#fuck you get used to it or fuck off is an answer i suppose

[azsazz]

In Safe Arms (Part 2)

Bodyguard!Azriel x Celebrity!Reader

Summary: Anon Req: Hey ! Ik u are hella busy and I am so proud of ur for ur publication , but if u ever get time could u do a Celebrity reader x bodyguard az?

Warnings: A little PTSD for reader alluding to a horrific incident but not much described besides blood.

Word Count: 3,702

Notes: Happy New Year my loves!

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You’re jolted awake at the rocking of your SUV dipping into a pothole.

Your spine straightens on its own accord and your bleary eyes snap open, frantically scanning the space, on high alert. Your heart pounds in your chest as you desperately try to take in your surroundings. Outside the window, there is nothing but darkness, the skies and scenery draped in midnight-hour black.

It takes you more than a second to realize where you are. In the back of an SUV on your way to your parent’s charity gala that you cannot miss. Except that the weather in New York took a turn for the worse, a heavy blizzard that no news stations mentioned before you fell into an exhausted sleep last night. No planes in, and no planes out.

Which meant that you had to find alternative transportation to make it to Chicago before the gala, which meant that Azriel had to arrange safe travel for you to get there on time, his job already on the line from his mistake only days ago.

Not the kiss. Not the weak fucking moment he had in the bathroom of your suite after a passerby tossed an unknown object at you that split the skin above your brow.

Your parents don’t know about the kiss. You tried to convince Azriel that it wasn’t worth telling them, and he tried to convince you that it couldn’t happen again.

His eyes had been hard. He’d been wearing that same stoic mask he showed up on his first day with. “We can’t do that again,” he’d said, like the kiss was transactional. Like he didn’t feel the passion that lit your entire body up, the wanting in your bones.

No kisses have happened in the days since.

Your eyes connect with Azriel’s through the rear-view mirror and the sight of your infallible bodyguard has you relaxing against the warm leather seat, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Azriel says softly. His rough, gravelly tone sharpens his apology.

“It’s fine,” you brush off, but it’s not fine. Nothing that has anything to do with you is ever fine.

Silence takes over the car. He hasn’t even turned on the radio to keep him company while you slept. You frown at the thought, then realize that silence is probably what Azriel is used to, what he prefers.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” you admit.

Azriel’s gaze stays focused on the road, not another vehicle in sight. “You needed it,” he defends, and you shrug.

“Where are we?”

“A few hours away from the Ohio border,” Azriel answers. You glance at the neon glow of the clock. It reads just past one in the morning, which means that you still have seven or so hours of driving to go, depending on how bad the road conditions are.

You’re supposed to be in Chicago by ten a.m. for brunch with your parents and the charity director for the gala, but with all of the delays that have happened since New York, you’d much rather spend as much time as you can away from the crazy normal that is your life. This unexpected road trip feels like a breath of fresh air that you didn’t know you needed.

You squint, peering around the passenger seat. The roads are clear from snow, piled high on the sides of the highway, but that doesn’t mean that there can’t be patches of black ice to look out for.

You decide to keep Azriel company. You don’t want to be sleeping the night away peacefully while he navigates through four states to get you back to your parents. You know for a fact that he’s gone days without speaking a single word nor getting an ounce of sleep, but right now, with the dark of night blanketing the car, it feels cruel.

Azriel protests when you unbuckle and climb over the console, claiming the front passenger seat. His hands are white-knuckled around the steering wheel and he tries to keep his focus on the road, though you do catch him sneaking a protective peek over at you more than once. It makes you want to snort with amusement, there’s no threat here, unless he hits a patch of aforementioned black ice, but you trust Azriel with your life, so you should be fine.

And you are. Azriel’s shoulders don’t lose a strand of tension until your buckle slides locked with a click. Even then, he can hardly relax. “You shouldn’t be up here.”

“And you shouldn’t be driving this late at night,” you retort easily, kicking your feet up on the dash. Azriel’s hand comes down over your knee before you can fully prop up your legs, guiding you in a gentle yet stern matter to keep your feet on the floor. You follow his command so that he doesn’t banish you back to the back seat.

He hardly acknowledges you, focusing on the task at hand. Delivering you in one piece to Chicago in time to arrive at all of your scheduled meetings. He will not fail your family a second time.

With his focus pinned on the road, you drink your bodyguard in. His eyes flicker from the rearview mirror to the side mirrors to the windshield in meticulous rotation. You trail your gaze down the straight slope of his nose to his pink, plush lips. You haven’t stopped thinking about his mouth on yours since the desperate kiss you shared in your hotel room two nights ago, and a warm heat coils low in your stomach at the memory, waking you up.

“You look tired,” you murmur, distractedly. He does. The gray circles under his eyes aren’t the only thing giving Azriel’s exhaustion away. It’s in the way he blinks slowly, but forces his eyes wide. It’s in the way he drums his fingers against the steering wheel for something to focus on other than the road. It’s in the empty cup of coffee stacked on his old ones. He’s stopped thrice tonight for a caffeine boost and you slept though them all. He’d be jonesing for another if you hadn’t climbed up into the seat beside him. His entire body is tightened with alert now that you’re here.

He isn’t tired, he’s wired. Three large black coffees might have been too much, but it’s your presence that has Azriel more alert than anything. His skin heats at the feeling of your eyes on him, can feel every movement you’re making from across the console.

He taps his fingers against the wheel to expel the nervous energy. You wonder what’s going on because Azriel’s resolve never cracks like this. Everything was fine when you were in the backseat, asleep. He didn’t have to interact, possibly mislead you. He was free to dig into his mind, overthink every little thing that’s happened between the both of you since this little journey began.

He knows you too well. He has to. He’s read your file, like he does with all of his clients. Somehow, you’ve managed to worm your way into his mind, deeper than a flesh wound.

“I’m fine,” he assures. He rubs a hand down his jaw, the short stubble tickling his skin. He needs to shave.

“We should stop for the night,” you protest, catching glimpse of a sign on the side of the highway that shows that you’re only a few miles away from a town to get gas and sleep.

“We need to be in the city early,” Azriel refutes. He chances a glance over at you. Your arms are crossed over your chest and you’re wearing that stern, determined look on your face that makes his cock twitch in his pants. He keeps himself carefully still. “We don’t have time to stop.”

“I wasn’t suggesting that we stop for the night, Azriel,” you reply. “I was telling you that we are going to stop for the night.”

He should protest, he knows that he should. He doesn’t know anything about this town, if it’s filled with lunatics or people who’d try and harm either one of you for your expenses. The decked-out, expensive SUV is a sign screaming rich.

You don’t remove your glare from him until he veers the vehicle onto the exit ramp.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“I’ll take the chair,” Azriel says, eyeing the single bed in the room. “I won’t be sleeping anyway.”

Your nose scrunches. You stare at the chair for a long second and return your gaze to Azriel’s. The entire point of stopping for the night was to rest, to let the storm that caught up to you play out and hopefully finish the drive with clearer conditions.

Something clenches in your chest. You’re not sure if it’s your heart or your stomach or both.

He won’t sleep because there is only one bed.

“So, you’re going to sit in that chair,” you repeat like you don’t understand. You don’t, and you point to the faded green armchair. The rests are made of a blonde wood and the back of the chair sits so straight that there’s no chance anyone could actually fall asleep in it. “And do what? Watch me sleep?”

His jaw sharpens, the muscles flexing as he clenches his teeth. His hazel eyes follow the point of your finger for a fleeting second before returning to yours.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s watched you sleep.

“I’ll turn the chair toward the window,” Azriel answers like this is a solution. If it makes you uncomfortable, he will even wait in the car.

The real solution would be for him to get in the fucking bed with you and sleep for a few hours. You saw the stack of empty coffee cups in the car. You saw the strain in his posture, the way he was forcing himself from giving into his exhaustion.

A disbelieving noise crawls up your throat. He’s so fucking stubborn. It’s not like you’re both eighteen and the prospect of touching looms over you. No, you’re both adults. You’ve seen him sans clothes, even if it was an accident, and Azriel has been in the room with you during fittings with designers your father fully didn’t trust. He may have been turned toward the window, you toward the mirror, but there was always the thrill that maybe he’d peek over his shoulder, give you a long once-over, that maybe some sort of want would infiltrate his hard, hazel eyes.

You’ve imagined it more than once.

“Azriel,” you scold. You busy yourself with moving your luggage to the empty desk in the corner. The table wobbles as you set your things on it, but it stays upright. You quickly move back toward the bed and tug the blankets back, doing your best to reign in your cringe as you think about the possibilities of what could have gone on in this dingy motel room on the side of the interstate. You’re used to luxurious, five-star hotels catering to your every need, not rundown motels that reek of mothballs and crime.

Ghosts. Are there ghosts?

“We stopped here specifically so you could sleep,” you try to argue, but you sound distracted, and Azriel’s gaze snaps to yours, his shoulders straightening like he’s going into protective mode.

He catches you staring dazedly at the bed. Your fingers are curled tightly into the blankets, lips pressed together tightly. Your chest is rising and falling more quickly, and he rounds the bed, coming to your aid.

Azriel knows the life you’re used to living. What you must be thinking about a place like this. He could say something mean, mention how spoiled you are, how it’s just like the hotels you usually stay in, minus the amenities. He wants to tell you that people have done worse things in nicer rooms, especially the ones you tend to stay in, but he knows that your frozen features are due to something else, a dark memory that edges up every once in a while.

“Let me get you some fresh blankets,” he murmurs. His hand comes down around your wrist gently, drawing you slowly from your daze. The heat of his body sears through the thin fabric of your pajamas, and you latch onto that as you squeeze your eyes shut and force the memories away.

“No,” you choke, sounding much more put-off than you’d like. Azriel knows your past, you remind yourself, he knows everything about you, this isn’t you looking weak. You’re only human. “It’s fine, I—” you swallow roughly as a smatter of red conjures behind your eyelids. You try hard not to flinch, but it’s there, the blood on the walls like some fucking mural.

You look down at your hands, painted with the same crimson. Your clothes, and as you drag your eyes up to the bed—

“Hey,” Azriel snaps, hand planted firmly on your cheek, tearing you from the awful memory. You blink and your eyes latch onto his worried hazel ones. You didn’t even notice Azriel turning you around, how your hand went from clutching the sheets to fisting in his black button down. “You’re not there, you hear me?”

You nod because your throat is too tight to do anything else. Tears brim your eyes and Azriel wipes an escaped drop that drags down the apple of your cheek. His touch is too soft, too tender.

You pull away, ripping yourself from his hands. You turn toward the bed and don’t allow the dreadful recollection another thought. You slip between the sheets and try to hide your trembling movements by tugging the blankets all the way up to your chin.

You can feel Azriel’s presence behind you. You always can, whenever he’s in the room. It’s like the two of you are magnets. There is an attraction to him that you can’t place.

He knows that you won’t be sleeping now. That the harrowing memory of what you’ve been through lingers in the surface of your mind and if you should fall asleep, it will only haunt you worse.

Azriel’s known about your past, the terror that you’re trying so desperately to run from, to forget. It chases you like death is on your heels, ready to grip you with its bony fingers and drag you into the dark. He’s been briefed on how you might respond when the trauma inevitably claws its way back, but this is his first time experiencing it happening to you. How it grips you around the throat and threatens to consume you.

His jaw aches from grinding it so tight. The one thing that he can’t protect you from is the one thing he wants to protect you from the most.

He has a job, and this is part of it, he tells himself as he kicks his shoes off.  

“Shove over.”

“What?” You ask, confused. You peer over your shoulder to see Azriel shrugging off his jacket. It leaves him in a black t-shirt that clings to his body exactly the way you want to. You never thought you’d be jealous of a piece of clothing, yet here you are. You carefully tear your gaze away.

“You need to sleep and I know your stubborn, spoiled ass isn’t going to do it if I’m not doing it with you” he pauses. That sounded so fucking wrong, but Azriel trudges on. “So, shove over.”

You fight the smile that threatens to curve your lips at his comment. If it was coming from anyone else, you’d be offended, but you know that Azriel doesn’t mean it as anything other than a joke. You scoot further toward the edge of the bed, shivering at the cool sheets. Your goosebumps only prickle further when Azriel’s weight hits the mattress, and the warmth of his body washes over you.

You try not to let your breathing shallow as he settles himself in. He’s not even touching you, for Mother’s sake, and yet you’re responding as if you’re a teenager lying beside her childhood crush.

“Don’t think about it,” Azriel’s voice startles you.

You might smile at the rough demand in Azriel’s tone if you weren’t feeling like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for someone to come up behind you and shove you off.

“Easier said than done,” you mutter. When the light flickers out, your body locks, and the memory explodes in your mind like a fucking gunshot wound.

“I said, don’t think about it.” Azriel’s voice is a gruff command in your ear, snapping you back into reality. Your heart is pounding against your ribcage, and you can hear the struggle in your lungs as you try to gulp down what little air makes it through your constricting esophagus.

Hands wind their way around your waist and you don’t have a second to struggle before Azriel tugs you back into his chest, molding his body against your back. A warm, heavy arm is draped across your side, and his hand finds your shaking ones beneath the blankets, offering you a lifeline.

You clutch onto him. Azriel murmurs softly in your ear but you can’t make out the words. They’re in a different language. French or Italian or Spanish, you think. You sure that if he was speaking English, you still wouldn’t understand with the way that you’re focusing on fighting past the demons in your head.

The room is pitch black. You always sleep with a light on, even if it’s just the screen of your phone lighting up the darkness. You haven’t been in a blackened room like this since that night, and Azriel knows it, which is why, with some maneuvering, he turns on the flashlight on his phone and sets it on the bedside table, illuminating the room in an awful white light that has you all but melting into his body.

“Thank you,” you whisper. It sounds much too loud in the quiet of your motel room.

“Go to sleep,” he answers plainly. His bluntness almost makes you smile.

But you can’t go to sleep, and not just because of the lingering aftershocks of your memory. As those slowly eke away, you focus on the feeling of Azriel’s body pasted tightly against yours.

You swear you can feel every muscle that is packed onto his hard body through your clothes. Your ass is nestled against his front, and you want to wiggle oh-so badly, to writhe against him in the hopes of feeling what he’s working with down there.

He’s still fully clothed, you notice. Didn’t think twice about climbing into the bed behind you to console you. You wonder if he’s uncomfortable before realizing that with his military trained past, he must have slept in worse conditions than this before.

Which makes you cringe. Here you were, freaking out about a fucking motel when there are people who are going through much worse. Embarrassment flares your body and you squirm uncomfortably.

Azriel’s arms lock tighter around you, and he tugs you closer. You didn’t think there was a closer, but there is. His breath fans across your ear when he speaks. “If you keep moving like that, we’re going to have a lot more than a blizzard and stiff fucking sheets to worry about.” He sounds callous, but there’s a strain to his tone, one that has all of the fiery feelings in your veins converging between your thighs.

Your movements halt immediately. “Sorry,” you say, but there’s no sleeping now. Not when his words are out there, hanging in the air. That if you kept moving, you’d have a different kind of stiffness to think about. One that you’re much more interested in than the starchy sheets.

You close your eyes anyway, trying to fight off the interest stirring low in your gut. The image of Azriel naked, rolling on top of you drifts into your mind. Your pussy clenches when he slowly parts your legs and flashes you a devious smile before lowering himself between your legs.

Movement has your eyes jolting open. You’re holding your body so tightly that Azriel would be terrible at his job if he didn’t know that you weren’t asleep like you should be.

“Sleep,” Azriel reminds you brusquely. His hand splays across your stomach, his thumb stroking across the soft fabric of your shirt in a soothing motion, or what would be a soothing motion if you weren’t three seconds from creating the foulest dirty thoughts about him or two seconds away from actually doing something about it.

“Okay,” you breathe, trying to force annoyance into your words instead of the arousal that slips out anyway. Azriel’s thumb falters and you swear you feel something against the curve of your ass twitch. Your breath catches in your throat and now you know that the movement against your hind wasn’t a part of your imagination.

The noise you let slip has blood pooling into Azriel’s cock. He refuses to move, refuses to do anything except squeeze his eyes shut and practice the techniques he learned in the Royal Marines to keep himself in fucking check. He promised that after the kiss in the bathroom that he would keep away from you, that this relationship would stay professional only.

Professional feels so fucking far away from this.

You find the courage to whisper. “Azriel?”

He grunts in response, to let you know he’s awake and listening, and you like the sound all too much. “That doesn’t sound like sleeping.”

“I’m not sure that I can,” you admit.

Azriel sighs softly, his breath tickling your neck. “You didn’t even try,” he answers simply, but his fingers begin tracing a soft, soothing pattern across your forearm. You latch onto his hypnotic touch, wishing it would move further south. “Just think of better things. I’m here, and you’ll be alright.”

I’m here, and you’ll be alright. Because he’s your bodyguard, your protector, and he won’t ever let anything happen to you, mentally or physically.

You shut your eyes and think about those words, the soft touch from a man so callous and strong, long until you fall asleep.

[reignpage]

Piercer!Geto

Manx Norton: going over the limit

Contents: 18+ mdni, fluff, smut, grinding, making out, blowjob, deepthroating, throat fucking, swallowing, marks the end of their pre-relationship story

“We need to talk,” you say. 

Geto looks up from his journal, slow and steady like he knew you would come here and at this time. He sets his pen down. His hair is tied up completely today and there are dark bags under his eyes that you can’t bear to look at, so you don’t. Instead, you settle into the seat, without being asked, and you cross your legs and your arms. 

You mean business. 

“Good afternoon, pretty. You look gorgeous.” 

Sighing, you ignore that fluttering in your stomach. There’s no point in getting carried away by his charm; it’s his instinct to be sweet, otherwise he wouldn’t have as many clients as he does. But you’re aware, faintly and right at the very back of your mind, that his words have a bite to them — they’re complimentary whilst also accusatory. 

“I need an explanation, Geto,” you state firmly. 

His left eye twitches. It’s not a flicker or a nervous tick, it’s a flinch. You have the power, just like your sister said, when you were throwing her shoes out of the window, and she was offering advice as a means to fight your murderous intent off. It didn’t work.

There’s always something shifting between you, something unstable, and it’s been difficult to manage — you’re new to relationships, so new to venturing outside your comfort zone that you’ve relied so much on him to guide you. But you’ve also had to step up and make decisions for yourself. 

Your friends weren’t very helpful; they insisted you quit or bring a new man to the studio to make him jealous, and as tempting as it is to be petty, you know they wouldn’t solve anything. It’ll just make you feel bad and icky. 

So, you’ve chosen the high road, providing him the opportunity to share his side, to explain why he let you down once again and why everything between you had been built on a lie.

Nodding, he opens a drawer and takes out a familiar sheet of paper. Then, in a conversational tone, he asks, “What do you see?”

“It’s my CV,” you answer. Truthfully, you have no clue what game he’s playing; there’s something in particular he’s looking for but all you see is the whites of the paper and the lines of ink. 

“Look at it from the perspective of an employer looking to fill a hole in their establishment,” is his reply. 

You’ve heard that tone often, every day, in fact. It’s the tone he uses on clients when he needs to go over payment plans, or on suppliers when he needs to negotiate a new contract. But he’s never used it on you. Distant and devoid of attachment, it makes you feel uneasy. 

Fiddling with a loose thread on your sweater, you furrow your brows as you read over the paper. Geto is leaning back on the chair, hands folded on his lap, the pinnacle of confidence. That used to be so attractive. Now, you’re just a little peeved off. You were supposed to be the confident one; you came here on your own volition, even prepared a speech you practised with your sister.

You should have known he’d sweep the rug from under you. 

Frustrated, you groan and smack the sheet. “Just tell me what I’m supposed to see! I have no time for this.”

Smiling reassuringly, Geto doesn’t bat an eye at your outburst and instead, begins a lecture, “What I saw was a CV lacking in relevant work experience. In fact, you had very little experience. Your most recent job was in high school, when you worked as a librarian’s assistant for a day. The other things on there were debate club and a certificate for being a neighbourhood ‘sweetheart’, and I’m not even sure what that means.”

“Oh.”

To your embarrassment, he laughs. A blush is growing on your face and suddenly you’re very aware of how some strands of hair are sticking to your forehead uncomfortably, how the sweater you’re wearing is a little scratchy and that maybe, just maybe, you’ve overreacted terribly.

Maybe you should have confronted him sooner. Perhaps just as soon as you overheard him tell Miguel that your sister owes him a favour for hiring you. However, in your defence, you were feeling a little hurt from having been left at the restaurant — you waited for an hour, watching people pass by and give you sympathetic looks as you sent text after text to a man too busy with a client to realise time passed by. 

A week has gone by since then, and you haven’t come to work at all, you dodged every text and call from Geto and ignored him when he showed up on campus and had the nerve to get upset that you’re hanging out with a classmate. Your sister tried to defend him, and herself, but you weren’t willing to hear her out. On many occasions, you’ve told her to butt out, to leave you to make mistakes and get hurt, because it’s your prerogative. 

She can’t protect you from everything and the more she tries, the harder you all learn that lesson. 

“Okay, fine. So, my CV sucks a little,” you huff, “but you should have never hired me under the pretence that I was good enough when the real reason was because my sister asked you. It’s unfair on me. I wanted to earn this job on my own and you two went behind my back to manipulate this whole situation!”

The man sighs and leans forward. You smell his cologne and it’s muddling your mind a little, so you lean back, away from him. He notices. “I understand you’re upset. And I’m sorry to have colluded with your meddling sister. But it really isn’t what you think, pretty girl.”

You hate how patient he sounds, like you’re the crazy one. And maybe you are. You don’t know anymore. In fact, you’re starting to think you know nothing at all. 

“Yes, it’s true she asked me to give you a job. But all I promised her was that I’ll give you a chance, like everyone else. And when you came for the interview, I thought a lot of things. One was that you are so different from your sister. Different from the people that tend to come through the door, from me. You’re much brighter, much warmer and lighter than everyone I’ve ever seen.”

There’s something in his eyes, a sincerity that makes you breathless. All the air has left the room and you’re leaning in without even realising it. Everything that he says is entrancing, he’s a pied piper playing a tune that fills your soul with a fire you can’t put out, and he’s leading you closer to him, away from everything you’ve ever known, away from safety and reason. 

You’re not afraid. 

“I had a look at your CV and thought, there’s no way I would hire you, not even if she begged or blackmailed me — I take great pride in my studio, I turned it from a little backroom space with flickering lights to what it is now. My clients trust me to provide quality service from beginning to end, and I will not let a woman, no matter how beautiful, get in the way of that.”

Geto reaches for your cheek, like he can’t help himself, and you let him. His hands are slightly calloused but otherwise smooth and soft. And that smile, the polite one he always wears, is gone. In its place is something that reflects how you feel, how you’ve both been feeling for a long time now. A frustration against the distance between you, the boundary that’s erected itself between employer and employee, boss and receptionist, and a man who’s seen it all versus a girl who knows so little. 

You aren’t meant to be. Everything about this relationship is wrong, it’s inadvisable, foolish, like Hades and Persephone, or Eros and Psyche. It’s a tragic love story doomed from the very beginning, the kind people talk about centuries later with a mix sense of awe and pity. You know all about it, have read so many variations of the same story with the same individuals who think they know everything, who believe they’re different, special and that the Fates will smile fondly on them. 

Except neither you nor Suguru are under the impression that you’re different, that this will turn out differently and that the cards you’ve been dealt are from a separate, fresh deck. You both know you’re playing a dangerous game. 

Neither of you care. 

“But then I talked to you. And you were so witty, so undeterred by my unrelenting questions, and so willing to learn as you go. You had the confidence of someone who’s worked a thousand jobs, who’s met a thousand people that, despite knowing better, I wanted to hire you on the spot.”

Carefully, with your eyes fluttering shut at the tentative touch of your skin, you breathe out, “Suguru, we shouldn’t.”

“I know.”

When your eyes open, you see his gorgeous, tortured eyes fall to your lips and you know what you want. 

Your lips meet his.

This kiss is so similar to the one you shared that night, but oh so new. It seems so long ago now, and when you feel his plush lips devour yours it feels like this is new to both of you and it urges you to push in further. His tongue touches yours and you don’t hesitate to intertwine it, to explore all that he’s laying out for you. 

Gasping for breath, you pull away with little success before he’s grasping the back of your neck and urging you over the desk, kneeing the papers there and hearing the pens and stapler fall to the floor with a dull clatter, you sit onto the desk and you hear his chair slam against the wall when he stands to press himself closer to you. He kisses you again. 

“Things work differently with me,” he says in between pecks to your lips. 

Whilst his mouth moves to your jaw, sucking at the skin by your ear, you giggle. “I know. My sister says you like control. Something about Christian Grey.”

Chuckling in your ear before nipping you there, he admits, “I’m not as insane as him. In truth, I don’t really know what I am, but I know it’s more intense than what most men ask for.”

“That’s okay, Suguru. We can work it out together, step by step.”

He kisses your pulse point. You moan. Goosebumps are rising along your arms; your back is arching to press as much of you closer to him. You’re barely capable of creating a single train of thought, you feel so lightheaded you don’t register how your legs are wrapping around his hips. 

“My smart girl,” Suguru muses against your skin. 

Your legs are wrapped around his hip, pulling him close until you can feel the bulge there push against your core. With a roll of your hips, the zipper of his jeans nudges your bundle of nerves. You gasp. And you seek out that pleasure again with slow, gradual grinds. 

Breathlessly, you say, “Suguru…”

He’s scraping his teeth against your pulse point, one hand kneading your thigh and the other holding himself up. Filling your senses, all you can think about is him and how there’s a growing pressure within that’s dying to be released. 

“Go on, pretty girl. Take what you need.” Tightening your legs around his hips, you grind harder, frustrated that there are layers between you. Your arch your back, chest rubbing against his. Like he knows what you want, his hand finds your breast, squeezing and groping. “No bra? Are you sure you came here to talk, angel?”

When his thumb brushes over your nipple, you cry out, body tightening as that coil inside snaps. You spasm, grinding hastily to draw out your pleasure. It’s much better than you any could have given yourself and you’re addicted. Hand flying to his hair, you thread it through, brushing out his hair tie until his silky hair cascades down.

He groans. 

In a blink of an eye, you’re being pulled and pushed down onto your knees. You grip his thighs, blinking fast as you desperately try to regain your bearings. 

“You’re asking for trouble, sweet thing. Can you handle it?” Suguru asks, a challenge glinting in his eyes as he smiles down at you. 

You bite your lip, thighs squeezing to subdue the regrowing aching there. With a sudden bravery, your hands make their way up, revelling in the marble like strength in his muscles before they find his zip. 

Hesitating, you feel something holding you back, an instinct within awakening. Awkwardly, you question, “May I?”

His smile widens, surprise flickering in his eyes, and then he’s threading his hands through your hair. It’s a rewarding pat, one full of warmth, and it’s empowering. 

“Such a good girl. You’re a perfect little angel, aren’t you?” He coos. “Of course you may, my pretty girl. Go on, go at your own pace.”

Nodding, you unzip his jeans, tugging it down with his boxers. And what springs out leaves your mouth watering. It’s huge and intimidating. It’s bad enough that he’s well-endowed, but nothing about him is typical. He’s different to the average man in every way. 

Starting with the metal piercing the underside of his dick, emerging through the head. 

Seeing the horrified look on your face, he chuckles, the hair soothing your head delving down to pinch your chin. Unperturbed by your reaction, likely expecting it, he explains, “I got it done a year ago, mostly as a dare. It took around nine weeks to heal and yes, it did hurt.”

“B-but I-I can’t,” you stammer and shake your head, adding, “there’s just n-no way.”

Suguru sighs, thumb grazing your cheek. “You don’t need to. I understand this is too much too soon, but I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. You’re more than capable.”

You don’t want to disappoint him. And you want to prove you can do whatever you set your mind to. Recalling one of your sister’s drunken admissions, you know the trick is to pinch your thumb, so you don’t gag, to breathe through your nose and take a little at a time. 

“Okay, okay. I can do it.”

He gathers your hair and keeps them out of the way. Slowly, you wrap your hand around the base, gasping at the way your fingers barely touch. With no particular method in mind, you explore his length, thumb following a vein from bottom to top. He’s hot in your hand, almost burning, and the tip is shining with what you know to be pre-cum. 

It’s pearly white and you can’t wait to know what it tastes like; you lean in and scoop up the drop with your tongue. You both groan. 

Salty, you mull the taste over. It isn’t bad. And suddenly, you no longer feel scared. Your tongue fiddles with the bent metal barbell, surprisingly not minding the cold sensation against your hot tongue. 

“That’s it,” he groans, grip on your hair tightening. 

You widen your jaw, suckling the head, tongue pressing against the slit before it circles around, grinding the barbell back and forth. He groans louder, deep breaths vibrating through the room. 

When you push in further, you make the mistake of doing it too fast. You gag, eyes tearing up. 

“Slowly, pretty. Slowly. There’s no rush, okay?”

Coughing, you nod weakly, feeling embarrassed. Recovering your breath, you go back in, slower. Eventually, you work up a rhythm, bobbing your head up and down, taking more and more of him but never quite making it further than halfway. 

Both hands on your head, he soothes your tears away with his thumb before he advises, “Relax your throat, sweet thing. I’ll guide you, is that alright?”

You tap his thighs twice in a yes. 

And then he’s pushing in, more and more until he’s filling your throat, muscles stretching to take him in. Tearing up once more, you mentally swallow that panic rising, the claustrophobia within forcing your nails into his bare thighs. 

“You’re doing so well, angel. So good -ngh- for me, hmm?”

Suguru pulls back, the piercing scraping your tongue. And then he pushes back in. Again and again, he builds up to a rhythm, allowing you to get used to it, before he gives you more of him. 

This is so overwhelming, the feeling of his piercing bumping at the back of your throat, the ache in your jaw at the stretch, and the salty taste filling your senses. All you can see and feel and hear and taste is Suguru. You can’t get enough of him. 

So, when he bottoms out, your lips tickling his skin, your eyes roll to the back of your head just as his do. 

“I’m going to cum, pretty. Do you want to pull out?” He asks, pleasure written all over his face, the veins in his arm bulging at his barely constrained urge to fuck your throat freely. Knowing that he’s so in control, so concerned over you, when he could use you how he pleased, could take what he wants makes you so wet. 

You blink rapidly. 

“No? Are you sure you -ha- can take it? I won’t let you spit it out,” he warns. 

Sucking your cheeks in, you suction him closer. His cock head is rubbing the back of your throat, piercing burning, and with a shallow thrust, he’s cumming down your throat. 

Hot liquid fills your mouth. 

Suguru pulls out and you swallow the thick cream he leaves in your mouth. Your head slumps against his thigh, gasping for breath, heaving like you’ve just ridden a rollercoaster. 

Hands tucking themselves under your arms, he lifts you onto his lap just as he sits back on his chair, boxers pulled up before you even realise what position you’re in now. 

He rubs your back, muttering encouraging words about how perfect you were, how amazing you did, and how he knew you’d do well for him. 

“Open,” he orders, bottom lip pulled down by his thumb. He inspects your mouth and smiles at what he sees. “Good girl.”

And then he’s kissing you, tasting both yours and his essence. 

“No wonder Miguel gave me a funny look when I asked how many piercings you have,” you whisper against his lips, a high pulsing through your veins. 

Suguru chuckles. “He’s a good guy, did all my piercings. Eased all my concerns every time and I knew I wanted him in my studio.”

You nod. 

Your eyes are heavy and you’re hiding your face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in, and pondering the change between you. You’ve accepted that you’re entering an unconventional relationship, that he’s going to introduce you to a world none of your friends had seen a glimpse of, but you won’t be navigating it by yourself. 

He’ll lead you just as he had when you first started working here. 

Softly, gently and with so much patience, you’ll be free to stumble as often as you need until you know who you are, what you want, and what you need to be.

“Get some sleep, my gorgeous, gorgeous girl.”

Is the last thing you hear before you fall deeper into sleep in his arms.

[archangeldyke-all]

Sevika idea? Modern AU. Sevika and Reader (mostly reader because Sevika just grumbles about it) decide to take Jinx and Isha to an amusement park for the first time. Sevika is..... okay with it? But it's not her thing..

..That is until they get there and Sevika goes into full dad mode when she rides a rollercoaster with the two and now she can't stop because she wants to ride everything with them.

GOD GOD GOD i love fluffy fluffy fluff like this omg

men and minors dni

the girls sit you down one evening, both of them wearing determined looks and wearing one of sevika's old ties around their neck. jinx does most of the talking while isha hands out brochures and drawings.

"ladies, thank you for coming to this meeting." she greets. sevika rolls her eyes.

"you both forced us to come sit on the couch."

"shush." jinx flips sevika off quickly, before clearing her throat and continuing. "you may be wondering why we've asked you here today--"

"dragged." sevika corrects.

"hush!" jinx stomps her foot. isha glares at sevika. you elbow her. she sighs.

"fine, go."

"we have a business proposition for you." jinx announces. "in exchange for a month's allowance, we'd like you to take us to, drum roll please..."

isha pats her lap, giggling as you join in.

"randy's rollercoasters!" isha does a little twirl for emphasis.

sevika groans. you chuckle. isha hands you two brochures for randy's rollercoasters.

"now, hold on a second." you cut in. "we give you an allowance in exchange for your chores. you're telling me you'll clean the toilets without any pay? all month?" you ask.

jinx and isha nod, and isha crosses over her heart as a promise.

sevika grunts beside you. "and what are we supposed to do there while you two go on all the rides? stand in the hot sun and wait around all day?"

"oh, come on, sev! you can ride with us!"

"fuck no!"

"they sell beer." you mutter under your breath, pointing to the drinks and food section of your brochure. "we could just get tipsy and make out in dark corners while the kids ride."

jinx sticks her tongue out at the suggestion, but sevika seems intrigued. isha's blinking up at both of you with her hands folded under her chin, her gold eyes wide and watery as she waits for an answer.

sevika sighs, then groans. "fine."

the girls burst into cheers.

that's what you think will happen-- that the girls will have a great time and you and sevika will make the most of your day loitering around the park.

but then you get there, and isha gets spooked seeing how big the rollercoasters really are, and you and sevika promise to go on her first ride with her to show her it's safe.

but something about the thrill and watching her girls squeal with fear and excitement makes sevika all giddy and excited after the first ride.

it's adorable.

"have you never been on a roller coaster before, babe?"

"it's been almost twenty years!" she laughs, hoisting isha onto her shoulders. "okay, which one are we hitting next?" she asks jinx. isha squeals with excitement. you pout.

"we!? what about me?! i'll get sick if i go on another one of those rides."

sevika turns to you with a pout. your heart swells in your chest.

"c'mon, baby, please? just a few more rides, and i'm yours for the day. i just wanna do the log flume. and maybe the one with the loops."

"and the death dropper." jinx adds on. sevika nods.

"yeah, and the death dropper."

you examine your wife, laughter bubbling up in your lungs as you take in the excited, childlike glimmer in her eye. she's just as excited as isha and jinx. "you kids go have fun. if you need me, i'll be by the funnel cakes and beer." you say, shooing your family away toward the rides.

sevika grins, kissing your cheek and taking off with jinx at her side, isha cackling as they run toward the next ride.

so, you don't get to make out with your wife much. but you get a whole bunch of fun pictures of your family on the rides, a lot of cotton candy, and three million watt smiles from your girls and wife every time they come off a ride.

when the day winds down and the girls get tired, you walk around the carnival booths on the park grounds, letting isha and jinx play games and win bears.

sevika's got an arm slung around your shoulders, a smile on her lips. "'m sorry i abandoned you today." she says. you laugh.

"are you kidding? i had a blast today. getting to watch you three have all that fun, snacking and drinking to my heart's content-- we should do this every weekend." you suggest.

isha and jinx both perk up at that. sevika cackles. "no! no, we can not afford that. but, we can come back for isha's birthday." she suggests.

isha wins you a teddy bear with one of the darts games, then sevika gets jealous and tries to win you one of the strength testers. only, she hits the hammer so hard it's handle snaps in half, and the attendant has to close the stand for the night.

you buy the girls slushies then pile into the ferris wheel.

the sun is setting on the horizon, lighting up the little cart the four of you sit in. isha and jinx are chattering to themselves with their faces pressed against the glass, giving you and sevika some semblance of privacy on your little seat.

"you really had fun today?" sevika asks. you smile and nod.

"it was amazing. i love hearing you all laugh like that. especially you." you say.

sevika grins and swoops in to kiss you, just as your cart reaches the top of the wheel.

the girls 'ooh' and 'aah' and the height and the sights, and then they both groan when they turn around and find you two kissing.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@strawberrykidneystone @sevikasfan @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25

@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby

@blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion

[mattsobvimyfav]

neighbors (Matthew Sturniolo)

pt. 1

I slammed the door so hard I was sure the whole house shook. My heart was racing, and I could barely hear anything over the blood pounding in my ears. I turned to Charlie, who looked just as panicked as I felt.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” she muttered, pacing back and forth, her hands gripping her hair. “What the fuck just happened? Why are they here?”

“I don’t know!” I snapped, my voice shaky as I grabbed her arm. “I feel like I just saw a fucking ghost!”

Without waiting for her to respond, I bolted up the stairs, dragging Charlie with me. We didn’t stop until we were in my bedroom, and I slammed that door shut too, locking it like I was trying to keep monsters out.

“Are we hallucinating?” Charlie asked, flopping onto my bed and staring at the ceiling. “Like, maybe we’re overtired or jet-lagged or something?”

“Nope,” I said, sinking to the floor with my back pressed against the door. “That was real. Way too real.”

She sat up suddenly, her eyes wide. “This has to be a fucking joke right.”

“Yes!,” I interrupted quickly, shaking my head. “I don't know how, but i'm picking delusions over everything”

“What are the fucking odds?” Charlie asked, throwing her hands in the air.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, making us both jump.

“Don’t answer it,” Charlie said immediately.

“I wasn’t going to!” I snapped, crawling across the floor to grab it. I sighed as I saw my dads name on the screen.

“What do we do?” Charlie whispered.

“I don’t know!” I groaned, tossing the phone onto the bed. “I thought we left this behind us. Four years, Charlie. Four fucking years of silence, and now they're just at our door?”

Charlie flopped back onto the bed and covered her face with a pillow. “We came here to start over, I mean I knew there was a chance but come on we haven't even been here 24 hours. and LA is huge.”

She wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t supposed to include the ghosts of our past but we knew it was a possibility.

Another knock echoed through the house.

Charlie sat up, her eyes wide with panic. 

“It’s Matt.” Don't ask me how four years later I could still tell it was him just by the aggressive knocking.

We made our way down the stairs. I could feel the lump in my throat growing as I stared at the spot where I knew Matt was standing on the other side.

“I need to say something,” I said finally,

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Charlie warned, her voice muffled by the pillow she was clutching.

I grabbed the doorknob, my grip tightening as I took a deep breath. “No promises.”

I wasn’t ready for this—seeing them, hearing them, being around them again. But it didn’t look like the universe was giving me much of a choice.

I unlocked the door and swung it open, my heart pounding in my chest. All three of them were standing there—Matt, Nick, and Chris—and the sight of them hit me like a punch to the gut. I wanted to immediately throw up. They looked older, but the memories they brought back made me feel like I was eighteen all over again.

“I’m going to be straight up with you,” I said, crossing my arms and staring them down. My voice was steady, but it took every ounce of strength I had to keep it that way. “I want nothing to do with you guys still. Sure, we can do the friendly neighbor wave if we see each other outside, but please leave us alone. It took a long time to move on from you people, but we did it. So can you agree to that?”

For a moment, they all just stared at me, and the silence was suffocating.

Matt’s jaw tightened, and his expression darkened. He looked like he was about to explode. “That’s it?” he snapped. “You’re not even going to try to have a conversation? After everything—”

I cut him off before he could finish. “After everything is exactly why I don’t want to talk. I’m not doing this, Matt.”

Nick stepped forward, his hands raised like he was trying to keep the peace. “I get it,” he said quietly. His voice was soft, almost apologetic. “You don’t owe us anything. We won’t bother you.”

I nodded once, appreciating that he at least understood, but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything back.

Chris, though, was another story. He looked like he wanted to crumble right there on my porch. His eyes were glossy, and he was barely holding it together.

“Chris,” I said gently, but firmly. “Don’t.”

He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but no words came out. Instead, he just nodded, his head hanging low like he couldn’t even look at me anymore.

“Goodbye,” I said, stepping back and gripping the edge of the door.

Matt glared at me, his fists clenched at his sides, but he didn’t say another word. Nick gave me a small, sad smile, and Chris… Chris just looked broken.

I closed the door before I could second-guess myself, locking it again for good measure. When I turned around, Charlie was standing at the top of the stairs, her arms wrapped around herself like she was bracing for impact.

“Well?” she asked hesitantly.

“They agreed,” I said, leaning back against the door. “At least, I think they did.”

“Do you think they’ll actually leave us alone?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “But I hope so.”

I trudged upstairs, my legs feeling heavier with every step.

“Well, that was a disaster,” she muttered, throwing herself onto my bed.

I sighed and leaned against the door. “I don’t even want to think about it anymore. Let’s just call it a night.”

She nodded, sitting up to grab her phone. “Yeah, good call. We’ve got a busy day tomorrow anyway.”

I managed a small smile and headed to the bathroom to wash up. By the time I came back, Charlie had already changed into her pajamas and was scrolling mindlessly on her phone. I did the same, slipping into a T-shirt and underwear, and climbing into bed.

We didn’t talk much after that. The weight of the evening hung heavy between us, but eventually, we both drifted off, the stress of the day finally catching up to us.

The next morning, I woke to the sound of my alarm blaring from under my pillow. Groaning, I smacked the snooze button and sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

“Time to adult,” Charlie mumbled groggily from her makeshift bed on the floor.

“Yup,” I replied, stretching before sliding out of bed.

We both moved like zombies as we rummaged through our suitcases, pulling out shorts, tank tops, and sneakers. It felt surreal, living out of luggage in our new house, but today was the first step toward making it feel like home.

Once we were dressed, I threw my hair into a messy bun, and Charlie braided hers. After a quick debate over whether we needed coffee or breakfast first, we grabbed our bags and headed downstairs.

“Ready to spend way too much money on fucking furniture?” I joked, slinging my tote over my shoulder.

Charlie laughed. “Oh, absolutely. Let’s make bad financial decisions.”

With that, we headed out the door, determined to turn our empty house into a home.

Charlie and I spent the entire morning driving from one furniture store to another, armed with a notebook, our phones, and an ambitious list of everything we needed for the house. It was overwhelming, but in the best way.

First stop: beds. We wandered through aisles of mattresses, testing them out by flopping onto each one like children.

“This one’s too soft,” Charlie said, sinking into a plush mattress like quicksand.

I laughed, bouncing on the edge of a firmer one. “This one feels like sleeping on a rock.”

Eventually, we both settled on medium-firm queen mattresses, each picking out sleek platform bed frames to go with them. Delivery was arranged for later in the day, and we left the store feeling accomplished.

Next, we tackled the living room. Finding a couch was no easy task; we debated over colors, fabrics, and styles for nearly an hour.

“Gray is practical, but boring,” Charlie argued, running her hand over a plush sectional.

“Yeah, but white will be a nightmare to clean,” I countered, pointing at a gorgeous cream-colored sofa.

After much deliberation, we compromised on a deep navy-blue sectional with matching throw pillows. It was stylish but durable, and more importantly, it was in stock for delivery.

For the dining room, we agreed on a rustic wood table that could seat six, just in case we had company. We added sleek black chairs to modernize the look and splurged on a statement light fixture shaped like intertwined gold rings.

Decor shopping was the most fun. We wandered through aisles of wall art, throw blankets, lamps, and knick-knacks, tossing anything we loved into the cart. Charlie insisted on a funky cactus-shaped lamp for her room, while I fell in love with a vintage-style gold mirror for the entryway.

By the end of the day, we had a truckload of smaller items packed into the U-Haul we’d rented for the week. The larger pieces beds, couches, and the dining set were delivered earlier in the day. 

As I pulled into the driveway, Charlie let out a sigh of relief. “I don’t want to step foot in another furniture store for at least a month.”

“Same,” I agreed, climbing out of the truck. “But hey, at least we’re one step closer to having a real home.”

Unloading the truck was a workout, but by the time we were done, the house was starting to feel less like a shell and more like ours.

After hours of unpacking boxes and assembling furniture, the house was starting to come together. Charlie was in the living room, arranging throw pillows on the new navy-blue sectional, while I wrestled with the gold mirror I’d bought for the entryway.

As I stepped back to admire my handiwork, a thought struck me. “Wait,” I said, turning to Charlie. “We forgot TVs.”

Charlie froze, a pillow still in her hands. “Oh my god, you’re right. How did we miss that?”

I groaned, rubbing my temples. “We can’t live without TVs. What are we supposed to do, stare at the wall all night?”

Charlie laughed, tossing the pillow onto the couch. “Okay, let’s take a break. I’m starving anyway. Dinner first, then Best Buy?”

“Deal,” I said, already grabbing my purse.

We decided on a small Mexican place nearby, where we devoured tacos and chips with queso, brainstorming where to put the TVs in the house.

“We’ll need one in the living room, obviously,” Charlie said, wiping her hands on a napkin.

“And one for my room,” I added.

“Same,” Charlie agreed.

After dinner, we headed to Best Buy. The bright lights and endless rows of electronics made my tired brain feel even more overwhelmed, but we quickly found the TV section.

“This one’s huge,” Charlie said, pointing at an 85-inch screen.

“Absolutely not,” I laughed. “We’re not turning the living room into a movie theater.”

After some back and forth, we settled on a 75-inch TV for the living room and two 50-inch TVs for our bedrooms. As we were checking out, something else caught my eye—a sleek silver macbook pro that seemed perfect for editing videos.

“I’ve been needing a new laptop anyway, I've had the same one since senior year… of highschool” I said, holding it up for Charlie to see.

“Do it,” she encouraged.

With our cart loaded, we left Best Buy and made our way back to the house.

“This is starting to feel like a full-time job,” I joked as we unloaded the car.

Charlie laughed. “But it’ll be worth it when we’re sitting in our perfectly decorated house, watching our perfectly mounted TVs.”

“True,” I said, smiling. “Now let’s get to work.”

Charlie and I stood in the driveway, glaring at the enormous box containing the 75-inch TV. It was heavier than it looked, and we had already tried—and failed—to maneuver it into the house twice.

“This thing is impossible,” Charlie groaned, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand.

“I didn’t think we’d need a forklift just to get a TV inside,” I muttered, trying to catch my breath.

As we were about to attempt another lift, I heard a car door close. Looking up, I saw Nick stepping out of an Uber in front of the house next door. His gaze landed on us immediately, and I saw his eyebrows rise in amusement.

“Need some help?” he called, walking toward us with his hands shoved in his hoodie pockets.

Charlie and I froze.

“Pros and cons?” I whispered to her.

Charlie nodded, leaning closer. “Pro: We get the TV inside without breaking it or ourselves. Con: We owe him for helping, and this might be the start of the interactions we’re trying to avoid.”

“Another pro,” I added quietly, “it’s Nick. Not Matt or Chris.”

“True,” Charlie muttered, weighing it over in her head.

“Okay,” I said through clenched teeth, turning to Nick. “If you’re offering…”

Nick smirked, walking up to us. “I am. Don’t worry, I won’t charge you.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Just get it over with.”

Nick crouched, lifting one end of the box with ease. “Wow, you two really thought you could handle this on your own?”

“Just shut up and lift,” I snapped, grabbing the other end.

With his help, we managed to get the TV inside in record time, placing it carefully in the living room. Nick dusted his hands off, grinning. “Anything else you need help with, or can I call this my good deed for the day?”

“Nope, we’re good,” Charlie said quickly, practically shoving him toward the door.

“Thanks,” I muttered reluctantly.

Nick smirked again but didn’t push it. “Anytime, neighbors.” With that, he walked out, shutting the door behind him.

As soon as he was gone, Charlie and I exchanged a look.

“Never again,” she said firmly.

“Agreed,” I replied. “But…at least the TV’s inside.”

I stood on my bed, carefully pinning string lights along the edges of the ceiling. The soft glow they cast was already making the room feel more like mine, even though there were still half-unpacked boxes scattered around. I stepped back, admiring my handiwork, when Charlie barged in without knocking, holding a bottle of water and looking exhausted.

“Okay, interior designer, I think it’s time to call it a night,” she said, plopping down onto my half-made bed.

I glanced at my phone. It was nearly midnight. “I just need to finish this corner,” I replied, pointing at the last stretch of wall.

“Y/N,” Charlie said with a laugh, “you’ve been at this all day. And we still need to go car shopping tomorrow.”

I sighed, sitting down on the bed next to her. “You’re right. But I want it to be perfect.”

“It will be. And besides,” she added with a smirk, “we’re vlogging the car shopping tomorrow. Can’t look sleep-deprived for our subscribers.”

I groaned, lying back on the bed. “Fine, fine. I’ll stop for tonight.”

Charlie stood up, stretching her arms. “Good. Now, let’s get some sleep before we embarrass ourselves trying to pick out cars on four hours of rest.”

I laughed, following her to the door. “That’s probably smart. Night, Charlie.”

“Night, Y/N,” she said, heading to her room.

I turned back, taking one last look at the lights. They weren’t perfect yet, but they’d do for tonight.

Charlie and I stood outside a sleek, glassy dealership with the LA sun shining behind us. I held the camera, while Charlie grinned and waved dramatically.

“Good morning, everyone!” Charlie cheered. “Welcome back to our channel! Today’s a huge day because—drumroll, please—we’re car shopping!”

I spun the camera to face me. “We’ve been dreaming about this for so long, and honestly, we couldn’t do any of this without you guys. So seriously, thank you for supporting us and making this possible. We love you!”

Charlie leaned in, nodding with a big smile. “Now let’s go spend our life savings!”

The camera cut to us inside a brightly lit Jeep dealership. Charlie was practically bouncing on her feet as a salesman led us to a lineup of Jeeps.

“This is it,” Charlie said, her eyes locked on a bright yellow Jeep Wrangler. “This is the one. I can feel it in my soul.”

I laughed, “You’re not even going to look at the others?”

She shot me a look. “What others? Nothing can top this beauty.” She turned to the camera. “Everyone say hello to my future car!”

“This is amazing,” she said, giggling. We were flying down the Los Angeles highway test driving her jeep.

Back at the dealership, I filmed her signing the paperwork, flashing the camera a thumbs-up.

“This is insane,” Charlie said, “Thank you guys so much for making this possible. You’ve literally changed our lives!”

The next scene showed us at a luxury dealership, me sitting in a sleek SUV. “Okay, this one’s nice,” I said, panning the camera to show the interior. “But it just doesn’t feel… right.”

Charlie filmed me this time, catching my indecision as I walked between several cars. “Y/N’s being picky,” she whispered into the camera, smirking.

“I’m not being picky!” I protested, pointing at her. “I’m being thorough!”

Finally, we arrived at the Ford dealership. The camera panned to a line of Broncos, and my eyes immediately lit up.

“This one,” I said, walking toward a forest green Ford Bronco. “This is the one.”

Charlie zoomed in on me running my hands over the hood. “You’re in love.”

“Absolutely,” I said, laughing. “Do you see this color? It’s perfect.”

“This feels so good to drive,” I said, grinning at the camera. 

The camera showed me holding the keys, looking slightly overwhelmed but excited. “I can’t believe this is actually happening,” I said, looking into the lens. “Seriously, thank you all so much. None of this would be possible without you.”

Charlie popped into frame, throwing an arm around me. “Big day for the besties!”

We stood in the dealership parking lot.

“This has been such a crazy day,” I said. “But we are officially car owners!”

Charlie bounced around me. “We’re going to have so many adventures in these things, and we can’t wait to bring you all along with us.”

“Don’t forget to like, comment, and subscribe,” I added. “And tell us—what’s your dream car? Maybe we’ll manifest it for you.”

“Thanks for watching!” Charlie said, blowing a kiss to the camera.

Charlie and I were both drained from everything, but it felt so good to see the progress. For now, we were done moving furniture, and it felt like we were finally allowed to just relax for a bit.

We ended up in the living room, sitting on the couch in front of the TV. I had my laptop on my lap, working through some edits for the next vlog. Charlie was just chilling next to me, scrolling through her phone and half-watching a Brittany Broski podcast. We both needed a break.

“Hey, you think we should just call it a night after this?” Charlie asked, her voice a little quieter now that we were finally winding down. “We can actually sleep in tomorrow”

“Yeah, I agree,” I said, clicking through some of the footage I’d been editing. “We still have to go pick up the cars on Friday, too, so I guess we can finish everything tomorrow and take it easy tonight.”

Charlie nodded, letting out a tired sigh. “It feels so good to have everything coming together, though.”

We sat in comfortable silence for a while, the podcast playing in the background, and I kept editing. My mind was already thinking about what the next few days would bring. We’d pick up our new cars, drop off the last of the U-Haul stuff, and then we could officially call this place home.

After what felt like hours of scrolling and editing, I finally closed my laptop and leaned back into the couch, my body feeling heavy from exhaustion. “Okay, that’s enough work for today. Let’s enjoy the rest of the night.”

Charlie smiled and stretched, kicking her legs up on the coffee table. “Agreed. Let’s just enjoy some time to relax.”

We turned the volume up a bit, laughing at something Brittany said on the podcast.

As Charlie and I relaxed on the couch, the podcast still playing in the background, my mind couldn’t help but wander. Thoughts of Matt flooded my head. I hadn’t really let myself think about him much since seeing him a couple days ago, but now that we were finally settling into the house and things were calming down, he was creeping back into my mind.

I tried to focus on the podcast in front of me, but I couldn’t shake it. The memories of the way we used to be, how everything went down, the way things ended—it all kept replaying in my head.

Without thinking, I grabbed my phone and unlocked it, the screen lighting up in front of me. My thumb hovered over the TikTok app for a moment before I tapped it open. I knew I shouldn’t, but I found myself unblocking Matt’s profile.

I scrolled through his posts, my heart hammering in my chest with each video I saw. Then, I froze. There, on his arm, was a tattoo of a key—engraved with our old dorm number. The same one we had shared in those months of college. The same number that held so many memories, the room he left me in. My stomach turned. Seeing it now felt like a knife twisting in my gut.

I kept scrolling, trying to ignore the feeling creeping up my throat, but then something else caught my eye. His most recent TikTok. Posted one day ago, The sound playing  “I haven’t seen you in a while, you know I miss you, babe. When you hear this song, feel flattered it’s about your face and how I miss it.” The words hit me like a ton of bricks, and for a second, my heart dropped into my stomach. It was like he was singing directly to me. The weight of it was too much.

I was snapped out of my thoughts when my phone buzzed in my hand. I looked, and it was my boyfriend Leonard.

“Want to FaceTime?”

I stared at the message for a moment, trying to calm my racing thoughts. I couldn’t stay stuck on Matt. Not now, not when I had someone like Leo. I quickly typed back, a bit more quickly than I meant to.

“Yeah, sure. One sec.”

I took a deep breath and silenced my phone before looking over at Charlie. She was busy scrolling through her own feed, completely oblivious to the mess going on in my head.

I felt a twinge of guilt for letting Matt back in, even in my thoughts, but I couldn’t stop myself.

But for now, I pushed it aside, grabbed my phone, and clicked the FaceTime button for Leo.

tag-

@tbfaptbfae @ch0llies @2muchofaslvt @rockstarchr1s @simply-a-simper @mattscore @watercolorskyy @urfungi @sturnsvelocity @mattsturnii @christmastreecake @izzylovesmatt @larnieboox88

[rejectedbytheempty]

from the dirt we rise, ch. 3

pairing: farmer!john price x reader, no use of y/n

word count: 2.1k

cw: mentions of blood, vague body shaming (not john)

synopsis: when your car breaks down in the middle of the english countryside, a tall, dark stranger comes to your rescue

ch. 1

when you got upstairs soap had already set your bags in a spare room, though you noticed that they hadn’t been snooped in, probably ghost’s doing.

nathan was sitting on the bed huffing loudly, having thrown his luggage on the floor in exhaustion after going up the stairs. he didn’t say anything, just gave you a glaring side eye and went back to his huffing and puffing. the room was.. nice? like genuinely nice.

it seriously could be a picture on some teenage girl’s cottage core bedroom inspo pinterest board. which is not something you thought you’d ever say about an adult man’s decorating style. he had delicate flower print bedsheet, sheer curtains with lace trim, an antique dresser, and cream colored wallpaper.

“this room is nice, isn’t it?” you asked, breaking the silence.

nathan just glanced at you, “it’s creepy. and this bed is too hard.” you just rolled your eyes when he turned back to go through his luggage to grab his phone.

“right, well, i’m going to head downstairs, help them get dinner ready. you can stay up here, if you want.”

nathan just grumbled an affirmative, his eyes glued to his screen. you made your way down the creaking stairs, now quite sure that you

couldn’t get a drink of water in the middle of the night without alerting the whole house.

“how’s the room for you? need anything?” john asked, hearing you coming around the bend to the kitchen.

“it’s beautiful, actually,” you said, a grin on your face.

soap laughed, “didnae peg the big guy to be an interior decorator then?”

you shook your head, “no, actually, i didn’t.”

john just waved johnny off, “i’m not an interior decorator, i just had some stuff laying around the house, you know?” when he turned around to grab a towel off the counter, johnny gave you a pointed look as if to signal that he was only telling a half-truth.

you giggled slightly, then muffled it behind your hand when john turned back around. he eyed both of you apprehensively but returned to the stove.

“what are we making for dinner?” you asked.

“i was thinking potato soup, if that’s alright with you?” john asked, pulling a sack of potatoes from beside the door and hefting them onto the counter.

“is there anything i can do to help?” you asked.

“och, no, cannae make a lady such as yerself get her hands dirty” soap said, making you laugh again, blushing slightly.

“you can help peel the potatoes?” john offered. you nodded, taking a knife from him, then picking up a potato, you started peeling along with price and soap.

“where’s simon, by the way?” you asked, suddenly wondering where the masked behemoth of a man had gone. it’s strange how well he was able to disappear since he was such a big man, seems like it’d be the opposite. though, you suppose, that was his job for however many years, hard to break the habit of being stealthy.

“he’s checking on the animals for me” john answered. he and johnny were going noticeably faster than you, and you tried to pick up the pace.

“animals? you mean you have some here at the farm?” you asked. “some chickens, a few pigs, and a couple cows”

he answered, “if you’d like, i can show you around tomorrow morning?”

“that’d be wonderful! tha- shit!” you cried out as your knife slipped and you sliced deep into your hand.

“oh fuck, oh fuck, i’m so sorry” you said, cradling your hand to your stomach, watching helplessly as blood rushed to the surface of the cut.

“hey, hey, it’s okay, you don’t have anything to be sorry for” john said, rushing to your side with a towel, taking your hand in his and pressing the towel onto your hurt hand.

“i’m gonna get the first aid kit” johnny said hurriedly as he rushed off into the other room.

the room spun slightly, and you wobbled into john while trying to keep yourself steady, “sorry” you muttered.

“it’s okay, stop apologizing” he said gruffly, leading you to the couch. you sat down and he maneuvered your other hand on top of where his was a second ago, “keep pressure on this, alright?” you just nodded, deciding to focus on holding the towel rather than the faint ringing in your ears. you closed your eyes, willing the nausea to go away.

after a while of keeping pressure on your wound, john found it okay to take it off as the bleeding had ceased. johnny brought over the kit, which was a metal box with a red cross symbol on it, and a bottle of whisky.

you furrowed your eyebrows, “what’s that for? cleaning the wound?”

johnny laughed and shook his head, “it’s for yer courage, lass, dinnae wanna waste a good whisky on yer hand.”

he fished a bottle of hydrogen peroxide out of the metal box and showed it to you, “this is for cleaning the wound, aye?”

you just looked to john who nodded, “he’s right. the cut is big enough that we’ll probably have to stitch it up, and i find that it’s better when your senses are a bit dulled.”

he grabbed a shot glass from the cabinet and walked back over to pour the whisky. he offered it to you, “i’m not gonna force you to take it, but i think it might do you some good.”

you hesitated for a moment and then grabbed the drink from him. you paused for a moment and then threw it back, the alcohol hitting the back of your throat. you coughed at the sensation, making both men laugh.

“good, ain’t it?” johnny said with a toothy grin.

you grimaced but nodded, “strong” was all you could get out.

“now’s the hard part, you just tell me if you need to take a break, okay?” john said, sinking to your level, his dark brown eyes had softened as they looked in yours.

you swallowed thickly but nodded, “yes, sir.” he smiled softly and started opening the bottle of peroxide.

“ye want to hold onto my hand, bonnie?” you looked to johnny, who had sat beside you on the couch with an outstretched hand. wordlessly, you took his hand with your unharmed one and squeezed it appreciatively.

soap maybe regretted his offer after john poured the peroxide onto your hand, finding the tips of his fingers had gone bloodless from you squeezing the life out of him. he seemed to be having a worse time of it than you, he was barely holding back numerous curse words from spilling out.

“see? all done” john said as he gently dabbed at the wound. you nodded weakly.

“you’re doing so good,” he said in a softer voice, brushing your hair behind your ear. it was actually embarrassing how quickly that made you flush.

“stitches next, alright? you need to take a break or anything?” he asked. he looked so earnest, and honestly, you couldn’t remember the last time nathan had ever looked at you like that, maybe never.

“i.. i’m fine, you can keep going, thank you” you said, hurriedly.

he nodded and got to work, moving quickly with the needle like he had done this many times before. he probably had, now that you were thinking about it, ended up in some desolate place with just the stuff on his back and some kind of bullet wound. and here you were, complaining and whining about getting stitches in a nice, warm house after you accidentally cut yourself while peeling potatoes.

“sorry, i didn’t mean to make this into such a big deal,” you said as he finished.

the scot breathed a sigh of relief when you let go of his hand, shaking it about to get the blood flowing again. “och, nonsense lass, nothing to be sorry for. it was a nasty cut, think that any one of us might’ve reacted worse than you, aye?” johnny comforted you.

“johnny’s right, no sense in apologizing for things you ought not be sorry for.”

“so-“ you stopped yourself before you apologized again.

“alright, thank you, then.” both men’s faces brightened.

“ah, anytime, bonnie.” “of course.”

after john finished wrapping it in gauze you heard the creak of the stairs. you looked over to see nathan coming down the steps, seeming like he had gotten over his temper tantrum. his eyebrows furrowed when he looked over at you three,

“what the hell happened?”

“i.. cut myself when i was peeling potatoes.”

“god, well, here, let me see” he said, walking up to you and grabbing your injured hand. he twisted it back and forth sharply trying to see the injury through the gauze, making you cry out in pain. “hey! be gentle with her, i don’t want you to rip her stitches.” john said, quickly rising to his feet.

“i was just trying to look at it, i didn’t hurt you, right baby?” nathan asked you. you looked between the two men and could only stammer out an incomprehensible response.

“speak up” nathan said.

john stepped closer to him, “don’t talk to her like that.”

johnny quickly stepped between the two, sensing that this argument was going to just get worse and end with someone in the hospital. “let’s just calm down, don’t wanna do anything we’ll regret, aye?” he looked pointedly at nathan.

just that moment, simon walked in the door, peeling off his muddy boots before he looked over at the spectacle in the living room.

“what the hell is going on here?” he asked, immediately straightening up, his eyes narrowing. if nathan thought that he could maybe take on john, or johnny, he was sure he couldn’t take on simon, so he withered under simon’s unabashed glare.

“it was just a misunderstanding” johnny explained, which nathan nodded along vigorously to. seeming satisfied, simon just huffed and continued stripping off his muddied outerwear.

ghost, soap, and john all finished peeling the potatoes, though they made you swear you’d never go near a knife again. something that you agreed to readily, you needed a break from sharp things, for at least a little while.

you couldn’t imagine how things would have gone if you were by yourself when it happened. or even if nathan was there, he didn’t seem much help and he even ended up gripping your hand a bit too hard later, something that got another silencing glare from simon.

once john had finished the soup, he ladled it out into bowls and set them onto the delicately decorated table. you bit back another comment on him being an interior decorator, guessing he had been teased enough by johnny and simon.

“it looks delicious, thank you” you said, picking up your spoon.

“i wouldn’t thank me until you’ve tried it” he said, taking his place at the table.

“dinnae be putting yerself down cap’n, besides, not easy to mess up this soup.”

“well, soap, i’m sure price can do anything he puts his mind to” ghost said, his eyes crinkling with a smile, he had taken his mask off to eat, revealing a face that was ruggedly handsome, especially because it was covered in scars, a particularly large one slashed through his lips.

john just shook his head at them and started eating, you followed suit. it was delicious, almost worth stabbing your hand for, really.

nathan hardly touched the stuff, however, claiming that he wanted to stay in shape, and nothing so fattening as potatoes and cheese. he gave you a pointed look as you finished your bowl, making the food settle like a stone at the bottom of your stomach.

john stood up from the table suddenly, the chair scraping on the floor harshly, “alright, that’s enough of that. i’ve tolerated your comments and actions long enough but that’s the final fucking straw. you’re in my house now, and in my house we are kind and respectful to women,” john said, pointing an accusatory finger at nathan, whose face turned a bright shade of red.

“i don’t care if it’s your fucking house, that’s my fucking girl that you’ve been basically flirting with all day, and you know what? i’m done with it. i’m done with it all. i won’t take this disrespect anymore. get up, we’re leaving. i’ll call my dad to come pick us up,” nathan said, pulling up at your arm.

you stayed put, looking around the table, simon raised his eyebrows to you, as if silently asking for the signal to take care of him. you looked from nathan’s angry face to john’s stern expression back to simon and shook your head.

standing up, you turned to nathan, who looked mildly relieved that you had listened to him. “nathan, i have something to tell you.”

he rolled his eyes, exasperated, “can it wait?”

you forced down a scream, “no, it can’t.”

he sighed, “okay, spit it out then.”

“i’m breaking up with you.”

a/n: thank you so much for your support on the past two chapters!!! i’m sorry this took so long and was so rushed, i’ve just been so busy w exams and holidays and work and i just forced myself to sit down and finally write this part. so here it is!

side note: i honestly hc that john watches hgtv or some variation bc one time it was the only thing palatable on tv. he denies ever watching anything of the sort but best believe he can outdo martha stewart.

taglist:

@the-disaster-in-waiting

@night-girl-301

@darkangel4121

@valeissocute

@dneicjefx

@liidiaaag

@lilynotdilly

@sleep101

@yellow-cat

@snailss

@nellabear

@eternallyvenus

@bookishthoughtss

@lunerbitch

@horny-bish

@sunna-fangirls

@nexthyperfix

@princeofnonsense

@supernova2205

@beebeechaos

@appl3-0rchard

@shadowwolf8002

@mismatchsposts

@dragonbe-writing

[sugarsnapdragon]

Lets take it from the top

Ao3 mirror here

And here's my part for the @rivalsduogiftexchange! Hi @ameiniateria I had your for the exchange! Your prompts were a lot of fun and this is a mix of your first and third prompt. I hope your enjoy and happy holidays!!

With how far away Dream has made his little vault, Technoblade is beginning to suspect that Dream may actually have a house hidden on the SMP somewhere. He's been trecking for a while, trying to find the place where Dream is supposed to meet Tommy and Tubbo. He managed to shake the general coordinates out of Punz, although he's pretty sure the mercenary didn't buy his reasoning.

That's honestly fine though. He doesn't need Punz to trust him, just to stay out of the way. He already made the mistake of trusting Punz with Dream once. He's not going to do it again.

It takes surprisingly long to get to where Dream's little underground lair is. Longer than he would like. He's racing against the clock here. He doesn't have much longer until Tommy and Tubbo get here. It probably would have been quicker through the nether but he's never been the best at the whole coordinate thing. Phil is better at all that stuff. But soon enough he does actually find it.

He lets out a huff at the moutain in front of him. "Really Dream? You couldn't choose an easier place to hide a secret lair?"

show off he's still homeless till we see a house Does he still cunt as homeless if he lives in a mountain lol cunt EEEE

"You're as much help as usual." Techno complains as he ties up the boat he's been using. He's grown to love the voices that haunt him, but he does wish they were a little more helpful sometimes. Still, he tunes them out as he climbs up. Punz had given him fair specific instructions, once Techno scared them out of him. It helps sometimes to have a bloodthirsty reputation. He's got to get up the mountain and then dig into a wall apparently. That doesn't take long to do, in the grand scheme of things.

He doesn't even need to worry about that, as he gets up to where the supposed meeting place is. Dream is already there, waiting. He's furiously messing someone, mask up and eyes locked onto his com. He hasn't noticed Techno yet, and Techno is happy to use the opportunity to look him over. He's used to the way Dream had looked before, in the prison after Quackity and months of starvation and torture. And the last time he saw him….Techno doesn't want to think about that. Dream looks good now. Healthy. Or healthier. He's not close to the admin now but he can imagine the bags under his eyes.

"Dream." He says, loud enough that Dream can hear him. He watches in amusement as the admin jumps, mask falling into place. He jumps down off the small platform he's been sitting on so they're on the same level.

"Technoblade. You're here."

"I am." Technoblade crosses his arms over his chest, an amused smile on his face. "Punz tell you I was coming?"

Techno can't see his face but he can imagine Dream is frowning at him, trying to figure out what Techno's plan is. Techno tries to keep his face neutral until he speaks.

"What are you doing here?" He finally asks, still at the other end of the hall.

"I wanted to talk to you."

"Why?" Technoblade can imagine Dream squinting at him, green eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Technoblade licks his lips as he thinks up an answer. He will admit, he kind of moved before he had a complete plan. He had wanted to move first, when he realized what had happened. That somehow XD had held up his end of the bargain and now Techno needed to figure out how to keep Dream from fucking up his entire life. It'll be worth it. Anything to avoid that future.

"I have a business proposition for you." He finally says, walking over to the admin. Dream stands his ground, eyes still locked on him. Good.

"A business proposition?"

"Yep." Techno stops in front of him, hands in his pockets. "You give all this up. In return you get Phil and I to help you figure out what's going on."

"Figure what out?"

"Why death is so weird on this server. Why the server god is so interested in the going ons. Maybe even how to stop what's going on with you." Techno hears Dream's sharp inhale as he speaks.

"How do-"

"I have my ways." Techno leans down so he's more eye level with Dream. "So what do you say? This is a one time deal."

Silence hangs in the air for a long moment. Techno can almost feel the gears whirring in his head as Dream tries to figure out if he can be trusted. But Techno knows Dream doesn't have as much time as he wants. The Revival book is eating away at him, bit by bit.

"How do I know I can trust you?" Dream finally asks. "I've still got a whole favor to use."

"I know. And this would wipe the slate clean. Besides, wouldn't you rather have the Blood God and the Angel of Death on your side over Punz?" Techno can't help but sound a little offended at the idea. He, Dream and Phil make a good team. Much better than Punz who can't offer him anything. "If its being safe then we'll keep you safe."

"What about Tommy?"

"Forget him. Tommy is easy enough to distract. Give him his disks and he'll cave." Techno says with a shrug.

Speaking of which, he can hear the two of them making their way up the side of the mountain now. "Dream, listen. I know you want everything to go back to the way it was. But Pandora's? You're not going to figure it out there locked up. We both know that even if you're gone everyone will keep on fighting."

Dream doesn't say anything at first. He doesn't even say anything as Tommy and Tubbo get up to them. He can hear them being surprised behind him, asking Techno what he's doing there. Techno ignore them, watching instead as Dream turns, heading back up to the jukebox.

"You really think that Techno?" He finally asks, pulling one of Tommy's discs from his inventory. He watches as Dream puts it on, Mellohi playing out across the landscape.

"I know so." Techno says, ignore the two behind him making a scene. He watches Dream take a deep breath. He can imagine Dream closing his eyes as he thinks.

"Alright Tech. I'll take that deal." He says, jumping back down to Techno's level. He holds his hand out. "You promise you can do this?"

"Of course." Techno takes his hand, shaking it. "To the start of a wonderful partnership."

[wetcatspellcaster]

2024 fic wrapped

I was tagged by @cursedhaglette to do this tag-game, but I found the focus on stats made me a little uncomfortable! (also, no one needs to know how many words I wrote while having multiple breakdowns last year, truly).

But, I didn't want to ignore Mia's tag! so instead, I'm going to take @cinnamontails-ff wrapped tag-game, just bc I sympathise with the logic and I like this set of questions a lot more!

Thank you Cin for coming up with questions that don't focus so much on productivity. And thank you again, Mia, for including me in the original game :) hopefully this is an acceptable substitute!

What's been your biggest learning point this past year?

I guess, what it feels like to be a 'popular' author - and the answer is, 'both good and bad, in fact, extremely mixed'. Obviously, many parts of it are wonderful: more people interacted with my work in the height of the BG3 fandom than I've ever had before, I felt like my writing mattered and I enjoyed every conversation I had about it. I also felt under a lot more scrutiny, very hyperaware of how I acted in 'public' (ie. on this blog), and aware of the people I'd disappoint with the directions I took my stories and what I chose to include. I also had to watch the baffling half-life of modern fandom! BG3's 6 month peak and 1yr trough was wild to me, as someone who joined dragon age 8yrs after the game was released. But I've decided I actually really like the middle-road of interaction, with much less noise and dedicated, recurring readers who I recognise and who make me smile and laugh every single time they comment or tag my work. I'll probably never experience whatever the fuck Pieces was ever again, and I'm honestly... ok with that, currently? Not to sound awful, but I'm not sure I liked it lmao.

In terms of my writing, my biggest learning point was "you're good at this, actually". Chanting this to myself in the mirror while I white-knuckle the sink.

How has your writing developed this past year?

I'm genuinely not certain. Pieces was certainly my most ambitious story yet, but a lot of the outlining of that took place in 2023 so it feels like the development happened then... though I suppose landing the dismount was something I worked very hard to do. I guess the main development this year was that a lot of what I wrote was extremely, extremely angsty. I wrote Pieces, I wrote This Is Not A Love Story. and I gave Rosalie to Orin :))))) this doesn't necessarily surprise me, given the way my writing often reflects things I'm dealing with in my life, and I've been trying to both recover from - and desparately stave off a relapse into - depression. I think that I can see why I keep making characters into the worst versions of themselves (this goes for Astarion, Rosalie - bc Pieces Rosalie is NOT in a good place, Gale and my Durge) and then watching them claw their way back to happiness in the hope of proving to myself that that's possible.

But jfc, it all got a little heavy. I've decided that 2025 is the Year of the Rom Com™.

Good writing habits?

Committing myself exclusively to what I want to read and sticking to my guns - which means I actually finish the thing, rather than getting into my own head about it.

Stretching my comfort zone a little (writing something vaguely smutty, writing something very different in style, switching genres for a bit) without losing my own voice.

Not falling into any jealousy/existential crises about my own writing, which I guess is much easier when you're experiencing a bout of 'success', but I've managed to keep it up even after the success began tailing off :)

I wrote a lot of words last year. I'm not putting the stat down but god. It was a lot.

Bad writing habits?

Overwriting everything. Everything. All the time. Party Favours was so short!!! I used to write novellas!!! Why are my chapters so fucking long now?????

Having multiple fic wips when I promised myself I'd wind down fanfic and start writing original work again :')

I wrote a lot of words last year. I think I did this bc I was extremely unhappy, and productivity is how I define myself. when I feel bad, I write and post bc it makes me feel good. And I felt very bad this year. So anyway, I think my wordcount is both a good thing and also a wee cry for help :'))))

Favorite thing you wrote?

Chapter Twenty-Three of Pieces (Mephistopheles consultation and my Ascended!Astarion meta-reveal)

Chapter Four of Cooler Than Me (putting the blorbos in a formal-wear situation)

I also liked my sex scene in Pieces :') it was tame but it was written for me specifically x

Favorite reads?

for fic!

long summer days can lead to lazy vices by @pouroverpaloma

eyes like fire by demonsbanebard

only once by @bearhugsandshrugs

and of course stitched into your sleeve by the bestie (@violacae)!!! my first ever gift fic!!!

for literature!

The Scholar and the Last Faerie Door by HG Parry

Long Live Evil by Sarah Rees Brennan

Deeplight by Frances Hardinge

Biggest win?

god. I'm endlessly grateful for my gift fic and for my fanart, but... it's got to be bookbindings. I used to daydream, about somebody ever wanting to have my fic bound, but I thought it was impossible and would never happen! I now know of 3 copies of my work that exist in the world :D and the ones I've seen were fucking gorgeous, like oh my fucking god.

I am also very proud I finished Pieces! It was my most ambitious project, and writing the ending presented even more challenges than I expected - as I discovered how much you write yourself into a corner when you resoul Astarion. I still haven't managed to read the completed work in full yet, but I'm proud it exists :)

Goals for the new year?

finish outstanding wips, and then see where my writing takes me next. I want to write original work, but I also don't want to make it a resolution. As long as I continue to enjoy writing, that's what matters most to me!

Your favorite words of the year, aka the words you check each chapter for, making sure you didn't repeat them 788 times?

I think I use '[x character] froze' a lot, but rather than focusing on my repetitions I want to focus on some of my favourite turns of phrase that I managed to pull from the ether! :)

'before her brief courtship with death threatened to become a commitment' - from the risk and the reward

'We can all still be butchered. We cut away the parts of ourselves to make us fit' - from this is a love story.

"He played an androgynous, morally-grey vampire, of indeterminate gender! In a nice coat! Anyone who had two working eyes and a relevant Kinsey Score read the porn, back in the day!” - from cooler than me

What are you excited for in the new year?

act 3 astarion characterisation for honest lie! the first big romance moment in cooler than me! and then just romcoms! 2025 is the year of the romcom! I want to write exclusively happy things!!!!

tagging: @cursedhaglette (as it's a different set of questions lmao), @imscissorbladez, @violacae, @eraserspiral, @scaryanneee, @sitting-in-the-sink, @pricemarshfield, @pouroverpaloma and anyone else who wants to give this a whirl. anyone is welcome, and if you tag me in it I'll share x

[rosesonbreeze]

"I'm a pretty girl." Anna answers, unblinking. "I know, I know. Women are supposed to be pretty, but never actually own it. Well, I do. So, I picked a profession where that's celebrated." There's value to what she does, she knows. Being a model was a form of artistry, whether people believed it or not. Anna made more than her parents ever saw in their lives, and used it to things for herself and others. But on some banal level, isn't that why? "My sister - the one whose ticket you took - she's brilliant. A surgeon. Smart as anything. And my brother, Theo, who you met at Christmas Dinner? He's a saint by nature. Does all this work activism work. Human rights, civil rights..." Finishing the lace of her boots, Anna sighs. What was her point, other than revealing so much of her vulnerabilities before she's even on the ice?

"I guess my point is we all have natural talents. And mine is the way I look, how I can make people pay attention. It's shallow work sometimes, but... I like to think I've made good out of it." She's uncertain if she'll be as remarkable as her siblings, or even Aiden. Be the sort of person with true talent and ability that leaves its mark. But at the very least, she can sleep knowing how much of her time and money goes to elevating women's charities. After all, philanthropy is the only thing she can turn to that doesn't scoff at the fact that she's a glorified hanger sometimes.

"Fuck, I'm sorry." Anna winces. It was much more than Aiden asked for, far more revealing that she intended. Luckily, by the time her skates hit the ice, she's weightless. Making a quick twirl, to get used to the weight of it. She pauses, right as the little boy wonder whips past Aiden. Skating back, Anna takes his arm, using her stability to prop him up. "So, weight forward, and you want to push off one skate and then another. Like, pointed outwards." She instructs, gradually pulling him forward

“Insane. That’s one way to put it.” There are plenty other words that could amount to the sights, the feels, the smells in their surroundings, but Aiden just doesn’t have them all. And maybe that speaks volumes to the limitations of his experience outside of work, but either way, he’s like a rookie in their first time on the green. To think, they’re not even on the ice yet. They find an empty bench one the skates are in their hands, and then comes the easiest part of the entire process.

“What drew you to your work?” A direct question without announcing her identity. His voice might be low, and he’s always been good at being discreet, but he knows all too well that there’s never too much caution when being out in public. “Thought you might’ve been scouted or something.”

He may not be aware of all of the ins and outs of her kind of public career, but he knows that there are always stars that shine the brightest, even in a sea full of them. It had only taken one sight of Anna sauntering into the set of the team’s promotional campaign for him to recognize that she fit the term’s outward expectations easily. Now he knows, it isn’t just her beauty that turns heads effortlessly, it’s a sum of everything: the confidence, the optimism, the work ethic. These are all traits he considers, recognizes, and admires.

Once his skates are all laced up, Aiden stands and gets a feel for the blade beneath his feet. Finding balance isn’t so bad, but—

WHAM!

Some kids slam against the side of the rink, then sink to the bottom of their icy cage. “Uh…” Aiden’s brow furrows. No, no, don’t get scared now. Really, it’s not the fear of the physical that stops him. He’s been there countless times before, between machines and between other players who’d wanted to force him out of the game. It’s more of the unfamiliarity, the fact that he’s got plenty of new things to learn. “Wanna talk me through this?” She could show him, too, grab his arm like she did before, but it wouldn’t be him if he just said that.

[evilasiangenius]

I wonder, if you genuinely hate your customer base and ignore everything they say or request, no matter how reasonable, is that a good way to make money?

Asking for a friend.

[jewishbuckley]

"was there a reason you didn't cancel this" honestly I thought I had so no there wasn't a reason but also if clients are going to have Your personal number and reach out to You about canceling (when they Should be reaching out via email per our cancelation policy) then You should be canceling the appt anyway imo. all the other trainers cancel their appointments AND add their appointments to the system 🤪

[tonycries]

Isn't That Sweet? (I Guess So) - G.S.

Synopsis. Oh no! Why do your pantíes keep disappearing? Well, maybe your hot roommate knows the answer…

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, pànty-stealer! roommate! Gojo, annoyances-to-lovers, he’s REALLY down bad, vírgin! Gojo, oraI (fem receiving), màle màsturbation, pining, face-sítting, jealousy (his side), fírst times, unprotected, creampíe, teary Gojo, pànty-gagging, HEINOUS things, pet names, aIcohol mentions, swearing.

Word count. 8.6k (whoopsies)

A/N. Hope y’all have a lovely week hehe <3

“Damn…” you sigh at the glaringly empty drawer, rubbing your eyes as if that would make a difference - maybe even magically materialize a fresh pair of panties in front of you. “It’s the second time this month.”

Or was it the third?

But, alas, standing around in your bedroom on a Sunday night does not give you the answers. Or any extra underwear.

Which is why you find yourself making a beeline for the bathroom - teeth gritted, stomach flipping at how very, very exposed you felt underneath the thin fabric of your shorts. Cursing everything from the building’s rundown old washing machine to Gojo’s stupid smile when he took away your laundry basket.

You could’ve sworn you saw your last pair perched right on top of your pile of old clothes, all flimsy and an obscene red that stood out amongst everything else. 

Seriously, how hard would it have been to lose that thing? Maybe you could bother him into buying a new washing machine for-

“Woah there-” Before you know it, you’re crashing face-first into a wall? Pillows? Gojo - unfairly shirtless. “Now, what’s got your panties in a twist, sweetheart?”

The lack thereof. 

Maybe because you can’t say that, maybe because of what looks - feels - like miles upon miles of milky, sculpted skin, you’re instead settling for an extremely eloquent, “Nothing I uh-” But whatever excuse catches in your chest as you raise your face - still smushed between two large pecs - up, up, up and-

Oh. 

It’s not like you’re seeing something new - far from it, actually, unfortunately for your poor heart.

And at first, you’d thought it was some strange habit - hell, maybe the guy just didn’t like t-shirts. But it was around the fourth or fifth time he’d forgone one that you realized Gojo Satoru was just a tease. A no-good, insufferably smug tease that just loved to catch you ogling him. 

But, well, at least the rent was cheap.

Though, you weren’t exactly complaining about the view either…

Because lo and behold stood the infamous campus sweetheart - you knew about fourteen people who’d kill to see this exact sight. Gojo’s cloudy hair tousled, tiny droplets of water twinkling like diamonds against the bathroom light. Bouncing off his rippling abs, his strong arms circling your waist to stop you from falling backwards. Holding you too fucking close against the white towel slung low on his hips. His skin damp, smelling so delicious-

“Gojo, did you use my body lotion?” 

“Awww–” he whines, finally releasing his grip on you. “You were supposed to admire me some more.”

You scoff, eyes darting over broad shoulders - partially to search for your laundry basket, partially because you really couldn’t handle looking right at a shirtless Gojo Satoru any longer. “As if. Get out if you’re done.”

“Damn, woman. Feisty.” Gojo lets out a deep chuckle - smooth and cocky - when you’re hastily shoving him away from the doorframe. “If you wanted to put your hands on me that bad then you jus’ hafta ask, y’know~”

It was way too late for this. 

“Hilarious.” you deadpan, though you let go of where you were gripping Gojo’s arm like it burned. Immediately stepping behind the bathroom door before he could make you lose whatever’s left of your sanity, “Next time you hog the bathroom m’gonna smash those ugly new sunglasses of yours.”

He’s pressing his foot between that gap in the door to stop you from closing it, “Oi, don’t think I don’t see that glint in your eyes, sweetheart.” Yeah, the glint in your eyes that told you if looks could kill then Gojo would be six feet under already. Which only makes him grin wider, “You’re telling me you really weren’t checkin’ out the most sought-after man on campus jus’ now?”

Huffing in frustration, you cross your arms, “I don’t see Geto Suguru anywhere.”

“...you take that back right now. I’m the pretty best friend.”

“Am not.”

“Am too.”

“Am not. Isn’t that why you’re still single?”

“Th-that’s not- fuckin’ Suguru? Really? Most people would kill for a look of this-” Gojo gestures at his bare torso, and once more you’re reminded that those absolutely awful protein shakes he makes every morning aren’t just for show. “-and you’re getting it daily.”

You reach out a hand, Gojo chest hot underneath your touch. He seizes up instantly, ears tinging red as you muse, “Yeah.” Only to push him fully out the doorway, “I just wish you’d shut up daily, too.”

With that, you’re shutting the door with a resounding slam! Feeling only slightly guilty until you hear Gojo’s squawks of protest from outside, “I really don’t know what’s got your panties in a twist.”

Right. Panties.

Something just a tad more important than recounting exactly how many abs Gojo Satoru had.

You let out a shuddering breath, clamoring to find that spare laundry basket you’d forgotten in here earlier today. Shuffling through through the soft clothes, hoping, praying to find-

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

Fuck. 

Somehow, you’re hiding away your body lotion that night.

---

“Now, listen here, sweetheart. I know you look fuckin’ gorgeous in everything but-”

“Satoru.”

“But that-” he whirls around, pointing a long finger accusingly at the boxers you’d improvised into sleep shorts. Spitting venomously, “-that I cannot allow.”

You’re rolling your eyes at your roommate’s theatrics, forking through your pancakes while he monologues to himself more than you. “Why does it even matter? It was just for yesterday.” you mutter. “I didn’t have any clean uh- panties for the night n’ this worked.”

Thankfully, since the fresh laundry this morning, you’d found two more of your panties - courtesy of a very smug Gojo handing off your clothes. Ah, it felt like the universe itself was smiling down on you.

But oh if you thought the great Gojo Satoru was having a breakdown before then you weren’t prepared for when you lifted your gaze off the kitchen table. Only to meet his - eyes wide, a pretty pink blush coloring his cheeks, lips gawking and stuttering around what looked like a silent, “P-panties-”

You raise a brow, “What’s got you this worked up, Gojo?”

“Nothing.” he clears his throat, “Absolutely nothing at all. Panties? I love- er, wait no-”

“B-besides-” you bristle at the way his heavy gaze was now turning to flit between your face and down below. Dangerously. “They’re not even yours so I don’t know why it matters.”

This seems to snap him out of his little reverie, and he’s immediately standing up straighter, brows furrowing. He continues, in a much more serious tone than before, “They’re his?” 

You stab your breakfast with a bit too much vitriol than necessary, looking at Gojo with narrowed eyes, “If you mean the one my ex left behind then yes. Who else?”

Your ex wasn’t good for much - and Gojo seemed especially hostile towards him because of his distaste for your little living situation. But, hey, at least the guy was helping you out at this time. Albeit unknowingly. 

He’s raising his hands in mock-surrender, shuffling back into the kitchen to work on the rest of those “world famous” Gojo pancakes. “Nothing nothing.” he hums, and maybe it was how sleep-deprived you were - running on a few too many assignments due today and a few too little panties - but you think Gojo’s voice has a bit more bite to it than usual. Jaw clenching as he plows on, “Of course that fucker- in my- our apartment, too. Fuck-”

A spatula is suddenly mere inches from your face, Gojo brandishing it in front of you like a weapon as he declares, “We’re going panty-shopping after Yaga’s lecture today.”

“Gojo, I-”

“We-” he cuts you off, delicately placing another pancake on your plate - a little truce. So close now that it reminds you of last night - you could feel his minty breath on your face, count every long, sultry eyelash of his. “-are going panty-shopping after Yaga’s lecture n’ I’m paying. That’s final.”

And of course, in true Gojo fashion, you can barely get a word out before he’d immediately ducking out of the kitchen. You almost let your lips curl into a smile, hit with a sudden wave of endearment as you hear Gojo’s long legs padding urgently down the hallway to God-knows-where. Maybe he did know when to be-

Smack!

You jolt as you’re hit with a pair of boxers - fresh ones, thankfully, that you recognized from all the clothes you’d rummaged through last night - plopped unceremoniously onto your lap. Jaw dropping in disbelief when you look up to meet Gojo’s devilish grin. 

“Next time-” he winks, motioning at the fabric you were poking in concern now. “-wear mine.”

The talk of Yaga’s lecture hall that morning was of a pair of burned boxers found right outside your building, everyone speculating what the poor guy had done to have his presumed girlfriend make an example of it like that. 

For you, however, the only thing running through your mind was whether or not you could count properly.

Because surely you remembered it correctly when you counted two new underwear this morning - that gauzy black one and the deep red? Two. Definitely not the singular, sad piece of red fabric laying on your bed after breakfast today? Two. The only one you could find even after scouring through your whole bedroom. 

So where the fuck had that other one gone?

---

(8+ new messages)

Do not answer (roomie)🧿🧿: Hurry up ive been lurking inside that lingerie shop ya told me you liked n’ now the old ladies here look like they wanna eat me alive ＼(º □ º l|l)/

im boooored, gonna stand still n’ start blending in with these mannequins if you dont hurry up istg

Hurry

HURRY

HURRY THEY THINK IM SUSPICIOUS

PLEASE THEYRE GONNA ESCORT ME OUT

┬┴┬┴┤･ω･)ﾉ i literally SEE YOU outside 

BITCH STOP LAUGHING-

No sooner are you letting out a cackle at Gojo’s rapid-fire texts, you’re looking up to see the man himself being walked outside by two security guards. Squabbling heatedly in a way that had them heaving out long sighs - which, honestly, you felt a stab of relatable empathy for.

“-I swear I’m not a creep I’m jus’-” Gojo’s bickering dies on his tongue as he catches the sight of you walking closer to the commotion. Closer. Taking your sweet sweet time, eyes just barely glazing over him before- you’re walking away. “Hey!” he calls out, stopping you in your tracks. “Now, don’t you dare-” Before turning back to his wary escorts, “I’m with her.”

They exchange a look between each other, and no matter how much you’d like to pretend the scene had absolutely nothing to do with you - you’d rather Gojo doesn’t get banned from the mall altogether. 

“He’s right.” you drone out, one hand grabbing Gojo’s, the other forcing his head into an apologetic bow. Hissing to the side so that only he would hear, “Unfortunately.”

The two security guards now seem more amused than anything at your strange dynamic. One of them raises a brow, muttering, “Well…this one’s certainly a handful.” Turning around to head back to their stations, “Ya better keep a tight leash on your boyfriend.”

You sputter, eyes wide, “Oh- he’s not-”

But it’s too late - they’re both swiftly out of earshot, most likely more than happy to hand over the public nuisance off to you. And Gojo’s looking to you with a smug smirk, voice dropping about an octave deeper as he breathes against your ear, “So, gonna take your boyfriend to help out with lingerie shopping, sweetheart?”

Oh. God. 

This was going to be one long day.

“I’m only here because another one of mine disappeared, y’know.” you hiss, rifling through all the options before you. “Which really has me wondering why-”

“H-hey! How about this one?” Gojo interrupts, shoving a lacy set right in front of your face, his voice just a bit louder than what was appropriate. 

You sigh, catching the eyes of a few disapproving older women around you. “No this is-” But running a thumb over the fabric makes you bite back an insult. And for all how brash Gojo was, maybe his panty selection wasn’t awful. It was a flimsy little thing, gauzy and light blue - the type you’d typically wear on a night out. You meet his boyish grin, admitting, “...not bad.”

“See?” he laughs - eyes glinting with delight as he piles on a few more in your basket. “N’ if you’re impressed with that then you’re gonna be proposing to me when you realize it’s exactly your size-”

You quirk a brow, “How do you know my size, Gojo?”

And this makes his body stiffen, large shoulders squaring up, throat bobbing as he answers,“Uh? Experience?”

Oh, right. You’re rolling your eyes, fighting off a weird little stab of irritation. This probably isn’t the first time he’s come here with a girl, anyway. 

And yet, despite however much of an alleged “catch” Gojo was, he’d - perhaps mercifully - never brought anyone over. You don’t know why, but you didn’t really want to question it.

“A-anyway.” Gojo’s airy voice cuts through your thoughts. And he’s plucking up a few more sets of lingerie for you to sort through, “Can’t let these one, two, three- six lovely lil’ things go to waste now, can we?” At your look of confusion, he chuckles, guiding the two of you to the counter now. “Suguru’s holding a party at his place tonight, how would you like to do the honors of being my cute plus one?”

“I’d rather go with Yaga.”

Though, you really can’t say no - not when Gojo’s flashing you that black card as he pays for everything in an instant. Not when all he can prattle about on the way home  is how gorgeous you’d look together at Geto’s party - how you’ll have to beat everyone off of him with a stick (to which you reply that you’d no sooner do that than beat him with a stick.)

Not when he sits outside your bedroom door as you get ready later that night. Insisting on keeping you company even as you slip out of your towel. Looking over your shoulder to make sure he wasn’t peeking in before eagerly turning to grab at one of your new set of silky white panties- only, they weren’t there.

Strange. 

“Hey, Gojo…” you call out, looking underneath your blankets for where you might’ve thrown them about after trying them on. Under your bed, in your drawers, anywhere. “-didn’t we buy six sets?”

“Huh? Dunno, I didn’t count. Just wear the blue one.” he whines, ushering you to hurry up from outside. Face burning because shit, this was you and you were inside - still wrapped up in only that sinful little towel. Oh, would the painful death really be worth it if he happened to accidentally look around? “S’pretty and y’know what else?”

Your voice was muffled as you hastily put on your clothes, “What?”

“It matches my eyes.”

Really strange.

---

Thankfully for Gojo, you didn’t go with Yaga to the party - nor did you find your lost pair of panties, sadly, but that wasn’t too much of a concern for him. 

And here he was - one hurried Uber ride and about several billion death threats from you later. Wishing that you’d actually just acted on one of them because fuck at least then he wouldn’t have to be watching from across the room as some bastard from the university basketball team tried to chat you up.

Gojo can’t even hear the way the girls surrounding him were giggling about something or the other, alcohol making his tongue a little heavier, eyes a bit glassier. 

Nothing like the way that other man was drinking in that polite smile on your face. Tilting your head to face forwards and- God, why won’t you just look at him instead?

Would that guy still look at you that way if he knew you were wearing lingerie matching his eyes right now?

“Not gonna entertain your fans?” Geto’s voice rings through his whirlwind thoughts, eyeing down the forgotten crowd in amusement.

“When have I ever?” Gojo runs a hand through his hair in frustration. 

He lets out a knowing laugh, “Yeah, you little vir-” Turning into a coughing fit when Gojo elbows his best friend straight in his stomach. “Anyways.” Geto gestures with his drink in your direction, as if Gojo hadn’t seen - as if it wasn’t the only thing on his mind right now. “Well, your lil’ roomie there seems to be popular, too, huh? Star player of the basketball team n’ all. 

He clicks his tongue, slumping further against the thumping wall. “So? I’m taller, and more handsome.”

“Are you sure ‘bout that?”

“Y-yeah?” he sputters. 

“Well then why aren’t you over there with her?” Geto hums, lips curling. “Looks t’me like even she doesn’t like him that much so why’re you being a pussy over here? Always sneaking around stealing her-” 

“Shut up-” And Gojo knows he’s riling him up, he knows that Geto wants to see a little drama - maybe finally shut up his pining over the one girl he’s wanted for the past year - and couldn’t have. It’s a trap. But Gojo can’t stop his head from snapping between you and his best friend’s sly smirk. Slurring indignantly, “Of course I’m fuckin’ handsome, n’ taller. I’d make a better boyfriend too and-” He trails off at the sight of that loser leaning in - but more importantly that tiny furrow in your brows, your hands on his chest softly keeping him at bay. “-and m’gonna go over there n’ prove it.”

“Ah, that loser’s gonna thank me later.”

And, hell, Gojo could barely even walk. Barely even think straight as he’s parting the stuffy living room, ignoring whatever whispers and titters were following him. 

“I said no-”

“Hey, sweetheart.” you jump when someone - Gojo - creeps up from behind you. Large build hanging off your own when he nuzzles his face into your neck. And you could feel his toothy grin on your skin, “Missed me?”

Your face burns, “I uh-” Angling your face as dignifiedly as possible to face your roommate, “Gojo, are you drunk?”

“Drunk on you, yes.”

“What the-”

The man in front of you pipes up - shuffling uncomfortably on his feet. “Didn’t realize you were taken. My bad.” Looking like he’d rather be anywhere but under the scrutiny of Gojo Satoru. His big arms tightening around your middle - when did they even get there? “I’ll just uh- get out of your way, man.”

“Mhm, by the way,” Gojo puffs up his chest a bit, clearly towering over the other man - ha, take that Suguru. “Nice loss against Kyoto last week, real knee-jerker.” 

You smack Gojo’s chest at his rudeness, to which he only smiles wider. Watching the other man being swiftly handled away by another apologetic member of the basketball team.

“Gojo.”

And before you can react, Gojo’s dragging his pretty plump lips along where that light blue band of your bra was just peeking out, murmuring lowly, “Love it when you scold me like that.” Still refusing to let go of you despite the jealous looks thrown your way, “Let’s go home, my girl.”

Oh, the look on your face was priceless. 

He just wished he could fish out his phone and record, or maybe even tell Geto to take a picture - help him make it his wallpaper. And he did - over fifteen times, in fact, as the two of you helped drag him away from the thrumming party. Geto doesn’t listen, of course, and you neither do you - grumbling out a slew of profanities underneath your breath that makes the Uber driver look at the two of you weird.

And yet, Gojo’s biggest issue right now was trying to climb up these fucking stairs - not when they were trying to run away from him. 

“I swear to God, Gojo-” you huff, chest heaving under the weight of walking - well, more like dragging - your roommate up to your apartment. Knees wobbly - maybe at the intensity of his cologne, maybe at the way his biceps were flexing on your shoulders, probably at how fucking useless he was. Damn lightweight. “You better cover my rent for the next year for this.”

“Of course I will~” his hot breath tickles your ear, “Anything for m’girl. I’ll take care of us forever, don't you worry your pretty lil’ head.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t deny the way your heart clenches - just a little bit. And if you’re slamming open Gojo’s bedroom door with a little more force than necessary, well, at least he’s a bit too impaired to nag at you about it.

He bounces lightly when you throw him on his plush mattress, giggling softly, “You should just join me, y’know. Have a little sleepover.”

“Drop dead.” you monotone, not even daring to look back at him while you shuffle through Gojo’s shirts. Throwing one over your shoulder at him, “N’ wear this, I just know you’ll complain about messing up your favorite button-up tomorrow morning.”

“Aww, you always take care of me so well, my girl~”

That familiar little nickname makes a shiver run down your spine, and it’s all you can do to concentrate on shuffling through Gojo’s drawers in search of his shorts. Absent-mindedly reaching for the lowest drawer and-

“Wait!” 

You jump, whirling around to catch Gojo sitting up ram-rod straight on the bed, eyes wide, hand reaching out as if to stop you. Swallowing thickly, you ask. “Gojo?”

And he jolts - like the very sound of your voice is sending electricity zapping through his veins. Abruptly scrambling off the bed before resting two hands on your shoulders, gently guiding you away from the drawer. “My shorts are uh- in my wardrobe, heh. Sorry about that.”

Furrowing your brows at the sudden twist, you squirm in his grasp to look at the drawer again. Failing - when Gojo keeps his grip steadfast, “Why’re you acting so-” 

“How about we order take out? My treat?”

And that night, tucking yourself into bed, you should be falling asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow. You should be caring less about that strange little outburst of Gojo’s inside his room. You should have realized sooner - those light blue panties you’d worn tonight were gone. No longer in your hamper of old clothes.

And there was only one thing to do. 

---

Gojo thinks he shouldn’t - fuck he knows he shouldn’t. He doesn’t even want to- well, that last bit was a lie.

Gojo Satoru first met you about a year ago, when you’d come knocking at his door asking about his ad for a roommate. It was more because he was bored inside this big apartment by himself than anything, really, but here you were all gorgeous and sweet, flashing him a smile that was burned into his mind for the rest of the week, at the very minimum. How could he ever say no?

And when you’d taken to walking around the apartment in those slutty lil’ shorts as a way to get back at his perpetual shirtless-ness? Thin panties just peeping out of the low hem? 

God, it was everything he could do to not run to the bathroom with each little glimpse. He was fucked, so very embarrassingly fucked. 

He just never thought it would get to this point - the first time had been an accident, honestly. When your laundry had gotten mixed up with his. Surely he didn’t remember having such a cute pair of pink panties in his closet? And surely it didn’t mean anything if he just-so-happened to stash them away, right?

At least, that’s what Gojo told himself the first time. And the second. And the third. And shit, it was a bit of an addiction now, and within a year of rooming with you, he’d accumulated a drawer stuffed guiltily with exactly what he shouldn’t be having. 

Gojo Satoru - insufferable campus sweetheart, the dreamy first place on everyone’s To-Fuck list - had been hoarding away your pretty panties. Like the pathetic virgin he pretends he isn’t. 

And so here he was - that dirty little drawer flung open, pants pulled down just enough, one hand flat on the flat surface to steady himself, while the other fisted desperately around his swollen cock - and one of your panties. 

“F-fuck, sweetheart.” he’s hissing, body shuddering in lewd little tremors at that torturous drag of fabric down his length. Squeezing at his thick base, moving fast - filthy up, up, up to thumb along the end of his sopping slit. “Feels s’good- too fucking good hngh-”

Such a pretty, wet gasp escapes him when your soaked, absolutely ruined underwear catches on his veins, tangling around his sensitive shaft. And he’s biting his lip, trying not to make a noise when he threads through the mess down below. 

“Oh fuck, yer killin’ me even when you’re ngh- not here.” he breathes unsteadily, weaving the sticky fabric around his long fingers. Tight - just how he knew you would. “S’like you know what you do t’me with these.”

They were your blue ones, this time - the ones from just last night. The ones you were wearing not even a full day ago. And Gojo has them wrapped daintily around his rock-hard cock, stark against the blushing red at his fat head. Already so drenched in precum as he fucks his fist. 

“Y’looked so p-pretty with these, sweetheart.” he groans over the wet fwip! fwip! fwip! Eyes rolling to the back of his head with each long, feverish stroke. “So pretty being mine. Ngh- so pretty in my- fuck.” 

Slam!

He’s hitting his palm facedown on the wood, knees buckling, eyes scrunching shut with pleasure. 

And that ruined, utterly depraved part of Gojo wonders whether next time he should steal your bras too? Have the full set of you proudly wearing his color like some secret little slut for him. 

He’s letting out a ragged little laugh, oh how cute you’d look all confused. Nipples hard through your flimsy excuse of a t-shirt while you looked around for them. While you asked him for help. 

Oh, just the thought of that has Gojo’s red, furious cock beading glossy drops of precum at his tip. Leaking a sinful, slippery sheen down his wrist. “Ah.” he lets out a guttural groan when his angry dick twitches in his hand, falling onto his elbow on the drawer. Not having the strength - or the sanity - to keep himself up anymore. “Look what you’ve-” Gojo’s eyes catch sight of a flash of red inside, sounding so wrecked. “Look what you’ve done.”

And those obscene red panties are snatched up by his free hand in a second, not even a second wasted before Gojo’s bringing them up to his face. 

Fuck. 

“Look what you’ve done. Look how ngh- filthy you’ve made me.” he whines, muffled. Hips fucking up in quick, uncontrollable little thrusts into his closed fist. Voice a pitch higher as he spits out embarrassing little accusations, “How pathetic. Gettin’ fuck- gettin’ off to this? Me of all hah- people like this? Can’t imagine how f-fucking mad you’d be.”  

Would you figure out it was him? Would you look in his drawer again? Teach him a lesson or two about being such a pathetic little pervert for his roommate. 

Maybe - just maybe - if Gojo plays his cards right, gets on his knees and begs for mercy, then you’d let him keep his little treasure. 

He throws his head back in a humorless little laugh when his aching hand slows down to languid, unforgivable tugs. He had time, anyway, your classes ended late today. Torturous - exactly the way he imagines you’d drive him mad. “Heh- wish this was you.”

You’d be so much meaner, pressing down on that little divot at his tip, flicking teasingly like you were trying to fuck out something delicious. You’d be running your nails down his achy veins, running your soft palms around his painful balls. 

You’d whisper, “This all you got, Toru?”

“Oh fuck!” Gojo moans, raspy little sounds of what sounds like your name filtering through the crevices of his fingers, your panties. “Fuck fuck fuck- gonna cum.” he whines. Heavy balls smacking back into his thighs with each thrust into your imaginary hand. How he wished you were here. He’s managing to wrench his eyes open to spy down at his sloppy cock - needing to see how your cute lil’ panties would look painted all white for him. How he wished you- “Gonna-”

Oh. Fuck. 

You. 

“Aw, why stop now, Gojo?”

You’re leaning against Gojo’s open bedroom door, flashing him such a sultry little smirk. Your voice almost a purr when you echo, “I said…” Before taking two long steps to where he stood frozen, “Why stop now?”

Gojo lets the damp fabric held up to his face drop in guilt - yet the other stays firmly wrapped around that hand cock of his still in hand. 

“S-sweetheart what are you- why-” And perhaps for the first time in the twenty-something years that Gojo Satoru has terrorized this planet, he’s speechless. Worry-bitten lips sagging open stupidly, “I- this is-”

You cut him off, “So you’re the panty thief.” So close now that Gojo’s dick was throbbing at each heave of your chest, the way you were squeezing your thighs together. Eyes sliding down his body to rest at the mangled mess of your all-new panties around his painfully hard cock. “I knew it.”

“I can explain-”

“All those times pretending to help me?” you bat your lashes in a way that makes him gulp. Words dripping with the same tease he’d imagined in daydreams just like this. “When you were the pervert stealing my panties? Are you even ashamed?”

Gojo flushes an innocent pink, excuses tumbling out of those pretty lips immediately. But they sound like lies even to him.

“This- ngh-” he’s rolling his hips forward when you slide a smaller finger down his arm, between his pecs, almost the way down to those tufts of white. “Fuuuck- y-you’re not mad? Are ya the devil herself cuz you’re gonna- ngh- kill me this way.”

Humming, “Class was canceled, but of course - don’t hah- stop on my account, Gojo.”

“Toru.” he’s gasping out, a low moan wrenching out of him when he’s bowing his body into his fist again. Squeezing - almost warningly - at his hilt. “C-call me Toru. Please.”

And fuck he could’ve cum right then and there at that devilish little smile you give him, biting down on your lower lip - inches from his that it felt like you were biting down on his. Maybe you were, shit Gojo didn’t even know right now. 

“Toru.”

That’s all it takes for Gojo’s lips to be crashing onto yours. Biting back a little whimper at the messy clash of teeth, of spit, because one taste of your candied lips and he was already so addicted. 

“Mmpf-” Gojo gasps, chasing hotly after your lips. Eyes half-lidded to watch the snapping of those delicate strings of saliva, “You’re- you’re so-” And he’s way too impatient to get out his words, licking heatedly at the slit of your mouth. Over and over and over-  “As bad as me- ngh-”

“Are ya sure about that?” you grin, cunt clenching at your roommate’s pained grunt when you pull away. “Because look-”

And the both of you are stuck on the way Gojo’s moving again, hips fucking up in jagged, mindless little grinds. Like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Like he didn’t even feel the way his leaky tip was smearing along the front of your sinfully short skirt. 

“Can’t help it.” he whines, kissing down your neck. Hips urging forwards to slip up the thigh-length fabric, and when you don’t pull away, Gojo drags your skirt up, up, up with his pulsing length, “You don’t know what you do to me- fuck.”

His jaw falls slack, ogling at the sight of your pretty pussy on full display for him. Already so glossy with your sweet sweet juices, needy between your restless thighs. Bare. 

And this might be the first time he’s seen a cunt in real life but Gojo already knows - he already feels - that she’s gonna be the death of him. 

Sharp teeth nip at your bottom lip, tugging. “What the fuck-” Gojo breathes - more to himself than anything. “What the fuck what the-” Bringing down his free hand to run the pads of his long fingers along your puffy folds, as if to confirm whether this was real. “-fuck! Going out like this? You’re even dirtier than me, huh?.” 

“What can I do?” Sliding your arms around his broad shoulders, palms running along the heated skin. Back arching to grind down on his hand, “Someone stole all my panties.”

Your words fall on deaf ears, because Gojo doesn’t hesitate for even a second before he’s bringing his dripping wet fingers up to his lips. Smoldering eyes looking right into yours when he pops them in his mouth. Sucking them dry. 

“Oh fuck, sweetheart.”

In a split second, you’re being splayed out on Gojo’s king-sized bed like such a slut. Bouncing at the sheer force of the throw. And it happens so fast that you almost think you’re seeing things - but, no, the way you’re bouncing against the silky sheets was real. Your skirt bunching up at your waist was real. 

Gojo’s hazy gaze getting stuck right at the spot between your legs was real. 

“Shiiiit.” he murmurs, low and gravelly, like he’s moving through molasses. Stalking towards your trembling figure as if hypnotized, “Oh, she looks even prettier this way.”

You shuffle in embarrassment, pressing your thighs together, “Toru-”

But he doesn’t hear you, instantly scrambling onto the bed. “No- no no no no no-” Just wrenching your legs apart with his hands. “No, you don’t get to hide th-this from me, you don’ know how long I’ve waited for this. How much I’ve imagined-”

You’re gasping when he runs the tip of his index between your sopping wet slit, coating his fingers in your juices once more. Teasing. “N’ so wet. This all f’me? God, can’t even- ngh-”

“So eager.” you mumble, fingers threading through Gojo’s soft locks to pull him in so close. To drag him towards where you needed him the most. “Why don’t you jus’ shut up- N’ put that big mouth of yours into use somewhere else?”

His eyes widen, words a whisper, “C-can I?” He doesn’t wait for your response before flipping the two of you so easily. Having you toppling precariously on his lap now, “Can I really? Never done this before.”

Never?

It’s not before he lets out a shy huff, that you realize that you said that out loud. “So what? S’that bad?” Two large hands groping and kneading your ass to keep you in place, “Ya didn’t actually ngh- believe all those stories on campus, did ya?”

Squirming at the feeling of his massive girth rubbing up against your swollen folds, “D-doesn’t matter.” You grit out, “You can…”

And no sooner are you seeing Gojo’s megawatt smile, you’re already feeling it between your thighs. Being wrestled up like some glorified ragdoll, dragging your sloppy cunt all the way up to straddle Gojo’s pretty face. 

“So, this is what she ngh- looks like.” he whines, hot breath lapping at your quivering pussy. “Shit, she’s so wet I could almost-” You’re gasping when the man below you simply sticks his awaiting tongue out, admiring your pussy while letting your syrupy sweet slick drip! drip! drip! down his throat. “This all f’me?” 

The only thing you can give him right now is a needy little whine - which makes Gojo kiss the fat of your ass with a sharp smack! Biting his lip at the way it jiggles against his hand, “Tell me, where did my feisty girl go?”

That lewd little nickname has you scoffing in pathetic frustration, your grip searing on his scalp when you force his obscene mouth closer. “Y-you seriously need to-” Pulling, “-shut up, Toru.”

And oh, you’d played right into Gojo’s devilish hands. This was exactly what he wanted - to have his face stuffed between your limp legs, ready mouth meshing messily with the folds of your dripping cunt. “There she is.” he moans, the tip of his tongue slurping up the sloppy dredges of your slick. Carding between your pussy lips, “Oh- fuck there she is. Yeah use me like that- use me.”

He’s running his mouth a mile a minute and you wonder how. Because Gojo was lapping at your cunt so feverishly, everywhere - from your inner thighs, to your folds, to just around the circles of your sloppy entrance like he wanted to taste it all. And couldn’t decide where to go first. 

“T-Toru.” you let out a honey sweet mewl of his name when the tip of his nose is rubbing against your clit. “There. Right there-”

Eyes rolling to the back of his head when he easily locates your sensitive nub. Wrapping those ruby lips around your clit to give an experimental suck. 

Shit, he could almost pass out from how heavenly you look on top guiding him. Your entire body jolting with each roll of his hot tongue, giving him such a pretty view of your tits up your silky shirt. Just dragging your sloppy cunt all into his mouth when he toys with your pulsing clit. 

“Oh fuck!” your hips are darting away with each zap of electricity sent down your spine. 

Which, for Gojo - who’s only ever dared to dream up this moment on those lonely nights - isn’t enough. 

“Know m’new to this, sweetheart, but stop bein’ nice n’ fuckin-” He’s pulling on the crease of your waist, dragging you to rest your entire weight on his face - his mouth. “-sit.” You’re keening when Gojo forces you to collapse on his soft tongue, bullying past your puffy folds and into that sloppy ring of muscle. Jus’ barely dipping past the resistance, “I said use me so fuckin’ use me. Don’ care if I can’t breathe - if I fucking suffocate- ngh- m’gonna die if you don’t just sit.”

“Fine.” You cry out when the curve of his tongue is molding into your gummy walls, pushing recklessly past. Not even fucking easing you into it before he’s fucking you on his tongue. Calculated, mean little thrusts in search of all your sweet spots. “No half-assing then, m’kay?”

Though, you had the feeling that he would do anything but. 

“Good, now keep still.” he’s scolding, one hand starting up again in those slow, satisfied tugs on his length. “Please keep still.” And the other dancing between your legs to push a finger inside your snug cunt. “Mmm it’s a tight fit, can feel ya clenching around me. Ngh- always wondered how it’d feel- where that would be.”

Blinking away the haze in your eyes, you look down at where Gojo was already locked on you, “Th-that?”

“That.” he breathes into your cunt, voice reverent as he speeds up. “S’your pussy gonna tell me where your good spot is? Gonna help me ngh- learn?”

And to your embarrassment - and Gojo’s smug satisfaction, it only takes a few more hurried strokes of his tongue before he’s nudging against your g-spot. Both the texture of his tongue and his long, cold fingers curling to assault the poor bundle of nerves. 

Your body bows deeper as if on auto-pilot, “Oh- fuck! You fucking- hngh”

He’s snickering at the way you’re so responsive, cock hard - and only swelling girthier in his fist with each adorable moan falling from your lips. 

“Oh yeah? There? Ya like this?” he moans, “Ya like shutting up the ngh- p-pervert that steals your panties with your cunt?” 

Getting faster. More attuned to his feral need. 

Lips smacking in tempo with those obscene squelches, you can’t tear your eyes away from the way his cheeks hollow. Fingers still so rapid, moving to make out and toy so messily with you clit - untimed, sloppy but fuck did you love it. 

“Y-yes.” you’re shoving his mouth guiltlessly deeper. Letting his long tongue explore every crevice and inch of you. Sloppier. So, so filthy. “Love it- fuck- you’re such a fast fucking learner.”

“I know.”

There was that cocky Gojo Satoru you were used to, lips curling into a strawberry pink smile around your clit - all glossy and sweet with a sheen of your slick. Making such a mess of the lower half of his face, his chin, shit, all the way down to his jaw. 

“M’close-” you choke out at the sight, “M’so fuckin’ close- gonna- gonna cum on your tongue, Toru.”

“Look at you ruining me.” his words hit you hard on your sensitive cunt, sending shockwaves up your arched spine. Obscene little smacks of his lips following your barely-lucid mewls.“Absolutely defiling me. Are ya proud of nghhh fuck- yourself?”

It’s all you can do to manage out a strained, “Yes! Yes yes yes yes- God, m’so close, Toru/ Gonna cum m’gonna-”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming at first, just that you’re riding Gojo’s unfairly pretty face in harsh grinds - just the way he liked it. Jaw grinding against your cunt, chin hitting you with each slutty jerk of your hips, letting you use him all you want to ride through your high. 

And his fingers are digging into your hips, stopping you from pulling away even when you were snow. Even when you’re sobbing in oversensitivity. So painfully good. 

“Ngh- T-Toru–” you’re slurring out, his name thick on your tongue. “M’not gonna cum on your dick if you k-keep hah- acting this way.”

Only then does a pussydrunk Gojo Satoru raise his bleary eyes back up at you. Giving you a strained little grunt of acceptance, before parting ways with your pussy with a lingering, wet kiss on your clit. Barely-audible as he whispers, “Gonna see ya soon.”

You don’t have the time to think about his newfound addiction. Because in all of three seconds, he’s plopping you back down so prettily on his lap. Purposefully feeding your sopping wet slit his weeping red tip. 

“Please.” Gojo’s usually-arrogant grin has fallen into such a pretty pout with one graze of his length sandwiched between your folds. “I did good, right? Please ngh- so I th-think if I made you cum then I get to hah- fuck you how I want.”

And it’s not that you didn’t appreciate it before - but looking at his thick tip pushing up against your cunt right now has you recognizing that shit, Gojo is massive. 

Fat head blushing a pretty reddish, leaking so messily down, down, down those glistening veins at his side and to the creamy ring at his base - from when he’d cum, just from eating you out, you realize with a jolt. His girth so intimidatingly thick, long enough that you know you won’t be walking for a week straight, at least. All throbbing and angry with every second he isn’t buried to the hilt inside your cunt. 

Gojo Satoru is massive. 

“Like what ya see?” he echoes your thoughts, a soaked thumb coming down to pry apart your glossy folds. Grinning at the way your hole was already so needy and clenching around nothing. “Think m’the ngh- perfect size for this pretty pussy?”

Through it all, you find it in yourself to muse, “Only one way to find out. Gonna let me be your first, Toru?”

And then he’s pushing in, shallow, high little gasps bursting from his lips with each inch being bullied into your plush cunt. 

“O-oh fuck-” Gojo can’t stop himself from taking a good look at the way your pussy lips are bulging around him. Jaw dropping at the way your greedy entrance is only sucking him up more and more - trying to bite off more than you can chew with the way he was in so deep but barely even halfway in yet. “S’too good- oh my god- fuck I think m’gonna die. Is it s’pposed to feel th-this good?”

You’re running a hand gingerly through Gojo’s mussed-up hair, smoothing down the sides sticking up where you’d been pulling on it. “S’alright, Toru.” you soothe, letting him grind up into you. Trying to fit more - all of it. “You’ve got it- you’ve hah-”

You let out a pathetic little whine when his tip kisses your cervix, legs flexing around his toned waist. 

“Oh- ohhh fuck-” he’s barely able to string together coherent sentences now. Eyes falling till their half-lidded, body moving before his mind when he pulls yours stuck to his. “S-soo good n’ I haven’t even- oh!” His voice goes a few octaves higher when Gojo finally starts moving. “How can- it feel this good, hng-”

And shit for being inexperienced, he was fucking up into you so mean. Just in short little thrusts up like he was trying to fuck you even deeper - trying to squeeze inside more of himself impossibly. 

“Some- ah- some more, Toru-” 

He listens, and the stretch - fuck. Gojo wasn’t even trying yet, but his girth was already massaging your gummy walls so dizzyingly good. 

“Y-you’re so- ngh-” you graze your lips across his in what can barely be called a kiss. Too messy. Too depraved. “-so deep.” Sliding a hand about midway down your stomach to press down, “Can feel you all the way in here.”

Your words are sticking to Gojo like a second skin, driving him so fucking mad. Hips smacking up into you deep until his heavy balls were slapping your ass, sculpted pelvis crashing into yours.

“Stop talking.“ he spits, “Stop talking stop talking stop- talking.” Each word is punctuated by a desperate, messy stroke. Pushing you further and further up Gojo’s body from the obscene impact. “Stop hah- talking or m’gonna cum.”

He wasn’t lying - you could already feel the twitch of Gojo’ length rubbing up against your hidden sweet spots. The furious throbbing of his veins stretching out your elastic walls. 

And yet you’re still wailing stubbornly, “B-but Toru it feels so good.” Partially truth, partially because when the fuck do you get to see him so utterly wrecked like this. Sanity dancing away from him with each syrupy moan leaving your mouth, “Your cock is too good- ngh- feels-”

“Shut up.”

Gojo can only take that much of your nonsense before he’s stuffing your mean mouth full with a flimsy piece of fabric from somewhere on the bed- no. A strangely familiar pair of panties. 

“Heh, s’much ohhh fuck- better.” he beams with pride when you’re gagging and tearing up so adorably around the light blue fabric. Ramming his cock up harder - stronger, as if daring you to make a little comment about it. “Should’ve ah fuck- known you wouldn’t make it easy f’me.”

As if to prove his point, he gives your ravaged clit a little smack! before teasing and rolling his thumb exactly the way you’d taught him to with his tongue.

And he’s scrambling to sit up, carrying your boneless body with him. 

The new angle has Gojo seeing stars, penetrating your gummy walls deeper, hitting that familiar g-spot he’s mapped out by now. “Here?” he manages to cackle, a big arm wrapping around your waist. “Right here? S’my cock hitting th-that ngh- good spot? Yer pussy is fuuuck so much easier to u-understand than I ah- thought.”

Reeling back to bounce you on his thick cock. Crashing into it again. And again and again and-

Since you can’t snap back - or even beg for more - you only let out muffled little moans through the gag in your mouth. Thighs burning as you push back in pathetic little thrusts to somehow meet Gojo’s mindless cadence.

“Oh yeah?” he drags, leaning back to help you ride him properly. “Yeah yeah do i-it hah- like that. Do it juuuust like that.” A harsh thumb rolls into your clit, making you stutter and grind yourself down messily. “Fuck- Yeah ruin me- ngh- just like that.”

His words were jagged - uneven. Spitting out of his plump lips like he didn’t even know they were every time Gojo’s fat, leaky tip was gliding across your cervix, your g-spot. Leaving possessive little bruises to claim you from the inside out. 

“C-close.” you slur out, not even sure if he could hear over the dull slap of his balls on your ass, and the greedy squelches of your cunt. “More, Toru.”

Yet your sinful, sickly sweet noises have him freezing - if only for a split-second. Pussydrunk eyes going wide, jaw falling slack in such awe. 

But before you can fully appreciate this sight, he’s starting back his depraved thrusts again. Bouncing you harder - faster. Just dragging you along every ridge and bump of his swollen cock. Fingers just a needy blur toying with your poor clit. 

“M-more?” he whines into the crook of your neck, voice breaking at the end. “More. More?” He speaks up, like a mantra. Each word sending you spiraling down Gojo’s merciless cock, Panting, “Ever since you fuck- started rooming w’me, wanted this- wanted you to hah- be my first.” Holding you in such a vice-like grip as he splits you apart on his aching cock. Harder. “You’ve ruined me-” he spits against your lips, big fat tears rolling down his cheeks. “Don’ know how many times I’ve cum to your pretty panties. Ruined me- ruined me- fuck m’so close- ruined me.” Violent, even. 

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same. 

And it’s only taking a few more unsteady jabs into your g-spot before a wave of euphoria is crashing over you. “Hngh-” you spasm in Gojo’s arms, his eyes going wide in wonder when your cunt squeezes him so fucking tight- only to-

“F-fuck!” he whines, connecting your lips to his. Kissing you even with your panties still stuffed into your mouth. And Gojo’s cumming and cumming so hard he doesn’t even think he’s breathing. Intertwining his tongue with yours to muffle his overstimulated moans, wrapping around your sweet slick-soaked panties in the middle. The contrast of his soft tongue with the lazy fabric of your panties only making you milk his poor cock harder. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck- fuck- Take it. Take it, my girl.”

You moan incoherently, going insane at the way he was filling you up with long, thick ropes of cum. Fucking deeper and deeper up into you to paint your plushy walls from the inside. 

“S’all I’ve- ngh wanted.” he murmurs throatily, such a fucking mess now. Face flushed, eyes glassy with tears, drool dripping down the corner of his mouth with the way he was sucking lewdly on your tongue. “You’re all I-I’ve ever wanted.”

Shit, he hasn’t cum this hard in his life.

Finally having had enough of shutting up your smart mouth, Gojo slows down to deep little grinds - still moving. Still trying to hold back his moans at that creamy ring around his hilt, at the globs of seed trickling out of your poor overfilled pussy. 

“Hah- Toru-” you whine when he pries away the fabric in your mouth. Shuddering with the swipe of his finger along your clit, “C-could almost ngh- forgive you…”

“The blue one.”

“What?” you’re staring at him in confusion, and Gojo’s fucked-out grin only spreads wider. 

“That was for the b-blue one.” you gasp when his balls suddenly squeeze so painfully underneath you. Cock jerking in interest, “Y’gonna have me make up for that whole drawer full of panties, sweetheart?”

A/N. VIRGIN GOJO BRAIN ROT GOES BRRRRRRRR

Plagiarism not authorized.

[unforth]

Y'all have got to stop virulently hating men. Like, I'm sorry, I fucking hate the patriarchy too, but the patriarchy isn't just men and saying it is just exculpates complicit women. I am the mother of a young boy, and I look at this precious, empathetic 8 year old boy I'm raising and I don't know where online is safe for him. Places like this will say he's evil just for his gender, and other places will say "we'll be your friend if you hate with us," and still others will radicalize him in other ways. Where is he supposed to go? Why are we saying the radicalization is the fault of the kids just trying to find a place to hang?

Like this is seriously getting urgent. You have got to fucking stop conflating the patriarchy and men. 53% percent of white women voted for Trump. Men aren't the problem. White supremacy and Christian patriarchal structures are two examples of patriarchy-reinforcing structures that aren't solely couched in maleness. Men aren't the problem, and pretending they are drives more men into more welcoming extremist spaces and also ignores all the parts of this that are forwarded by people who aren't men.

What I see happening all over is scared, depressed, lonely people looking for someone they're allowed to hate automatically, unquestioningly - someone they're allowed to place all the blame on. Fascism says people of color, non-Christian people, queer people, etc., are the ones they're allowed to hate.

And way too many of yall answer that no, it's leftist to hate men instead. You are doing *the exact same thing they are.*

Fucking knock it off.

The answer is we're not supposed to hate anyone automatically based on their immutable personal characteristics. Hate the specific people who've hurt you. Hate the self-reinforcing systems that let them get away with hurting you. Hate the strangers who prop up those systems. Hate the fascists. Hell knows I hate Donald Trump, but it's not because he's a man, it's because he's a piece of shit.

Hate the pieces of shit, not the gender.

But don't hate men just because they're men. That's unhelpful, stupid, insane, and entirely counterproductive. Fucking. Stop.

[inmirova]

I hate having to take lower-level classes not necessarily because they're boring but because I feel the need to fill in additional information in my answers and notes so it takes me twice as long. why was jean-baptiste lamarck wrong in his theory of inheritance of acquired characteristics? well the problem is he was almost right but we're not learning that right now.

[mostly-imagines]

The Venus Drug

jason todd x afab!reader

aka the side effects of a run-in with poison ivy

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), sex pollen so its inherently not strictly speaking consensual, oral (f & m receiving), free use, overstimulation

A clattering in your living room has you blearily shifting awake. The dark of your bedroom takes your eyes longer to adjust to than usual, it feels like. You peer at the time, finding it only just past midnight. Even on the good nights, midnight is pretty early for him to be coming back. 

Though, there’s really little concern of the noise-maker being anyone but your boyfriend, he’s set up too many security measures and failsafes around your apartment for anyone to get lucky waltzing in. It does worry you though that he is making such a clamor when he’s usually so careful about entering silently as to not wake you. 

You’re about to climb out of bed to investigate when the door creaks open, though light doesn’t flood through the crack like you’d expected.

Jason stumbles into the doorway, falling into a lean against the wall for support.

You sit up quickly, instantly on alert. “What’s wrong?”

He takes one glance at you and immediately averts his gaze to the floor like he saw something he wasn’t supposed to.

You look down, thrown by his behavior, only to see your usual nighttime attire: one of his shirts over underwear.

You blink back up at him, furrowing your brow. “Jay?”

You can vaguely make out a sigh from him, “Fuck…” he squeezes his eyes shut. “Ivy..”

Ah. This has happened before to the others, but this is the first time you’ve seen him affected by it. You’re prepared for it, though you hadn’t anticipated that it would be so seemingly debilitating.

“What can I do?” You try not to look as concerned as you feel but you can’t say with confidence that it’s working.

He slowly pushes himself off the doorframe, heading wearily towards the bathroom. He tugs his shirt off with difficulty, tossing it to the side. “Nothing, nothing..I jus’ need to…” he takes a deep breath, “Get it out of my system..” He’s trying to be comforting but the pain in his voice rids it of all believability.

You frown, watching him linger. “That seems like the exact kind of thing I could help with.”

His eyes close helplessly as his head falls back, “You can’t, baby.”

“Why not?”

He sighs, “I’m not…as in control as I’d like to be right now.”

Your pout deepens. This is something you’re working on with him—trusting both you and himself with vulnerability. Especially when it comes to situations where he feels like he’s putting you in a vulnerable place too. But you trust him with your whole being and you want him to know it. “That’s okay.”

“No,” he shakes his head vehemently. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” you say resolutely. “I trust you.”

He wavers, “No, I…No. I can’t.”

He says that, but he’s still not retreating to the bathroom. Instead, he loiters awkwardly, like he’s caught between decisions.

You feel a twinge of heartache in your chest, “Does it hurt?”

He’s quick to answer, “I’m alright.” Though he doesn’t try his hardest to sell you on the idea. 

Your face pans, “That’s not what I asked.”

“I—” he huffs, conceding. “Yeah. Yes.”

You extend your arms out, beckoning him towards you. It clearly goes against his better judgment but he can’t help himself from moving closer to you. An evident testament to the strength of Ivy’s work.

You take his hands in yours, looking up at him with begging eyes, “Let me help you? Please?”

Up close like this you can really see how labored his breathing is and how pained he looks. You sit up onto your knees, pulling his hands closer. “I wanna take care of you. Let me help my boy out. He deserves it.”

He steels his jaw, trying to replenish his rapidly weakening resolve. He exhales heavily before grabbing your chin, eyes serious. “Look at me,” he says sternly. “You stop me if I’m too rough.”

You nod adamantly, “I will.”

You fidget with the loop of his belt, waiting for permission. 

He squeezes your hands slowly, head bowing. “Help me, sweetheart.”

You’re instantly up on your feet, maneuvering him to switch places with you and sit down on the bed. You kneel down in front of him, undoing the clasp on his belt.

You tug his belt off, letting it clatter on the floor before freeing him the rest of the way. To your surprise, his eyes remain on you rather than your actions. He brushes your hair out of your face haphazardly, murmuring, “Pretty fucking girl..”

You keen at his words, fighting the urge to pause and rub up against him. Instead, you busy yourself and lick a line up his cock, immediately feeling his body stutter. You lick another stripe, this time adding a kiss afterwards.

His hands squeeze at the comforter under him, “Baby, please.”

You give a short nod before taking him in your mouth completely. He groans like it’s automatic, body practically vibrating in place. You rest your hands over his and he’s quick to turn his own over to hold onto yours.

It only works as a momentary distraction, as one of his hands leaves your grasp to move your hair from blocking his view again, petting your head nicely as you suck him off. “Oh, good girl. My good girl.”

He babbles when he gets overwhelmed during sex, though it doesn’t happen often. And especially not like this.

“Fucking—” he stammers, “God, you’re so—”

Frankly, the image of you on your knees in front of him, so willing and eager to help him out…it’s killing him. He’s putting absolutely all of his remaining restraint into not taking over and fucking your mouth the way he wants to—and it shows—so you’re doing your best to take as much of him in your mouth as you can and using your hand to compensate for the rest.

His head bobs back as his hand falls to a rest atop your head. His breathing is deep and heavy and you can see the way his abs flex through his restraint. His hand briefly fists up before stuttering back to lay open-palmed on your head.

“Oh, baby—” he lets out a gravelly moan and his arms nearly give out from holding him up as he comes.

You happily collect it on your tongue and he audibly groans when you swallow.

He’s quick to pull you up off the floor and place you on the bed so he can clamor over you. You fall back to have your arms hold you up as he finds your lips. 

“Take your shirt off,” he tells you breathlessly. “Please.”

You oblige without hesitation as he kisses and gropes along your torso. You don’t realize what he’s doing until he’s at face level with your underwear, fingers dipping under the band.

You sit up onto your hands, “Jay, you don’t have to—”

He shakes his head, “‘M not gonna hurt you,” he mumbles, very adamant. “Not doin’ it.”

It’s been a long running personal requirement for Jason to thoroughly prep you in some way before fucking you, and he’s right for it—you would definitely get hurt if he didn’t.

You feel conflicted about it now though, like it’s not fair of you to let him pay such mind to you when he’s quite literally in unprecedented pain.

But he slips your underwear down without hesitation, not wasting any time in getting to work. He doesn’t start with his usual teasing and build-up, instead he goes straight into licking at your core, eyes closed and strands of white hair stuck to his forehead. 

He hooks one hand around your knee and the other wraps around your thigh, pulling you closer. He used the newfound proximity to lap at you with more concentration and purpose, quite literally devouring you. You struggle to keep your breathing in tune with the rest of your body, not having been prepared for so much so quickly.

He’s eating you out like it’s the only thing keeping him alive, not giving himself any time to breathe or even think about anything else. You’re about to push him away so that he’ll take a breath or two when he moans into your cunt, instantly veering your brain straight off course.

He breaks from licking your pussy only to change course in favor of sucking on your clit, leaving open-mouthed kisses every few seconds. You thread your fingers through his hair, trying to soothe him as best you can.

This is a new experience for both of you in terms of intensity and desperation and it has you feeling like you were injected with the same toxin he was. It throws you so completely out of your senses that you don’t even notice that he’s rutting into the bed as he kisses you. Though, odds are he doesn’t realize he’s doing it either.

His grip on you tightens as he gets more fervent, the dig from the indents of his fingers promising to bruise. His eyes flutter as he makes out with your pussy, little mewls making their way through periodically.

“Jay—” you cry, tugging harder than you’d meant to on his hair. He hums in response, letting you know that he’s here, he’s with you, he’ll take care of you. 

Even high out of his mind he can still read you like a book, and can tell that you’re nearing your peak. He gets meditated and precise with his actions, leading you right up to the edge. You whimper again and he begins to rut harder.

It takes only a few moments of this repetition for you to briefly tense up before you start to tremble, heat flooding through your body. The saccharine new taste of your cum motivates him to reach his own end, moaning into you and sending a second wave of rapture over you.

You exhale heavily as his forehead drops against your stomach, catching his breath. It doesn’t take him very long. 

You can just start to realize the persistent trembling in your thighs when he licks another stripe down your pussy. You whine, sitting up on your elbows and squirming higher up on the bed.

He pulls back murmuring, “Sorry.” He kisses the inside of your thigh, “Sorry.”

You watch as he pushes up on his forearms to look at you proper, seeming almost dizzy. “I need..I need…” his shoulders drop. “Please.”

You just nod, giving him permission to do whatever he needs. 

He pulls you up by the waist and tugs you into him as close as he can, kissing you hard. You move to hold his jaw in your hands, stroking your thumb across lightly. He leans you backwards to lay you down flat, head just below the pillows. He folds over you easily, kisses becoming less and less intentional in placement as his hands stroke and squeeze up your sides. 

He pulls away only to glance down as he lines himself up with you, pushing in slowly. He peers back up at your face as he does, watching carefully to make sure it doesn’t hurt.

You hold onto his shoulders as you take him, the stretch feeling significant but familiar.

He kisses your cheek once he’s fully inside and begins to rock in and out of you slowly. The pace picks up quickly as he continues to makeout with you.

A particularly intense thrust has you wrapping your arms fully around the frame of his shoulders, hugging him close to you. He immerses himself in the crook of your neck, fucking you with deeper and more punctuated strokes than you can remember.

“Jay,” you gasp as he places firm kisses across your jaw like he’s trying to hammer it into your head that he fucking loves you.

His thrusts gradually get faster and while it’s perfectly overwhelming for you, it doesn’t seem to be enough for him. 

He huffs before pulling out of you without warning. He untangles your arms from around him so he can flip you over to lay on your stomach. He pulls you back up just as quickly, arm wrapped around your torso, leaving you to hold yourself up by your hands and knees as he kisses on your neck messily.

This time when he reenters you he continues on with his previous pace, taking you by surprise once again. Your mouth is practically hanging open as he ruts into you, successfully sending your thoughts straight out of your head.

He lays kisses down your spine murmuring, “I love you.” He moves in and out of you without falter, “Thank you, thank you..”

His hands hold your waist in place, keeping you steady for both of your sakes. Multiple times his grip tightens only to loosen the second he realizes how hard he’s squeezing you. You don’t mind though, you’ve never had any trouble revering marks left behind by him before. 

“It’s—” you pant, “It’s okay—” you reach back to put your hand over his, pressing down.

His brash hold returns upon the permission, more assured. “Good girl, good—” he praises, “So fucking good for me, baby.”

He reaches around and dips his free hand below your hips, beginning to rub circles on your clit.

Your arms shake and you worry that they’re nearing buckling, but, attuned with you as ever, his arm wraps tighter around your middle, pulling you up a bit higher so that you barely have to mind any of the work of holding yourself up.

He makes sure to support your weight nicely, holding you in a way that he knows won’t be uncomfortable for you. His circles never cease, never falter from that just right pace he’s come to know like the back of his hand.

You’re brought to your high by the arrival of his, struggling to keep your head upright as you come.

He thumps down over to the side to lay on his back, chest heaving. You pick up your head to look over at him, finding that he doesn’t look nearly as exhausted as you’re sure you do. Still, he breathes heavy, pupils blown out and sweaty.

You notice how his fists clinch up and loosen a couple times over, trying to convince himself that he’s done, he doesn’t need any more from you, he’s all better now. 

But you also notice that he’s still hard. His eyes are fixed on the ceiling, dead set on not looking at you and having to confront that he really, really does still need you.

So you force yourself to sit up, placing a hand on his chest for balance. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to relax for your sake but that’s the last thing you want him to do.

You push yourself up and over his waist, perching over his abs and brushing his hair back from his forehead. You press a kiss to his head before sitting up on your knees and reaching down to line his cock up with your entrance.

You plant a hand on his chest as you sink down onto him with a deep breath.

“You’re okay,” he rasps, watching in mesmerization as you start to lift your weight up slowly off of your thighs and sink back down.

“I’m okay,” you confirm, guiding his hands to your hips. The presence of his hands on you feels like reassurance and works wonders to help you pick back up some of your energy.

The pace you latch onto feels good, for both of you, but you realize fairly quickly that you’re not going to be able to go as fast as he needs you to.

His hands slip down from your hips to your upper thighs, helping you bob up and down. It doesn’t take long for this to give way to him grabbing your hips and moving you entirely himself.

You watch his arm muscles flex as he shifts you around, leaving you awed with the way he shows virtually no struggle while shifting the majority of your body weight up and down over and over again. Just being completely manhandled by him has you letting out an involuntary moan, letting your head fall back.

“There you go, there you go,” he coos, motions without cessation.

He has you riding him faster than you ever have before and it becomes overwhelming quickly. But Jason, ever the caretaker, coaches you through it, encouraging your every movement.

“That’s my girl,” he groans, watching the way your breasts bounce. “Perfect fucking thing.”

The acclaim in his voice makes your eyes shut and your diaphragm shake, all while he continues to fuck you senseless. 

Your body stutters above him, hands flying onto his for support. He comes only moments later, seemingly the only thing that could break his concentration for ragdolling you. The following release of your hips has you slumping over onto his chest, face laying in the bend of his neck.

He turns his head wearily to you, rubbing a hand up your back. “‘R you okay?” he slurs out.

You hum feebly, eyes unable to stay open.

“Can I…?” It takes hearing the words for you to realize that somehow he’s still hard.

You try to nod hard enough that it can be distinguished against the heaviness of your breathing, though you can’t be sure you were successful.

He sighs, “Baby…”

His hangup is immediately clear to you, even through the haze of being post-three orgasms in less than thirty minutes. It takes real, measurable effort to get this singular word through, but you manage.

“Yes,” you breathe out. A ‘yes’ is going to have to work for him because you don’t have a shot at stringing together anymore syllables.

He places a gentle hand on the back of your head, his other landing on your lower back. He slowly starts to fuck you again, this time much softer than before. It’s calm enough that you can settle into the fatigue in your bones and start to feel the exhaustion sweep over your consciousness.

In between kisses laid sweetly upon your neck, He murmurs affections to you the whole time, though you lose almost all of them to sleep. He moves you around a bit more as he goes, though careful to be gentle enough that he doesn’t disturb your peace anymore than he has to.

By the time he’s done he’s bordering on completely out of it and can’t do anything but collapse atop you, nuzzling into your neck.

There’s a pretty consistent pattern that can be found when helping him deal with post-patrol aftermath. Scarecrow’s never any good, his pop-ups tend to end in winding Jason down from panic. There’s always injuries after Bane and invariably there’ll be a mess from Clayface. Half the time he has to get an entirely new suit after a run-in with Killer Croc. So as far as Gotham’s problems go, Poison Ivy isn’t the worst. 

the morning after epilogue

✨ oh you don’t reblog? that’s…no, that’s totally fine for you! im so happy for you…i mean its just been out of fashion for like three seasons but yeah, that shows a lot of…confidence! ✨

[luvmanifesting]

You’re still wasting time..

10 minutes ago you could’ve had everything you desired, 3 hours ago you could’ve had everything you desired, 1 week ago you could’ve had everything you desired, 2 seconds ago you could’ve had everything you desired, just after reading this you could’ve had everything you desired.

2024 is almost over and you’re heavily procrastinating for what?

fear?

laziness?

not able to make up your mind on what you want?

waiting for the 3D to confirm?

wanting someone to manifest for you?

whatever it is stop it. because you’re literally withholding yourself from experiencing all the fun things you always dreamed of doing since you were a baby/child with childlike wonder. nobody’s coming to save you, you either dust yourself off and accept the fact you’re god, or you get left behind. some of you are incredibly helpless atp, “i just can’t do anything right!!!” and thats your assumption so now everything you do just isn’t “right”

all you guys do is ask the same questions over and over expecting some sort of new answer, do you want us to pity you..? cry for you? we’re DEFINITELY not inducing pure consciousness for you if thats the case :D.. every time you guys hear about a new method that gives you instant results you immediately put it on the pedestal (STOPPPPPPPPP OMFG) you’re supposed to be the only one on the pedestal 😓 you are too old to be crying over something that’s supposed to be simple and fun, you have all the info you need and yet you over complicate it still. its so easy to cry and complain but its so hard for you to just step forward and acknowledge the power you have? LOA DEFINES ALL LOGIC MANIFESTATION DEFINES ALL LOGIC.

time doesn’t exist

yes you can manifest anything

take this “void state” bs off the pedestal

stop crying

stop saying “oh this success story will give me so much motivation”

if you wanted something badly then you wouldn’t complain and you would do what you have to do to obviously get it right? the thing is you don’t get your desires, because they were always yours from the damn beginning, stop wasting all this fucking time.

[gabseyoo]

PROOF — SAKUSA KIYOOMI

content: msby!kiyoomi, female reader, best friend!kiyoomi, pwp, cunnilingus, fingering, kinda best friends to lovers. word count: 2,7k.

note: this was supposed to be shameless smut but ended up being kind of romantic (?) just because a kiyoomi being in love with us is my sexual fantasy. also, i'm not satisfied with the ending, but i had no other ideas. maybe when i come up with something better ill change it, who knows :p

“Kiyoomi, do you go down on girls?”

The question took Kiyoomi off guard. You guys had spent the last twenty minutes in almost complete silence, just hanging out in his living room and completely ignoring the random movie you had chosen because you both were scrolling through your phones, which is why the last thing he expected to hear out of the blue was such a question.

He turned to look at you, who were lying across the couch with your feet resting in his lap and still staring at your phone screen. Not knowing what to say, a ‘huh’ was the only thing he could think of. 

“Just answer.” You poked his thigh with your foot. “It’s not like we’re strangers.” 

That was true. You two were good friends, practically best friends, and therefore, you both had full confidence in each other. But, you had always kept a limit when it came to talking about both his sex life and yours, to the point where that part of your respective lives was a complete mystery to each other. 

And this is a secret— but he liked it that way. Because he was more than sure that he didn’t want to know what you did with other men at all. Just thinking about it made his stomach turn with jealousy. That’s the reason he didn’t bother to tell you about his own experiences with other women either, just in case there was a small chance that you might feel the same way he did. 

“None of your business.” He answered sharply. 

You rolled your eyes before getting up from your comfortable position to sit cross-legged, “C’mon, Kiyoomi, It’s just a question.”

“A question I won’t answer.”

“Why not?” You crossed your arms, looking at him defiantly. 

Kiyoomi narrowed his eyes at your posture, why did you suddenly want to know that? Moreover, why did you insist on wanting to know? Did someone say something to you? Is there a rumor about him? Or maybe you had suddenly awakened an interest in him? He was overthinking, but still he hoped more than anything that it was the latter option rather than the others. 

“Just because.” He said, and before you could protest, he continued: “And, why are you asking anyway?” 

A smirk appeared on your face, “If you answer my question, I’ll answer yours. Deal?”

“Never mind.”

“You’ll never know why I asked, then.” You said, casually looking at your nails. “Unless we make a deal.”

He shouldn’t accept so easily, he knew, but now he was genuinely curious why you broke an unspoken rule between you two to ask him if he did orals, of all things. 

So, he agreed. “Deal.”

Your smile of victory almost made him smile too, but he did his best to remain serious. “Okay. Tell me.”

He sighed before answering honestly. “I do.”

Your eyes widened and an incredulous laugh escaped your lips before you said, “Really?” The surprise in your voice made him frown, why was that surprising? Should he be offended?

“Yeah.”

“Are you serious? You go down on girls?” You couldn't even hide the disbelief in your voice. “You?”

“I already said yes. Now, tell me. Why are you asking?”

Without further ado, you grabbed your phone that had been forgotten in your lap to unlock it, and a second later you were showing him what appeared to be your TikTok feed.

“A fan made a TikTok with the title: Ranking how good MSBY players are at giving head and you were raked as a zero just because he’d rather die than put his mouth there.”

What the fuck?!

“Let me see that.”

In the blink of an eye, Kiyoomi snatched the phone from you to watch the video with his own eyes, regretting it as soon as it started thanks to the embarrassing selection of music and photos chosen from the team members. He scoffed, a random person on the internet had felt entitled to make this kind of ranking just based on appearances and assumptions. It’s not like they could have any real evidence at the end of the day. But it seems that for many people a video of this kind told the absolute truth, because it had thousands of likes and thousands of comments, and—to his misfortune���he couldn’t help but read them.

Now he wished he had never done it. 

In addition to most of the comments agreeing and mocking Kiyoomi’s ranking, saying that at least his face makes up for it and that maybe he gives head as long as he has his face mask on—that one was actually funny, but he wouldn’t say that out loud—, the other vast majority agreed that Atsumu and Bokuto were the best. 

But the question here is, did you think the same?

“You actually believe this crap?” He asked, actually sounding more hurt than he planned. 

“Kiyoomi, it’s just a TikTok. Of course, I’ll believe it.” You were obviously trying to make a joke, but still, the expression on his face showed pure disbelief. “I’m joking, jeez.”

“I know it’s a just TikTok, but I still want to know.” He sounded serious. 

You sighed and rolled your eyes, perhaps thinking he was exaggerating, maybe he was, but he wasn’t offended by the fact that someone made that video, there were probably hundreds just like it. It was the fact that you, of all people, seemed to agree with an assumption about him and his very private intimate life. 

“Kiyoomi, I just thought it was funny. That’s why I asked.”

“But you didn’t believe me when I told you I did.”

“I did believe you.” He narrowed his eyes, showing that he obviously didn’t buy your words. “I’m not lying. I believed you, but— I was just… shocked.”

“Why?”

“It’s just that…never mind.”

“Tell me.” 

You looked him in the eye for a few seconds before sighing heavily.

“You’re… a little too special when it comes to cleanness and— where you put your mouth, you know?” You weren’t even looking him in the face, obviously nervous about the direction the conversation was taking. “I’m not judging you, we should all be careful where we put it. And, I just thought that… yeah” You waved your hand as you finished, trying to play it down. 

Kiyoomi couldn’t blame you or others for thinking that, after all, that was the kind of reputation he built for himself. But, even when he didn’t care what others thought about him, he always cared what you thought; for that reason alone, he wasn’t going to let you walk away with the wrong idea about him. 

“Yes, we should. But now you know that I actually go down.” He said, and, simply because he had a good feeling, he added: “And I’m pretty good at it, I can assure you.”

You scoffed. “Are you?”

“I am.” Confidence exuded in his voice, perhaps that was exactly why the next words came out of his mouth: “You want proof?”

What happened next was a delight to his eyes. 

You got fucking nervous, of course he noticed, you were his best friend after all. You widened your eyes, opened your mouth a couple of times in an attempt to say something but nothing came out. But what was a poem for him, was to see how you moved your hips slightly, in a movement that could have gone unnoticed if he hadn't paid all his attention to you. 

You cleared your throat as you looked away from his gaze. “I have no desire to ask your previous flings how good you are down there or watch any pornographic videos of you, so no, thanks.” You folded your arms as you sat up straight, suddenly finding the movie interesting. 

The room fell into silence, accompanied by a heavy tension that you two were obviously aware of. 

This situation was actually kind of funny. Thanks to a fucking TikTok, he now had an opportunity in front of him that he had been waiting for a long time. An opportunity he was going to take. 

“I wasn’t referring to that kind of proof.”

Three minutes later, you were lying on the couch with your head resting on a pillow, your pants thrown aside on the floor and Kiyoomi between your legs, spreading kisses across your belly. 

“This is weird.” You said, maybe in an attempt to break the intimate silence that had formed where only your breaths and his kisses could be heard. 

“It is.” He agreed before lowering his lips to your inner thighs, where he surprised you with a light bite that made you gasp. “We can stop if you want.”

You were quick to reply with a no and he smirked against your skin. Of course you didn’t want to stop, neither did he. Both of you by this point were already immersed in lust, even though it had only been a few minutes of foreplay.

When he was desperately taking off your pants minutes ago, Kiyoomi debated whether to just go for it or take it slow. 

But the moment he saw the longing in your eyes, how pretty you looked underneath him, he knew he would take his time. He didn’t just want to prove something to you; he actually wanted to taste you, to make you squirm, to make you enjoy this as much as he would. 

Gently caressing your thighs with both hands, he moved down until his mouth made contact with your pelvis, where he left another trail of kisses until he reached right where your clit was. Still above the fabric of your panties, he kissed you there, which was enough to elicit a moan of frustration from you.

“Please, just do it.” 

He kissed the same spot again before smirking. “Let me just go get my facemask, can’t do this without it.” 

His sudden joke made you burst into laughter which elicited a chuckle from him. “Don’t kill the mood.” You said as you gave a small pat to his hand that squeezed your thigh. 

He smiled and brought both of his hands to the waistband of your panties, pulling them down slowly. “At this point that’s impossible.”

“I know.” You muttered as you lifted your hips to let him remove the garment easily. 

As quickly as the garment hit the floor, Kiyoomi’s eyes focused on the middle of your legs, you may not have noticed, but the mere sight of your pussy glistening with your arousal made him twice as hard as he already was. 

“Don’t stare.” You said, trying to close your legs as much as you could since Kiyoomi was in the way.

No, no, no. There was no way for you to hide from him now, or ever. 

“Why not? You’re so fucking hot in all places.” 

Hearing his words, in an act of fluster, you brought both of your hands to cover your face, perhaps trying to hide how his praise made you feel. “You think so?”

The question came out almost in a whisper, and in response, he took both of your hands, interlaced your fingers and placed them on the sides of your head with the purpose of looking you in the eyes. 

“There’s no day when I don’t think that you’re hot,” He confessed, his voice deep and serious with the purpose of making you understand that he was not playing games. “Now that I just told you how crazy I’m for you, open your legs and let me make you feel good.”

You nodded, and staring at him with desire in your eyes, you opened your legs wide open again until that part of your body that he wanted to devour more than anything else was once again fully at his mercy.

Kiyoomi let go your hands and he lowered his body until his stomach made contact with the soft cushion of the couch. Now in that position, he wrapped his arms around your thighs, squeezing the flesh eagerly before dipping his head into the middle of your legs. 

“God.” You sighed, jerking your hips upward in surprise. 

He played slowly with his tongue, running it up and down before concentrating on sucking your clit. 

He was hard as fuck. Maybe more than he had ever been in his life. He even felt his tip leaking and was almost certain that if he started grinding his hips against the cushion, he could come at any moment. But he would save that for later. Right now, he was getting drunk on your taste and the sound of your moans. 

And fuck… those moans were heaven itself. 

He lowered his mouth, right at your entrance, where he began to lick gathering more of your juices before he deepened his mouth against your clit, sucking harder, quickly realizing that you liked it by the movement of your hips and the loud whimper that came out of your mouth. 

Kiyoomi was getting excited, even more so when he felt your hands stroking his head before pulling his curls, holding him closer to you, as if you were afraid he would break away, taking with him the pleasure you were feeling, but Kiyoomi wasn’t willing to do that, right now what he wanted most was you coming as hard as you could in his mouth. 

Hungry to increase your pleasure, he didn’t think twice when he let go of one of your thighs to stick a finger inside you, thrusting it in and out a few times before slipping another one in and curving his fingers to reach that sensitive spot inside you. 

“There, oh god, there.”

He would give you whatever you wanted, so he focused there. Feeling lovesick at this point. Loving the way you sounded. Loving the way you pulled his hair. Loving  the way your tight pussy squeezed his fingers. 

He moved his tongue back down to your entrance at the same time he pulled his fingers out, but only to start circling them over your clit. This is where you put a hand over your mouth to keep from screaming, but Kiyoomi didn’t want that, he wanted to hear you come undone for him, no matter if it woke up the neighbors. So with his free hand he took you by the wrist at the same time that he separated his mouth from your sex.

“Don’t hold back those sounds, I want to hear you scream for me. Okay?”

You nodded. Too shocked to formulate words. 

“Good girl.” He praised before placing a short kiss on your wrist, releasing it a second later to immediately return to seal his mouth with your wet pussy. 

This time he put both hands behind your knees to spread your legs wider and pushed them against your chest, giving himself more room to continue devouring you, proud that you were no longer shy to scream with pleasure when he flicked his tongue, sucked and bit your pretty pussy. 

“I’m close. Fuck! Don’t stop, please.”

Kiyoomi wouldn’t stop, he was sure of that.

It was a matter of seconds when started to came in your best friend’s mouth. 

Kiyoomi kept licking, drinking up all your release until your legs began to shake from overstimulation. 

He gave a peck to your clit before gently letting go of your legs, settling them slowly on the cushion. He caressed your thighs as he left kiss after kiss on your belly, helping you relax as you tried to control your breathing after such an intense experience. 

You were lying there staring at the ceiling, your chest rising and falling rapidly. Perhaps processing everything that just happened, but Kiyoomi wouldn’t give you time for regrets, not now, not ever. He moved on top of you, resting his forearms on either side of your head and looked down at you, connecting your gazes before asking with a cocky smile on his face, “And? How was it?”

You let out a chuckle and rolled your eyes playfully before answering, “I think TikTok and I owe you an apology.” You said as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “You’re definitely not a zero.”

“I’ll be happy with yours alone.” He said before lowering his face further until your noses brushed, “Your opinion is the only one I care about afterall.” He added before finally kissing you.