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

[trivia-yandere]

thinking about…

baby daddy jeon jungkook, who started off as a friends with benefit situation and ended up with you being pregnant. to think that two grown adults knew what the other were getting into when it came to unprotected sex - and upon realizing that you were late for your period, you almost wished it was a (curable) std.

warning: shameless smut, friends with benefits to lovers, to exes to lovers again??, not yandere i was just bored loll

baby daddy jungkook, the man that fucked you so good that you blamed him fully for impregnating you. “you said you were going to get me pregnant!” you had screamed at him, storming into his home without a care in the world - you knew the code to unlock it anyways. you threw the positive test at his head with such hot eyes that jungkook was ready to bend you over right there if you’d let him. “it was just sex talk!” jungkook exclaimed, picking up the positive test and examining it. 

baby daddy jungkook, who told you - a month later - that he didn’t want you to terminate the pregnancy. you and he hadn’t talked much - mainly because you ignored his calls and messages. but this time he came to your apartment and refused to stop ringing your bell until you answered. “and before you bite my head off, it’s just my opinion. you have the final decision in the end…” 

baby daddy jungkook, who somehow had you bent over your couch, plunging his cock deep inside of you. so maybe you two were a little impulsive at times, but thats what made you and him click. jungkook never knew the thought of getting someone pregnant was this hot - his hips cracking his bare cock deeper and deeper into you until you’re begging him to cum right into you. so maybe you were the problem too - but you were already pregnant, what else was suppose to happen?

baby daddy jungkook, who asked you to move in with him when you were 3 months. it wasnt as if you already werent here enough - you had more than enough clothes, a toothbrush and your own designated spot in his closet. “it would save you money on rent, too. you could use that money to buy things for the baby.”

baby daddy jungkook, who when you were 6 months, asked you to be bis girlfriend. it wasnt romantic at all - just a thought over dinner; a pizza with a shit ton of random toppings that you wanted and he hadnt told you no. his fingers dances on your small bump and says; “the baby is a size of an avocado, you know? i think we should make it official.”  when you blinked at him, he said, “like boyfriend & girlfriend official…is that what we are already? you sit on my face all the time-“ you shut him up by mushing his face away with a scoff.

baby daddy jungkook who, for the first time in nearly 3 decades of living, had raised his voice at his mother. his brother had cleared his throat while his father had attempted to change the topic of conversation - but his mother was left speechless. after a half an hour of “subtle” shade thrown your way before she told you that she didnt think a child was what jungkook needed now, he was done with being nice. “if you cant accept y/n and the baby, then you dont need to be around either of us.” 

baby daddy jungkook who stood true on his word. his weekly visits to his parents home had stopped all together - not until you were given an apology. “i dont think its that serious, kook. i would be mad too if my child had a baby out of wedlock simply because they were too horny to wrap it up.” but you were appreciative that jungkook had defended you, and within another month, you received the apology.

baby daddy jungkook who had managed to set up the nursery all within the 6 hours that you slept. you woke up to the finishing touches - and a bit overwhelmed that this was really happening. the soft gray crib laid in the middle of the room, the curtains drawn to let it bright, natural light. a rocking chair in the corner of the room, matching the color of the crib. he screwed in floating shelves, some displaying baby books and one pictures; an ultrasound, one of you holding your belly and one of you and him. 

baby daddy jungkook who thought he done something wrong when you burst into (happy) tears. maybe the color was wrong? should he have waited until you were up to set up the nursery? you and he didn't know the gender yet so you opted for more neutral tone colors. “i-i can change it around-“ “shut up, it’s so nice and im emotional!” you had said, easing jungkook’s beating heart. 

baby daddy jungkook who, at your baby shower that your friends were throwing you, demanded that he - and his own group of male friends - be apart of it. so, much to your friends dismay, had added them. the gifts appeared to be never ending. eun-woo coming with mountains of baby clothes, mingyu a custom blanket that was so soft to the touch, you were almost envious. yoongi, an old family friend if yours, stated that he was more logically, nearly stocked up your ceiling with diapers and wipes.

baby daddy jungkook, who nearly fainted when your water broke in the middle of grocery shopping at 2 am - an act you told him you were going to do regardless. so he had drove you and while in the ice cream section, a gush of water trailing down your leg and splashing onto the tiled ground. 

baby daddy jungkook who didn't know what to do while hours of labor. he held your hand, rubbed your arms and your shoulders, but still he felt like whatever he did wasn't enough. "i have to get a c section to get your big headed ass child out!"

baby daddy jungkook who's eyes were wide with shock as his eyes dances between your face to the doctors operating on you. he once watched a video on tiktok about the procedure and he fully understands that woman don't get nearly as much credit as they deserve. you think he looks cute in his scrubs, hair covered by a hairnet that causes you to giggle, the epidural you took easing the pain.

baby daddy jungkook who shakily takes the baby into his arms, his heart pounding after hearing the gender - a boy. how he and you managed to not find out the gender was incredible, but not as much as holding the baby was.

baby daddy jungkook who finds being a dad and experiencing the first everything was just amazing. he documented it all on his camera, zooming in and out of the growing baby's face - a baby that continued to grow over time. in a blink of an eye, his son had managed to sit up, craw, to walking. he and you had screamed at the first steps that it startled your son right back into crawling - but not for long.

baby daddy jungkook who, after five years, somehow, your relationship wasn't the same. you didn't blame him and he didn't blame you. people grow apart, right? they say people change in relationships all the time. that didn't mean that jungkook loved you any less.

baby daddy jungkook who assures he's always on time for pickups. he's leaning against his car just as you open the door to your apartment. his son, now 8, makes his way out. he has his face shoved into his ipad and nearly walks into him. "you ready to ride all the rollarcoasters?" jungkook asks, now catching his sons attention. "isn't he too small for that?" you asked, and jungkook turns his head to you.

baby daddy jungkook who doesn't hide the way his eyes linger on your chest, nipples poking through the shirt you wore. you weren't going anywhere and you were dressed comfortably - how he remembers the way you'd dress when you and he lived together. "stop staring at me, creep." you scoff, but your tone is teasing. "if i didn't know any better, i think you dressed this way for me."

baby daddy jungkook who somehow always finds his way in your bedroom - in which you welcome him into. your son is at school when jungkook comes one afternoon, flowers in his hands. he always assures to bring them once a month, stating that just because you and he weren't together didn't mean he was going to be an asshole.

baby daddy jungkook who fucks you just as good as he did when you and he were together - or just like the very beginning. his cock springing in and out of you rapidly, hands holding onto your hips. "your pussy's always so wet," he'd exclaim, hissing. "best pussy i've ever had, i swear."

baby daddy jungkook who loves whatever position you're in. when you flip him and bounce on his cock, arms wrapped around his shoulders. his tongue would find your skin, roaming around to mark it possessively. his hand would grip your breast, shoving his face into it.

baby daddy jungkook who cums in you so freely - an act you never not tell him to do. you and him are always so caught into the moment that you never bother to wear protection. so thats when you witness yet another positive test, you cannot be upset with jungkook more than yourself.

baby daddy jungkook who is giddy when you show him the test - nearly bouncing at the thought of you two repeating history again. "so, when are you moving back in?" he asks, leaning against the wall. "who says we're getting back together?" you scoff. "you haven't left my house in a week. our son already thinks we're together again."

[inchidentally]

had to take a break, make a supercut and write out a whole Thing with gifs bc be who you aaaaaaare for your priiiide Barcelona press conference

kicking off strong with Lando's kitten smile at hearing "our winner Oscar Piastri"

DEODORANT GATE

also I need it be known that the official F1TV transcript having to include this is a win for homosexuals

Oscar's soft bedroom voice "no, I use my own" while they smile at each other like that jESUSSS

the way Oscar lowers his voice and pulls away from the mic bc it's THEIR little weird convo

and the switching back and forth between his voice for Lando and his voice for the press

Lando's possessive arm around Oscar's seat bc Charles is there looking pretty and needy and omegas in heat are so possessive damnnnn

Lando writhing around and jamming his hand between his legs after Oscar offers for him to get a better sniff oh it's BAD for him

no fr I cannot quite believe we got Lando at his most wriggly and saucy this race culminating in him noticing a change in Oscar's scent, saying that Oscar smelled like HIM, that Lando's scent is naturally feminine, and Oscar replying that it's chocolate FLAVORED and then they both get gaspy and giggly and poor Charles wishes he could be in the stewards office than have to witness Lando telling Oscar he's ovulating

Lando not knowing if they were three abreast at one point and needs Oscar to help! bc of course Oscar remembers, Oscar has That Kind of Brain <3

oh no, mic was turned too loud and icked Lando -__-

OSCAR didn't give him a slip stream !! naughty Oscar !! "I did in the second half" no !! bit late by then !!

Lando will say he didn't lose the race! Oscar drove so well both days! stop trying to make them fight when they're scenting each other!

both of them being cheeky with Charles over going to the stewards man with world's deepest voice didn't get the memo and Lando kitten giggles with Charles

(making this edit cracked me up here bc Charles just POOF disappears)

them bandying the Max question back and forth like a ball of yarn or kicker toy

g o d do you ever just realize you can set rpf entirely aside and the reality remains that Lando makes a cutie pie little face when he's being naughty precisely bc he knows Oscar finds him adorable and loves when he's naughty - like he watches Lando's face knowing what's coming and Lando's face goes :3 and it makes them both SO happy like what the fuck is that about

THAT SOFT LITTLE VOICE FOR LANDO AGAIN "teammates with you is so fun!"

Oscar's face going through EVery permutation of expression trying to get this out

Lando still trying to pin it on Lando and Oscar's joyous giggle over it

Lando making Oscar budge up so they can sit more centralized for the cameras asfkgasjlfg "move over a little bit" and Oscar obeys immediately

Lando overjoyed that Oscar gets the most vague question to answer like oh thank god

while I appreciated the mental health question I think there was a tiny bit of it coming out of left field for a post race press conference rather than a media day question and they both smile a little bc it's a BIG question for little Lando

but thankfully he has the prettiest thinking face ever <3

HAPPY PRIDE FROM THE RACE WHERE LANDOSCAR WERE SUPPOSED TO CRASH OUT IN EVERY SENSE BUT INSTEAD FLEW TO AND FROM BARCELONA TOGETHER AND SPENT THE WHOLE WEEKEND DOING WHATEVER THIS WAS

[coupsalchemy]

Touch

Summary - The one where your love language is physical touch, and your boyfriend hates touch.

Tags: Lee Jihoon x (dramatic) f.reader, fluff, established relationship au

Warnings: none for now

Word Count: 2.5k

A's Note: I love this kind of themes as my love language is also touch. I am going to write more of this since I can't get enough of it.

The table gets rowdier, the drinks sloshes out of the glasses, chopsticks clanking against the steel bowls and plates. To confess you are a little disappointed. You poke the meat on your bowl of rice with the chopsticks, resting your cheek on your propped up palm. 

Jihyun, your friend, realises the distress consuming you gives a nudge to your knee. “It’s okay.” 

You nod, eating the meat, watching your boyfriend from the corner of your eye. Jihoon is diligently chewing on his food, eyes on his friends who are singing and dancing. Your relation with him sprouted one month ago, shy confessions exchanged at a corner table in diner. What you thought a love confession would end with a fiery kiss, at least at your flat if not for the wonky diner, but he just dropped you home with a soft smile and a good night.  

Jihoon isn’t big on physical touch or sweet words—the exact opposite to you. Opposites attract, they do, you were pulled in for his calm demeanour and handling issues with chill where you would be wreaking havoc for even a minor disruption. What they don’t say is that extreme opposites also can’t gel well. 

Soonyoung, one of his friends,  stumbles towards your boyfriend looping his arm around his shoulder only to get shoved off. He just laughs off at his friend’s disgust, and swallows him in a hug. He skips away before Jihoon can kill him with chopsticks. 

You avert your eyes to your friend who nods in compassion. You lean your cheek on her shoulder, kicking the floor under the table. He is supposed to sit beside you and not away. He is supposed to be holding your hand and you shouldn’t be seeking support from your friend. You should be kissing and not be scared of getting shoved away. 

A sigh escapes your lips watching your man, he is fucking hot. The cat eyes are sharp enough to catch every single movement, his pink lips are your favourite out of all, if only you could get a minute with them. His column of neck haunts your dreams leaving you gasping for air. His broad and thick shoulders, and his chest are the root cause of your despair. So close yet so far. 

His gaze flits from his friends’ mischief to yours. You feel your heart in your throat getting pink under his attention. He watches your friend patting your head as you nuzzle closer into her. 

“Do you want some alcohol?” She whispers in your ear to make sure you hear her over the Dokyeom’s high pitch voice. 

You muffle a no, sadness taking over you as Jihoon is back to his phone, typing away. Just in case, like with a tiny little hope you check your phone to see his messages. None. An ache starts in your chest, it’s familiar to you as you recognise it from the time you had a one sided crush on him, and watching him converse with other girls (no smile, short answers but still). 

“Need to pee.” You inform your friend before retrieving yourself from her warm embrace and bee line to the washroom. 

You look into the mirror hung over the sink, washing your hands, mumbling some encouraging words and affirming yourself that he still likes you or else why would you two are still dating? He wouldn’t have invited you at all to this dinner, even if it was supposed to be your first date kind of thing. 

You open the door once you dry off your hands and stumble a step watching Jihoon leaning against a wall scrolling on his phone. You turn around to go back into the washroom before you catch yourself and remember he is your boyfriend. 

At the click of the door Jihoon looks up from his phone, a small smile on his lips. “Done?” 

You nod, confused. “You can go in,” you move aside, giving him space to use the washroom. 

“Nah,” he pockets his phone, “let’s go.” 

He is already walking ahead not even looking back at you to see if you are coming or not. The restaurant is getting busier, all the tables are occupied with waiters and customers walking everywhere. You follow behind him, admiring his work outfit, black trouser pants and white button up shirt, sitting perfectly on his body outlining his definite shape. 

A tipsy man in his fifties is laughing and talking to himself is going on his way to what you assume to be the washroom when he suddenly barks out a laugh, crashing into—Jihoon. 

Jihoon is before you even before that man can knock into you. You blink at the tipsy man mumbling an apology to Jihoon and Jihoon giving a curt nod. He looks over his shoulder, “okay?”

You hum, crushing down the need to lace your arms around his waist and hide from the world behind his broad shoulders. He leads you to the table, his hands in his pockets, the long black hair strands swaying slightly with his authoritative steps.

You squeal inside, oh god why god, he is so sexy. 

He sits on his chair and you dejectedly occupy the empty chair beside your friend. The night is spent with disappointment and the need to feel his warmth. 

—

If you agree to Jihoon’s invitation one more time you will just fling yourself out of the window. The karaoke’s dancing lights mess with your head, Soonyoung’s melodic voice goes beyond sometimes with his enthusiasm, your ears aching. Jihyun is again at your side, offering comfort while Jihoon sat on the opposite side bench. 

“Why does he invite me to all of this and not talk?” You whisper-yell to your best friend. “Maybe I should just go home.” 

She gives you an aw, my poor baby expression and pats your head. To drool more at your boyfriend’s biceps and firm chest under his office shirt, you look in his direction again. Only, he is missing at his spot. Your heart sinks to your stomach, did he leave? 

“Jihoon isn’t—” you pause midway, your mind stops processing when he, the man of your thoughts, sits next to you, shoving a drunk Dokyeom aside. 

Jihoon smiles at you, his eyes doing that cat thing again. Not only sending your mind into a ruckus but also messing with your heart. His subtle scent infiltrates your senses, you lick your lips dropping your head to your lap. 

Jihyun, a traitor under the ruse of a friend, exits towards the washroom. You are nervous, the ac is on full blast, you were feeling cold just seconds prior and now your neck is sweaty. You wanted, no, needed, his attention, and when he is sitting next to you fulfilling your wish you are as good as a scaredy cat. 

Jihoon relaxes, stretching his legs and resting his arm on the ledge of the couch and around your shoulder. His arm brushing your skin whenever you fidget in your seat. You suck in a deep breath, butterflies swarming in your stomach at the proximity, and messing with your head. 

Soonyoung is belting out a sad song like he is fresh out of a break up, while his girlfriend claps to the beat with starry eyes. Jihoon and you listen to whatever crap his friend circle is sprouting, pretending to be attentive to their drunken words and laughter when, in reality, you are aware of Jihoon’s finger tapping on the soft cushion, his fingers brushing your shoulder. 

It is driving you to hell and beyond as you are big on giving and receiving love in physical form. And it’s the thing that had you going crazy from being unable to hold onto your boyfriend. 

Jihoon has a small smile watching Dokyeom choking on a snack. Sadistic. Your stomach flutters. God, you need to get yourself checked. Dokyeom finally gets to breathe, looking at everyone with wide eyes and a hand on his neck. 

You laugh, finding the whole ordeal entertaining, momentarily distracting from your troubles. Dokyeom chokes again, now on water sputtering it everywhere and you squeal, holding your stomach laughing your ass off, curling into the man beside you. 

The stiffness underneath you has you stilling. You sneak a look at Jihoon, his lips are pursed into a thin line. An acidic taste sours your mouth, you mumble a sorry before you seperate yourself from him and maintain some space between you two. 

Jihoon hates touch, you have seen how he shoves his friends away, how he walks with his hands folded and sees that no one is in his personal bubble. For fucks sake, he didn’t even kiss you, you being his girlfriend, the one who has every right (with consent) to touch, feel and hold. 

Jihyun comes back from her washroom, frowning seeing the two of you sitting away from each other. She takes a seat on the other side of the room trying to give you the space and privacy you were craving with your boyfriend. 

Now you aren’t sure if you want to be with him, not after how he reacted, his subtle rejection hurts. You make a move to go to your friend, Jihoon grabs your wrist. “Sit down.” 

You frown. He adds, “please.” 

He pats the space next to him telling you to sit with him. The strobe lights ache your head, the loud music and your friend circle’s loudness twists your stomach. Everyone’s having fun, except you. You are circling around Jihoon, throwing yourself in what ifs, and the fear of how you might accidentally cross your line. You did in the spur of the moment, something you couldn’t control, and you have seen the line between his eyebrows, and the press of his lips. The same distaste he has shown many times, but not to you. This isn’t how you planned your future with him. 

Jihoon, perceptive of your moods and their meanings, leans into your ear whispering, “why did you want to leave?”

You clamp your hands together, knuckles pressed white, a shaky breath escaping your lips. You have to do it, you have to end this, you can’t continue living this way. “Jihoon,” you suck in a shaky breath, “we don’t match.” You gesture between you two with your finger, “we are so different.” 

The unimpressed press of his lips is back, and you are scared. The cat eyes are sharp, observing each twitch in your face, the unshed tears, and he stands up, holding your hand. Surprised, you gaze at the contact, his firm grip on you shakes up the resolution in your heart. This is Jihoon, how can you go on living without him? 

“Let’s go somewhere calm. Super song isn’t the right bgm for our scene.” Jihoon casually leads you outside, checking left and right, choosing to go right, and passing through the other loud karaoke rooms. In search of a quiet place, Jihoon is wandering, taking his time to find a place without people, and on the other side, you are stuck at watching how his hand slips from your wrist and slowly intertwines with your fingers, as if it fits only there, surrounded by you. 

Did Jihoon initiate contact before? You are talking of ending your relationship and he is whistling while opening a broom closet. Jihoon is unpredictable. He closes the door behind you, darkness engulfing you both. He doesn’t turn on the light, and your eyes adjust to the darkness. The closet is tiny, Jihoon is resting on the opposite wall, and his body brushes against you whenever he moves. 

“Why can’t we work out?” Jihoon asks, moving around to get you two comfortable, filling the dark room with the rustling of his dress shirt.

You lick your dry lips, snapping out of how firm his chest feels against yours. “We just don’t. You shouldn’t meet someone like me,” you throw your hand up, accidentally hitting his chest. God, what is he hiding in there? “You should go out and meet someone who is, who is prim and proper and someone that doesn’t have their mind full of filth.” You gasp, covering your mouth, shocked at yourself and the damn slippery mouth of yours.  

Jihoon kills you with his silence. You groan, clutching your hair. This is the reason you shouldn’t communicate in person instead of sending a well framed and overthought text message. You should just blame the closeness, his hands next to your waist, leaning against your side of the wall instead of his’. How can one sane woman think in this situation? 

“Since the reason is out, I’ll out myself.” You nervously chuckle to yourself. “Bye, Jihoon.” You think of giving a ninety degree bow, and realize you’ll probably headbutt him. You end with an awkward wave of hand. 

“Bring your ass back here.” His words sent a shiver down your body. What?

You look over your shoulder, “what?”

He holds your shirt, pulling you back into his chest. “Where are you going?” His lips on your ear makes you grab onto his arm that’s around your waist. 

“To like,” you whack your brain to formulate a good answer, “throw myself onto the road, and kiss the road as I go flying,” your mind, as expected, stopped working the moment Jihoon gives a tiny kiss on your ear followed by a low chuckle. 

“I don’t want you to die,” the sudden saint to sinister Jihoon has you electrocuted, “I need to see you, be with you,” he grabs your waist slamming you back to him as you try to escape his arms, “touch you, and have filthy thoughts whenever I see you.” 

You gasp, nails digging into his arm, “Jihoon,” you whimper, his lips drags across your neck, baring his teeth at the spot your shoulder meets neck, sinking his canines softly, but not quite biting. “You-you don’t like touch!” 

He detaches his mouth, you whine turning around to look at him. “I don't? I didn’t know that.” 

“You shove people away, you are ready to murder Soonyoung even if he breathes in your direction!” You flail your arms, “even a few minutes back when I was laughing and was all over you, you, like, glared at me. I can’t take it, I hate it when someone rejects my touch.” 

“Ah,” he says, “is that why you wanted to break up.” 

You nod, hitting his chin with your nose in the process. “Ah, it hurts.”

Jihoon sighs, “you could have talked it out with me instead of like breaking up with me.” 

You pout, “how can I?” 

“I am not big on physical touch,” he agrees, “and probably hate it when someone comes near me,” you take a step back but he pulls you into him, “but that doesn't mean I hate it with you. I never hated your touch, but instead,” he falters.

“Instead?” You ask with a bated breath. 

“I crave it.” Jihoon slowly leads you to the wall, caging you between his arms, “when you were laughing, and were all over me, I was shocked,” his finger traces your face, from your temple to your chin slowly, ticklish. “I may not express it explicitly but I want only you to be in my space.” 

His lips brush over yours, “no one else.” He presses them over your lips, wet and warm against your cold ones. You gasp, clutching onto his shirt, crumpling the fabric, his body is on yours, feeling all the hard ridges and the muscle. 

“So I worried for nothing?”

“Yes.” He crashes his lips on yours. 

[dragonridersandhighlords]

Chasing Shadows | T E N

masterlist | CS Masterlist

Summary: Wrenley grapples with the weight of healing—physically and emotionally—as tensions rise across Basgiath. 

Notes: 

Warnings: descriptions of severe injuries and pain, wren’s emotions are all over the place, power imbalance, bodhi can’t keep his mouth shut, Varrish, mentions of assasination attempts, mild ideation of being a target?

Word Count: 6k

previous part

How many times can someone fend off assassination attempts—not against her—and stop the most reckless fucking second-year from almost dying on multiple occasions? The answer is way too fucking too many. It feels as if I’m stuck in an endless loop of chaos, where each day brings another threat, another close call. 

And on top of all that, Xaden is late. He was supposed to show up yesterday, but instead, I return to my room alone and desperately missing him, again. If that’s what you can call curling up on my bed, clutching the ward book to my chest, when all I really need right now is for Xaden to tell me everything is going to be okay, to breathe reassurance into me.

I contemplate rolling into bed, surrendering to the familiar embrace of despair and forgoing my nightly bandage change. The prospect of sitting in my own misery is tempting, considering it’s what I’ve done every night since he left. But just as I’m about to pull the sheets back, a sharp knock interrupts my thoughts, jarring me from my gloom. 

“Go away!” I call out, irritation lacing my voice as I tug the covers back. Another knock sounds, more insistent this time. “Seriously guys, I’m fine! Just let me—” I halt mid-sentence, swinging my door open, and to my surprise, it isn’t Bodhi or Imogen standing there. It’s Xaden. 

“Hey, Little Bird.” He offers me a weary smile that, despite its fatigue, sends a rush of warmth through my veins. Instinctively, I reach for him, tugging him through the wards and wrapping my arms around his torso, craving the solace he brings. “Missed me already?” He chuckles, his arms enveloping me in a familiar embrace, igniting a flicker of hope within the shadows that have settled in my heart. 

“You have no—” I begin, only to cut myself off with a hiss as his arms settle around my back, pressing against the raw skin. 

“Wren—” 

“I’m fine,” I reply with a sigh, pulling away from him reluctantly, desperate to avoid his gaze. 

“What the fuck happened?” he growls, slamming my door behind him as he follows me to the bed. 

“I said, I’m fine. It was an accident.” My heart races, because if it wasn’t an accident, I would still be shackled to the pompous prince. 

“Wrenley Arden Tavis.”

The sound of my full name slices through the heavy silence, jolting me from my thoughts. It’s been years since anyone has dared to use my middle name, a remnant of my childhood that feels almost foreign now. 

“Show me.” Xaden’s voice is low, edged with an urgency that tugs at something deep within me. I let out a resigned sigh, my heart pounding as I reluctantly reached for the drawer of my dresser where I keep the burn cream and bandages. 

“Might as well help.” My voice is barely above a whisper, and I avoid meeting his eyes, knowing they hold the questions I dread. I can’t bear to see the worry etched across his features. With a deep breath, I shrug off my sheaths, the leather hitting the dresser with a soft thud. “Just…” I hesitate, my fingers trembling as I prepare to lift my shirt. “Don’t get mad.” 

“Why… what the fuck!” Xaden’s shock pierces the air as he gently begins to peel the bandages away from my back. His breath hitches, breathing turning harsher as he reveals the extent of my injuries. “Wren—” 

“Imogen and Garrick are writing letters to each other.” I blurt out, desperate to redirect his focus from the painful reality of my scars. It feels almost childish to grasp at conversation as a shield, but anything is better than everything else I’m feeling. 

“Wren—”

“It’s kinda cute, them finally moving in that direction.” I add, forcing a smile despite the sting of his touch on a particularly tender spot. 

“Wrenley—”

“EvenBodhihasagirlfriendbutI’mnotsupposedtosayanythingbecauseshe’sascribe,buttalkingkeepsmedistractedfromthepainand… holy fucking shit.” My voice falters as a fresh wave of pain washes over me, bending me in half as my pain level skyrockets from a four to a nine. 

“Why haven’t you seen Nolon?” Xaden asks, his hands steady yet swift as he continues applying the burn cream with careful precision.

“He’s still behind after War Games.” I sniff, my voice trembling as I fight back tears. “They told me this was the best they could do, and I couldn’t just fly off to Aretia so Brennan could mend me.” 

Xaden remains silent, the weight of his presence a comforting anchor as he secures the bandages with meticulous care. Then, with a swift motion, he pulls something from his bag and hands it to me—a soft, worn shirt of his. “Here, so you can keep the pressure off your back. Your shirts are too tight; it hinders the healing process.” 

I slip the shirt over my head, the fabric enveloping me in warmth and security. Turning back to him, I catch a glimpse of concern etched into his brow. 

“Why didn’t anyone write when this happened?” he asks, guiding me to sit on my bed. 

“Cause it wouldn’t have changed anything.” I reply, my voice steady despite the turmoil swirling within. “You wouldn’t have been able to leave; I’d still have the burns. It was better this way.”

Xaden lets out a deep, resigned sigh, the sound echoing through the quiet room like a weighty confession. He reaches into the depths of his bag, pulling out a strap of leather that gleams under the soft glow of the bedside lamp. Settling into my armchair with a familiar grace, he begins the meticulous task of sharpening his blades, the rhythmic rasping of metal against leather slicing through the silence.

“We have to make it on our own now, Xay,” I say, my voice steady now. “We can’t alert you to everything whenever it happens anymore.” His silence is palpable, the tension in the air thickening as he grips the blade tighter, his movements becoming more aggressive. “What’s it like at Samara?” I venture, recalling my father’s hushed conversations about the outpost. “Dad always said it was his and mom’s least favorite post.” 

“Samara is… different,” Xaden replies, his focus unwavering as the blade glides smoothly along the strap. “I have to prove myself all over again at what’s arguably the cruelest outpost we have. It’s…annoying.” 

A soft laugh escapes my lips, the sound almost foreign in the heavy atmosphere. “Do they treat you differently because of the relic?”

He shrugs, his gaze still locked on his task. “I think the last name does it more than the relic. The older riders are easier on Garrick, which I’m thankful for.” 

Thank the gods for that.

“It’s nothing worse than what I expected, and my signet’s enough to give most of them pause.” Finally, he tucks the supplies away, his eyes drifting towards my nightstand where his book of wards rests, its pages marked by the slips of paper I had hastily scrawled questions on. “You’ve been reading.”

“I had some questions,” I admit, handing him the book, feeling the familiar weight of our shared knowledge draw us closer together. 

We dive into the pages, only interrupted by his occasional demonstrations. He helps me remove certain wards, like Imogen and Bodhi’s free access because I need peace and quiet some days. At least that’s what I tell Xaden, and definitely not because those two came barreling into ‘make me feel better’ like they did last night after I found Xaden’s old flight jacket in my armoire. Just as I’m about to lose myself in our routine, a sharp knock at the door breaks the moment.

“Already?” Xaden’s voice cuts through the room’s quietude as he opens the door, the hinges creaking softly in protest. His expression is a mixture of surprise and annoyance, his dark eyes scanning the hallway beyond for any sign of interruption. 

“Yea, why can’t I open her door?” Bodhi questions but Xaden just dismisses him with a slight tilt of his head. 

“Give me a minute,” he replies, a hint of authority threading through his words as he swings the door shut, cocooning us in our small sanctuary once more. The door thuds softly against the frame, and the muffled sounds of the outside world fade into a distant hum, leaving only the intimacy of our shared space.

Turning back to me, Xaden’s demeanor shifts, a wry smile creeping onto his lips. “Ask so I can tell you no.” His tone is teasing, and I can’t help but let out a laugh, my heart lightening just a little as I tuck the ward book back into its designated spot.

“No fucking fun,” I retort, the laughter spilling out freely, filling the room with warmth. “Can I help with anything?” I inquire, watching as he lifts his pack, the fabric worn but sturdy, a testament to countless journeys taken.

“Rest and heal. And find a way to break off that stupid engagement.” His voice is firm yet laced with concern, a reminder that my well-being is still a priority amidst the challenges we face. He pulls out a stack of papers, their edges slightly frayed, and sets them on the bed with a soft thud. “I promised myself I’d write one a week. I ended up with one a day.” The chuckle that escapes him is light, a brief respite in the storm of our lives.

Our laughter mingled with the soft rustle of the papers as I pulled the stack from the top drawer of my dresser. “Me too. Missed being able to talk to you,” I admit as he tucks my own stack into his pack.

“And I did write about what happened to my back. Also, please don’t tell Bodhi about what I told you.” 

Xaden shrugs, a nonchalant gesture that belies the seriousness of my request. “I’m surprised it took you this long to find out,” he replies. “I’ve known since it started.” With a final nod, he opens the door, his presence filling the space with a mix of warmth and resolve. “See you in two weeks.” A bright smile breaks across his face, a promise of hope before he gently closes the door behind him, sealing away the world outside for just a moment longer.

Recovered Correspondence from Second Lieutenant Xaden Riorson to Cadet Wrenley Tavis

Wren,

Do you remember that day before the executions when you and Liam dragged all of us out to the oak grove to give us a day of normalcy after our parents left? We spent the entire day playing like we were 6/7/8 years old again despite being teenagers in the middle of war. 

Garrick seems to be thriving here. He got a little beat up during sparring though. Now that I think about it, it seems like he loses more here, but I think he has a minor crush on one of the healers here. Her name is Aerin and honestly they’d be cute if we didn’t have to keep so many secrets. You’d definitely like her though, reminds me of Liam a lot.

Brennan’s wife is here too. She REALLY doesn’t like me, and I can’t blame her. Renna’s still living with the impression that my dad killed her husband and best friend. Did you know she was a truth-sayer? She keeps giving me this weird look whenever I say anything and it’s driving me insane. It’s like she knows that her husband is alive and I know too, or that she knows what we're doing behind the scenes. Brennan’s getting an earful when I check in with the Assembly at the end of the month. I don’t fear anyone, but Renna? Gods, she’s terrifying.

How are things at Basgiath? Are you still kicking ass at literally anything and everything? I recommended you for Section Leader by the way. Having you and Bodhi in leadership will be good for drops but you were also made to lead. I have a feeling you aren’t taking anyone’s shit, especially if Aetos made Wingleader. I hope you're teaching him a lesson.

I miss you.

-Xay

“He’s too close.” Desa growls, her voice low and dangerous as she watches Varrish advance toward our squad on the flight field. 

“He’s the vice commandant. We can’t exactly avoid him.” I respond, kneeling to re-tie my boot. The worn leather creaks softly under my fingers, a familiar sound amidst the chaos of the field. My shirt is just barely too big, hanging slightly off my shoulders but providing relief, the loose fabric easing the pressure off my back and making the day-to-day pain ten times more bearable. I had woken up to find two more shirts left outside my door, accompanied by a note that felt both comforting and bittersweet: 

I’ll send a few more this weekend. Keep checking in with Nolon, please. -X.

 The scent of the fabric still carries traces of him, a lingering reminder that offers solace even in this tense moment.

“Ah, Sorrengail, there you are.” Varrish greets Violet, who stands no more than fifteen feet from me, tension palpable in the air between them.

“Major Varrish.” Her voice is steady, yet a flicker of defiance dances in her eyes.

“Quite the necklace you have there.” He gestures dismissively at the greenish bruises staining her neck, a haunting reminder of the first-year who had taken Nadine’s life just last week.

“Thank you. It was expensive.” Violet lifts her chin, a bold move meant to show her resilience. “Cost someone their life.”

“Ah, that’s right. I recall hearing you were nearly done in by a first-year. Good to see that the embarrassment didn’t finish the job he started. But I guess you’re probably used to barely squeaking by alive, seeing how frail you’re rumored to be.”

“Ugh, could he be any more unbearable?” I mutter to Desa, suppressing a soft groan as the tension escalates.

“If I said he was worse back then—”

“I don’t believe you,” I interject, shaking my head in disbelief.

“I thought you were bonded to two dragons?” Varrish’s gaze sharpens, and I subtly turn back to the conversation, pretending to fiddle with my jacket and sheaths.

“I am,” Violet replies, her voice unwavering.

“And yet, I only see one.” He glances up at Tairn. “Where’s your little gold one? The feathertail I’ve heard so much about? I was hoping to see her for myself.”

A low growl rumbles up Tairn’s throat, the sound reverberating like distant thunder, sending a shiver through the air. He angles his massive head protectively over Violet, his dark scales glinting ominously in the sunlight. Droplets of saliva drip from his jaws, splattering onto the ground with heavy plops that disrupt the tense silence between them. Varrish, ever composed, tenses slightly but keeps a perfect mask of amusement plastered across his features as he takes a calculated step back, maintaining an air of superiority.

“Always has had a temper, this one,” Varrish remarks, his voice dripping with condescension, eyes flickering between the cadet and the dragon.

“He likes his space,” Violet retorts sharply, her eyes narrowing defiantly at the vice commandant. The tension crackles in the air, thick enough to cut with a knife, as she stands her ground.

“I’ve noticed he likes you to have yours, too,” Varrish counters, a sly smile creeping onto his lips. “Tell me, Sorrengail, how do you feel about the way he gives you… oh, shall we say, an easier path to take than your fellow cadets?”

“If you mean to ask how I feel about how he stopped the needless execution of bonded riders by your dragon after Parapet, then I’d have to say that I feel pretty good about it,” Violet snaps back, her voice steady and fierce. “I guess it takes one bad-tempered dragon to keep another civil.”

A fierce growl escapes Desa’s lips, cutting through the conversation like a knife. “Tell him that I swore to take his dragon’s life for your burns,” she snarls, her stance now resolute as she turns to join the conversation.

“I can’t threaten him,” I protested.

“I disagree,” Desa shoots back, her confidence unwavering.

“Oh, Wrenley—”

“Cadet Tavis,” I correct, my voice firm, earning a chuff of agreement from Desa beside me, her nostrils flaring as she breathes in the tension.

“Cadet Tavis,” Varrish acknowledges, his gaze assessing. “Wouldn’t you agree that Cadet Sorrengail’s feathertail should be in attendance for flight maneuvers?”

“Like Sorrengail would have said if you gave her a chance, Major,” I interject, stepping closer to the pair, my heart pounding with a mix of adrenaline and indignation. “She cannot bear a rider. Therefore, flight maneuvers is not the class for her.” 

Varrish’s expression shifts, a flicker of annoyance dancing across his face as he sizes me up, earning a puff of steam from Desa before turning back to Violet. “See to it that she flies with you next week, and you can consider that an order.”

This time, Tairn’s growl deepens, resonating with a warning. “Dragons don’t take orders from humans.” I can see the lightning flicker through Violet’s eyes, igniting a spark of defiance as Varrish responds to her challenge. 

“Of course not, but you do, don’t you?”

“That’s not how that works and you know it.” I step firmly between Varrish and Violet, my heart hammering in my chest as I position myself as a barrier. The air feels electric, charged with an intensity that pricks at my skin, and I mentally reinforce my shields, ensuring they are secure against any probing intrusions.

“You’re dismissed.” Varrish’s voice drips with a chilling sweetness, and I can’t suppress the shiver that runs down my spine as he enunciates my name with a predatory smile: “Cadet Tavis.”

“Do not lose control, Violet.” I sense her sharp breath behind me, a subtle gasp that speaks volumes. I turn slightly, a protective instinct flaring within me. “I think I’d like to stay right here,” I assert to Varrish, my tone steely.

He hums softly, a mocking note threading through his words, before glancing over my shoulder to Violet. “It’s ironic, don’t you think?” Varrish muses, his eyes glinting with a condescending light. As he steps back, he leans into the tension, savoring it like a fine wine. “From what Colonel Aetos told me, your father was writing a book on feathertails—dragons which hadn’t been seen in hundreds of years—and then you ended up bonded to one.”

“Coincidental,” Violet snaps back, her voice sharp enough to cut. “The word you meant to say is ‘coincidental.’”

“Is it?” Varrish ponders, his gait leisurely as he walks away, leaving a palpable weight in the air that clings to my skin.

“What the fuck is his problem?” I grumble under my breath, frustration boiling just beneath the surface as I stride toward Desa and Tairn, who both regard me with wary eyes. Bodhi stands, and Violet follows closely behind.

“Riders! Third-years have joined us today for a very special reason. They’ll be demonstrating a running landing.” Kaori announces with an authority that draws my focus to the sky, where Cath approaches from the west, silhouetted against the brilliant backdrop of the afternoon sun. I can’t help but hope Dain faceplants.

“He’s not slowing down,” Violet murmurs, her voice barely audible between Bodhi and me. 

“He will,” Bodhi promises, a confidence in his tone that I wish I shared. “Just not by much.” 

And unfortunately, much to my dissatisfaction, Dain sticks the landing. “And this is why Aetos is a wingleader,” Kaori calls out, pride clear in her voice. “Perfect execution.” 

“Oh gods, he’s gonna get a bigger head,” I groan, shifting my weight as I prepare to mount Desa, ready to execute my own maneuvers at Kaori’s request. Before I can get too far, I hear Violet’s voice again, cutting through the air like a sharp blade. 

“If he did, he’d be teaching us faster ways to get off the damned ground, not land on it.”

“Tell him that we’re still working on the next shipment,” Bodhi says, his voice steady yet laced with an undercurrent of urgency as we escort Violet out for her early departure to Samara. The crisp morning air wraps around us, filled with the scent of pine and the distant sound of dragons in training.

“Shipment of what?” Violet asks, shifting her pack on her shoulders.

“He’ll know what I’m talking about,” Bodhi assures her, though a wince betrays him as his fingers inadvertently graze the dark bruise blooming on his jaw—a reminder of the skirmish that left its mark not just on his body but on our fragile alliance. “And tell him it’s raw. They’ve had the forge burning night and day, so we haven’t been able to—” He flinches again, his expression tightening as if the very mention of the work causes him pain. “Just tell him it’s raw.”

“I’m starting to feel a lot like a letter,” Violet retorts, her voice tinged with frustration as she glares at him before redirecting her focus back to the path ahead.

“You’re the best way of getting information to him,” he admits, his tone softening as he looks at her, a fleeting spark of appreciation igniting in his eyes.

“Without actually knowing anything.” I interject, my confusion palpable. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing a crucial part of this conversation, and it gnaws at me like a persistent itch.

“Precisely.” Bodhi nods at me, his expression becoming more serious. “It’s safer this way until you’re capable of shielding from Aetos at all times. Xaden was supposed to continue teaching you last visit, but then…” 

“I got my back charred,” I cut in, attempting to laugh it off, but Bodhi’s glare tells me everything. Still not funny.

“It kind of fucked with his head,” he adds, his voice low.

“I’ll teach you when you get back,” I promise Violet, hoping to inject a sense of normalcy into our tense exchange.

“Why are you so nice to me all of a sudden?” Violet asks, halting our progress and catching me off guard.

“Nice? No, Violet, I’m tolerating. There’s a difference.” 

“Wren, he almost ripped my head off for not immediately writing to him, right after he lectured me about Kaelin. Thanks for that, by the way.” Bodhi groans, wincing when he bumps his bruises again.

“You try having second and third-degree burns covering every inch of your back and see if you don’t spill secrets while delirious from pain,” I retort, frustration bubbling. “I already apologized for telling him! Plus, he already knew, so did I really?”

“He hasn’t freaked out about someone like that since Catriona.” The words tumble from Bodhi’s lips, laced with an incredulous tone that stirs an unease in my stomach. 

“What the fuck do you mean since Catriona? We were dating then, Bod.” The air feels thick with unspoken tension as I take in the wide-eyed shock spreading across his face, an expression that only deepens my unease.

“Who’s Catriona?” Violet interjects, her voice cutting through the air with curiosity tinged by suspicion. 

“No one.” The answer slips from both Bodhi and me in unison, a synchronized defense that feels more like a desperate shield than the truth. I keep my gaze locked onto Bodhi, who shifts uncomfortably, turning his attention back to the path leading us to the flight field, where the distant roars of dragons resonate like thunder.

“I’m so glad the letters are already in Tairn’s pack,” I hear him mumble, his voice barely audible above the rustling of leaves as we walk. “What are the chances that you’ll forget I said that between here and Samara?”

“None,” Violet retorts, her stride faltering momentarily as she processes the implications of our conversation. 

“What do you mean since Cat?” I press again, unable to shake the uneasy feeling swelling within me. 

“Not even the tiniest bit of a chance?” Bodhi counters, deflecting my question as if it were a troublesome fly. “Because the thing about the deal you two have with your dragons is that he’ll be back here next week, and I’m not remotely in the mood to have my ass kicked after fending off another assassination attempt.”

I halt in my tracks, grabbing his arm with urgency. “Another assassination attempt?” 

His sigh comes heavy, a release of pent-up frustration. “Yeah. Second time someone tried to jump me in the bathing chamber this week.”

My eyes widen, panic seeping into my veins. “Are you okay?”

He grins, a gallows humor lighting his expression. “I completely eviscerated some asshole out of Second Wing while naked and only got a bruise. I’m fine. But back to why you shouldn’t mention that comment to my rather moody cousin—”

“You know what?” Violet suddenly breaks the rhythm, striding away toward the center of the field with determination. “I’m not contributing to the secret keeping your fucked-up family has decided to do here.” Her voice carries a fierce defiance, throwing the words over her shoulder. “I’m still pissed at what you guys kept, and I’m sure Wrenley is too.”

Did she just… take my side? 

Bodhi shoves his hands into his pockets, leaning back slightly on his heels, a subtle acknowledgment of her point. “You make a fair point.” 

“I made the only point.” 

Tairn's silhouette suddenly blots out the moonlight, a dark shape gliding through the night before he lands ahead of us, the air vibrating with his presence.

Bodhi’s grin falters slightly as he shifts his weight, the tension in the air thickening with unspoken words. “Your dragon has arrived in time to save us from this conversation,” he says, his voice laced with a hint of relief. 

A low chuff resonates from Tairn as Violet approaches him, her expression a mixture of gratitude and concern. “He’s in a rush,” she says, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her gaze lingering on Tairn. “Thanks for walking me out—”

“Well, fuck.” The flickering mage lights behind us spring to life, casting ethereal glows that dance like fireflies in the encroaching darkness. 

“Cadet Sorrengail, you will delay your launch.” The commanding voice of Varrish cuts through the air, authoritative and unyielding. 

Oh for fuck’s sake, I think, frustration surging within me as I step forward, ready to protest. 

“I didn’t expect you to leave until morning,” Varrish continues, his smile a calculated mask of civility as he assesses the situation, flanked by two other lieutenants, their uniforms adorned with the telltale stripes that denote their rank. The air hums with the weight of their presence, a palpable reminder of the authority they wield.

“It’s been a fortnight. I’m on leave,” Violet replies.

“So you are.” Varrish’s gaze shifts to the lieutenant positioned between Violet and me. “Nora, search Sorrengail’s bag.”

“Excuse me?” I exclaim, instinctively moving to block Violet.

“The bag,” Varrish reiterates, his tone unwavering. “Article Four, Section One of the Codex states—”

“That all cadet belongings are subject to search at the discretion of command,” Violet interjects, her knowledge of the rules surfacing in defiance.

“Ah, you know your Codex. Good. Your bag.” Varrish gestures dismissively to Nora, who steps forward, prompting Violet to reluctantly shrug off her bag, the contents shifting inside with a soft rustle that echoes ominously.

“This is an abuse of power,” I say, my voice rising as I push through Bodhi’s mental door, desperation fueling my rebellion.

“Don’t do anything rash,” Bodhi warns, his eyes steady as he assesses the tension unfolding.

“You may leave, Cadet Durran. Cadet Tavis.” Varrish brushes us off, but Bodhi stands firm. 

“As Cadet Sorrengail’s section leader, I am the next in her chain of command,” he asserts, his voice gaining strength. “And as Article Four, Section Two of the Codex states, her discipline falls to her chain of command before being brought to cadre. I would be negligent in my duty were I to leave her in potential possession of…whatever it is you’re looking for. And Cadet Tavis is a contender for my EO so she’ll stay as well.”

“Nice save, Section Leader,” I mutter, stepping closer to him as Nora begins to dump the entirety of Violet’s bag onto the ground, the contents spilling like secrets laid bare. 

“I’m serious,” Bodhi insists, his eyes locked onto Varrish’s with unwavering resolve. 

“There’s a reason you were moved to Flame.”

“Was that really necessary?” the other lieutenant questions, his voice tinged with disbelief as he watches the unfolding scene with a scrutinizing gaze.

Nora, her hands moving methodically, replies, “He said search,” her tone clipped yet respectful. She directs her attention to Varrish, who stands like a sentinel, arms crossed and aura commanding. “Clothing,” she states, her fingers deftly flipping through the garments strewn on the ground, each piece falling like a jumbled cascade of fabric. There’s an almost palpable weight in the air, a tension that hangs thick as she glances nervously towards Tairn, who looms nearby, a majestic guardian in the night. “Second-year physics text, land navigation manual, and a hairbrush.” 

“Give me the book and the manual,” Varrish orders, extending his hand expectantly, his voice sharp and unyielding.

“Need a refresher?” Violet interjects, her defiance simmering just below the surface, a spark igniting in her eyes. She watches Varrish closely, a smirk threatening to break through the storm of frustration that surrounds them.

Silently, Varrish begins to leaf through the pages, each turn echoing like a clock ticking down to an uncertain fate. He scrutinizes the margins, his jaw tightening as he finds nothing incriminating—no hidden messages or secret codes buried among the mundane lessons of physics and navigation. 

“Satisfied?” I ask, crossing my arms, a shield against the rising tide of anger bubbling within me. 

“We’re done here,” Varrish declares dismissively, carelessly tossing the books back onto the heap of clothing. “See you in forty-eight hours, Cadet Sorrengail. And don’t forget—since your feathertail decided not to join you for formation again, I will be pondering your punishment for dereliction of duty while you are gone.”

Instinctively, I move forward, fueled by a reckless urge to attack him, but Bodhi’s firm hand on my shoulder holds me back. “Stop,” he warns, his voice low and steady.

As the trio retreats, the mage lights that illuminated the field flicker and fade one by one, plunging us into an engulfing darkness, save for the small circle of light that hangs above us, a stark reminder of the precariousness of our situation.

“You knew that was going to happen,” Violet accuses, her eyes narrowing at Bodhi as she hastily begins to pack her belongings back into her bag, the tension palpable between them. “That’s why you insisted on walking me out.” 

“In addition to the very real attempts on all of our lives—Imogen and Eya were attacked today too, coming out of a briefing for third-years—we suspected they’d search you but wanted to confirm,” he admits, kneeling to help her gather the scattered contents. 

That revelation sinks in, a chilling realization that each of us has become a target, caught in a web of danger, except for me, which feels unsettlingly strange. 

“You used me as a test? Without even telling me? Let me guess—it was Xaden’s idea?” Violet snaps, pulling the straps of her pack tight with an angry tug.

“It was an experiment,” Bodhi responds, his face contorting with regret. “You were the control.”

“Then what the fuck was the variable?” Violet's voice pierced the silence, raw and filled with frustration, as she swung around to face Bodhi. The remnants of her defiance hung in the air, swirling with the faint tolling of the distant bells, muffled yet resonant—midnight had arrived, carrying with it an urgency that felt almost palpable.

“Check Tairn. It’s midnight. You should get going,” Bodhi urged, his tone calm but urgent, a steady anchor amid the chaos. His eyes darted toward the looming form of Tairn, who stood like a majestic sentinel, waiting patiently for Violet to join him. “Every minute you stay is one fewer that Tairn gets with Sgaeyl.”

The weight of his words fell heavily, and I watched as Violet's expression shifted, each moment revealing the turmoil beneath her fierce exterior. “Stop using me like I’m some kind of game piece, Bodhi,” she shot back, her voice escalating with each word, sharper than the edge of a freshly drawn blade. “You two want my help? Ask for it. And don’t fucking start on me about my shielding abilities. That’s no excuse to send me into something unprepared.” 

With a determined stride, she climbed up Tairn’s leg, her fingers gripping the soft, warm scales of the creature, a blend of fear and resolve etched across her features. The colossal beast unfurled its massive wings, and in a blink, they were gone, swallowed by the night sky, leaving only the echo of her defiance lingering in the air.

“That was fucked up,” I murmured, my gaze lingering on the spot where they had disappeared, an unsettling weight settling in my chest. The gravity of our situation pressed down on us all, a shared burden of uncertainty and dread.

“I’m gonna go see Kaelin,” Bodhi sighed, the weariness in his voice palpable. His shoulders slumped as if the very act of speaking drew energy from him, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. “If I don’t die on the way there.” 

As he turned to leave, I couldn’t help but wish he didn’t have to shoulder that fear. The world outside felt dangerous, treacherous, and the haunting thought that none of us should have to worry about the very real threats that loomed in the shadows wrapped around me like a suffocating fog. I wanted to reach out, to remind him that he wasn't alone, but the words tangled in my throat, caught in the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to spill over.

The clock was ticking, and somewhere in the distance, the shadows beckoned, waiting for the next move in a game we hadn’t even fully understood yet.

Recovered Correspondence from Cadet Wrenley Tavis to Second Lieutenant Xaden Riorson

Xay,

I wish I could say this week was a good week, but I’d be lying. Since the new school year started, there’s been so many attacks on those of us that were at Resson. And by us I mean everyone but me. 

I’m on edge just walking down the halls, worried someone is going to pop around a corner and I’ll be done for or find a way through the wards on my room. I wish you were here to tell me what to do, you always did know the best ways to put me at ease.

Varrish has it out for Violet, I know it. Plus, he’s obsessed with Andarna. I’m worried he’s going to use her against Violet. 

He hasn’t said much to me unless I get between him and Violet. Thank Amari because I just want to drive my dagger through his neck every time he opens his mouth.

How are things this week at Samara? Better, I hope. Is Renna still giving you issues? She’s always been a little rough around the edges but so are you. Maybe you guys can be friends by the end of all of this.

I miss you. Way more than I ever thought I would. I don’t think having shirts that smell like you are making this easier but your mint and citrus blending with the florals of my shampoo are making me nostalgic.

Can we go back to our lives before?

-Wren

next part

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[sometimescherwrites]

Too Long

John Walker x gn!reader

word count: 1.2k

content: smut, just pure smut. mutual masturbation. phone sex. needy john. no specific genitals described for reader but you are wearing boxers in this. hint of praise kink. this was written in one sitting this is your warning.

MDNI yall already know the drill

John’s got better self control than this. He knows he does.

But he’s slipping, everyone can tell. It’s been three weeks since he last saw you, since Val sent him on an assignment that was only supposed to take a few days.

To say he’s frustrated with how it’s going would be an understatement. And that frustration is manifesting in some very inconvenient ways.

But he’s not going to call you. He swears he’s not.

He’s not going to cave when he should be focusing on how to catch these fuckers so he can get home to you. He’s not going to call you.

The ringing of your phone is what wakes you up, John’s ID flashing on the screen. When you answer, John’s voice is low and strained.

“Talk to me. Please.”

Not a request, but a tired demand. The words themselves could be interpreted any sort of way, but the sheer underlying need in his voice tells you exactly what this is about.

He’s already got his pants shoved halfway down his thighs by the time your voice washes over him, a wave of relief he didn’t even know was possible coursing through his veins when he hears you.

“You were only supposed to be gone a few days.” Your voice rings through the phone, sparking a fresh surge of warmth in his gut.

He’s got the device pressed between his ear and his shoulder. You can hear him spit into his hand through the phone. There’s no subtlety, no disguising what he’s doing.

“I know, I know- Jesus-“ He grunts, wrapping his hand around his cock and fisting roughly. You’d be gentler, he knows you would, but he needs this over with fast, “Val didn’t say shit about the fact that I was going to be working with morons. I could’ve done this on my own.”

“If Val needed a group, why didn’t she just send the team with you?”

“I don’t fucking know.” He groans, thumbing at his tip and making a muffled wheezing sound, “I don’t understand what goes on in her goddamn brain sometimes- you’d think even if she doesn’t trust us she’d want- hngggg- want efficiency.”

“And the team she sent you with?”

“Don’t even call them that.” He shakes his head, adjusting the phone when it starts to slip, “They’re not a team, they’re a group of dumbasses who can’t work together for- hnnnnnnghh- for shit, even when their lives are on the line. Even a bunch of- fuck, E-1s would be better than these guys. If you told me they picked a bunch of goddamn civilians off the street and gave them guns, I’d- nghhhhh- I’d believe it.”

“Any of ‘em died yet?”

It’s not an erotic question. Not in the slightest. But John can hear the way your breathing stutters, the way your voice has gotten lower. It’s enough to tell him that he’s not the only one using this call to get off.

The thought is enough to short circuit his brain, his cock practically jumping in his grasp.

“John?”

The way you say his name has him biting back a moan, squeezing his eyes shut.

“John?” You try again, the lack of response causing your concern to spike.

“Tell to me about your day.” He rasps suddenly, head falling back and Adam’s apple bobbing as he touches himself, using his free hand to pinch his inner thigh the way you always do.

You start detailing it to him, but not a damn word is computing in his brain. All he can think about is the coil in his gut, the aching of his cock, the way your voice sounds.

His hands are much too different from yours, he’s realizing with dismay. He hasn’t had to get himself off since he started seeing you, he’d gotten too spoiled. Your touch is always better.

Even his imagination can’t fully replicate it, but he can picture you in his minds eye, and that’s as good as he’s going to get.

“-was pretty boring.” Is all he catches from you.

“Mhmm.” He says, absentmindedly digging his nails into his thigh, “Keep talking.”

Trying to replicate what you make him feel is impossible, he’s realizing with dismay. So instead he focuses on what he thinks you’re doing right now.

He can see it all so clearly. You’re laying in bed, sheets kicked off, probably with a hand down your boxers, playing with yourself while you entertain his greedy, desperate requests for more, more, more.

The coil is tightening the more you talk. The fire burns hotter. He can’t form words anymore, just borderline animalistic grunts as he handles himself.

You’re getting more vocal now too, he doesn’t know when, but you’ve replaced your breathy recanting of the last three weeks with needy sounds and hushed murmurs of praise.

The way you say, “You sound so good, John.” has him rutting into his fist desperately.

He’s singleminded in the way he chases his high. Nothing else matters in that moment aside from the way you sound and the way he needs to feel.

Your face flashes across his brain when he finally cums. The sound of your high filling his ears when it finally happens, his head tossed back with a bitten back, “Fuck!”

Three weeks of build up and intense frustration is finally released in hot, sticky spurts all over his pants and abdomen. And he can’t even bring himself to care.

“Thank you.” He murmurs after a while, “God, I needed that.”

“Never would’ve guessed.”

Your tease goes ignored in favor of how he’s still reeling. The sound of clamoring outside gets his attention.

“I gotta go.” He admits reluctantly, “Think one of ‘em’s about to get someone killed.”

“You should probably go stop that.”

There’s an underlying disappointment in your voice. It’s not aimed at him but it may as well be. He hates disappointing you.

“Night…” He murmurs, already cleaning himself up. Then adds a quiet, “Love you.”

“Love you too. Don’t get yourself killed.”

Beneath the jest, there’s a layer of seriousness. You need him to come back to you. And for the first time since Olivia, he has a reason to.

“I never do.”

“First time for everything.”

“Not for me.” He’s coming back to himself now, the self assured cockiness returning.

“John.”

For such a stubborn man, it takes surprisingly little to get him to cave. In this case, just one word. His name from your lips.

He gives in, “I’ll be careful as I can.”

He doesn’t want to hang up. But he knows you won’t.

“I gotta go handle this. ‘S gonna be a lot of paperwork if one of these guys shoots himself.”

The call ends after that, and he gets up with a groan, buckling his pants back up.

He decides that he is going to kill one of these morons if he has to spend another week with them, and he is going to inform Valentina of this in great detail.

Just another few days until he went home.

A few days too long.

[oddeyevibes]

Devil May Deliver - 20 Questions 🌙

Summary: You meet a “devil hunter” that doesn’t even know not to touch a Dreamscape Pod.

A/N: Crossposted on Ao3 and Tumblr. The pod is completely made up and it was the best I can do in the imagination department lol.

Well, this was…a shitty position.

In your defense, you had it covered until this white haired idiot fucked it up. He claimed to be a devil hunter and yet he didn’t know not to touch the Dreamscape Pod.

You touch it without taking the proper precaution and it takes you. Normally, it lulls you to sleep and feasts on your dreams until you’re either comatose or an empty husk. And by normally, that meant humans.

Demons (even if they were just a quarter-demon) just ended up sitting inside of it until it realizes it’s mistake and spits them out. How long does that take, you ask? It depends.

While they’re demons of instinct, they’re still not the brightest. Like the Flamingos of Demonic Fauna. Which meant that you’ll be practically squished against this Tony guy for a bit.

“So then…judging by the fact that we’re both wide awake, guess that means you’re a demon too.”

“As are you.” Your voice was monotoned, showcasing your annoyance at the situation.

“I’ve seen demons before, none that could pass for human. So what are you?”

You chuckled. “You must not have been doing this devil hunting thing for long. Plenty of demons pass off as humans just fine. But I’m a Ferryman, so it’s even easier for us.”

“Like…guiding the dead?”

“Not always. Depends on the clan. Mine are more…couriers.”

He nodded with an understanding sound.

“So why do you guys look human?”

“What is this?” You giggled. “20 questions?”

“Maybe. Come on, answer, I should know my new pod buddy better.”

“Do not call me your pod buddy.”

“What else would you call us?” He smirked.

“Tweedle Dumbass and…his unfortunate casualty.”

“How was I supposed to know you’re not supposed to touch it?”

“Do you just touch random things often? What if it was acidic? Or exploded?”

“Fiiine. I was an idiot for touching it. Better?”

“No.”

“So you gonna answer my question or…?”

You sighed. “Most of us look human naturally. It’s only when we’re feeding that we look demonic.”

“Feeding?”

“Let’s just say there’s a reason other demons don’t like us.”

He chuckled. “Ohhh, so you guys eat other demons? Do I smell tasty?”

“Not even close. You’re a half-demon, aren’t you?”

“Not the first demon that’s smelled that.”

“It means you’d be tasty to us for like 2 minutes and then we’d have to spit you out, like Hubba Bubba.”

“Oh wow.”

“Yeah. Besides…we only eat other demons when we’re injured. Since this is 20 questions, I’m think I’m entitled to some of my own.”

“Alright, shoot.”

“Why do wanna be a Devil Hunter if you’re a demon yourself?”

“Demons hunt each other all the time. Might as well do something smart and get paid for it. Figure I’d do a better job than some human in over their head.”

You shrugged. “Fair enough. What about your parents…how’d they meet?”

“How should I now?”

“Fair enough…again.”

“What about you? How’d your parents meet? Since we’re asking personal questions.”

“I wish I didn’t know.”

He chuckled. “Why?”

“Would you wanna hear from one parent the other had a nice ass? While eating?”

“Ohh. Yeah, I think I’d like to keep my mom’s image as clean as possible.”

You wondered how cold the pod would feel if he wasn’t stuck in here with you. He was VERY warm. It almost made you wanna cuddle with him but doing so would’ve been A: too weird and B: probably make him feel very smug.

Tony shifted in an attempt to get more comfortable. You were desperately wishing you could fully stretch your limbs.

“I just realized…I never got your name.” He looked to you expectantly.

“…Lola. Lola Bell.”

He snickered. “Yeah right. That name sounds totally fake.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, cause Tony Redgrave sounds legit.”

“Ok! ‘nother question.”

“Alright…”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“……………”

You felt him shrug. “I couldn’t think of anything else.”

“…(fave color). Yours?”

“Mmm…red.”

“That tracks.”

“Wait no, it’s blue.”

“You can have multiple—”

“Purple is nice too on some days.”

“Oh god…” you groaned.

You’ve heard stories of some demons being stuck in the pods for damn near a whole week. Thankfully, it seemed that this pod was smarter than most of its brethren and after a few hours.

Unfortunately, you both came back out more slimed than usual. You heard how the soles of your shoes kept peeling off of the ground.

“I feel…absolutely disgusting.” You groaned.

“You and me both.”

“Now…if you’ll excuse me. I still have a delivery to make. Nice to meet you, Tony. Don’t touch anymore Dreamscape pods, kay?”

“Oh, is that what those things are called?”

You waved him off, walking towards an exit.

“See you around, Redgrave!”

“It’s Dante!” He called out to you.

You stopped in your tracks for a moment to look back at him. “It’s (Your Name).”

[rei-ismyname]

Chuck spying on retcons

The O5 plus Havok and Polaris are home safe from Krakoa, and the mansion is full of X-Men. Chuck decides to peep into everyone's lives, you know, just to check up, as you do. Starting with the two couples, naturally. Alex and Lorna are going back to school so he watches them make out then moves on to Scott and Jean. Ahem yourself old man.

The pink glasses are fire

Scott has work to do while Jean is feeling social. There's a bit of tension there and Jean heads outside to brood while Scott focuses on the after action report. Chuck empathises but it's not his place to intervene. I disagree, to an extent. He's been raising these kids since they were 15 - who else is going to help them navigate adulthood? Further, he is the leader here, as he insists. As an aside I want to hit Banshee in the face with a ukulele but I can't explain why. It's a feeling.

Meanwhile, Iceman is being a fucking jerk. Banshee, Nightcrawler and Colossus are like 'hey wanna hang out?' but he's threatened by their very presence and seemingly determined to make them uncomfortable. Chuck should absolutely be intervening here. Imagine if all the newbies just bounced. 'Yeah, the racist guy downstairs told us to fuck off and this is incredibly dangerous for no money. I'm going back to Russia/Kenya/wherever. You're bald.'

Bobby rejects even the possibility of friendship which really bums Piotr out. The other two are like fuck him, he doesn't own this place, and decide to stay. Thunderbird makes an unheard of attempt at friendship but Bobby slaps him down harshly. Rude and racist and I'm surprised Proudstar doesn't beat the shit out of him.

Dude outright attacks him but Thunderbird points out that Chuck invited them. Also, go fuck yourself.

Meanwhile, ugh, Jean gets creeped on by Logan. She says no three times but he does his Hannibal Lecter thing and it's really quite gross. 'What Wolverine wants, he gets.' Take a shower dude.

Warren happens to be creeping on Storm, who is similarly uninterested. He spots Logan and Jean talking and divebombs the former. Logan says that Jean's a grown woman but neither man treats her like one. That decision's hers except you don't take no for an answer. Jean is just like 'what the fuck is wrong with you?'

Naturally, Logan tries to kill him, though Storm breaks it up. Warren's words are pretty harsh and it would look like an overreaction if he wasn't kinda right. Warren definitely started the fight and was taken aback when it was more lethal than expected. Nobody looks good here except for Storm.

Logan sulks and does his man child puppy dog thing, but Jean isn't afraid and welcomes him to the X-Men. This shit is supposed to be romantic, I think. It's a nice moment of compassion undercut by making Logan and his 'no means yes' bullshit right!

'Afraid of yielding' give me a break

Sigh, we get a time skip of several hours as Jean visits Xavier at dawn. They discuss Logan as a team member before she declares that she's leaving. 'The longer we're together the more afraid I am of yielding.' 3 hours with Logan and Jean is weak at the knees - truly bizarre character shilling here. That's fine, but it's only achieved by making everyone look worse and putting that nonsense in Jean's mouth. It'd be funny in a Mills and Boon way if it wasn't so regressive.

They move on to discuss things other than Logan, with Jean giving more realistic reasons for leaving. She wants to live a life outside paramilitary hijinks and there's enough X-Men to see that through. That's where she and Scott diverge - she leaves and he stays. This is one of those Protagonist centred morality retcons meant to centre Logan in Jean's decision making. He still looks like a creep, so what's the point? I think he looks worse, frankly. There's asocial and there's antisocial. A lot of character work is twisted or negated to make Logan and Xavier look better, including their arcs. It flattens everyone out. That's comics for you, not the first or last time.

[masterchef901]

Theory Time

We got 2 new chapters of info, and that means it's time for some rampant fucking speculation on the future of Deltarune and its mysteries. Spoilers ahead, obviously.

I have a LOT to think about, but the thing I'm most certain of is this:

THERE ARE MULTIPLE CULPRITS

Kris is obviously collaborating with one, but most likely several, other people around town; I doubt that any single one of them is able to comprehensively explain everything that's suspicious. The biggest point that stands out to me is the keypad on the shelter: there's space for 3 codes, indicating that it's only meant to be accessed via collaboration between 3 different individuals.

The Badge: Obvious indicator of the Police. We know Undyne is clueless, given her initial interaction with the knight, and I'll swallow a horse before I believe Napstablook is a criminal mastermind. This leaves Asgore, an ex-cop, as the likely holder of this code. Given the suspiciously large door that Kris refuses to open in the church at the end of chapter 4, as well as assorted other suspicious activity from earlier chapters, his involvement with some part of this seems obvious to me, especially since he'd be the most likely person to actually spot Kris acting weird, and begin collaborating with them against us/the Soul (Toriel had a similar chance to spot that something was 'off', but is obviously in the dark). However, given his body type (and the fact that we HAVE an impression of what armed-for-combat Asgore would look like from Undertale) I doubt he's The Roaring Knight, so there would have to be at least one additional Lightner involved.

The Delta Rune: With its symbolic and religious implications, I would take this rune to indicate the involvement of a member of the clergy, and I think signs point to Father Alvin. The biggest thing being that he kept Gerson's hammer; a book you can read in the librarby notes that monster funeral rites typically consist of putting a monster's dust on an item they loved, and burying that. I highly doubt that Alvin keeping Gerson's remains is anything as innocent as keeping a loved one's ashes in an urn instead of burying them, both because of Susie's reaction and because Gerson has a gravestone outside the church. He's supposed to be buried. Finding his remains in Alvin's office strikes me as the equivalent of finding a human skull hidden in that desk - no way that's there unless that desk's owner was knowingly trying to get up to some shit with it - possibly using Dark Worlds as a form of Necromancy.

(And in this light also consider: Asgore is noted to attend Church too, but typically at night. Ostensibly this might just be to avoid awkward encounters with Toriel, but it may be that he's using this time to discuss these Dark matters with Alvin)

The Tree: The characters deduce (and I agree) that this most likely represents a member of the Holiday family, which seems sensible enough as they're clearly wealthy and politically influential in Hometown. One or more of them is involved, and I think the answer to that is connected to the next big question:

WHO IS THE KNIGHT?

Knowing that only Lightners can open fountains, it stands to reason that The Knight must be a lightner. From there, my attention is drawn to the Knight's horns - which really look more like antlers. On that basis alone, I'm willing to believe that they're a member of the Holiday family - and besides, they're too intricately woven into the story for none of them to be implicated. Which one is it?

Points regarding each:

December: Missing for an indeterminate amount of time, referenced and known amongst Dark Worlds (a door code in chapter 3 was "1225", the same code we get cut off from reading in the guitar in chapter 4, because of course it's fucking Christmas). We know she has some strange presence hidden in the game files, and it seems reasonable that extended dark-world exposure can cause someone to look and/or act like that.

Carol: Openly antagonistic towards nearly everyone, and most likely to be aware of the true nature of things behind the scenes due to her position as Mayor. Also, "You are welcome here any time," spoken seemingly to Kris specifically. We know Kris contacted someone to come to the Holiday residence, but given their timing that could have been either Asgore or Carol. Honestly, I actually think she's too overtly antagonistic. Her being The Bad Guy feels like a red herring, like it's too obvious. As an obvervation-which-could-mean-nothing, we hear a reference to her using a katana in Town Hall, and we can see said katana in her room during the Heart sequence; it's obviously her favored weapon. The Knight's weapon of choice might be interpreted as a katana, but it strikes me as more of a scimitar, and their projectile swords seem more western in design.

Noelle: We can dismiss this pretty much out of hand, but to review for good measure: Openly in denial about dark worlds across all timelines we see her in. Likely not faking it, because the Snowgrave route shows her personality changing as she "becomes strong". If she were the mega-powerful knight from the beginning, there'd be no need for this. Also, if she were the knight, I'd expect her to be aware of Kris as a separate entity from their soul - an aspect which the Weird Route repeatedly shows her NOT to be aware of.

Rudy: This is where it gets interesting, because the more I think about it the more sense it would make for him to be a culprit. We know via Gerson that a Dark World can manifest a monster according to some vestige of their spirit, regardless of whether they're alive in the flesh - a fact that would make Dark Fountains an appealing option to a man who's clearly struggling against a terminal illness. This fact also means he'd be physically capable of being the knight as we see it, regardless of his actual health. He's close with Asgore, which might make it possible for him to access Asgore's code without his even knowing, though Asgore's other suspicious behavior makes it seem more likely to me that their closeness simply made it easier for them to start acting as accomplices. As Dess's father, he'd naturally have desperately searched for her, plausibly learning about Dark Worlds in the process, and/or coming to think that he might be able to use them to save his daughter (Carol technically shares this position, but strikes me as too narrow-minded to entertain Dark Magics as a concept).

Also we see him at Church, which doesn't really say much but does show he can be up and about at least enough to make it to where we've seen Dark Fountains formed, and stab a knife into the ground. Furthermore, he is the only person we know of who's in regular contact with Alvin, Asgore, and Kris - nobody else is as "central" as a contact among the other likely conspirators. He strikes me as a good option for a plot twist given how amicable he is toward us, and in this light, his insistence that he'll be there at the festival tomorrow takes on a more ominous tone. As another thought-that-could-mean-nothing, if his lungs are messed up so bad that he can't stop coughing in the real world, perhaps that would manifest as roaring when put through a dark world lens. Probably not, but maybe.

IN SUMMATION

I believe that the mysterious events in Hometown are the work of a conspiracy involving Kris, Asgore, Father Alvin, and one (or both!) of Rudy and Dess. Each one, I think, is acting for their own reason - for example it may be that Asgore is trying to save Kris, Rudy to save Dess, Alvin to 'save' Gerson.

This all also is only focusing on Lightners around Hometown - it of course ignores the obvious involvement of Gaster, who may well be pulling strings and manipulating them toward darker goals, and Ralsei, who is still trying to send the soul away to catch private words with Kris. Their goals remain mysterious as ever to me.

[dark-elf-writes]

I wonder how Shen Yuan reacts to his Shimu cooing over him and giving him soft affection

I mean, I imagine he’s happy Binghe is getting the soft childhood he deserves (at least for now) but I wonder how he reacts when that same soft love is directed at him

There Shimu wasn't supposed to exist.

Not that anyone other than Shen Yuan knew that.

He had poured over every word of Proud Immortal Demon Way, had hunted down scraps of world-building through hundreds of thousands of words of terrible smut and ridiculous power fantasies, had been a top contributor on the PIDW wiki, faithfully updating new and retconed information every single day without fail.

So he would have fucking noticed if the scum villain had a husband, to say the least.

Hell, he would have noticed if the scum villain showed even a hint of being gay! That would have been something interesting about his character, at least, rather than the cartoonishly evil caricature that had been played out through the beginning arcs.

But it made no sense! Even for a Omegaverse extra (or possibly an alternate universe fanfiction? He was still unsure) to introduce such an important character with such heavy influence on the plot by himself much less how his actions seemed to be actually changing the story around them why here? Why now? Why was he married - happily at that - to the scum villain of all people when such a beautiful, kind, intelligent omega had all of the markers for the protagonist's harem? A male omega wasn't that different from a wife in these kinds of stories, if his younger sister was to be believed, so he should have already been spoken for by someone completely different!

Wei Wuxian made no sense from a plot perspective and worse seemed to know that himself.

The unmatched genius with a mysterious past tamed the scum villain, rescued to abused protagonist from his terrible childhood, and had befriended the cannon fodder spy Lord of An Ding all, seemingly, for a laugh. He kept introducing new, OP inventions that could break the very world as Shen Yuan knew it (the linked books that acted like a Xianxia text messaging system could have cut the plot in half on their own, and Wei Wuxian chose to use them to send doodles of a rather prissy looking cat with a fan to his husband all day). He seemed to know everything about cultivation, despite only using the most basic low level things himself and not even having a sword of his own (though he had on occasion borrowed Xiu Ya for a flying lesson, the sight of which had nearly sent Shen Yuan into a full Peerless Cucumber rant about how that shouldn't work.)

Transmigration was the only answer. Shen Yuan knew he had to confront him, had to tell him Shen Yuan knew what he was doing and... demand to know where he got off changing the story this much? Offer to help save the world by making sure Binghe and the scum villain never grew their mutual hatred? Ask why he had married the fucking the scum villain of all people? He wasn't sure yet.

Yet every time he steeled his resolve to demand answers from his Shimu, he got... distracted.

He still didn't know why he had gone to Shimu to help Binghe. Didn't know why his fingers, trembling with the anxiety of knowing the fate of everyone on the peak relied on one man in a Stallion Novel to not be an asshole to the vulnerably protagonist, had curled into his sleeve like a child clutching a blanket. Didn't know why he had felt like a weight lifted off his chest when a hand cupped his cheek as Shimu told him he would help.

He didn't know why that hadn't been the last time he had gone to Shimu... or why the likely transmigrator's reactions always made him feel... better.

(It had to be the omega thing, right? Had to be some kind of biological advantage that made future alphas and betas - because what else would Shen Yuan be when he finally presented in a few years - feel calmer.)

"There you go again, wearing away the very mountain below your feet."

Shen Yuan stopped mid stride (not pacing, no matter what Shimu said. Just... scouting his surroundings) and whirled toward the voice, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease in spite of himself.

Shimu's smile was as bright and teasing as ever, but the hand he rested on Shen Yuan's head was gentle. Warm and broad and steadying. Like he could hold the whole world in his hand. Like he could be trusted with it.

(A sharp pang hit Shen Yuan's heart as he thought of a man who looked about as old as Wei Wuxian, with the same green eyes as Shen Yuan, who had always had the time to listen to his san-di's woes.)

"What is twisting you into knots this time, Yuan-er?"

It would be the perfect time to say it. To ask about all the things Wei Wuxian did that didn't make sense. To even drop a stupid meme reference and get Wei Wuxian to reveal himself that way.

Shen Yuan did none of those things, instead dropping his eyes to the path already worn from his feet, and whispering a truth he didn't even know he had been feeling: "I miss my siblings. They... I'm the only one left, and I..." The hand on his head stroked through his hair before gently gripping he back of his neck. Before Shen Yuan knew what was happening, his face was pressed against fine black silk as Shimu pulled him into a tight embrace.

(Da-ge was always the hugger out of all of them. Er-ge preferred to drop a hand to Shen Yuan's hair and wiggle him around like a bobble head, and Meimei tended to lean against Shen Yuan's side whenever he sat down. When he was younger, Shen Yuan used to think that his Da-ge gave the best hugs in the world. The kind of hug where the rest of the world no longer existed and it was just the feeling of warmth shared between them.

Shimu's hugs were the same.)

"As long as you still remember them, you are not the only one left." Wei Wuxian spoke with so much conviction that Shen Yuan was certain he knew. That he was also mourning the family he had left behind when he had transmigrated. A family still alive in a world neither of them would get to see again.

There, hidden away from the world behind his Shimu's sleeves, Shen Yuan allowed himself a few minutes of silent tears.

(It was definitely an omega thing, he was sure.)

[fameandfiction]

IMAGINE PART I: “Something Cracked & It Wasn’t Just My Spine” — Reneé Rapp x Reader

— Chiropractor Appointment & Unintentional Sensuality.

[You’re laid flat on the table, exhaling deep. Your shirt is rucked slightly above your stomach, your arms are slack at your sides, and a licensed professional is about to perform spinal witchcraft on your thoracic region. Reneé is in the room. She wasn’t supposed to be.]

“I don’t have to stay in here,” Reneé had said, half-teasing, half-mocking your nerves. “Sure,” you answered too quickly. “But I don’t mind. It’s not that intimate.”

Wrong.

So wrong.

The first pop happens mid-way through a breath. It’s small, relieving, almost unnoticeable.

But the second—God, the second—

Your body twists slightly as pressure builds against your spine. The chiropractor presses down in one swift motion between your shoulder blades, and what comes out of your mouth is not a whimper. Not a scream.

It’s a guttural, throaty, animalistic moan. Like the noise has been rotting inside your ribcage since the beginning of time.

“Uuugh—ghnnnnn.”

It echoes. Lingers.

The chiropractor calmly mutters, “There we go.”

But across the room, Reneé goes still.

Like completely.

Not laughing. Not teasing. Not breathing, even.

Just frozen.

You don’t realize until your eyes flutter open—and you see her.

Reneé.

Standing against the corner wall. Her knuckles white around the sleeve of her hoodie. Eyes wide. Lips parted just barely like she’s either about to speak or has forgotten how.

You blink up at her, dazed. “That was weird, huh?”

“Nope.” Her voice cracks. She clears her throat. “Nope. Totally normal. Just... getting your back blown out. Spinally. Chiropractically. Chiroprac—”

The chiropractor, bless her soul, just chuckles and asks you to flip onto your side.

You obey. Mortified. But something strange is happening behind you.

Reneé isn’t looking away.

[Later. You’re back at her house, still red-faced.]

“You were really quiet on the way home,” you offer, trying to keep things light. “Shocked by my... primal side?”

Reneé makes a noise halfway between a scoff and a cough. “Primal is definitely the word I’d use.”

You kick off your sneakers and sit on her couch, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. The silence that follows is charged. Uncomfortable.

“I didn’t know it was gonna be like that,” you mumble.

“It’s not your fault.” Reneé doesn’t meet your eyes. “You just... caught me off guard.”

You laugh, awkwardly. “It wasn’t sexy or anything.”

You’re joking. Of course you’re joking.

Reneé swallows visibly. She nods once. Then, quietly: “Sure.”

But something about the tightness of her jaw makes your stomach twist.

[That night, Reneé lies awake. Alone.]

She’d tried everything—melatonin, TikToks, her usual podcast—but nothing could erase that sound from her head.

That groan.

That raw, aching sound her friend made under pressure. Spinal pressure, sure—but her brain doesn’t care. It keeps looping the image. The noise. The way your eyes fluttered closed. The breath you let out after, like you'd been holding something in.

Reneé rolls over and groans into her pillow.

She shouldn’t be thinking about this. Not about you. You’re her friend.

But now she can’t stop imagining.

Not just how you sounded on the chiropractor table—but how you’d sound pressed into her mattress. Breath hitching. Fingers twisted in her hair. Moaning for her—not by accident, but on purpose.

She squeezes her eyes shut.

“Fuck,” she whispers.

[The next morning. You’re in her kitchen. She’s too tense. You’re too sunny.]

“I brought donuts,” you announce, like nothing happened. You place a box on the counter, unaware that Reneé hasn’t slept and is currently replaying the moment from yesterday like it’s a cursed vine.

“You okay?” you ask, tilting your head.

Reneé shrugs. “Didn’t sleep.”

“Too much caffeine?”

Too much you, more like.

“I guess,” she says flatly.

You pour coffee like it’s any other morning. You don’t notice how her eyes follow your movements too long. You don’t notice the way she has to look away when you stretch, when you yawn, when your voice hums a low tune from her kitchen speaker.

She can’t stop seeing it.

Can’t stop wondering how much of that sound was pain. How much was pleasure.

Can’t stop picturing what your voice might sound like if she were kissing your neck. Or if you were underneath her, spine arching for very different reasons.

Damn.

[By noon, she texts her best friend:] Reneé Rapp: hey. so. what does it mean if you hear your friend moan and now you can’t stop imagining them naked. asking for science. Scarlett Leithold: did you HEAR her moan or did you HEAR her moan. Reneé Rapp: spine-related. chiropractor. but also it was kind of like... top-tier. Scarlett Leithold: reneé. baby. it’s over for you. Reneé Rapp: shut up i hate you

[Three days pass. She thinks it’ll fade. It doesn’t.]

You stretch on her couch again, talking about something trivial—haircuts, probably—and her brain short-circuits.

It’s not your fault.

You’re still you.

The problem is that Reneé changed.

And now every time you laugh too hard, every time you bite your straw, every time you rest your head on her shoulder, her brain goes straight to the chiropractor table.

Straight to the noise.

Straight to you.

[The breaking point is a movie night. You're in pajamas. Your legs are touching.]

You’re both laughing at something dumb onscreen. Reneé makes a joke. You toss your head back and let out a loud, choked sound—

And suddenly it’s there again.

That moan.

That moment.

And this time it’s not imaginary. It’s here. It’s now.

Your face is flushed. You don’t realize it. But Reneé does.

And she can’t do this anymore.

“I need to ask you something,” she blurts, voice shaky.

You blink. “What’s up?”

She looks at you. Really looks.

Your mouth. Your eyes. The way you're looking at her without fear or tension. Like you're not hiding anything.

“Are we really just friends?” she asks, soft.

You freeze.

“I—I thought we were,” you say, unsure.

Reneé nods once. Then again, slower.

She leans in just a little.

“I don’t think I can hear you make another noise like that without doing something about it.”

[to be continued...]

[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.

[rohirric-hunter]

I was gonna get a pair of Loop earplugs to wear when the radio is on at work, and I described them to several supervisors to make sure they'd be okay to use before I bought them, and they all said it would be fine, but today I was talking to someone who already has Loop earplugs and he was told he couldn't wear them without approval from HR, which he needs a doctor's note for, so now I'm super frustrated because Which Is It

[quillvice]

"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.

[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! ✨