his therapist suggests writing a novel. something long term and sustained to put his little hobby to the test. its a commitment, sure, and a lot of work to get there, but hes never shied away from a challenge before. like with everything in his life, he dives in chest first.

the doc wasnt wrong, writing the thing was rough. borderline impossible sometimes. but slowly, storylines rise and fall. characters grow and change. the manuscript begins, and just as uneventfully it ends. he wrote a novel. now what?

nothing, he decides. it was catharsis, nothing more nothing less. but then some little shits (roach and gaz) find the bound stack of papers in his office (purposefully hidden under some overdue paperwork) and BEG him to let them read it. he isnt sure at first, but the puppydog eyes work and he reluctantly relents.

hes expecting ridicule, maybe some teasing compliments or even critiques. he wasnt expecting the two of them to ambush him the next day, half feral and wanting more. they spent the entire night reading it, nearly missing the start of breakfast because they were too engrossed.

somehow, they convince him to try for an agent. somehow, he manages to snag one. somehow, that agent loves his work enough to pitch it to several publishing houses (under a pseudonym, of course). and somehow, it gets picked up for publication.

holding the glossy hardback all that time later, ghost isnt sure what happened. he isnt sure how in the world he went from alone and angry, grieving and isolated, to this. the book is somehow a bestseller, with rave reviews all over the place. its honestly kind of nerve wracking??? the only people who know about him and it are his team. (price definitely didnt shed a tear when presented with a signed first edition copy. the sergeants absolutely did.)

he isnt sure how to feel when the new sergeant joins, all knife smiles and cutting words, waltzing into his base with a battered copy of that very book under his arm. a battered copy filled to the brim with red pen and tabs, scribbled criticism that cuts the story to the bone and picks apart every little failing scrawled in every margin. it should annoy him. it should make him hate the man, one john mactavish, all that much more.

he cant help but find him fascinating.

(maybe he might even get some ideas for the next book. thats the only reason he cant stop seeking his opinions.)

[lemon-russ]

In my late night writing stupor I; 1) used the wrong dividers on the morty fic, I reopened it aghast to see that vague circle shape was not death gaurd but black legion. Please disregard. And 2) I forgot to tag @squishyowl for it 😭

I REGRET NOTHING ELSE

There were discussions. I now am expanding the Otome Cage Morty fic to have Lore because I'm insane and I GUESS it's getting me to write again so. We roll with it.

PREQUEL TO THIS || NEXT

Mortarion x F!Reader (Pt. 0)

CW: None for this specific thing. Many for the linked one. Many for the future of whatever this is.

TAGS (If you guys do not want to be tagged in whatever this is lmk 💀): @sleepyfan-blog @undeaddream @scriberye @lisikk @moodymisty (<- except you, you get no rest /j)

Your hoe hits the dirt with a soft thud, the thick warm air of sowing season opressing your lungs. You sigh and lean on the tool, wiping sweat from your brow as it threatens to sting your eyes.

Same as it ever is, you have been tilling the field for three days straight in preparation to sow the grains that will feed you another long winter. Your back aches, your arms tire, but worst of all is the humidity as your lungs try to wring oxygen from the air.

Your sister calls your name, and you ignore her a moment, catching your breath. But the next call is sharp and panicked. You turn to look for your sister, but are stopped dead when you see the sky.

Your life, until this moment, has been a cycle of doldrum. Wake up, feed the animals, feed yourself and your sister, do whatever seasonal chores were required of you. Today that was till and turn soil, sometimes it is irrigate the crops, sometimes harvest, maybe darn your garments or weave.

Nothing in your life so far could prepare your brain to process what it currently was desperately trying to parse into your synapses.

A… thing. A building? A construct of some sort, hangs in the hazy sky. Sat there like a cloud, but sharp and pointed and menacing. Whatever it is, it screams predator.

You fall backwards into the softened soil, primal fear gripping your heart. Everything you know screams “wrong, danger, flee” as smaller constructs fall away from the main one, like the large flying insects you chased off of growing season crops.

An alien noise, deep and bone rattling, approaches from the sky behind you. You scramble around to see another small construct coming right for your field, kicking up dirt and debris. You have to cover your ears to muffle the painful thudding sounds it makes.

It settles onto the ground, and mercifully it stops screaming. You wonder if it is hunting, should you run? Where is your sister? You need to find safety from these beasts-

The belly of the thing cracks open and falls to the soil, shaking the ground, and you freeze again.

Something human shaped, but wrong and hard and large, steps out with a heavy thud onto the ramp. It’s terrible face is partially made of metallic plates, with two cylinders that belch thick gasses as it breathes. It seems to be wearing clothes- you think you see human eyes under a hood- but you can’t begin to guess which parts are shell or exoskeleton and which are clothing.

It does have eyes, you realize as the cloudy green things lock onto you. Have you been staring this whole time? You need to run, your body screams, run, run, run-

It makes a noise that sounds like speech at you, and points. It’s… trying to communicate? It barks the clipped noise again and snaps its fingers at you.

Your baffled mind reels, overwhelmed by the onslaught of new information. You point at yourself.

“M- me….?” You squeak out to it.

It thuds across your field, heavy shelled body sinking into your freshly tilled dirt, ruining several days of effort, before coming to a stop in front of where you sit. It peels back its upper skin- Oh, it was a hood- to reveal shockingly human adjacent features. Shoulder length silver hair, pale and cloudy green eyes, and ashen white skin marred with cracks and scars.

It speaks at you again, the sound mechanical and muffled by its gaseous breath. The smell from its cylinders is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, acrid and sharp and foul, and you recoil from it as its attempt at speech spits the smoke at you.

The being- person?- hesitates, and sighs. To your horror, it hooks its thumbs under the metal plates of its face and pries them away, revealing a human-ish lower face. Its cheeks are gaunt, and its mouth cracked in a sickly way, but at least it is now human looking enough for your brain to process what you are talking to.

A man. Almost.

He starts speaking again, but is overcome with a coughing fit. He turns away, coughing a sickly rattling sound out, and instinctively you clamber to your feet and step towards him. Is the air foul to him? You’re sure this massive man, already a foot in the grave if you’d ever seen it, is about to keel over right in your field. He holds up a hand to stop you, and retches something vile into the dirt.

You grimace. Not because of the sick, you were plenty familiar with disease and the death rattle of a creature’s last breaths, the poor thing, but whatever he is producing actually sizzles when it hits the dirt, and you’re pretty sure you’re going to have to dig up the soil this man touches when he finally dies. That’s going to be a lot. He is REALLY big.

Surprisingly, he catches his breath, and surprising more, when he turns back to you, his pallor is slightly healthier. He takes a deep breath, rolls back his shoulders, and speaks again, much more clearly. Unfortunately, it is gibberish.

“I… don’t understand…” you say, shuffling on your feet.

He tilts his head as you speak, then nods. “Ah, you do not speak gothic here. That is fine, I think I know this language too.” He responds, his voice deep and raspy. “Tell me little peasant, who are your rulers?”

You frown. “I… rulers…?”

He rolls his eyes, “Yes, do you have that? Is there a person who makes the rules you all follow? Someone who runs your country or whatever you have here?” He says, gesturing around you.

“I…. no? We all just live our lives, farming mostly….” you say, starting to feel lightheaded. This shelled man came out of a flying beast and now is asking if you had, what, a parent?

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his scarred nose. “That makes things less convenient.” He grumbles.

Suddenly he is scruffing you by the back of your tunic, and you yelp in surprise. You hear your sister scream and run away, calling for the neighbors down the way. The massive man holds you up so you are face to face with him as you squirm and grab at the cold hard hand.

“I am here to bring this planet back to the rule of my Father, The Emperor of mankind. And you-” he stops to cough into his shoulder, “-Are going to tell me what I ask for without argument.” He said between wheezes.

You fight through the confusion and anarchy in your mind to think about the situation you are in as logically as possible. A giant man from the sky in a screaming beast, who speaks your tongue, wants to own your land- what is a planet- and has you grasped in one hand like a stray kitten. And apparently he intends to bring you along as he does whatever it is he is doing for his father, who, presumably, is another large and strange man who could crush you in his fist like a locust.

You could fight, scream, run. Hide until your sister returns with help, hope this man is too sickly to give chase for long. There is a side door to the root cellar, if you could get out of his hands in time maybe….

“Okay.” You squeak out.

He raises a brow. “Okay?” He asks.

You nod quickly. “Okay.”

A very, very faint smile cracks across his weathers face. “….Okay.”

[brunetterightsactivist]

its not even that i dont like eating healthy food its that actual real healthy food requires preparation time that i dew not have and even more energy that i DO NOT HAVE

[zellkabellk]

Nowadays trying really fucking hard to teach to my brain that it's okay and better to "just do 10 min of this task" even if it means leaving it unfinished (but further along than before!) rather than not doing it "because when I do it I should do it all" Because jfc I can't keep leaving my house in states where I need to do 30+ minutes of dishes instead of just... doing a little everyday and at least it remains a manageable amount in the sink even if it's not always emptied...

[jinstronaut]

this is also why i stopped using my tracked tag for a while tbh

[unityrain24]

i want to take a shower and have clean laundry and be free. but instead i have to read and takes notes for political science, take a quiz for political science, do an assignment for political science that requires watching a 50 minute video and making a chatgpt account???, and a midterm for my film class that has 6 sections will apparently take 2.5-3 HOURS to complete and must be done in one sitting... all due by sunday. it is friday night. all for the whole workload to reset monday.

[lonesomedotmp3]

the thing is that uni is good for me when it's not being horrifically bad for me like it's complicated

[moe-broey]

NOT a Three Houses hater for the record. More of a fake fan than anything LMFAOOOOO

[harmcityherald]

Sin City Theme Song

[kirexa]

‎

[chuluoyi]

MARRIED ON PURPOSE

- gojo satoru x reader

"for one, i can show you incredible things!" jujutsu, madness, heaven, sin. the strongest sorcerer is sure to show you all of that during the whole duration of your six-month marriage contract.

genre/warnings: marriage of convenience, enemies to lovers, crack, fluff, slight satosugu angst/comfort, kamo!reader, very suggestive. gojo clan is portrayed as very traditional, meanwhile kamo clan is rather unpleasant here

note: the unholy amount of times i've edited this story *sigh* but okay i must drop it here or else i'm going to keep editing it and losing my mind. despite my misgivings and all, i really had fun writing this and i hope you enjoy it! wc. 5k !

a part of 1K MILESTONE EVENT

general masterlist

Some would say... marrying Gojo Satoru would be living the dream.

“Don't look that sour now, wife.”

“…sigh.”

A playful nudge at your side, a lighthearted voice— “You're going to make them question our veeery happy marriage, you know… We don't want that now, do we?”

But to you, it was more like nightmare dressed in a daydream.

It was peak comedy because why would you put marrying Gojo Satoru in your life plans? He was incorrigible, a child trapped in a man's body, and there was also the very fact that you hate him. His only redeeming trait was being born in the esteemed Gojo clan, and now held the title of the strongest.

You know you must have accumulated karma, but out of everything else, why must you end up in this predicament?

Hailing from the great clans of jujutsu society, both of you know well that marriage is the essence to make the clan greater. And when it involves the big three clans, its importance amplifies even further.

It was just that you two were too rebellious to follow it through, for one reason or another. Everyone knows Gojo Satoru was faithless to any woman, and you were not exactly thrilled with the idea of marriage as a whole.

He was the one who came to you, proposing this insane idea of a temporary marriage.

"Look at it this way," Satoru said with a wry grin, contrasting your puzzled frown on that fateful afternoon. "It's either me or Zen'in Naoya for you, isn't it? It's so clear which is the better man."

That was what grated you the most. You would be damned if you married the misogynist.

"What do you get from this arrangement, really?" you questioned begrudgingly.

His name would give you security, stop the harassment from your clan, and maybe even a better life, but you didn't quite get what he'd get from the offer he willingly extended to you.

Satoru flippantly shrugged. "Nah, you are not exactly my type, but you're still far better than the boring puppet my family have considered to be my wife."

"Who?"

"Don't remember her name. All she goes on about is that she'll be the good wife and mother of my child. Ew."

Seven hells. You scowled. Gojo Satoru and his penchant for chasing the thrill. Boring women would kill him before an actual curse would.

"And hey, for one," he shot you a smirk, visibly smug. "I can show you incredible things!"

"That's not the point! Gojo, do you even realize—" your voice rose, pulsating with righteous fury, "—how serious all of this is? My life, your life! We're going to be stuck—together!"

"Six months," he blurted, tilting his head slightly. His sunglasses slipped down just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his sparkling eyes. "It's enough time to work through our shits, and by then if you have enough, we're through."

At that time, it seemed feasible. Both of you tolerating each other to avoid a much worse match.

. . .

BACK TO PRESENT—barely a week ever since you were paraded around as his wife, now you and Satoru were stiffly poised in the studio in your formal garbs, capturing your official wedding photos.

At that time, it seemed feasible, but now, it felt like a chore, as you realized that conversing with him either spiked your blood pressure so much that you wouldn't even be surprised if you ended up with hypertension or completely sapped your energy that you were left exhausted.

"Come on, show a smiiile," Satoru said in a sing-song voice, gesturing toward the camera as it flashed for the pictures. You were beyond appalled, shooting a glare in his direction.

"I am smiling, Gojo."

"Liar. You're pouting, wifey~"

Sigh… this really is going to be one hella of a ride, huh?

MONTH ONE, and you found out that Gojo Satoru is apparently as mad as people made him out to be.

"You've got to be kidding me!" you fumed, right after he hauled you into one of the rooms in his grand, traditional estate. Your glare pierced through him, a blood vessel ready to burst. "We never agreed on ‘consummating’ the marriage!"

You wrote him a goddamn contract. And the three conditions of this chaotic marriage are: one, it would only last six months; two, no personal feelings involved; and three, nothing borderline disturbing.

And this, you concluded, was the height of what could be called as disturbing.

"We will not," Satoru replied with a hint of disdain, grimacing, as if the notion didn't sit well with him either. The audacity! "We're just going to make it as if we are—"

"And why?! Why should I do that?!"

"Why else? Because my old fart believes that we indeed haven't done so."

"Then it's your fault? For failing to convince him? Why turn it into my problem!"

"Because, dear wife," he drawled, his tone taunting on the final note. "Now we're on the same page, in case you have forgotten."

Great clans and their hollow expectations spare no one, not even Gojo Satoru. They place importance in the most banal things, such as the continuity of sacred bloodlines and such.

The only alternative wasn't appealing either. Should you be found out that you married only to divorce... sigh, you didn't even want to know how big of a scandal it would be. One thing was certain: your clan would chop you to shreds.

You really had no choice, huh?

"Five minutes," you warned, glaring at him. "Make it loud. Make it so that no one wouldn't question this anymore."

Oh and sure he would. As Satoru pulled that shit-eating grin, you were in for another ride. You waited out until several maids were nearby, left the wooden door ajar, and began the show—

His hands wrapped around your waist—the feeling was peculiar, but you ignored it—and you let him pull you near that open door. He snuggled his face on your neck—his hair tickling you in the process, but you ignored that peculiarity again—as he started making suggestive noises. "Mm, you're so pretty, darling."

You could hear those maids gasp in surprise. And to add the flavor, you faked a moan.

This is... kinda fun? A twisted part of you suddenly found satisfaction in fooling the maids. A smile tugged at your lips as you shoved him away, and Satoru eyed you in surprise and irritation.

"Husband, you're... insatiable," you worded languidly, and he immediately caught on your act, grinning. "Anyone can walk by, you know."

"Oh? But that's the point." Satoru's bright blue eyes twinkled with utter mischief, and even you couldn't deny the exhilarating rush. "I want them to know."

And suddenly you got this very brilliant idea. You swiftly moved past him and sent the books and trinkets on his desk flying to the floor, causing questionable noises.

"Oh my!" a girlish voice exclaimed.

"The master! And the lady!"

Satoru shook his head, thoroughly entertained. And you rolled your eyes. Those nosy maids would finally have enough now, and this charade would end—

"What's happening here?"

The old fart. Both you and Satoru grunted in unison. You really thought you would leave it up to the maids to spread the word, but then you were taken by surprise when he wrapped his hands around you and flung the door open, slamming you against it—and damn it hurt!—offering everyone a front-row seat to your charade.

The maids squealed. His grandfather raised a righteous, demanding eyebrow. You wanted to scream.

"Hey, gramps," he greeted jovially, breathless, his grip on you tightening and you felt heat radiating from his palm. "Ah, sorry, opened it by accident—the wife here is feisty, you see."

Your veins felt ready to burst. Was this a part of his plan all along? How would you show your face before your grandfather-in-law now that he had seen this... atrocity?!

"So, yeah, we'll resume our business!" Satoru, the idiot, said it as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "See ya!"

With that the door slammed shut, but oh no, it was not the end.

"Mmmph!?" you protested, unintentionally loud and eyes widening in alarm when Satoru muffled your mouth with his hand.

The rotten bastard! You found it nearly impossible to breathe, shooting daggers at him. "Mmmrgh! Mmmrrgh!"

"Oh... so that boy really does it huh," you heard the elder mutter in thoughtful manner from outside—and you were in disbelief at how trusting he was—before rounding the stunned maids and barked, "What are all you doing here? Go!"

You nearly sagged with relief when Satoru loosened his grip slightly, allowing you to breathe, as his meddlesome grandpa finally stalked away. Done. This horrible act was over! But wait, why did he still had his hand on your mouth?

"That went splendidly!" he snickered, appearing rather pleased with what had unfolded. "Now, if only we work together like this more often—"

This is… my life now, you lamented the reality. The feeling of his calloused hand on you made you feel things, honestly speaking, but another emotion—and impulse—currently overpowered that.

Seething with resentment, you fiercely chomped down on his hand hard, causing him to swear and pull his hand out of you.

"You—you devil! You bit me!"

"Serves you right!"

Okay, he was bad. He was insufferable. But to be frank, sometimes it wasn't all chaos.

And what's more, by MONTH TWO, you realized that being married to Gojo Satoru also comes with several perks.

"Miss, please, you're trespassing—"

You looked at the police with the haughtiest look you could muster, unamused. "Don't you know who I am?"

"No, but it shouldn't—"

"I'm that man's wife," you declared regally, motioning towards a certain tall shuttlecock a few meters away. "Is that not clear enough for you?"

For one, no one can look down on you anymore, because should they try, you have the power to raise your chin high and declare yourself as the wife of the infamous sorcerer. The very moment you did, that nosy police stopped yapping, and let you through.

The cursed boy, Yuta and his classmate had just been trapped inside a barrier a curse user pulled down, and you were assigned to look into this case by the headquarters. As much as it boggled you—because certainly, the strongest sorcerer was enough to investigate this—you still had to do your job.

“What is this?” you asked Satoru, who was observing something far beyond what your measly ordinary eyes could see. “What happened here?”

He turned to you, all with bandaged eyes. “Hmm? Oh, you’re here too?”

“Don't act surprised. Answer my question, Gojo.”

"You’re too uptight, wifey," Satoru's lips curved upwards playfully. He had taken to addressing you with pet names as of late, if anything, only to get a rise out of you. "Isn't it the time for you to start calling me by my given name?"

You let out a weary exhale, exasperated. "I'm serious, did you find anything? Who is behind this?"

"Nah, nothing for you to worry about," Satoru waved his hand dismissively, grinning. "More importantly! Let's head back and have dinner! My treat!"

You weren't that oblivious. You noticed things too.

"What do you want tonight? Sukiyaki? Sushi?" he hummed nonchalantly. "Or shabu-shabu?"

You gave him the stink eye. "Is that all you think about? Food?"

"As a responsible husband, it's my duty to feed my wife, no?"

"News flash: temporary wife."

"But still my wife, regardless. I overheard you earlier. Being Mrs. Gojo is convenient, yeah?"

You ignored how a part of your jolted at the emphasis he placed on that word, grunting. "Nah, it's meh."

Call it a feeling or hypothesis. It was similar to how he treated his students. He always said the dumbest things, but it actually served to make them feel at ease.

Then it occurred to you, could this be actually his attempt to change the subject?

"You can't cheat your way out of this." You shot him a pointed look. "You know something. Tell me."

"Hmmm? And what would I get in return?"

"Don't make this difficult. I'm on this assignment too!"

"Nah, if you call me by my name, I might consider it."

Hah. You should really read a parenting book one of these days. Taking on your husband was more or less the same as facing a kid.

"Satoru," you tested, the name rolling out of your lips far easier than you thought. Somehow, using his given name felt like some sort of a leap of faith.

He stopped right in his tracks, turning to you. His glossy lips quirked into a meaningful smile, and you felt funny.

"Wasn't that difficult, was it?" he winked, and you covered the strange heat creeping onto your face by rolling your eyes and huffed.

Needless to say, he still didn't tell you even a clue. You finally gave up, thinking that if he insisted on not disclosing it, then so be it. You trusted him on this, even as he turned your help away, and you hated admitting it, because, well…

You’d trust him with your life. He knows how to handle this better than anyone.

Being a a woman in Kamo clan is, in fact, not any better than in Zen'in—you're regarded more as a commodity than a human being.

"When will you bear the child of the bearer of Six Eyes?" in your father's eyes, you were but a tool to tie the Gojo at his hip, and your worth probably wasn't even twice of Noritoshi's. You had known he would ask this when he summoned you to Kamo ancestral home, and you weren't that naive—you had asked Satoru to join you too. But your father had insisted him to stay at the foyer, while he dragged you into his chamber.

Just because you had seen it coming didn’t mean you liked it. "Is that all? Do you really make me come here just to ask me that?"

And what came next was like a crack of thunder.

"How insolent!"

You shuddered, hating how his voice still had control over you. You wanted to stay deviant, but you couldn't keep yourself from shaking. You thought you would have to endure this shit just like you did before, until—

"Now, now... That's my wife you're talking to. I'd watch your words, if I were you."

You had never whipped your head so fast.

There stood Gojo Satoru, your husband, in all his glory. He was smiling but it was clear that he was displeased, evident from his cutting remark, and most notably, how he had unveiled his striking cerulean eyes for all to see. Truth to be told, you didn't expect him to barge in here at all.

"Gojo-sama," your father bowed his head, displaying utter respect towards him, contrasting the blatant disrespect he showed towards you just now. Satoru paid him no heed, as took big strides towards you and seized your arm, prompting you to rise to your feet.

"What is this? Why are you yelling at her?" His voice lacked its usual hint of amusement or teasing, sending a chill down your spine.

"Gojo-sama, I apologize for my tone towards my daughter earlier. I was just trying to educate—"

“My wife. She is my wife now, and it would do you better to remember that,” Satoru asserted firmly, putting emphasis in the way he addressed you, his gaze hardening. "She is an adult. There's nothing left for you to educate her." Pausing, he added, "And the way I saw it, you were just unnecessarily rude."

"Gojo-sama, there were just certain things in our clan that—"

"Please, don't call on us again," Satoru interjected decisively with a light yet firm voice. You could swear your heart was somersaulting at the sight of him staring down your natural enemy. "I'm sure you're aware, but your daughter bears my name now, and she will get the respect she is due. I will have a word with anyone who fails to treat her accordingly."

Somehow or another, Satoru whisked you away from that hellhole, your hand tightly clasped in his. Your relieved sigh didn't go unnoticed by him, as he looked back to you.

"Have you gone soft?" he teased, eyeing you with a playful snort. "Did you forget who your husband is? You've got nothing to fear. Not even him."

"Thank you," you murmured. Your heart was still pounding and your mind blanked, rendering you unable to engage in your usual banters.

His clear blue eyes widened a touch, blinking at your display of vulnerability, Then, he wore the most innocent expression, even sporting a silly smirk—the hardness from earlier gone. "I was really cool, huh? Totally made you swoon I bet."

And in MONTH THREE, you realized, as he laced his fingers with yours, as his laughter filled the air, as calmness swelled on your chest, and as you loudly snorted at his remark, that—

You felt warm, so warm, in fact, and maybe—

"Pfft, you wish."

—maybe... being with him isn't so bad after all.

MONTH FOUR, and you finally found out that it was Geto Suguru.

Everyone knew that your husband and the criminal used to be the best of friends. You saw them during your high school days, and heck, you used to think that Geto was the better man.

You could only imagine what he must feel.

. . .

When he got back to your shared house after the whole ordeal—after he ended his best friend with his own hands, Satoru honestly didn't expect that you would be waiting for him.

"You okay?" you asked him, brows furrowed in concern. It was probably one of the very few times you had displayed emotions other than contempt towards him.

It felt strange because he was used to your jabs, and he was not sure what sort of expression he should pull now, because truthfully, now he felt empty. Blank. All he comprehended was that he had killed Suguru, that he was gone, and that was something he must do.

It would be just like any other day if hadn't just committed a murder. On someone he held dear.

"Of course, who do you think I am?" Satoru swiftly replied, sounding smug—or at least tried to. "I'm the strongest. I’m unscat—"

"No, not that." You frowned, meeting his gaze squarely. "After everything."

Satoru struggled to choose how he should react, partly because most of his energy had gone after walking Yuta back and reassuring him earlier, and by default, the two of you should be hellbent on hating each other and wishing for this contract to end soon.

"Aww, are you worried about me?" he quipped with a touch of sarcasm just because he had to, to show you that it wasn't enough to ruffle him.

Because he is still the strongest, even when alone. Especially when he is alone.

You let out a sigh, looking away. "Can't I?"

"Whoa, that's sweet of—"

"Don't fool yourself," you stated in straight-laced manner, meeting his gaze with a composed expression. "You're not okay. You might be Gojo Satoru, but no one will be after doing what you just did."

You might be Gojo Satoru, but no one will be after doing what you just did.

Despite himself, his smile fell, and his chest burns. What is this? Were you sympathizing with him?

Does that mean that you don't see him as the entity... that was the strongest?

Before now, Satoru remembered you as the most uncooperative Kyoto girl he had ever met. Your first meeting in high school sealed your fate as the two of you could hardly get along. You didn't mince words, you didn't take shit from anyone else—heck, sometimes when he thought of you, what came up to mind was an impenetrable diamond.

Which was why he chose you. You were someone he could trust. You were pretty in the eyes and certainly wouldn't bore him either. His reasons were purely based on logic. And after four months with you, Satoru came to a conclusion that you indeed fulfilled all his expectations, if not more.

And he felt comfortable, or dare he say, secure even. He felt like he had gained a friend, who could see past his bravado and wouldn't judge him for it.

"You're..." you sighed, casting a sympathetic glance at him, your forehead slightly creased. At that moment, Satoru couldn't help but think you were incredibly endearing, fretting over him. "...an idiot."

"Heh." I really am, aren't I?

"I never knew him well..." you chose your words carefully, hesitant. "Did you try to convince him, before this?"

He barked a bitter laugh. "I did, we even made a scene in front of freaking KFC," he remarked with a scoff. "He didn't listen to me, until the very end."

You wanted to tell him “You have done everything you could” but the words faltered on your tongue. You couldn't bring yourself to say it when you saw the faint quiver of his lips, the slump of his shoulders—the very sight of a boy grieving the loss of his friend.

Your heart pricked too, somehow, seeing that expression on him. And you once again realized that your silly, exalted husband was just as human as anyone else who made him think he wasn’t.

"And you know what he said in the end?" Satoru's tone was flippant, as if asking the most normal thing around, but carried a trace of grief, evident in the slight drop in his tone if you squinted. "He said he didn't regret it, not even a bit."

"I'm sorry," was all you could manage.

Satoru's smile was lopsided. Now that he had finally accepted it, something inside him finally bleeds, and it freaking hurts. The pain gripped his chest like a swirling inferno.

But then, you boldly clasped his hand in yours, gently tracing soothing circles on its back.

"What?" he peered at you, feeling a ghost of a smile forming.

"Consider this emotional support."

And he chuckled softly. Despite the lingering ache, despite the gloom he was sure he would carry for the rest of his life, he felt the pain was more bearable with you by his side, somewhat.

How?

You blamed it on the alcohol, because it was MONTH FIVE and you were kissing Gojo Satoru, daringly.

"We shouldn't be doing this," you rasped between kisses, breathless, as your own sinful hands plucked the buttons off his shirt. The intoxication might have played a part, but the intense heat coursing through you made it hard to think straight.

Satoru crashed his lips against yours again, consumed by blind lust. "Yeah, we shouldn't," he replied in a rush. His breath was hot as he trailed his lips down your jaw and neck next, savoring the softness of your skin.

You two had attended a banquet for the elite, and you were unbelievably beautiful. Standing by his side as his wife, you drew admiring glances, with everyone marveling at what a remarkable couple you made. The Gojo heir who was born with the legendary Limitless and the Kamo heiress, as lovely as her clan's name was powerful.

His deft hands roamed the curves of your body, exploring every inch of you. The warmth of his hands tickled something inside you as you closed your eyes to sink into this very moment. Next you knew, his bare body was against yours and you were stripped out of your evening dress.

Lust flickered in his honored eyes, as he took in the sight of you in your undergarments.

"You're really pretty, you know," he whispered. The intensity with which his eyes scanned your form made you nearly squirm. "Shame we don't always get along."

"You're one to talk," you retorted, a hint of exasperation in your tone, as you willed all other thoughts away. Thoughts like what comes after this. Thoughts like—

Is it heaven or sin, if you feel both at once?

His thumb tenderly caressed your plush lips, a hint of a smirk on his beautiful face.

He has long been thinking about your body. He was but a man, after all. He just didn't expect that you wanted this too.

There was always this tension, only this time, neither of you could hold it back anymore. Perhaps it was impulse—hell, most certainly it is, but there was another thing, something more that even Gojo Satoru still didn't dare to say out loud.

"Eager, are we?" he taunted when you leaned in, yearning for the touch of his lips on yours again.

You huffed. “Shut up and kiss me.”

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks at the slip of those words. You were about to rectify it, taken aback by your own boldness, but then he drew you close, silencing any further protest with a gentle hush—

"Too late, sweetheart," his husky voice entered your ears, lips curling into the most wicked smile, and you were in a trance. And Satoru was once again convinced, that choosing you as his wife was the rightest thing there was.

If the two of you went with this, then there would be consequences. Things would become more complicated, harder to sort out.

But, he decided, as he captured your lips in another heated kiss, everything else can wait.

MONTH SIX, and you were dreading the day of your divorce.

You brought this upon yourself. Whenever you reminisced about that night, you wanted to smack yourself in the face and bang your head against the nearest wall.

This marriage has a time limit. And you were doing it out of convenience in the first place.

You weren't supposed to… goddammit—fall in love with him.

But what's done is done, there is no going back in time. Awkward exchanges and lingering stares had been gnawing at your insides these days, and you were sure Satoru too must have noticed them too. You two used to be more relaxed with each other, and he'd even flirt with you, but weeks ever since that night of drunken passion, you almost reverted back to your high school personas—ignoring each other.

This was tough. You didn't like this. And more than that, you were faced with a more pressuring matter...

Gojo Satoru, with everything he possessed, could have had any woman he wanted. This arrangement with you was temporary in the first place, soon he would forget you and flit to the next woman.

The thought made your heart ache, because you had involuntarily gave your heart away to him. Siiigh… What a predicament you put yourself into, huh?

With just a month left together, maybe you should just make the best of it.

. . .

If you thought that things were any better with Satoru, then you were sorely wrong because he too, was debating with himself often nowadays.

Days spent with you were fun and fulfilling. You irked expression somehow had made its mark in his heart. You were pretty, fit to be by his side publicly and preferably, behind the closed doors. With you, he didn't feel the need to carry this facade of being strong—he could be a clown tripping over his own trap and you would amuse him with your deadpan expression.

And ever since that night, he was constantly reminded by how soft your skin was against his. It almost drove him crazy now that he was deprived of it.

How was it the last month already? He wasn't ready to let you go yet.

When he got back home later after his class ended and found you in the dinner table setting the food, all he could muster was, "Hey. Haven't eaten?"

You whirled around to face him in surprise. "Oh... you're back. Just about to. Want to join me?"

Of course he would. And yet as the two of you sat down, it was so painfully awkward Satoru felt like he was dying inside.

Why couldn't he pull off a smart line or two? Where did his suaveness go? He was smoother than this, surely, with his colorful history. One night of passion was supposed to enhance the relationship, not to derail it. What happened to you both?

The salt was near his side when you reached to grab it and bumped into his hand. "Uh-oh."

Turning towards you, he found your spooked expression and your adorable eyes widening in surprise. "S-sorry..."

It was just freaking salt! Salt! Why on earth were you apologizing?!

Enough, he thought. This utter madness of being jumpy with each other. He'd start from his side.

Does he want you to keep being his wife even after all this ends? Yes.

Why? All reasons already listed above.

Does this mean he likes you? Apparently and supposedly, yes. Because if it isn't then he doesn't know what this funny feeling driving him mad is.

With that sorted out, then he only had one more thing to confirm. He put down his spoon and crossed his arms together. "Tell me the truth. Do you like living with me?"

His question obviously took you by surprise. "Huh? What brought this on?"

"Just give me an answer."

"You're so pushy," you grumbled, lips pursed, and he felt like you were finally back to your usual dynamics somewhat. Good.

"Sooo, the verdict? Do you enjoy being with me or not?"

Because to him, it was a resounding yes and more.

Ignoring the warmth that surged to your cheeks, you rolled your eyes. "Surprisingly, not bad, yeah," you admitted, mustering the courage to meet his gaze. "You're annoying, an idiot, a bit crazy—"

"Hey!"

"—but eventually you're still... manageable," you added, feeling your face truly start to sizzle. But covered it up by looking down and playing with your fingers as you still had more to go on. "What I want to say is... I'm glad that I agreed to this—with you—because I can’t imagine it with anyone else."

An unfamiliar tingling emotion rushed to his chest as his face too started to heat up, letting your words sink in. Is he blushing? Oh God. He sure is. And so did he feel hella giddy.

Then it’s sealed.

Suddenly he procured a piece of paper from his work uniform and showed it to you. You first saw his lazily scrawled signature before it dawned on you.

The contract. You almost forgot that you made him sign that looming piece of paper. You were almost dismayed, thinking that he would end this right then and there, but then—

“Well, then… I suppose we no longer need this.”

Riiip~

Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when Gojo Satoru tore out your contract right in front of your face, the most brilliant of his devilish grin adorned his handsome face, as he took off his blindfold to see you far clearly than ever. Heavens, you are cute, he thought.

“Soooo~ seems like you’re stuck with me from now on!”

You gaped, awestruck at the blatant meaning of it all, feeling how your heartbeat started to pick up the pace, when he pulled the rag out of your feet once more by tilting his head to the side, looking at you with a winning smile.

“Let’s start over! What did they say again? Ah, yeah. Here’s to the first day of our lives!”

[remi-thirsts]

𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐂𝐓 !

pairing: gojo, geto, nanami, choso, and toji x fem!reader (separate) summary: when you catch them with a suggestive piece of clothing from your wardrobe... content: kinda suggestive, established relationships, toji has no shame at all, allusions to sexual themes, jerking off, pillow humping(?), roommates to lovers (for geto's) pet names, cursing. lmk if I missed anything. wc: 2.5k

♡ 𝐒. 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

The house was awfully quiet when you arrived home with your shopping bags in hand. "Satoru?" You call out setting all of your stuff down. Nothing. No over dramatic gasps, no 'babyyyyyy you're back!!!!!!" Absolutely nothing.

Satoru hadn't told you he was going anywhere, had he? Sometimes the man talks so much that you drown out his voice, so you can focus on whatever you need to get done. Which means you could have missed something.

Or maybe he's asleep? Only, Satoru doesn't nap if it isn't with you. So... where could he be?

Before going deeper into your home, you remove your shoes and place them neatly on the wobbly shoe rack he built. He insisted he could build anything, when he'd never even picked up a screwdriver in his life. That's kind of what happens when you belong to a wealthy family, but you didn't want to hurt his pride, so you let him build it.

You tread quietly toward your bedroom in hopes of finding him there. The door is cracked open suspiciously, with caution you slowly push the door open, "Satoru are you- uhhh what are you doing?"

The man in question tenses up when he hears your voice. As if you hadn't seen him he hides your lace panties behind his back.

"I was uh," He does that little coughing thing to make him look less suspicious, but if anything it makes him even more suspicious .

"You were 'uh' what?" Satoru thinks you look like a mother scolding a child the way you stand with your hands on your hips.

"I- I was hah- are you really gonna make me say it, baby?" He looks so red, cute.

"Yeah, go ahead and tell me what you were doing snooping through my underwear drawer." He sighs, but it's soon replaced with a sneaky smile.

"Ineedednewjerkmaterial." He says all jumbled up and quietly.

"Speak up, 'Toru." A whine leaves his lips. What a little baby he is.

"I needed something to help me when I think about you while jerking off." He spoke clearly this time, so you stop teasing him.

"Well you can't use those ones, 'cuz those are my favorites. Let me find you a different pair." He's in shock the whole time while watching you dig through the dresser.

"Really? You're just gonna give me a pair?"

"Why not? All you had to do was ask. I'm sure you'll buy me more anyway, knowing you." He snorts at that. It's true, Satoru likes to buy you anything and everything, sexy underwear is no exception.

♡ 𝐒. 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎

You've noticed that some of your favorite bras have gone missing since you asked your roommate, Geto, to do your laundry when you get too busy. It was a little suspicious when he seemed more than happy to do your laundry, but who were you to think anything of it when he was making one less chore for you?

Sweet, little, and innocent you, didn't suspect that Geto could be the one stealing your bras, though. He's too much of a gentleman, you think. He always opens doors for you, lets you use the bathroom before he does, and when you aren't up to make something, he'll cook you dinner.

He's a picture perfect roommate so there's no way he could be the one. You'll still ask him his opinion on the matter though, because your bras are not cheap, and if they keep going missing you'll have to buy more.

It's Wednesday, which is the day Geto usually washes your laundry for you. There is a very important job interview you have to leave for in ten minutes so you rush to get your hamper to him.

"Suguru- I um I need your help with something." Geto cannot help but stare you down. You're dressed in a black blazer with a white dress shirt underneath, and a pencil skirt that should reach around to your knees, but because you had bend down earlier to pick something up, the skirt hiked up just a little bit.

"What's up, princess?" The first time he had called you 'princess' you just about had a meltdown. He told you not to think too much of it, it was just a nickname.

The smell of his lotion fills your nostrils and his hair is still wet from his shower. There's also no shirt covering his perfectly built body.

"Well.. uh. Some of my bras are going missing. Can you keep an eye out to make sure there's no pervert at the laundromat stealing my bras?" A chuckle almost leaves his throat. You are too cute for him, of course you wouldn't blame him for the disappearance of your bras.

"Of course, I'll keep watch." Since you are running short on time you give him a tight lipped smile and quickly make a run out of your apartment.

"Cute." Slips from his lips, although no one hears it.

-------

There's hope. The interview had seemed to go great, the woman interviewing you said she'd give you a call letting you know if you got the job or not.

To celebrate the potential job, you bought yourself a pint of ice cream on the way home.

When you unlocked the door you didn't even announce yourself, assuming he might have been out or napping.

Before going to your room, you grab a spoon from the kitchen in order to eat the deliciously sweet treat you bought for yourself.

Your room was at the end of the hallway so you would have to pass Geto's room to get to yours. As you walk past his room, you almost drop your spoon in shock when you hear your supposed goody two shoes roommate moan out your name.

A series of grunts and 'fucks' leave his lips after the sudden call of your name. Curiosity killed the cat, huh? Well you don't care enough to let that stop you. It's rude not to knock but when Geto's calling out your name like that you think you have plenty of reason to barge in.

"Suguru what are you-" You should have just went to your room. The sight you walked in on had you dropping your ice cream and spoon on the floor. Geto is not as innocent as you thought he was, not when he's got your favorite laced bra attached to his pillow while he fucks it like they're your tits.

You would think he'd have the decency to stop when you caught him, but you catching him only made him speed up, his hips snapping at an extraordinary pace.

"Fuck, princess. Didn't want you to find out like this. Shit- need your tits so bad." He cums with no shame over the part of the pillow that would be the crevice of your breasts.

You can't even be mad at him, it's hot, but you'll still give him a peace of your mind.

"Suguru! That's- that's my bra! And you- gosh you are so perverted!!!! I never would have thought-" It takes him a minute, but when he comes down from his high, he apologizes sincerely for taking your bras.

And now that you know he wants you just as much as you want him, you indulge in his fantasies of fucking your pretty tits.

♡ 𝐊. 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

He was going on a business trip for a few weeks and took a pair or two with him so he wouldn't have to bother you.

It doesn't even register that any are missing either, because he picks the pairs that you don't care too much about. They don't have to be sexy, Nanami loves anything you wear.

The only reason he does get caught is because he allows it to happen.

It's the second week, day two of his business trip and he decided to have a drink with his coworker, which he never does, but he misses you and a drink would help, even if only for a little while.

Nanami's toleration is high, so one drink turns into seven and he starts to feel the effects around the 8th one, which his coworker cuts him off after that.

"Dude, that's a lot, even for you." He says to Nanami, which he has to agree with, but his drunk mind doesn't want to.

"'s not nearly the 'mount I drink when 'm at home." His coworker chuckles and pays his tab along with Nanami's. (nanami will pay him back in the morning when he's in his right mind)

Said coworker drops him off at his hotel room and makes sure he gets in okay, he also reminds him to, "Call your wife, she might get worried if she doesn't hear from you."

He will. He'll call you as soon as this boner goes away... just thinking about you along with the alcohol in his body has him hard.

He stumbles through his suit case looking for the panties he'd packed in there. A smile graces his face when he finds them, they aren't cute, at all by any means.

He chose them not because they're sexy but because they're just normal, meaning you wear them a lot more often.

His steps are heavy as he about marches to the bed he's been sleeping in for the past two weeks. His conscious starts screaming at him not to jerk off with your panties but in the end, his dick wins.

-------

It's about 11:43 pm when you receive a face time call from your husband. He called you earlier, telling you about his day, so you find it a little unusual for him to be calling at this hour.

When you slide the accept button, you're met with your husband's dick and your panties covering his tip. For a second your eyes widen trying to register what exactly is going on, once you do, arousal pools in your gut.

"What's this honey?" He strokes his dick faster when he hears your voice.

"Keep talking, pretty." He's completely gone, you notice. His cheeks flushed a pretty pink and his eyes rolled back.

"I see you have my panties, what's that about?" A low groan leaves his throat but it's cut off by his words.

"Knew I would miss you. Packed them in my suitcase." The chances of him remembering any of this in the morning was low. Nanami usually has a hard time remembering anything from when he was drunk.

So, being the tease you are, you take a screenshot of him in this state.

"Fuck fuck fuck, gonna cum, please keep talking, Honey." You do as he wishes, saying random little things to help him reach his orgasm. It happens so fast and he's got you rubbing yourself through your shorts.

"You still with me baby?" You ask after he goes quiet for a few seconds. It doesn't take a genius to realize that he was knocked out.

You

[image attached] pervert 😊 sent 11:58 pm

My love 💖

I'm not going to drink anymore on this trip. sent 7:39 am

You

You should, it's hot when I get phone calls from my needy husband 😝 sent 7:40 am

♡ 𝐂. 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎

He can't hide it. In fact, he gets caught before he even makes it anywhere with them.

Last night was another night shift so you got home at the dawn hours of the night. A shower and a hot pocket later you were in bed. You made the assumption that Choso had gone out to see his brother, since you didn't see him anywhere in the apartment.

The sound of rustling around awakes you from your sleep.

"Cho? Is that you, baby?" It didn't sound concerned or anything, just a sleepy mumble.

"Oh uh- yes. Hi, good morning." His words are rushed like a kid who's trying not to get into trouble for something they did.

Your pretty eyes peek open to see Choso digging through your drawer for something.

"What are you looking for, babe?" He starts to stutter and try to come up with something you'll believe.

"You were picking out a shirt for me in my bra drawer?" His cheeks turn a bright red as he tries to explain himself.

"It's not what you think-! Okay it is what you think... but I haven't been seeing you much, since you always work late so I wanted to take one of your bras..." He's so cute. Gosh how could you not give him one.

"Okay, pick one out and I'll tell you if you can take it or not. You have to bring it back later though, it's not for you to keep.

He shakes his head furiously fast like a bobble head, and you can't help but laugh.

Choso is the most adorable thing to walk this earth.

♡ 𝐓. 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

He doesn't even try to hide it, AT ALL. Today was the day of your once a week girls night with your friends. It was usually just some karaoke and dinner and on the occasion; shopping.

Instead of the usual your girls had taken you partying at a club. It was fun to dance around with your friends and scream song lyrics while being slightly intoxicated. Luckily, you aren't the designated driver.

When you had clumsily slipped your shoes off in your drunken stupor you realized that it was quiet in the house.

Too quiet, even for your husband. Toji's definitely up to something, because he'd usually be waiting on the couch for you to return home, and he's not.

"Oh baby~" It's slurred tremendously but you still get it out. Silence returns your call, so you take it upon yourself to find him.

The first and most obvious place to look is the bedroom; you'll start there and keep going. The door was closed but you could still hear him. Upon contrary belief Toji is loud during sex. He probably couldn't shut up to save his life.

His loud groans and moans start to cut off meaning he must be close. Is he watching a video he's recorded of you? Potentially.

Most would probably leave their boyfriend alone to finish so he doesn't get embarrassed, but this Toji Fushiguro we are talking about; he does not care.

You slowly pull the door open only to find out that your husband is not in fact watching a video, but getting off to your panties around his dick.

"Tojiiii, without me?" It doesn't even click that he's using your underwear at the moment.

"Fuck- I thought you weren't gonna be back until-" You must have shocked the shit out of him, because he stops touching himself to check his phone.

"Oh. You're home on time." He throws his phone down onto the bed and sighs.

"Waita' minute," It finally registers that those are your panties he's jerking off too.

"Toji, why do you have my panties? Pervert." And to nobody's surprise, Toji gets off to that kind of stuff. He likes when you call him out.

"Hah- shit. Don't ask such stupid questions... are you gonna come over here and help me finish?" A little smirk covers your face as you walk over to the bed.

©𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈-𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐒 All works are written by me! Please do not copy, translate, or upload onto other sites thanks!

note: lmaoooo geto's got a little bit out of control

[kneelingshadowsalome]

i love your writings so much! i need you to write about könig with maid!reader like i need air and water. könig who needs someone to take care of his house while he‘s gone, returning from his deployment only to find reader huddled up in a soft blanket on the couch, the house smelling of freshly baked cinnamon bread and lavender while she sleeps peacefully. he‘s so touch starved and the domesticity makes his heart and cock stir, he‘s never had any woman cook for him since his Oma passed away. poor reader is oblivious to her boss‘s infatuation until she‘s not, he‘s so awkward around her she thinks he just doesn‘t wanna be disturbed, but she doesn‘t know he uses her conditioner to stroke his cock every night, and now he can‘t help but get a raging boner everytime she passes by and he smells her hair :((((

Banner picture credit: @661ave

possession

noun

the state of having, owning, or controlling something.

Word count: 7 k Tags/warnings: 18+ only DARK FIC. Perv!König masturbating to thoughts of you + your stolen panties. Jealous & possessive behaviour. Dubious consent to having unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, size kink, breeding kink, implied age difference. Some fluff if you squint.  A/N: First of all, I'm sorry if you expected something sweet & fluffy anon… This thing just came out of me. Also, @gremlingottoosilly wrote the best thing EVER for this trope so please if you haven’t read it yet go give it a read (dark content there too though so be warned!)

He’s good at repairing things. He prides himself in that.

And he keeps his house neat and clean: that’s not a problem. His papers are in order, his office is in order. His home is in order too, and so is his whole life – love life included because there is none. 

He always ensured he’s not dependent on anyone, he never seeked a mother from a partner. Just for self-reliance's sake, he knows how to do his own laundry and meal prep for weeks. He learned to fold his t-shirts with an orderliness fit for the military when he was ten years old, just so that no one would have the chance to say he needed a wife.

He always vacuums the entire house before deployment, does the dishes, takes out the trash. And he doesn’t hate house chores… but he doesn’t like them either. His house is a sad, lifeless, gloomy place to spend time in. It’s big enough for a family, it has everything he needs to host a night for friends, but he doesn’t have any. 

Family, or friends, that is.

When he hears that his co-worker – the one with a frigid wife and five unruly kids – hired a maid to do the cleaning in the house, he pauses to think. He doesn’t have a chaos in his home, but he’s got enough money to make life a tad easier. Besides, it’s only expected of a man of his position to hire an assistant of some sort, is it not?

It’s just that he didn’t expect housemaids to be this… cute. 

There are quite a few applications, and he’s a sick bastard for choosing the maid solely based on the picture attached to the CV. He told himself it was also because it looked like this lady needed the money the most. He's a generous man, so why not help a woman in need? 

Another thing he didn’t expect is how his house would start to smell so nice and look so cozy. It’s the small details, the tiny little things that make his chest burn. The way she uses softener on his shirts and folds not only his shirts but his boxers, too, or places a scented candle on the table when the weather turns cold. It’s clearly for his delight because it’s not one of those overly sweet apple or caramel things but something fresh, maybe spruce or fir. 

She even bakes for him on the days when he comes back. The fact that a beautiful young woman bakes for him stirs something unwanted and long-forgotten in his chest. The sweet scent of home baked buns makes his cock stir, too. His place has never seen a woman’s touch, no one has ever baked anything here…

And he certainly doesn’t expect to find his maid sleeping on his sofa when he arrives home one evening.

She stirs immediately, and apologizes profusely for making herself at home like this. She starts to stutter and explain how she’s had a busy week and difficulty with sleeping, how she simply dozed off while waiting for the rolls to bake in the oven. 

He stops her in the middle of her flustered excuses: she can take a nap here any time, it’s not like the furniture is going to wear and tear from use anytime soon. He’s barely even home, so it’s good that someone enjoys the sofa, right? She can use his bed too if she wants. More convenient that way, ja?

He realizes he went a little too far when she looks at him like he just offered to fuck her on the kitchen table. Which he has thought about, to be honest, for a good long while now. In fact, he’s thought about it ever since she started in this position a month ago. 

It's her fault for being so unsuspecting and lovely, and she's playing with fire when she takes more dangerous liberties by showering at his house. He finds a women’s conditioner bottle in the bathroom and once, he even catches her doing her laundry here too. There’s a pair of women’s underwear in the pile of clothes she politely informs he’d have to fold himself this time because she’s in a hurry to catch her bus. 

He’s far more intrigued by the innocent, blush pink strings greeting him from amidst his black and dark green clothes than by the fact that his maid is breaking the rules. Other employers would give her a warning or simply say she no longer has to come and work here ever again. Showering at his place, washing her clothes in his washing machine and taking a nap on his sofa border on violating the terms of their agreement, but he couldn’t care less. He would carve a hole in his chest if that would make her happy. 

When he finds out she’s busy because she has to work two jobs, he raises her pay, despite the fact that she’s sometimes late and at times, leaves a little too early. She does her job well enough, so there’s no reason to complain. He would simply like it if they saw each other more... Which is ridiculous, he knows, because the point of having a maid is that she cleans his house when he’s away. 

It just feels so nice to arrive home now that she's here. He’s never looked forward to getting back to his bleak modern mansion, but now he’s pining for his leaves like a young recruit who's got a girl waiting for him back home. 

Even if she’s not there when he gets back, he can savour her lingering scent. He sniffs the dark woolen spread she might’ve slept under just moments ago, he eats whatever freshly baked goodies she has made for him. He sleeps with her underwear tucked under his pillow, and reaches for them before sleep. Or then he grabs them in the morning when he wakes up, already hard. 

It’s nice to have an unhurried fap at home than to relieve his needs in some small grey room of a boring military base. It's far more enjoyable to stroke his cock with her tiny, cute underwear spread over his face. Sometimes he wraps it around his cock and jerks himself off to a quick, groan-filled release, adoring the way his cum stains her blushing strings.

His showers last for about 15 minutes nowadays.

It’s unheard of for a soldier, and he read somewhere that lonely and depressed people take longer showers because the warm water is supposed to make up for the lack of human touch and intimacy, and that may very well be true… But he also wants to take his sweet time stroking himself while using her conditioner as lube. 

Coconut or peach, vanilla or argan oil, he lathers it all over his cock and imagines her hot, wet pussy. His hand is too calloused to give him any illusions of softness, but the mind-numbingly sweet scent takes him immediately back to her. Her eyes, her soft smile. The dreamy sway of her hips, the elegance of her wrists as she moves some item out of the way to sweep or scrub or clean a surface.

He faps with slick urgency, wondering if her eyes would go wide if she saw his cock. He wonders if she’s noisy in bed – is she a screamer, or a moaner? Would she claw at his back or simply cling to him if he fucked her? 

And god, how he would fuck her… 

Slowly at first, draw moans out of that soft mouth until she begs him to fuck her hard. He would drag her shirt up and her bra down until her breasts are exposed, then watch how they bounce as he starts to fuck her with purpose. She begins to tighten around him, looking so fucking desperate as her cunt starts to throb and pull him in. The first moan of surrender is needy and tight when she cums around his shaft…

He never gets any further than that because his cock spills with a violent jerk. He cums, long and hard across the tiles. Loads and loads of hot seed go to waste as he groans loudly, not giving a shit about making so much noise. Feeling hollow and deprived for not being able to shoot his cum inside her and then stay there, snug and safe and warm inside her cunt, he allows himself just one single sob. 

He just wants to know how it would feel to cover her whole body with his as he slowly pumps the last drops into her. Sigh afterwards, breathe together, hold her close... Search for her eyes, check if she's in rapture too. Watch her come down from it while still squeezing him down there. Perhaps she’d give him a pleased giggle and a cute, weary smile.

"Scheisse–"

He leans on the wall, knowing that he's lonely, filthy, sick and obsessed. He lives in a dream world, and the thick conditioner takes ages to wash off. The withdrawal phase is worse every time he indulges in his dark fantasies and then has to live without her for weeks and weeks.  

She's just his maid, a hired employee. She’s just an innocent woman with her whole future ahead of her.

He's just a colonel at a notorious private military company… He's just an old, horny, depraved soldier. Calloused, fucked up, depressed. Girls like her don't want anything to do with a man like him.

…

She asks if he wants his house decorated for Christmas.

She asks it with bright eyes and such a lovely smile that he tells her he doesn't own such junk, but he can pay her if she goes to choose him some and then comes back to decorate his place. Their unusual agreement gets more unusual still as she nods with shining eyes, then goes to the city to choose his Christmas decorations for him. He even lets her use his car, which is unheard of. 

Soon, his windows are filled with lights and there are mistletoes hanging from the ceiling. She puts fancy little elves in the window, places Christmas flowers and candles everywhere she possibly can. He walks around the house with a coffee mug in his hand, suddenly awkward and shy when watching his maid put up the most sophisticated, elegant and adorable Christmas decorations he has ever had or seen.

Is this what a home should look like…? Warm, and light, and pretty, filled with cozy, useless things? 

But it's not the items she got him that make a home, no. Home now equals rich, home-cooked meals, or the mouthwatering scent of cinnamon rolls greeting him at the door. Home is a cute girl, returning his obsessive stare with a small smile and telling him to stay safe before he leaves to kill people. Home is a woman who's the perfect wife material, so fuckable and sweet, who's fussing over the fact that he doesn't even have a Christmas tree.

He gets it before her next visit – meaning, her next shift – and decorates it himself. It looks clumsy and uneven and a bit sparse, but she compliments him on it when she arrives. The looks she gives him are so warm and playful that he starts to have some hope – hell, a full surge of it – and he also starts to miss his hood. He's feeling awkward as it is around her, he doesn't need to be blushing in front of his suddenly flirtatious maid... Men don’t fucking blush when a woman flirts with them; they fuck them until their knees give in.

With no small amount of hidden guilt, he finally confronts her with her underwear, telling her she forgot something and that he found these in his laundry pile. Taking sick satisfaction from seeing how she's the one who's flustered now, he forgives her for washing laundry in his place. He's a merciful man, after all. 

There's still some cum on the lace as he returns her possession to her, and he hopes he's just imagining the shock in her eyes when she takes them back. It's his way of saying that he likes her a lot, but the flirting ends immediately, the playful smiles stop, and he knows he fucked up big time. The warm, lively woman is gone, she suddenly resembles an ice sculpture who's about to flee his apartment at any given moment, and he could hit himself in the head with a big metal bat.

What the fuck was he even thinking? That a woman would appreciate it if he returned her panties covered in old, dried cum?

He's a fucked up pervert, and he has lived in a dream world, and now reality awaits.

He shuts down and shuts up after that, keeps the connection pure, pristine and professional. She's just here to do her job. 

The holidays approach, and he's sulking, knowing that he won't see her again in at least six weeks. He'll have to make do without a maid, and he'll have to numb his whole soul to get through yet another lonely Christmas.

Well, not lonely: this time he spends it with the decorations she got him. They can keep him company during the lonely masturbation sessions. They can watch him live on takeout food and remind him what a horny, sad loser he is.

So his last attempt, his last minor sin is that he gets her a Christmas present. She's about to leave, hurrying to some place where she's loved and cherished, or then about to get fucked because she has her hair and make-up done. The jealousy creeps up his spine like a viper as he watches her get all dolled up. 

She's so very grateful to him for allowing her to get ready here and use his bathroom, and he plays the generous, kind gentleman while gritting his teeth, trying to ignore another demanding erection telling him to dick her down and make her stay down. Make her bake for him and sit on his knee as he squeezes her tits and watches her stare turn dumb. Tell her to douse the lights and light the candles, tell her to undress in front of that stupid Christmas tree, order her to lie down on the mat and spread her pretty legs for him…

She's standing at the door, a cute girl turned into a seductive goddess, while he's about to enter into another lonely brain fog. She grabs her coat and grants him one of those warmer smiles as he walks to her with an envelope in hand.

"I got you something... Merry Christmas."

"Aw… You shouldn't have…"

She accepts his gift delicately with both hands, clearly surprised and pleased. When she opens the gift, she laughs and then covers her mouth with her hand. It's a gift card to Victoria's Secret, and with a relatively large sum on it, too.

"Oh god... Ahah, okay. I like your humour," she laughs again, then gives him a wink and an exceptionally gorgeous smile. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." 

He's fully aware that he sounds like an ominous, threatening robot. His voice has an effect on women; most flee, some get curious. She's one of the few who don't know what's good for them at all.

He never had a gift with females, and even with his position, experience and age, he still feels like he’s trying to court a breathtaking alien species whose native language he can’t quite understand or speak. The silence stretches on, and her smile slowly fades, making him perfectly aware of the fact that he should say or do something assertive, something charming, instead of just standing here, looming over her. When the playful stare then turns into a helpless, pitying one, the kind his mother used to wear when she discovered he had been bullied again at school, his hands start to go numb. 

Jerk off and kill, those are the only things he ever was good for… 

"Mm... I'm afraid I have nothing for you," she says apologetically. 

Ach so… She’s ashamed for not getting him a present. 

Well, shit. Fuck.

"Don't worry about it."

"No, I mean… I thought about it. You're the kindest employer I've ever had. I really appreciate it... and I love working for you."

"That’s nice to hear." 

"I just didn't know what to get you. I don't know what you like."

He's trying to ignore the pull of his chest, the sick burning in his loins. His cock is stirring just from the way she's looking at him. Inviting, adoring, waiting.

"You already got me Christmas decorations."

"Yeah, but… You paid for them."

"Aber... You baked for me. No one's ever–"

He shuts his mouth before making a complete fool of himself.

"Well, I'm glad you liked my buns," she laughs, then bites her lip, realizing what she just said could be taken in many ways. 

"I truly did."

She guides her stare to the floor and smiles, and the electricity between them… it just can't be only a fabric of his imagination.

"Take care of yourself. Ok?" He says, then swallows a lump in his throat, but it never quite goes down. She’s still waiting for something; the tension between them is petrifying. 

"I will," she says, her voice a bit frail, and far too sweet. "You too. Take care."

She gives her last smile to him; it’s sad and somewhat disappointed as she turns around and reaches for the door.

"Wait," he calls, purely from the hard instinct that tells him to fucking do something about this heavy, sickening tension. She immediately turns with hope in her eyes.

"Yes?"

"I… Ah, glückliches neues Jahr."

"...What does that mean?" 

"It means 'Happy New Year'."

"Oh," she laughs, "I thought it was something naughty…"

Shit.

Shit.

Shit…

"Ich möchte deine Muschi lecken."

She freezes with her hand still on the doorknob. That fucking sentence was so dark it left little or nothing to the imagination... It was thick enough to make it clear that he’s not a kind, generous employer, nor is he a gentleman.

"What's that?" She asks, her pretty voice barely a whisper.

"Something naughty."

Her hand lets go, it falls to the side. She even tilts her head before her voice turns thick and suggestive too. 

"Really…?"

"Yes."

"Well don't be shy. Tell me what it means."

Playful, naughty, dirty. 

She wants to fuck. She wants to fuck.

Is this a filthy dream or is this really happening? 

"I want to lick your pussy."

There's an intake of air, just a soft gasp. Batting of long, dark lashes, just before the stars in her eyes start to shine in full.

"Oh," she breathes. "Is that so?"

"Ja."

It wouldn't be the first time someone offers him cunt just out of spontaneous pity. It wouldn’t be the first time he accepts it. A man like him takes whatever he can get.

Pity is apparently what's happening now, because his maid starts to undress. 

With a victorious shine in her eyes, she drops her coat to the floor, then unbuttons her jeans. Takes away her shirt and bra with shaky hands while maintaining that seductive, downright filthy eye contact. More and more of her skin is exposed as she quickly strips in front of him, finally slipping out of her black, see-through underwear while he's trying not to shake from dark urges and lust.

When she's naked, flush and bare, her fingers start to slide up her thigh. The other hand is pressed against her side as if shy. She’s either offering him a Christmas present in the most elegant way, or then she’s concerned about getting licked and fucked sore. It's like throwing a dog a meaty bone and then putting the hound in a loose chain, just an inch away from the mouthwatering sight and scent. She steals one look at his erection, currently trying to rip its way through his pants. The gross tent is pointed at her, and she knows it: she knows she has him on a leash, but only barely.

"Go ahead then," she whispers.

He falls straight to his knees, and presses his whole face against her softly trimmed hair. When he opens his mouth, she shudders, clearly not ready for someone this starved trying to devour her whole.

She doesn't know she's about to sleep with the devil… If she knew, she would be out the door by now.

It's too late now: he engulfs her, locks her in place by wrapping his arms around her hips. 

Mein.

Mein.

Mein…

He could rub his face in her sweet cunt forever, but that won't do: she said he could lick her, so that’s what he’s going to do. After a few bites and nibs, after inhaling the sweet scent of her and squeezing her long and hard in his embrace, he finally rises and carries her to his den. There’s only loneliness there in his bedroom, just stale sweat and old musk staining the sheets, but she softens on the linens when he goes down on her.

Her pussy is already throbbing and wet when he gives her the first, fat lick. Next up, soft little laps to make her thighs drift apart. Some long, teasing circles on her clit, and she starts to sigh - he’s not an expert, but he knows she won’t find a more enthusiastic cunt licker in this city. Or this whole country… Perhaps the entire world.

And she's not a screamer, she’s a moaner. She also whimpers a lot. He switches between giving fast attention to her clit, then slow tongue fucking to her hole. The scent of pussy fills his room: they only talk to each other through moans and whines and groans. He breathes into her like a panting dog: she whimpers under torture like she actually likes it, and likes him. Like she actually prefers his bed to any other place in this world.

He fucks her with his mouth, sloppy and hungry; he could french kiss her pussy forever like this. He could spend every evening licking her to ruin. 

"Just like that… Just like that… Don't stop…"

He's as hard as can be; he's about to lose his fucking mind. If she doesn't cum soon, he might just die from having to listen to those unhinged cries. 

To help her out – because he's a generous, generous man – he slips a finger inside, earning another spill of filthy moans.

"Oh god ohgod oh fuck–!"

She sounds dumb and helpless as he eats her out like she’s his last meal. His chin is drenched and his cock is hard as the poor girl leaks all over her ass and on his bedding. He adds another finger, starts to fuck her slow and steady. She's more than prepared for his cock, and when he starts to do the alphabet on her clit, she whimpers, whines, and finally, screams. 

The feel-good hormones flood his brain when she cums. He kisses her through it and slows down the torture gradually, gives her some space to pulse and throb and leak against his chin. 

Women need a lot of stimulation; that’s what he has learned. It’s a marathon, not a sprint, and he doesn’t want to ruin the explosion by overriding her senses. When he rises from a job well done, he sees how some of her makeup is ruined. 

Yeah. Fuck... A screamer, a moaner, and a crier.

And he's only about to fuck her…

"Das war gut. Good pussy," he mutters and licks his lips, high above his pretty little prize.

"Oh–oh god…"

Poor thing is so flushed, desperate and helpless; she jerks as he taps her clit with his cock, whines when he forces the fat, leaking tip into her folds. 

"Wait–"

"I will fuck you now."

"Sir… Please, could we use a condom? Please…"

She's still calling him sir like she's at work. Like he's her superior, or worse yet, an officer, a colonel she's not supposed to flirt with, let alone spread her weak little legs for. 

"Hm. I don't have any."

"I do," she's panting heavy on the bed, clearly reluctant to get away from his cock, too weak to get up after his thigh-shaking treatment. It would give him a year’s worth of confidence to witness her in this state, if she would only let him finish the job. Right here, right now. Dip it in raw and blow a load inside that sweet, aching cunt. She might just end up with his child... 

But the moment is ruined: he hates condoms, and he hates it that she has them with her. Jealousy starts to eat his mind like there's a can of worms poured inside his brain.

Who does she carry condoms for? Does she get fucked often...? 

How many does she have, one, two, three? A whole pack?

She rises to get the darned piece of plastic, and the thick thunder in his head is making him seriously consider locking her up and throwing away the key. Women shouldn't be running around like that, hungry and desperate for a dick. She should stay at home, his home, and go crazy when he returns from war. The rage is the only thing keeping his cock from growing soft. 

"It's too small," he laments when the condom is finally in place but barely reaches the base of his shaft. It's going to roll off if he fucks her like he intended to… Good, long, deep and hard.

She bites her lip as she stares at the sad little wrapping trying to render his cock harmless. Surely she can see how stupid and useless this is… Either he gets her a morning after pill tomorrow or then he pulls out, but the condom has to fucking go. 

"It's… okay," she swallows. "It's okay. Let's just… If you're clean?"

"I am."

He doesn't tell her he hasn't had a woman in months. Almost over a year.

And he’s clean; he keeps everything…in ordnung.

He rolls the cursed plastic off, and his cock immediately bounces back up: hard, demanding and ready. He throws the condom away, just somewhere, anywhere, as long as it's out of his sight. Wasting no time, he's back at her cunt, and bullies himself in.

"Ah ja… Das ist schön… Sehr schön."

Nothing compares to the feel of a real cunt, hugging him tight. And fuck… He can actually fit fully inside her. He fits like a glove. 

"Oh ja. Das ist... I'm not going to pull out. It's not an option. Ok?"

It's not a warning, it's a simple, honest statement. She looks at him with a fearful, desperate stare as his balls arrive to press against her flesh. Yes... nothing beats a wet pussy and a frightened stare.

"Ok…" 

"It's better this way," he promises, wondering if it would make him a bad person if he disposed of her condoms first thing in the morning. "Ja?"

"Yes," she sighs. "Feels so good…"

The tightness in his chest falls down, all the way to his stomach and forms a bittersweet knot there. Why does she keep looking at him like that…? He's not hurting her, she's not exactly afraid, it's something else that's making her give him those dumb doe eyes.

"You're pretty," he rasps while trying not to start a complete fuckfest in every meaning of the word.

"O‐oh…?"

"Ja… It's illegal to be that pretty. Someone might want to fuck you..."

"Please do," she almost chokes on the words while looking up at him. "Please…"

If this is a dream, it’s the best dream he’s ever had. She's so perfect, far more needy and helpless than he ever imagined. He moves before he drives them both to madness. 

"I'll fuck you, Liebling. As many times as you want. As hard as you want."

He can't remember when was the last time he sounded so soft. Or reassuring... He can't remember the last time a woman was so responsive to his cock. But he fucks her. He fucks his own sorrow into oblivion, too. He pauses only to take a good look at her and remind himself that he’s truly inside the sweetest pussy he’s ever had. 

He even whispers lies to her ear about how she doesn't have to worry: he'll get her a plan B after this. The girl turns a bit wild now that it's somewhat safe to be fucked by an animal. She lets him lick and bite her breasts, and thoroughly abuse her cunt. At some point she grabs his face with both hands and kisses him, hungry and sweet. Squeals into his mouth as his balls slap against her ass, hugs him like a drowning person when he picks up the pace and starts to lose himself in her pussy. The feel of a woman's hands around his middle is a sensation he's forgotten completely. 

"You like that?" He starts to talk nonsense between her sloppy kisses, pleased with his own soft voice, with her, with everything in his life right now. "You like my cock? Hm?"

"Yes… Oh fuck, I'm…"

Fuck, she's about to cum again... He's in heaven, no, he's somewhere near Eden. She suddenly goes still, and sinks her nails in his back, just before a cry cuts through the air. It reminds him of the aftermath of a grenade detonating; her moans pierce the air, and he can’t get enough of it. He wants to swim in those screams.

He was supposed to make love to her for hours, but it's crystal clear now that this won’t be a long session. He's a selfish asshole for chasing his own peak next by fucking her through her second orgasm like a rabid dog. 

"Oh das ist sehr schön, das ist gut… Ach für–scheisse—"

He sounds a bit too pathetic, and quickly buries his face into her neck to escape her lovely, adoring stare. He fucks himself into a big, fat, blinding explosion, he can barely hear the thundering roar that meets her sweaty neck. 

She's scared silent by his despair, poor little thing. And he just fapped this morning… But the orgasm compares to the first time he came, it's violent, abrupt and rough. Sadly, the descent is too heady, and too quick. Nuzzling deeper into her hair, he tries to listen to her heartbeat but only hears his own beastlike panting.

"Ok… Ok. I guess we both really needed that, huh?"

She's laughing and out of breath as she gathers their pieces and constructs some kind of a new reality out of them. He rumbles in agreement and refuses to pull out – now that he's inside her, he'll never fucking leave.

"Will you stay? For the night…?"

His question is met by complete silence. She just breathes, then buries her fingers in his hair. He feels like melting chocolate; for the first time in his life, he's somewhat relaxed and content. 

"I… I'd really like to but… I can't. I have a party to attend.”

She gives him a quick kiss on the head, then ruffles his hair. She fucking pets him while he’s plunging into some deep recess with the raw, post-nut clarity. 

She just needed a fuck… She just needed some cock. And a gift card, so she can buy nice things for the men she allows to lick her to ruin. Fuck… She's even worse than him.

“I'm sorry..."

"It's ok," he hears himself say. She’s too fucking gentle as she drags her fingertips across his scalp. Her other hand comes to trace his jawline, and her thighs hug his waist so good that he would have no trouble making love to her again. Just start another round with a slow roll of hips. Fuck her until they're both sweaty and crying, fuck her full of his cum and chain her to the bed, for safekeeping as he goes and gets himself a beer in between the sessions.

For some reason, he can't quite bring himself to act on this wish. Not when she just cried from how good he was, not when she's petting him like he's a good dog who's earned his rest.

He gives himself a minute before pulling out, and she leaves his bed in silence, tiptoeing into the bathroom in a hurry. Trust a maid to not want to stain the floor with cum when she just scrubbed everything clean…

She takes a quick shower and fixes her makeup, then picks her clothes from the floor. His heart is hammering in his chest, but his breaths remain even as he watches her get dressed. He even offers her a ride to the party, which she accepts with apologetic gratitude. It’s held at someone's home: a house party is a sight he has only ever seen from outside.

She gives him an uneasy, distant smile and a quick kiss before thanking him for the evening and the ride. Then she half walks, half runs across the pavement and up towards the door to be let in by her already drunken friends. Some man embraces her, and the white rage inside his skull is telling him to grab a gun, rise from the car and start a good old mass shooting. Instead, he guides his stare to the asphalt and drives off.

He goes home and has a beer, the rage and longing giving his insides a good stab every five or ten minutes. He watches some TV, then mulls over whether to sleep on the couch because her scent is still on the sheets.

It starts to rain outside, and reality kicks in. When it rains, it pours… He decides he actually hates Christmas, and he also can't stand the smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. Too tired to dump them in the trash, his feet carry him to the bed, cold and soiled and wrinkled from past love that never was.

The clock is only half past ten, and the doorbell rings just before he takes his shirt off. For the umptieth time this day, his heart starts to race, reminding him that it's not wars that are cruel, but women. 

When he opens the door, she's standing there in the rain. Utterly soaked, dripping wet, sad like a stray cat, lower lip trembling from cold.

"Sir?" she declares, "I'm afraid to fall in love."

There’s a spread of wings inside his chest, catching wind like a soaring eagle. It’s a fell swoop and a heady high at the same time, a burning pain right there over his heart as he looks at her, lonely and sad and so adorably lost. Beautiful and wet, like a trampled little flower after a summer storm. She's perfect, just perfect.

And has she walked all the way back here…? There’s no sign of a taxi, no sounds of a car or a bus, and she looks like she's wetter than a wet dog.

"You’re afraid to fall in love…?"

She nods, then bursts into tears. Her tiny shoulders rise and fall with sobs, the rain makes long, wet strings of her hair. He takes a step and tries to pull her in, but she won't come. Stubborn, incredible little thing…

"Liebling... Me too."

"Really?” she raises her sad stare to meet him while trying to wipe her ruined mascara in the midst of falling rain. “You seem like the kind of man who fears nothing..."

"Oh I fear a lot of things."

"Like what?"

"Like… flying, for example."

"But you fly all the time?"

"Exactly."

She's sniffling and pouting and sobbing, like a princess who always got everything she wanted. He wonders if she's the kind of girl who would've laughed at him in high school, or looked him down her nose. If she would've joined the bullies and been the one to say she’d never sleep with a freak like him…

"Let's get you inside. Hmm? You must be cold."

She won’t come, no matter how hard he tries to coax her to come inside his dry, warm house. The rain falls in mats behind her as the city sleeps, vibrant and vigilant. He thought he already broke his heart to the point it couldn’t get more broken anymore, but the look she gives him as he tries to pull her inside is making it burst and shatter into pieces again.

If she's a princess, she must be a battered, broken one. 

"Come on. I'll give you a bath," he tries to entice her. "And then we’ll tuck you in. That sound gut?"

"Yes," her shoulders drop as she finally accepts his asylum. "Thank you, sir…"

"And don't call me sir unless you want to make me hard."

She breaks into a fragile, shy smile while looking down at the tips of her drenched ballerinas. Then she allows him to drag her in. 

He helps her out of her coat and hangs it to dry while his pretty little kitten gets out of her clothes for the second time this evening. A strong, powerful possessiveness settles in his chest as he guides her to the bathroom and draws her a bath. Then he pulls her shivering, naked body against him so that she wouldn’t feel cold while they wait for the tub to fill with water.

What happens next is soft and gentle, the kind of unhurried exploration he never had time to do because the few females he was with were always in a hurry to get away from him and his needs. 

This pretty thing just eases herself into the bath. A timid but trusting little creature, who allows him to study her body like it’s already a possession for him to play with. She lets him rub her tits and tease her clit, caress her neck and face and waist. She does so with patience, love and hope. He’s been extremely tender and extremely slow with her; perhaps that’s why she doesn’t run away from him. 

"You're too good for me," she whispers when his hand comes to rest on her stomach, just below her tits.

"...What?" 

He barely hears what she’s saying, he can hardly hear her speaking at all because he’s there in the water with her, submerged in the hot, soothing liquid, even if he’s crouching next to the tub in reality.

"Oh please... You're everything a woman could want," she complains softly.

"What do you mean.”

She sighs and looks up to the ceiling, as if begging for help. Then she starts to list things.

"You're… Rich? And powerful, and strong. Kind and considerate. Mysterious... With a great body and a big dick, and still wanting to go down on a woman... It's insane."

He tries to remember how to breathe, but she’s not done yet.

"I'm sorry but… No one's ever eaten me out like that. You must be so experienced."

Her praise eclipses everything, even the thoughts of wanting to kill everyone who's had a taste of her.

So, the boys she's been with don't know how to please her… Stupid arschlochs don't understand what true devotion means. Even a fucker like him knows it's better to make a woman cry out of pleasure than out of fear. Although he always had a talent to do the latter…

And he's not experienced, he's just fucking horny. He just likes to eat pussy. 

But that's not something she has to know. Better to have her keep the illusion that he's a dream catch, a rich cosmopolitan of some sort. What a joke…

"You’re literally perfect," she moans from the bath like the princess that she is. "How are you even single?"

"I'm not… right in the head, I guess."

"Well, neither am I."

He can’t look at her. Not when she’s open and trustful and sweet like this. But her hand comes to rest over his, under the water, under the safety of the surface.

"No one is."

"No. Wirklich, I’m a bit sick. Always was. I jerked off to your…" He leaves the rest of the sentence unsaid, risking a look into her eyes. 

"I know," she smiles. "I don't mind… Actually I think that's hot."

"Liebling…"

"I think I’ve had enough now. Can we go to bed…?"

"Of course."

She giggles when he lifts her from the water, smiles as he dries him with his towel like she's a wet little kitten he rescued from rain. And perhaps he did... She caresses his chin when he carries her to bed, and reaches for him as he accompanies her under the sad, steel-blue sheets. 

He doesn’t need to fuck her, not right now. It’s enough that she’s here: soft, trapped, and tame. His, just his. 

Not another lonely Christmas for him ever again…

And she latches herself onto him like he’s the saviour she’s been waiting for all her life. Poor thing doesn’t know that he may be rich and powerful and strong, but he’s not kind. He’s not considerate, and he’s not perfect. He’s her worst nightmare, he's everything a woman would despise. 

He’s single because no one ever stayed. No one stayed after they saw who he really was... Some even had to flee the country.

But he knows she’ll stay. He’ll make sure that this cute one never leaves. No, this one is not safe from him, even if she tried to escape him to space.

"Are you still afraid?"

He caresses her head, pressed against his chest. She’s unsuspecting and lovely, the perfect woman, hugs him so tight and sighs from simple, lamblike happiness. 

"No," she smiles softly. "Not at all... I know you'll treat me right."

[satoruhour]

toji’s reaction to seeing you in short shorts/booty shorts around the house 🏃‍♀️

PAYBACK

a/n: sorry anon i didnt exactly like how this turned out but i still hope u enjoy !!!

wc: 2.1k

warnings: sorta crack-ish in the beginning, pleasure dom toji, soft dom toji, praise, toji is obsessed w/ you, kitchen sex, clothed sex, oral (f! receiving) / cunnilingus, pussy slaps! (both w/ his hand and d!ck), fingering, clit stimulation, tit + ass fondling, unprotected sex, p → v penetration, creampie / breeding kink, brief aftercare, n*sfw under the cut

there were things that toji was good at holding back on, like telling you that you might’ve added a bit more garlic than butter for a garlic spread. he doesn’t tell you how your body heat warms him up fast and he desperately wants to pull away from you, but your slumbering state is so peaceful he would rather burn. 

and then sometimes he wishes he would just bite the bullet (even if you were his baby), because you were currently getting back at him for giving you the silent treatment. if he could do it over a trivial thing, so could you. toji’s probably still mad about your guess in charades, where you couldn’t understand that he was telling you he was riding a tricycle and not a bicycle, that mere difference of wheels causing a major roadblock in your relationship.

it was by far the stupidest thing you’ve argued about (you assume he had a bad day, too), and you were willing to talk things out and tell him he could’ve just put up three fingers instead of pointing aggressively to an invisible tricycle, but he opts to glare at you and sigh instead. you can’t believe he’s getting this worked up over a game of charades too, so you tease him the only other way you know how to.

it hadn’t been that long since you talked, but you figured you’ll need to start on dinner soon, getting a sick idea in your head when you see the new booty shorts you had ordered laying on your bed. you definitely thought it would be better for another day, but life is short and toji is not, so you pull them on and they feel divine, remembering the content smile on your face when your boyfriend had offered to pay for them — a reward well received when you check out your ass in the full-length mirror and the way it shaped your lower half.

the evening carries on as usual, but you can feel his stare once you emerge from your room in one of his shirts and he thinks you aren’t wearing any pants until you’re pulling out saucepans and reaching for the spices in the top cupboard that his shirt rides up and he can see your plump fucking ass; he chokes on his water.

with your back turned, you stifle a little grin and continue with your chores as the shorts ride up with each walk from living room to kitchen, but it’s all under the guise of cleaning and setting the table, wiping aimlessly, too, at the coffee table in front of the TV where toji sat, even if you weren’t eating there. you feel eyes on you when you return to the kitchen and continue your torture, cooking up a storm and bending over while looking into the fridge, while pulling out the plates for dinner, while—

“those the shorts i bought you?” bingo. although you’re not quite ready to talk to him yet, you succumb with a curt nod. toji obviously isn’t satisfied with your answer, footsteps approaching to lean on the kitchen island as his eyes keep his gaze locked at your butt.

“gonna ignore me for the whole day, hm?” it seemed like toji had other plans, his larger hand trailing up your thighs to your ass before curling around your waist. he’s pressing his front against you, hips grinding slightly even though you know he wants to do anything but that. you’re not wearing underwear, either, so the sensation of his bulge against your cunt is a lovely feeling and it takes everything in you not to moan.

you have to bring yourself back to reality to turn off the stove that feels so far away, hands clutching onto the countertops as you chase the familiar drag of your sex against his but toji only tuts, landing a slap onto your ass. “dinner first, baby.”

bastard. you roll your eyes and groan, but you didn’t seem to catch his innuendo, so you’re yelping when he suddenly flips you around and tugs at your shorts, pulling it off of a leg so there’s space for him. while your hands are pushing at his shoulders, desperately wanting to uphold your pride of ignoring him, you know the cool air against your cunt and the sight of fushiguro toji on his knees is only making you wetter.

and toji just smirks, looking up at you like his revered deity and you jump again at his cold hands prying your thighs apart, bringing a leg to rest on his shoulder. toji looks in love with your pussy, seeing your hole clench around nothing as your eyes beg for him to do something, anything, but he only continues to tease, running his thumbs along your folds and just missing your clit.

“use your words, sweetheart.”

“need…” toji raises an eyebrow, cheek leaning casually against your thigh and he grins as he sees you fight your own pride like you don’t want his tongue and fingers on you. give it a little more and you’ll break, because through the silence of your shared home and your heavy breathing, the tension is so infuriating that you’re willing to push away that stupid game of charades to the back of your brain.

you hate how needy you sound, though. “i need your tongue… p-please, baby,” you plead and drag out the name, and in the stuffiness of the kitchen, you think toji, one of the strongest men you know, looks the fucking best when he’s smiling up at you with a wanton want behind his eyes. “wan’ you, toji, wan’ you to eat me out!”

“oh… of course, when you beg like that,” toji plants a kiss to your puffy clit and the simple gesture makes you whine, “how could i say no to my pretty baby?”

toji delves in like he’s never eaten before, licking a thick stripe up your pussy to collect your slick before lapping at your clit, garnering a loud moan that reverberates throughout the house. you wish you never called him out on his terrible acting skills from the start, one hand keeping your balance while the other tugs on his black hair. harder and harder.

toji groans at your impatience as he feels you spread your legs further, moans and whimpers filling his ears. one hand sneaks under his shirt and squeezes at your tits, the other hugging you closer to him, fondling your ass at the same time. your boyfriend takes in everything, from your pleasured expression to your contracting tummy and he can feel himself harden below him.

but you come first, you always come first and he makes it clear when he halts for a second and you whine at the lack of contact. “eyes here, baby.” toji calls out to you, slapping your cunt and you jolt at the feeling, although it’s not entirely unpleasant; your eyes flit down to him. the other grins again and slaps your pussy a few more times, the wetness of your sex making loud, obscene noises, “tell me how good i’m making you feel, yeah?”

you mewl as you nod as his fingers prod at your hole and you swear the sudden intrusion has your stomach turning. you’re clamping down on his fingers which sets a pace, buried right up to the ends of his fingers as his palm collects your slick. your lover continues to abuse your clit, alternating between flicking his tongue and sucking.

“o-ooh, shit! they’re so deep, tojiii!” the moans you let out were almost pornographic, breathless and needy with how good he was giving it to you, the familiar feeling of an orgasm creeping up on you. his fingers keep a constant pace, stretching you out so well and the roughness of them feel so contrasting on your body, but you love it. “toji, i— fuck, i’m c-close!”

“taste so good, doll. c’mon, cum on my tongue.” the older man is ruined too, the heat of the kitchen getting to him with how the strands of his hair stick to his forehead, but more than that, he’s grinding into thin air, wanting any sort of relief for his hardening cock. “you taste like heaven, oh shit...”

“t-toji— i’m! oh, fuck, fuck fuck—!” it’s not long before you’re unravelling in his hold, legs trembling and incoherent babbles spilling from your lips as toji licks up your release leaving from your dripping, tight hole, sure to lap up every last drop. his emerald eyes hold yours as he cleans you up, body still twitching and shivering from the mind-blowing orgasm before he stands and removes his fingers, holding it to your lips.

“suck.” and you do, keeping eye contact as you wrap your tongue around him like you would to his cock, free hand already making pulling down his sweatpants that has a little pre-cum leaking through it.

“up you go, darling,” toji mumbles, plopping you onto the counter with ease, and because he’s so tall, his pelvis perfectly lines up with yours. it’s probably also because you envisioned this happening, though, that you made sure to pick out a kitchen countertop with the proper height. he slaps the tip of his cock on your glistening pussy, an angry red from being neglected, groaning as your arousal provides lube with no problem.

“just so you know, i’m buying you more of those stupid shorts,” toji confesses before he pushes past your entrance, tip already stretching you so well that you laugh and moan at the same time, arms flying to encircle his neck to feel him closer. “f-fuck, baby… so tight, just for me…”

“’s all yours, toji,” you whimper softly, an unspoken look in your eyes that just says that i’m yours for you to use, “this pussy’s all y-yours— mmf—”

by then, he’s bottomed out, taking his time in filling you up inch by inch and your submission is reason enough for him to start rocking into you, hips faltering just a little by how warm and snug you felt that it has toji catching his breath. but he doesn’t hold back once you’re comfortable, bullying his cock into you at a faster pace into your pussy that sucks him in so well with each thrust.

“your tight, little pussy’s g’na make me cum faster than usual, pretty,” toji says with a breathless laugh, mouth tasting the sweat that lines your body as he kisses your neck. 

“that’s— okay,” you choke out, pulling him away from the embrace and the sight that greets you takes your breath away. dark, lustful eyes trained on you and a stunning smile to match; you see your lover’s eyes soften ever so slightly when he hits that sweet spot in you, “i’ll take all— fuck- all of your cum, okay?”

and toji almost cums at that moment but he knows if he looks at you any longer and how your tongue lols out at how his cock fits so well in you, he just might; so he just settles for frantic nods, and nudges your head down to look at how his length moves in and out of you. your slick and his pre-cum is leaking all over the counter, squelching noises filling the kitchen. “look at how well you take me. good fuckin’ girl is what you are.”

you giggle at the praise because you know toji means every word, but your moans take over soon. there’s the twist of your core, that edging feeling that toji’s drawing out of you so well — it doesn’t help how he brings a hand to your clit, rubbing circles that you’re close, so close.

“toji, toji, toji—” chanting out his name is all you can do when you’re fucked silly, spilling over unexpectedly as you clamp down hard on his cock. toji groans when he feels you spasm over his length, hips not stopping even after you ride out your orgasm. you’re cumming so much that his stomach is wet, too, the pap! pap! pap! of his pelvis against your pussy sounding so filthy.

your babbles converge into three words, mumbling out i love yous to the older man and soon toji cums as well, swallowing your tearful confessions with a sloppy kiss and he’s releasing deep inside you. he can feel your mewls through the kiss, no doubt loving how his thick cum is spilling into you. his seed is hot, leaking from his tip in ropes and ropes until you’re filled to the brim and you sigh, content with how it feels in you.

your lazed hums make him chuckle, kissing you again and softer this time. “my baby, my sweet baby,” toji makes sure to wipe your eyes after, and mutters apologies against your forehead for the dinner turning cold, but when he sees you and your languid smile, he knows you don’t mind.

thirsts and drabble requests are open!

[mogamuncher]

Heeey I'm back! It's finally time for the full Cakeverse analysis gang!

Ok, so, for a refresher:

There's the Forks, the Cakes and the Plates (normal people), and it goes like this:

Plates are just normal people, the majority of the world population, nothing new here.

Forks: Can't taste and sometimes can't smell either, sometimes they used be able to taste but lost it with age; either way, they can only ever taste cakes.

Cakes: Basically normal people except that they're delicious, everything from them (flesh, tears, saliva, etc) tastes like cake (or other foods if you want). You can't tell who's a cake or not unless you're a Fork that's tasting them in some way.

Now, I have to add some stuff that's really interesting and that the og author said, that we'll be getting into today.

• Forks go absolutely bat shit insane when they taste the Cakes most of the time, that can lead to a lot of things, cannibalism, sex, or (if you're cultured) both.

• Both Cakes and Forks suffer from their own societal plights. Cakes die a lot, and Forks when discovered are instantly pinned as murderers, criminals and perverts, even if they haven't done anything wrong yet.

• Cakes can derail a Fork's entire life, and Forks are like sin and temptation to Cakes.

Now, I want to talk about these because they absolutely fucking vexed me and now I want to make this all of y'all's problem.

「The First Taste」

It's essentially a common rule as said by the author that the Forks go insane after feeling the taste of a Cake, now, let's talk about: Why?

See, Cakeverse is technically an Au based from the likes of Omegaverse, which you can see by the structure being similar to Alpha/Beta/Omega with the three types of people out there. But, in ABO the Alphas going insane is due to a specific event, heats, which are there specifically for reproduction and are said to bring out animal instincts out of people's control, while Forks are based on simply taste, food, and not something as biological.

Of course it's up to the individual writer to an extent, but my interpretation of why Forks lose it when they taste Cakes is more psychological when compared to Alphas in the Omegaverse.

Imagine that you are completely unable to see color, never once have you seen one, you grew up hearing all about how wonderful colors are, you saw others compliment the colors of several works of art, you heard all about the colors of the world around you, but all that you see is beige and grey. Now, imagine that one day you bump into someone, and suddenly you're able to see all the colors, for the first time ever in your life, you can finally experience blue skies and green grass, you can see the same way the rest of the world sees, something that was fundamentally missing from you is finally gifted to you by this stranger on a silver tray.

You're finally complete.

That's the reality of what Forks go through, years of eating tasteless food, seeing people enjoy food wholeheartedly and rant about the tastes, hearing about the differences between expensive food and cheap food, and then suddenly finally tasting cake. Of course they go insane and fixate on it, it's like the final puzzle piece finally sliding into place, something that they've been missing this whole time being manifested with only a taste.

Before, eating was a chore, something simply to survive there was no joy in it, no fun to be found in desserts or snacks, but with only a single kiss the Fork finally feels what it is like to crave food, to want food for the taste.

Cakeverse in nature is oddly psychological, playing with the concept of taking away something extremely core to the human experience, taste. It's inherent and everyone has it, you'd probably feel like a freak of nature if you didn't have something while everyone else has, right?

That's what Cakes bring Forks; normalcy, joy and purpose, it's basically like a shot of endorphins all at once straight into your bloodstream, there's a good chance it'd hit like a truck and fuck you up majorly.

Forks acting rashly probably looks different than when Alphas do the same, because the motive is inherently different, but the desperation is arguably more raw.

A lot can be written on what that reaction would be:

Immediately trying to taste the Cake (kissing, licking, biting), trying to play cool only to strike later (potential kidnapping, manipulation, planning and scheming in general), the Fork can try to resist temptation or maybe the Cake can notice the extreme reaction and run away, maybe the Cake can instigate and bait the Fork to take a bite.

It could lead to fluff, to relationships starting, relationships ending, it could smut, it could be gory cannibalism, hell, it could be both.

Either way, the sheer amount of character study that could be made out of this tidbit alone is insane, and the story concepts don't stop there!

「We Do, In Fact, Live In a Society」

Cakes don't know who they are until it's too late, but I can imagine that in society they'd be treated with a lot of extra care if they are known beforehand, as they are constantly in risk of dying.

Imagine that they'd also be majorly babyfied, the "nooo poor babies that can't do anything wrong, poor helpless and weak Cakes, they clearly can't take care of themselves, they're so vulnerable, don't worry I'll speak for you to protect your honor" would be insane. Any Cake that consensually and willingly gets with a Fork will be doubted if they truly wanted to do it, think nosy people pulling them aside to ask if they're ok and pressing to see if they're abused, think people immediately thinking that Cakes can't consent to anything with a Fork on principle despite them being grown adults.

Online discourse would definitely have people saying "Cakes are minor coded" or some shit, mark my words.

While Forks would be instantly persecuted for everything. Because of something they didn't choose, that was inherited at birth, they now are fully seem as murderers, kidnappers, rapists and just the lowest of the low. People will gossip, people will get defensive, people will cower any time you slightly raise your voice, you're seen as a predator, treated no different than a wild bear. To society at large, you're an unruly dog, and all eyes will be on you forever, watching, waiting for the day that you take a bite.

In a sense, it's almost like any Forks that do commit crimes instantly have a justification to do so, it's expected, really, you're a Fork, of course you'd snap one day. It's both maligned and normalized, everyone expects it and it almost gives Forks a reason to do so. Forever a self fulfilling prophecy.

Now I'm sorry that I'll keep bringing the Omegaverse up, it's just that it's really handy for comparison, but I find it fascinating that in a way, the societal effects of this are a mish mesh of the societal views seen in ABO, but like, in a way that doesn't make me want to vomit.

Can I be so fr with you guys right now? I don't like the societal parts of the Omegaverse, ever since I was a kid in the early hay days of the internet, that always made me uncomfortable, and it's also a bit lazy in a way. The problems in society with the Omegaverse are basically just Sexism, it's misogyny with mpreg, and a lot of fics end up feeling like a Handmaiden's Tale with mpreg. Replace Alphas with men and Omegas with Women and you get the Omegaverse, though it gets a bit interesting since there technically is a built-in "fuck or die" and aphrodisiac system with heats/ruts, but very few writers do something interesting with it.

My problem is that it's always either uncomfortable or outright boring, very little fics do it well and most of the time authors simply choose to side step it altogether, which I completely understand and actually prefer at this point.

I bring all this up because Cakeverse actually brings a lot of interesting concepts up in it's consequences on the world at large, the nature of Forks and Cakes mirrors a lot of real life concepts, but leaves enough fantastical elements that there's still intrigue in what could be explored and seem from authors writing certain details of it.

Would there be Cake support groups? Would there be Fork rights activists? Would there be people who are both Forks and Cakes, like a hybrid type? What are different relationship types seen as in the eyes of society as a whole?

It's all so complicated and the problems are different between the both of them, also, they're evenly split, which is a breath of fresh air.

Now, it's time to get even deeper into this, what are exactly Forks and Cakes relationship with each other like?

「Would You Still Love Me If I Was Cake?」

According to the author, Cakes can derail a Fork's life and Forks are temptation to Cakes. Now, why is that?

Imagine you're a Fork, living your life trying to do what you can with what's been handed to you, probably being discriminated against if you haven't been able to hide it well, when suddenly you taste someone (kiss or by accident, like a shared water bottle), and next thing you know you lose your mind. Your entire world falls apart, thoughts of dreams, future, your own sense of morality, it all melts away like sugar in water because you just experienced heaven and now it's all you can think about.

Someone completely normal beforehand, suddenly driven to obsession with just one moment, an entire life detailed into the unknown because they just had a taste of cake, thoughts being all about one person and their taste, the inability to stop even you're desperate to do so. It's madness, and almost like a tragedy, doomed by their own personal narrative of Fork meets Cake, the Forks turns into a starving beast whether they want to or not.

But Cakes? Imagine you have someone you love, and they want you so badly it drives them mad, imagine kissing the same lips that want to be stained with your taste, imagine putting yourself in the way of jaws that any of these days can close down on you and swallow you whole. You're constantly in contact with someone that could just straight up eat you, consume you whole and leave nothing behind, but your heart aches for them, you present yourself in a silver platter again and again.

Maybe you want to be eaten, to be consumed. Maybe you like being wanted, maybe you enjoy providing something to to others, you made them so happy that it doesn't even matter to you that they are taking chunks out of you, you'll gladly let yourself be torn apart if it means someone else is satisfied.

It's all about the usage of "Cannibalism as a Metaphor for Love™", it's all about loving someone but constantly wanting to eat them into non-existence, it's about to struggle between your brain heart and stomach.

It's about having your cake and eating it too.

The themes, the metaphors, the opportunities are endless and frankly I'm driving myself insane just imagining all of it, the angst also would be utterly fucking insane, imagine you live someone and you eat them, wouldn't you be upset? You loved them and you killed them yourself, with your own hands, their taste is on your lips and you licked your plate clean.

I'm screaming and crying and throwing up as we speak, the number of things you can do here are endless, soooo. . . Let's talk about some of my ideas!

「All My Fanfiction Titles Are Just Songs」

Last post I basically tagged a bunch of fandoms that I wish would use this trope (I'll also be doing that with this post), so now I'm going to showing some of the ideas I had for this AU that I might or might not write in the future, all of which you guys are totally free to use as prompts as well (just tag me on them lmao)

So, going ship by ship:

「Loveit」: Dead Plate fanfic, Vincent x Rody, Fork!Vincent and Cake!Rody. I imagine that the moment Vincent finds out is during the Best Served Hot ending, after biting Rody's ear, his reaction would show instantly on his face and Rody would notice right away. After that it can lead to a lot of things, fighting, smut and cannibalism galore, their relationship would only get more complicated after such a discovery. Hell, you can even have Vincent find out earlier, if you truly want more juicy drama, maybe Vincent will attempt to make Rody into the meal instead of Mason this time? For funsies you could even reverse it, Rody as a Fork would be fascinating to see, him bonding with Vincent that he also can't taste anything, only for him to find out later that he can taste Vincent himself, holy shit the intrigue.

「Eat You」: Death Note, Lawlight, Fork!Light and Cake!L. Imagine Light both having to hide the fact that he's Kira, but also having to hide the fact that he's a Fork, imagine the never leaving stain that being a Fork would be on his own self-perception of perfection, imagine the so called god that punishes criminals also being considered a criminal by default in society's eyes if he's ever found out. Kira selling out his own kind because most criminals would likely be Forks (whether they were rightfully convicted or not), and then comes in L, a detective, a nuisance, Light's equal and a Cake. Maybe Light would find that out later on, maybe while they're playing as friends in college or while chained together, and now L had effortlessly thrown another wrench in his life yet again by default, like they're meant to be opposed by fate itself, where Kira is a Fork L is a Cake. L would likely goad Light on, trying to bait Kira out, by any means necessary, even if it means being eaten.

「Eat You Piece by Piece」: Hear me out, Batjokes. Fork!Bruce having to hold himself back from breaking his own morals due to finding out Joker is a Cake, Fork!Joker only getting deeper into his Batman obsession after tasting a Cake!Batman, Both Forks bonded by not having taste, maybe both are Forks that differ on how they react to Cakes (Joker regularly eating them while Bruce retains his morals and chooses to not hurt them), maybe both Cakes that got here because they were almost eaten (different Batman and Joker origin stories?). The opportunities are all intriguing and promptly end in bloodshed, expect angst and discussions of what is moral, also just so much angst holy shit this shit hurts.

「I Eat Boys Up」: Dungeon Meshi, Labru, Fork!Laios and Cake!Labru. I'm thinking post canon by accident, maybe something like sharing utensils, and I'm going to be so fr with you right now, this story coming from me would be a lot of romanticism through food metaphors and unending smut, feral Laios is my equivalent of heroin and I could imagine him describing Kabru's taste in detail to him while eating him out. But if smut isn't your jam, exploring how Laios and his monster obsession, especially in the form of food, as someone who can't taste would be intriguing, in a story so closely tied to food, you have to wonder how it would all change if the main character couldn't even taste. Also, I doubt Kabru would take the knowledge of him being essentially prey well, so there's that bag of worms to go into if you want.

「Blame Gluttony」: This one is purely self indulgent but like, Re:Zero with any ship, Cake! Subaru and Fork!anyone else. Imagine Subaru's world doesn't have this Cakeverse nonsense at all, but the world he's transported to has, imagine how scary it would be that one loop he suddenly finds out that he's essentially universal prey here (maybe in the second loop with Elsa), imagine the weight of all the things that already are trying to kill him along with the fact that he's also got a new thing to worry about? Maybe instead of just the rabbit loop, there's now multiple loops where Subaru is eaten alive, maybe there's loops where his dear friends themselves are eating him. Can you imagine if Emilia was a Fork? If he found out after the kiss of death and she commented on the taste of his lips as he was dying, if it came up again after their kiss, Subaru having to tackle with his love and heart belonging to someone that would one day eat him whole. Imagine the witch not longer just wants to touch his heart or kiss him, but she also bites him when he tries to tell the secret. Imagine maybe Rem is also a Fork, imagine that his death by her hands also involved her tearing into him chunk by chunk. What if Otto was a Fork, what if Reinhard was one? Seriously all the opportunities are equally traumatizing and I'm living for it!

Honorable mentions include: Persona Shuake and Shuada (Fork!Protags and Cake!Detectives) for the optimal mutual murder extravaganza, Okegom DSP Satanivlis (Fork!Ivlis and Cake!Satanick) for a rare case of role swapping, South Park Kyman (any way works tbh) for mutually assured destruction, Slay the Princess (Fork!Princess and Cake!Birb) because themes, Soukouku (Fork!Dazai and Cake!Chuuya) for making canon even worse than it already is, frankly any investigrave game would be peak here, Hannigram for obvious reasons.

But that's all I have for now, so, what have we learned here?

We learned that: I'm mentally ill and you need to write about the Cakeverse NOW.