#is that he is out of this world pretty and charming

[itsnesss]

charles leclerc x reader? Charles always giving his girlfriend reader piggy back rides

𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 | charles leclerc × fem!reader

summary | you’re exhausted from a day of exploring monte carlo, so charles offers to give you a piggyback ride

warnings | fluff, lighthearted, romantic, sweet

word count | 0.5 k

🖇️ more cl16 🖇️ f1 masterlist

The sun was starting to set behind the buildings of Monte Carlo, painting the sky with soft shades of pink and orange. You were walking along the harbor, laughing and exchanging small jokes that only the two of you understood. Your legs were done for; you had been walking for hours, exploring every corner, eating ice cream, taking photos, and enjoying the rare free day Charles had.

You stop and pout dramatically, letting your arms fall to your sides.

"I'm exhausted. My feet are about to give up."

Charles turns to you, raising an eyebrow with that playful expression you know so well.

"Again?"

"Don’t judge me! It's my new sandals. Very pretty, very painful," you defend yourself with an innocent smile.

He laughs softly and turns his back to you, giving you the familiar sign without needing any words.

"Hop on, princess."

You climb on immediately, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting out a small sigh of relief.

"You’re the best boyfriend in the world."

"I know," he replies with that charming confidence you can’t tell if it’s real or just part of his Monegasque humor. "Although, you could choose more comfortable shoes if you know this always happens."

"And ruin the opportunity to have you carry me? Never."

Charles laughs again and begins walking, his steps firm while you feel the warm, steady rhythm of his back beneath you.

"Do you remember the first time you did this?" you ask suddenly.

"Of course I do," he says without hesitation. "In Italy, when we got lost looking for that vineyard."

"I was in such a bad mood…"

"And I was terrified because I didn’t know if you were going to leave me there, abandoned with the GPS failing."

You both laugh remembering it. That day ended just like this one: you on his back, him joking about you needing to sign a contract to make him your personal transport.

"You know what I love about this?" you ask softly, more to yourself than to him.

"What?"

"That I feel safe with you. No matter where we are or if I’m tired… you’re always there. Not just to carry me, but to hold me."

Charles stops for a second, as if your words hit him directly in the chest. He gently lowers you, turns, and holds your face in his hands.

"I will always be there, mon cœur. To carry you, to wait for you, to hug you. You and me... we’re a team."

You smile, your eyes shining a little. He leans in and kisses your forehead, like he always does when he wants to give you peace. Then he crouches down once more.

"One last ride, oui?"

"Always."

And there you are again, on his back, laughing, making silent promises, with the sound of the sea in the background.

And as Charles walks with you on his back, you know, without any doubt, that no matter how far you go… you will always have a safe place on his back and in his heart.

[fandomfablesunleashed]

The Stakes of the Heart Pirates

Law x reader (she/her) ft. Heart Pirates

Part of the Polar Tang Chronicles but can be read as a standalone! (They're all just various one-shots featuring the Reader, Law, and the Heart Pirates)

Summary:It’s poker night on the Polar Tang, and you managed to pull Law into joining the fun

Tags: suggestive at the end (they really all turn this way)

Words: 3.3k

Notes: Originally, I wanted to describe the game more. I even did some research for it, but honestly, I didn’t want to mess it up since I’ve only played poker once or twice in my life. In the end, I decided it wasn’t that important.

It ended up turning suggestive. Apparently, every little story in this series wants to go in that direction.

I still have a lot of ideas for this, so if you want, help me decide the next story here.

English is not my first language

Masterlist

Law was sitting at his desk, hunched over various maps, plans, and some random notes, his sharp eyes scanning everything with meticulous focus. He was always like this—lost in some work, as if the weight of the world rested solely on his shoulders.

You stopped in the doorway for a moment, captivated by the sight of him. His spotted cap lay forgotten on the desk, leaving you free to admire the chaotic state of his black hair, likely ruffled even more with his hands—those beautiful, tattooed hands—whenever frustration got the best of him.

A smile pulled at your lips as you leaned against the frame, arms crossed, unable to tear your eyes away. There was something oddly endearing about how consumed he became by his responsibilities.

You always admired that about him.

Law continued scribbling notes, utterly unaware of your presence. The only sounds in the room were the scratching of his pen against parchment and the distant murmur of the crew moving around other parts of the submarine.

With an amused shake of your head, you cleared your throat.

Law's head snapped up, his piercing gaze locking onto yours. “What is it?” he asked as he set his pen down to give you full attention.

That was your first sign that you could get him away from his work.

“Nothing, just wanted to check up on you.” You stepped closer, slowly making your way towards him.

“I'm fine,” he waved his hand, dismissing your concerns. Typical.

“You always say that,” you said with a smirk, standing behind him. You put your hands on his arms, hugging him from behind. “The rest of the crew is drinking and playing cards tonight. You need to unwind a little too, you know.” You basically purred into his ear, wanting nothing more than to persuade him to join in your activities.

Law exhaled through his nose slowly, his expression remaining impassive, but you caught the subtle change as he mulled your words over. “I have work to do,” he replied, gesturing to the mess on his desk.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you pressed more against his back, peering down at the parchment. “You always have work to do,” you teased, pushing one of the maps aside.

“I don’t need to unwind,” he said stubbornly. “I'm fine here.”

You arched a brow, sensing an opening. “Oh, come on,” you pressed, your voice dripping with charm. “Pretty pleeeease?”

“Nope.”

“Please, my darling, my love, Captain of my heart, my Doctor Heartstealer, my star guiding me through this chaotic life, my—”

“Are you done?” he interrupted, deadpan. Completely unbothered by your theatrics.

“I’m done.” You flashed a playful grin. “But you can grace us with your presence every now and then. It won't kill you to enjoy yourself.”

Law let out a quiet sigh, running a hand through his hair as if debating whether indulging you was really worth the trouble. For a moment, it seemed like he might object again—but then, at last, his lips quirked ever so slightly at the corners. 

“Fine,” he relented.

You grinned, triumphant. “Finally.” With a playful shove to his shoulder and a quick kiss on his cheek, you straightened up. “Now hurry before they drink all the good stuff.”

Law huffed, as if exasperated, but there was a spark in his eyes as he stood, stretching his arms over his head, though you could tell that he wasn't really opposed to the idea. He never was, just liked to pretend otherwise.

You wasted no time, looping your arm through his and leading him toward the door. “You'll thank me later,” you teased.

“I doubt that,” Law murmured in his usual fashion, but you knew by now that he enjoyed being pestered to join in on the fun. Especially if you were the one doing the prodding.

You kept dragging him through the corridor, the distant sounds of laughter and clinking glasses growing louder with every step. You were almost giddy at the thought of having a relaxing evening. What made it even better was the fact that Law was letting himself be pulled into it.

And whether he admitted it or not, you knew he wouldn’t regret it. The rare moments of peace, the simple joy of being with the people who cared for him—this was exactly what he needed.

The second you entered the common room, you were met with a chorus of cheers and whistles from the gathered crew members. The warm overhead lights filled the room with a pleasant glow, as your eyes swept over half-filled glasses and scattered playing cards.

“Well, well, well,” Penguin drawled, throwing his cards down dramatically. “The captain actually left his cave. Somebody mark the calendar!”

Shachi snickered, leaning back in his chair with a knowing grin. “For a second there, I thought he'd fused with his desk.”

A ripple of laughter spread through the room, and even Ikakku joined in, crossing her arms with an amused smirk. “Pretty sure the only reason he's here is because you dragged him out.”

You chuckled at their reaction, steering Law toward the table. “See? I told you they'd be happy to see you out here for once,” you said, plopping down into an empty chair.

Law sighed as he lowered himself into the seat beside you. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, but there was no real bite in his tone.

Bepo beamed from across the table. “We're glad you're here, Captain! It’s always more fun when you play.”

Clive leaned forward. “Now the real question is—are you gonna let us win this time?”

“You’d better watch out, Captain. We’ve been practicing without you.” Jean Bart added.

He rose from his seat and made his way toward the bar. Without needing to be asked, he started preparing drinks for you and Law. You watched him for a moment, grateful for the kindness, and accepted the offer with a soft, murmured thanks.

“You all talk big,” Law said, picking up his cards with practiced ease, “but I’m not going down easy.”

You watched the exchange, shaking your head with a grin as you leaned in slightly, giving Law’s arm a playful squeeze. “Better be prepared to back up that talk,” you teased.

“Just watch,” he murmured, his gaze not straying from his cards.

The game began, and just as expected, Law approached it with the same intense focus he applied to everything else. He studied his cards, his expression unreadable, his brilliant mind already calculating every possible move. The crew did their best to distract him with banter, but he hardly flinched.

Penguin groaned as Law won yet another hand, tossing his cards onto the table in defeat. “Dammit, Captain, you're like a damn rock. Can you at least pretend to look phased for once?”

Shachi narrowed his eyes, squinting at Law with mock suspicion. “You’re cheating, aren’t you? No way you’re this good without some kind of ruse.”

Law barely acknowledged their accusations, simply smirking as he shuffled his cards. “No tricks,” he said smoothly. “Just skill.” He glanced at you then, an almost imperceptible smile showing at the corner of his lips, a tiny acknowledgment only you would catch.

A few more rounds passed, and Law's dominance remained unchallenged. The crew's attempts to rattle him were futile, though their frustration never soured the mood. If anything, it only fueled the playful competitiveness.

“I'm starting to hate you again,” Shachi muttered as Law raked in another pile of winnings. “No one is this good every single round.”

“Oh, accept your defeat gracefully, Shachi,” Law responded dryly, stacking his chips with practiced ease. “Not my fault you’re all so predictable.”

You laughed at their exchange, enjoying the crew’s exaggerated complaints. “He’s got a point,” you teased, nudging Shachi with your elbow. “You guys are pretty easy to read.”

Shachi pouted, crossing his arms. “Easy for you to say! You’re doing way too well, too. Maybe you’re both just cheating.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No cheating here, just pure skill,” you said smugly, leaning back in your chair. “Right, Captain?” You turned to Law with a knowing wink.

For a split second, you and Law exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between you.

The truth? 

He had taught you how to play—how to spot the tells, how to bluff, and how to read people before they even realized they’d given themselves away. But neither of you was about to disclose that.

“That’s right,” Law said, his poker face impenetrable. “We’re just that good.”

The crew groaned in unison at his remark, though beneath their dramatic protests, there was just a joy of spending time together. 

“This is getting ridiculous,” Ikkaku grumbled, glaring after her latest loss. “Are we absolutely sure Captain isn't secretly psychic?”

Law chuckled, setting down his cards with easy confidence. “You’re just a sore loser.”

Shachi threw Law an unimpressed look. “You could at least pretend to lose once in a while,” he complained.

Law raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “What, and go easy on you all?” he replied. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Bepo grinned at his captain. “You're just too good, Captain.”

It wasn’t every day that Law let loose like this. There was a lightness to the way he played, an almost uncharacteristic charm as he gathered his winnings with that trademark smirk of his.

You couldn’t even be mad at losing. The warmth, the laughter, the carefree fun—it all felt like a small victory, one that came not from triumph over others but from moments like this, where everyone could just be present, enjoying themselves without worry. And, as always, it came with the unmistakable thrill of being with a crew you could actually call family.

You leaned back in your seat, taking in the chaos of it all. “So,” you mused, your tone dripping with amusement, “still happy I dragged his ass here, guys?”

The collective groan from the crew was all the answer you needed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Shachi grumbled, tossing his cards onto the table in defeat. “Even if he's kicking all our asses.” With that, he drowned the rest of his drink.

“You all make it too easy,” Law replied smoothly. His words were cool, casual—like he was simply stating a fact—but the twinkle in his eyes and the way his smile deepened betrayed the pride he took in each flawless victory. Even in moments like this, when the game was more about fun than stakes, Law’s competitive edge never quite faded.

You shook your head, still laughing, as you turned to Law. “See? I told you it would be fun.”

“I guess you were right,” he admitted.

The crew mumbled their reluctant agreement, still licking their wounds from their losses.

“You should listen to her more often,” Penguin quipped, though there was still a sulky edge to his voice. “She knows what’s good for you.”

Law shot him a pointed look, but there was no real annoyance behind it. Without thinking, his hand drifted to the small of your back. His fingers brushed lightly against your skin, a casual, instinctive gesture that sent a welcome sensation through you. Affection between you two was rarely displayed in front of the crew, kept tucked away waiting to be shared in private. So even something as simple as this felt deeply intimate. It wasn’t much, not outwardly. But to you, it meant everything.

Feeling his touch, you turned your head slightly, your gaze finding his. Soft, unspoken, meant only for him.

The crew noticed, of course. They always did. But, for once, decided not to comment, content in the knowledge that their captain—reserved, calculating, and stubborn as he was—was finally, slowly, allowing himself to let go.

“Alright, that’s enough poker for one night,” Law declared, pushing back from his chair. The crew nodded, still pouting over their losses, but none of them had the energy to protest.

“Yeah, I need a break from getting my ass handed to me,” Shachi muttered, rubbing his forehead in defeat.

Bepo beamed at Law, his fluffy ears twitching with excitement. “You were awesome tonight, Captain.”

“Next time,” Law drawled, voice laced with mock arrogance, “maybe you all can put up more of a fight.”

You stood up beside him, stretching slightly. “Or maybe you could just go a little easier on them,” you countered.

Law rolled his eyes dramatically. “And give up the chance to watch them suffer a little?” He smirked. “Never.”

The crew groaned once again. But even as they grumbled, they couldn’t hide their wide smiles. Because, for all his teasing and destroying them in games, Law’s way of letting go had its charm.

“You’re ruthless, Captain,” Harugan complained, shaking his head.

Shachi nodded in agreement. “We’ll get you back. Count on it.”

Law’s grin widened slightly, clearly enjoying their futile determination. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

As much as you enjoyed your life as a pirate, all the adventures, discoveries, and endless places to explore, those small moments with the crew—with your family—were always the most significant part.

You grabbed Law’s arm, pulling him away from the table. “Alright, that’s enough gloating. Let’s give them time to nurse their wounded egos,” you said, laughing.

Law followed your lead, his arm naturally sliding around your shoulders as you both walked away from the table. His gaze drifted back toward the crew, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “See you all tomorrow. Rest up, lick your wounds.”

“Yeah, yeah,” they called after him, waving him off. Their complaints were empty, their eyes glinting with the promise of future revenge.

As the two of you stepped out into the quieter halls of the ship, the sounds of laughter and grumbling fading behind you, the air seemed to settle into a more peaceful atmosphere. Law let out a low chuckle, a rare softness creeping into his voice.

“Thanks for dragging my ass out there, as you put it.”

You grinned up at him, amused by his reluctant admission. “Told you it’d be good for you,” you replied, poking at his side playfully. “Besides, it was fun watching you humiliate them—even if I got a little humiliated in the process too.”

“No, no, you held your own,” he assured you. “You even beat me a couple of times.”

“Yeah, a couple,” you scoffed, though you couldn’t hide your smile. “But you still won overall. I forgot how competitive you can be.”

Law’s smirk deepened. “Can you blame me? Sometimes it’s good to remind them who the captain is,” he said, a hint of that cocky arrogance of his slipping through.

You shook your head fondly. “And there’s that ego of yours,” you teased. “You really can’t resist proving you’re the best, can you?”

“When I am the best,” he said smoothly, his voice dropping slightly. “Why would I hold back?”

Oh, how you loved that cocky edge in his voice.

You wouldn’t confess it out loud easily, but truth be told, you wouldn’t change a damn thing about him. Not his arrogance, nor the way his eyes were a little too sharp. Not even how blunt and insensitive he could be.

It was late by the time the two of you reached the captain’s quarters—your quarters now, too.

Officially. 

The air carried a familiar tranquility, broken only by the steady motion of the submarine and the distant, muffled sounds of the crew retreating to their routines. But here, behind the closed door and beneath the soft, amber glow of the lights, the world had narrowed to just the two of you.

As the door clicked shut behind you, you marched toward Law. “Thanks for teaching me how to play poker,” you said. “It really paid off in there.”

Law chuckled, leaning casually against the wall, his golden eyes studying you. “You picked it up fast,” he admitted, the usual calm in his tone betrayed slightly by the note of pride. “Didn’t expect you to catch on that quickly.”

You grinned, practically glowing at the compliment. “Well,” you said, taking a step closer, just enough for your shoulder to brush his arm, “I had a good teacher.”

Before he could respond, you closed the distance between you in a heartbeat, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your fingers slid into the strands at his nape as your body pressed flush against his.

Law inhaled sharply at the sudden intimacy, his body stiffening for just a second before his hands instinctively found your waist, pulling you even closer. His grip was firm, the warmth of his palms seeping through the fabric and settling into your skin.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” he murmured.

You laughed, soft and smug. You reveled in the power of being the one to rattle him. “I know,” you whispered, your lips grazing along the sharp edge of his jaw before pressing a tender kiss there.

Law’s breath hitched at the contact. His tattooed fingers tightened on your waist as he tilted his head slightly, granting you better access.

Taking full advantage of the way he melted beneath your touch, you let your lips trail slow kisses along the sharp line of his jaw, down the strong column of his throat. Your fingers slipped over his chest, exploring the muscle hidden under his shirt, every rise and fall of his breath growing just a little less controlled.

“You know,” you said against his skin, the words barely more than a breath. “I think we’ve spent enough time entertaining everyone else for tonight. Don’t you?”

“Yeah…” His voice was rougher now. His hands slid from the back of your neck down your spine. He paused at the curve of your hip before gripping your thigh firmly, pulling it up to hook around him, and the shiver that coursed through you was instant. “Let’s entertain ourselves now.”

A delighted giggle escaped your lips just before Law moved, swift and decisive. In one fluid motion, he lifted you as if you weighed nothing, his grip secure. Your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, your arms tightening around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair for balance—or maybe just to feel closer.

The world blurred as he carried you across the room with that same steady confidence he carried everywhere.

When your back met the bed, a small gasp left you, the mattress dipping beneath you as he hovered above. His gaze was heated, his expression unreadable like usual and yet entirely consuming.

“So…” You looked up at him, your lips parted, your body already responding to his touch. “What kind of entertainment did you have in mind?”

Law’s smirk deepened, his hands sliding over your body with intentional slowness, tracing every curve beneath his fingertips. His golden eyes gleamed with that vitality that was reserved just for you as he leaned down, his lips brushing just barely against yours.

“Something a little more… private,” he answered, his voice a dangerous whisper. His hands traveled lower, fingers tracing heated paths along your skin. “Something that doesn’t involve any cards… or clothes, for that matter.”

“Sounds like my kind of entertainment,” you whispered, your fingers tightening in his hair just as he finally closed the space between you.

The time you spent with the crew was important, meaningful in its own right. But this? These rare moments behind closed doors, when Law let the world slip away and gave you the parts of himself no one else saw. This was what you treasured most. 

[sun-archeron]

yes, we all agree that 15th's companions are just copies of 10th's, and its lazy, BUT since we cant change it, we can at least analyze its consequences in-world

a big theme of 15th's run has been forthwallbreaking and meta-commentary: the Pantheon, Mrs Flood, the plots of The Devil's Chord, Rogue and Lux, The Well being a sequel and going so far as to show scenes from the midnight episode, all the stuff with old companions working at UNIT

so, we have multiple evidences of 15th being hyperaware of his storylines and tropes, and i think that his choice of companions is not as random as he wants us (and himself) to believe

Ruby is very obviously a copy of Rose: name with two meanings, one of them being a color; 19 yo; daughter of a single mom; blonde; hungry for adventure; easily impressed by everything the Doctor does; doesnt take shit from others but doesnt see the Doctor's red flags

Belinda is very similar to Martha: works in the medical field; down to earth; more reluctant to travel with the Doctor; has a family that she worries about; calls out the Doctor on his bullshit, but ultimately falls for his charm; had a relative meet the Doctor previously; they met when she got taken from earth

(and yes, the Belinda situation technically was not his choice, but he knows how likely it is that someone he meets in one of his adventures becomes a companion, and he could've worked with the people of missbelindachandra to try and get her back to earth, but no, he decided to take her on the Tardis, and i dont think it has been clarified yet how he knew that something was going to happen to her in the first place, i guess the same way he always gets attracted to adventure, there's just something that draws him, and he was drawn to belinda)

both the Rose and the Martha situations ended pretty badly, with the Doctor losing Rose physically and losing Martha emotionally, and since 15th has been established as the Doctor's new beginning, he is trying to recreate the scenarios where he failed, to make it right this time

so far he has succeded, with him and Ruby parting in good terms and her being safe and relatively trauma free

now, im not so sure that the Belinda situation is gonna go so well

[nemisuki]

𐔌✧.* ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

ೀ⋆ || Falling for your dense classmate is a challenge, especially when trying to confess ❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

. ♬ ݁˖ || inspo song : spotify version & yt version ᯓ★

ᝰ.ᐟ || izuku midoriya x f!reader, she/her pronouns, pure fluff, words of affirmation, 1.7k word count •°. *࿐

It didn't take long for y/n to realize what she felt for Izuku far surpassed the typical feelings you would have for a dear classmate.

This sentiment only seems to marinate after many months of admiring from a safe distance — behind the term 'friend' — attempting to disregard the attraction that increases day by day.

Regardless of how much she tried to hide it, at times, her infatuation appeared to control her like a puppet, making words exit her mouth before her mind could catch up.

"Deku, I don't understand this one..."

It's a blatant lie, only wanting to catch his attention, and it seems to work.

His head perks up in an instant, gaze softening slightly as he leans closer, taking a peek at her notebook — filled with erase markings and scribbles — not one ounce of judgement in his gentle look.

"Hm? If you don't mind, I can help! Let me have a look..."

Her heart quickens, fingers clenching on her pencil as she tries to stay still, focused on quieting her racing pulse, growing afraid he might hear it.

The boy becomes so immersed in explaining the equation step-by-step that he doesn't even realize just how close he's gotten; considering she can now count every pretty freckle and scar.

He gently smiles, turning to look at her.

"Do you get it now?"

Her whole body feels like it's on fire, every nerve and muscle yearning to close the distance, urging herself to melt in the arms of the precious ambiance that is Izuku Midoriya.

Yet he never seemed to grasp this concept himself, always preoccupied with strict training regimens and study sessions, mentally distanced from the notion of romance.

So some days she grows bolder than others; giving him little hints to test the waters, subtle indications about the burning affection within her.

"Deku! I um— got you this... I hope you don't have it already. I saw it in the store and well—"

His face visibly lights up, scrambling up from his seat to approach her, receiving the small gift like a lively child on christmas day.

"Uwahhhh! This is the magazine with all mights latest interviews! I can't believe you managed to get a copy before it sold out! Even Kacchan couldn't get one!"

Izuku is already flipping through the pages, his awe filled gaze zeroing in on each sentence, gushing over every little thing that his mentor responded with.

Despite knowing All Might personally, it seems he'll always be a fan boy at heart; the thought makes her smile back with hidden admiration.

The way his eyes glistened with joy always had her in a trance, hence she couldn't pass up pre-ordering the item — when she saw it on a instagram post he liked — y/n just couldn't resist.

She smiles.

"I guess I got lucky, huh?"

He eagerly nods.

"Mhm! You're like a good luck charm y/n!"

She's visibly taken back, the words getting stuck in her throat, slight goosebumps peppering her skin — despite no breeze being present — unable to comprehend his random declaration.

"E-Eh?!"

He takes a few steps forward, his head still in the clouds, holding the magazine closer to his chest with pure joy.

"I mean it! It seems like whenever you're around me, good things happen!"

She shyly averts her gaze in an attempt to ignore how close he is, how close she is to just erasing the gap between them all together, wanting nothing more than to hear his endless rambles and praise.

Praise that seemed to easily leave his lips, maybe too easy, after all, she seems to be stuck in that category of 'just friends'.

A label she'd like to change for something more intimate.

"You... really think so?"

"Of course I do!"

Being friends with Izuku Midoriya makes a person question if the world is truly as cruel as they say, because the boy in front of her counters all of that.

The true embodiment of a kind soul; disguised as a mere high school student.

So she shouldn't be shocked when his popularity sky-rockets during their last year in UA, fangirls approaching him whenever given an open opportunity, leaving the boy a stuttering mess as he nervously fidgets around.

It irked her more than it should've but nonetheless, she was grateful, considering it ignited an ambitious drive inside her heart, urging her to seek him out.

Leading them to this very moment, the duo standing in front of the cherry blossom tree on campus, a cliché yet beautiful scenery of falling pink petals under the warm sun.

The curious green-haired boy looking right at her.

"So what did you want to talk about y/n?"

She gulps.

All her confidence suddenly vanishes into thin air as he tilts his head, mindlessly smiling at her, despite not knowing she's on the verge of overheating right then and there.

"Well... I have something important to tell you, if you don't mind."

He immediately nods along.

"Ah—! Okay then, I'm all ears!"

She bites the inside of her cheek, attempting to ignore her sweaty palms; embarrassingly becoming a complete bundle of nerves, right in front of the boy she's been crushing on.

A boy who she knows will treat her the same, with everlasting kindness, regardless of the outcome.

"We've known each other for quite some time and... I think you're really amazing deku... you probably don't know this but you've inspired me more to become a great hero. And if you'd let me, I-I'd want to stay by your side til then because I—"

Regardless of the forming butterflies in her stomach, y/n clenches her fist, the last remaining amount of courage fueling her drive to meet his gaze, her whole body heated with emotions.

He looks at her, a bit caught off guard, clearly not expecting the conversation to go like this, his expression completely unreadable — for once — only prolonging her anxious thoughts and hesitance.

The breeze feels cool against her skin, reminding her that it's either now or never, unable to continue hiding her feelings for the cheerful classmate any longer.

So with a deep breath, she speaks with conviction, holding firm eye contact.

"I-I really do love you Izuku!"

He's visibly taken back, eyes widening at her confession, frozen stiff for a few seconds as if contemplating their whole relationship — all the memories and laughs they've shared — to eventually relax with an oddly calm gaze and warm smile.

His cheeks barely dusted with a light pink.

"Oh— I love you too y/n! You're an amazing friend as well!"

Silence.

The girl could only stare at him with disbelief, she had almost forgotten how dense he is, despite being one of the smartest students in their class; if there's a subject Izuku Midoriya isn't too bright on — it's romance.

She saw the way he short circuits whenever a fangirl even so much as compliments him.

Which means she has to be even more clear with both him and herself.

Well, they say the second time's a charm...

"N-no that's not... I meant— agh! Izuku! What I meant to say was that— I'm in love with you!"

He blinks a few times, like his mind is unable to comprehend her statement.

Then realization seems to hit him like a brick, she could tell by his blush intensifying from a soft pink to a bright red, multiple shades deeper compared to the cherry petals falling around them.

His arms flail around as he stammers uncontrollably.

"W-what?! You're in l-l-love with me?! But why— s-since when?!"

Now it's her turn to be flustered, shyly holding her cheeks to feel the burning sensation beneath her finger tips.

"For a while now..."

"Eh?! Are you sure?! M-Maybe you're just—"

He doesn't finish his sentence, quickly shutting himself up at the sight of her condition — equally as bashful and fidgety — mirroring his own physical state.

His eyes light up at the picture perfect image, her hair flowing in the wind, petals raining down like a scene out of a cheesy rom-com, sun beaming a little too brightly to highlight the glossy look in her gaze.

It was as if the breath got sucked right out of him, unable to avert his eyes elsewhere, she was just that breathtaking.

And it was right there, where Izuku Midoriya realized that maybe... just maybe... his best friend truly has fallen in love with him.

Yet he couldn't make sense of why; how in the world he got the attention of such a beautiful girl.

Previous insecurities resurfacing to question if her feelings for him weren't just a miscalculation on her part, perhaps mistaken for something more than mere friendship but...

Izuku Midoriya may be dense, altho, not a complete fool.

The intense look in her eyes, holding more than a thousand words, gave him reassurance that she, in fact, meant what she said.

Only making him more shy as she awaits his response.

He softly mumbles.

"U-Um... then how about we go out to an arcade this weekend... just us two... uh-! I mean we don't h-have to if you don't want to I—"

Her eyes lit up at his invitation, and she suddenly couldn't resist — as if her body just moved on its own — stepping closer to peck an innocent kiss on his cheek, motivated by nothing other than pure joy.

Many months of pent up infatuation finally taking its course.

"Ah really?! I'd love to!"

He freezes.

And after a few moments, she immediately jerks back, realizing just how bold she was with that one action alone, feeling flushed at her own cheekiness.

"Oh— I'm so sorry Izuku! I didn't mean to—"

She gasps as he sees him stumble over, falling onto the vibrant plush grass, thankfully cushioning his fall — as his brain no doubt short circuits — practically melting like a puddle on the ground with a dazed expression.

The boy dramatically wounding up unconscious.

"Wahhh?! Izuku?!"

He woke up in the infirmary a few minutes later, still beyond starstruck as he attempted to answer recovery girls questions.

The older woman only gives him a comical deadpanned expression as he begins rambling on about his situation with y/n, frankly panicking about never being in a relationship before.

Already searching up 'tips to have the best first date' for future references, all while his hand remains on his cheek, right where she kissed him.

Smiling fondly at the memory, as if reminding himself that this is not a dream.

That sometimes your soulmate is your best friend, whom you hopelessly fell in love with.

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

ᴀ/ɴ ||| hi my beautiful flowers! wow this fic is long what the heck, i was locked in?! this is a fic request from the number one deku fan hehe, i hope u like it lele!! lowkey this made me want to write for izuku more so yippieee, now time for me to go, plus ultra! ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ ᴛᴀɢꜱ ||| @leleyro (❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)

[frozenjokes]

grian does pining the worst that anyone's ever done it

ao3 link - Next

Now, now, what sucker was going to come around to the antique store today, comb meticulously through the keeper’s wares, and land on the beautiful mirror in the dusty shop corner, displayed grandly for all to see.

Perhaps this was an optimistic view; most customers passed Grian’s prison by without a second glance, some admired the intricacy and moved on, and no one had bought him in quite some time, but hey, nothing wrong with being an optimist!

As with most customers, Grian did not recognize the man that walked in during the late afternoon; lots of people only shopped once and never again so it didn’t make a habit of memorizing faces, but.. This one stood out. He was a nicely manicured kind of guy, tall, lanky, and well-dressed to the point that he looked out of place; what a silly thing to be.

Grian liked silly people. She liked silly men. One might go as far as to say she Just Liked Men, but Grian would not be this ‘One’ fellow, because her standards were very high indeed, and she was not fickle enough to be charmed by a pretty face. A clumsy disposition however…

This idiot must have tripped over his untied dress shoes like five times since entering the shop; they were really too big for him it seemed, and why wear dress shoes at all in the first place? Grian was sure he was going to break something, but when the man took an interest in one of the wares, his touch was feather-light, turning the antique in his large, knobby hands with the kind of care someone might afford to a baby bird.

It was meant to be.

Disregard all other times it was meant to be, because this time Grian felt it, the electricity when their eyes met, the tension as the stranger stepped delicately forward toward Grian’s mirror. Maybe he would trip and fall through it, and Grian would catch him, her own curse keeping her from the physical world broken, and this stranger, a little cut up from the glass, would probably say something silly and posh like ‘goodness me!’ and Grian would let the moment draw itself out before easing him to his feet, a clawed hand slipped past his waist before breaking the connection entirely. Would the stranger chase Grian’s touch? Most certainly. Anyone would.

“Isn’t this something,” the man mumbled, and Grian closed its eyes, preening under the stranger’s gaze. It didn’t keep its eyes closed for long, however, not when there was so much to see. The man drew his hand along the intricate edge of the mirror and Grian almost felt it, she did feel it, she could imagine his touch as clearly as if his hand had graced her side, slipping smoothly down her waist. ‘Aren’t you something,’ he’d said. He was going to save her. Free her. Grian would repay him kindly. For now, the passion of his reflection staring back at him would have to do.

The man’s interest was thick enough to taste, and when he scampered off, Grian knew he would return. It was not so thrilled to see a guardian angel— presumably the stranger’s— take his place.

“There are about a hundred not-haunted knickknacks in these places, and every damn time he goes for the one thing that could kill him.” The angel threw back his head, exasperated. “Alright, alright, who’s in there. Open up, let’s see you.”

Grian huffed. He did not have to show himself for the sake of an angel, especially one that looked like it wanted to get in the way. Though, maybe Grian should make clear now that interfering would be unwise. As a part of his curse, he was unable to interact with the physical world; he hardly had any power at all, but this angel didn’t have to know that.

It stepped out of its mirror, wings splayed and tail lashing. The angel did not look impressed.

“A demon, then. Of course.”

Grian bared its teeth in a smile most unkind. “If we’re going to be acquainted, how about an exchange of names?”

“Skizz, guardian angel of the human, Mumbo Jumbo. But we will not be acquainted.”

Grian scoffed. “Are you going to exorcise me? Sure. But first you have to let me out.”

“No.” Skizz snatched Grian up by the scruff of his sweater, then slammed him back through the mirror as Mumbo rounded the corner. “You’re just going to stay put.” Something shimmered over the surface of the glass, then fell like waves over Grian’s entire realm, blinding white-yellow light scorching the walls of his prison, then fading, leaving him in darkness. The first thing she noticed was her view from the glass was limited strictly to the window of the mirror. When she tried to push through the glass, give that angel a piece of her mind, she bounced right off. What!?

“Do you like it?” Mumbo asked, and Grian was so stunned by his own predicament he didn’t even process that Mumbo seemed to be speaking directly to his angel. “Or is it haunted again.”

“I like it,” Skizz said simply. Then he left Mumbo alone, Grian pressing its face to the barrier as Skizz floated out of reach.

…

Being a normal mirror was stupid and annoying, but if Grian had to be a mirror anywhere, he’d want to be one within the walls of Mumbo’s home. Now, Mumbo’s apartment wasn’t anything spectacular, and it was far less interesting than living in the antique store, but this place had Mumbo, and Mumbo was the best human in the whole wide world; heaven, hell, and all other realms included.

Mumbo spent a lot of time staring into the mirror. Grian spent a lot of time staring back. He was really quite handsome with that pointed, angular face, almost gaunt but not alarmingly so. As much as Grian loved having Mumbo here, she was of the opinion he really needed some sun. Sure, being pale is one thing, but looking sickly is quite another. If Grian had some sort of silly fear of ghosts, she might have screamed when she first saw him! Mumbo was just beginning to go grey as well, a look that quite suited him. Grian wished it could tell him. Tell him not to dye his hair. 

It was a little alarming at first when Mumbo started speaking into the mirror.

When Mumbo looked Grian dead in the eyes and said “This is stupid,” Grian all but expected him to smash the mirror right then and there, but then he’d stalked off, looking frustrated. Grian wanted to help him. Run its hands through his hair, just break the mirror, break the mirror, Mumbo, and I can finally know what your hair feels like. It looked soft. Grian wanted to pluck his gray hairs. She liked them, she didn’t want them to go, but at the same time, it just seemed like good fun. Mumbo would not be so frustrated with Grian at his back, preening his scalp.

Mumbo started speaking to Grian more often after that. Little things, every few days.

“This is stupid, but if you pretend it’s not stupid, you might feel better.” Pause. “No, nevermind, this is stupid.”

“I’m going to try this again because it works for other people and I think it can work for me, but— Actually, not today.”

One time, Mumbo sidled up with a blindfold. He looked so happy, so pleased with himself before speaking, “Aha! I’ve bested you, my reflection. My problem was that I could not look you in the eyes, but I— Oh, wait a minute, that’s the whole point of the exercise.. isn’t it.. whatever.” And then he walked away.

“Fuck you!”

“I’m sorry about yesterday.”

“This is still stupid. I should stop saying that. Correction, this is not stupid.”

“I know you won’t believe me, but I love you.” Mumbo scampered away before Grian could say it back.

She wasn’t.. entirely sure what was going on, but she welcomed the conversation! It hoped Mumbo would talk to it more, for longer.

He did.

“Listen, things are just.. complicated. I think you’re a good person. I think you do good things. I just wish you didn’t also make things so— so difficult for me! And everyone else! It doesn’t feel good to be a burden, and that’s what having a panic disorder does, so— so stop!”

“I’m not supposed to be unkind to you. It’s just hard. I don’t like anything about you.”

“My therapist made me come up with a couple things to say to you in session, since I couldn’t do it on my own. I cried. A lot. And I don’t think you deserve to hear them yet.”

“Maybe it’s— I know this is stupid, but you have a nice mustache. People compliment it all the time, so it must be true. You haven’t gotten fired yet, so you’re alright at your job. You.. you’re alright, mate.”

“I’m not supposed to say the things I like about you with conditions, but I don’t want to. Actually, if you’re so insistent on unconditional compliments, then you won’t get any at all!”

“You’re alright. You might even be better than that.”

“I know you’re trying. That means something. I’m trying too.”

Grian had no fucking idea what was going on with this guy, but he was enchanted. Whatever Mumbo wanted to say to him, he would listen. No strings attached. Partially because Grian had no choice, but hey, if he did have a choice he’d be trailing Mumbo all day just to hear him speak.

“You’re alright.”

“You know, you were kind of funny today. You’re not usually funny. It was kind of awesome.”

“Your hair looks nice today.”

“Dude, today fucking sucked, pull it together, seriously, nothing happened and you’re still so—“ Mumbo stormed out, and Grian was disheartened to see him go. But then he came back. “Quick amendment. That wasn’t fair. You have an anxiety disorder. Seriously though, today was awful.”

“I still feel like shit, but I guess that’s not your fault.”

“Whoa, eyes are like.. crazy..” Mumbo was so close to the mirror that Grian had to back away— Listen, it wanted nothing more than to see Mumbo up close and personal, but this was too close and too weird, no thanks. He continued to look at his eyes for a long time.

“Gem said you make a good lesbian from the back, which is funny and must be true since.. well, I don’t want to talk about that. Worst morning of my life. You know. But if I make a good lesbian from the back, I’d say I should take this as a compliment! And hey, we’re still friends!” Mumbo’s face fell suddenly into something deeply grave, “This is a reminder and a threat to never black out again.”

“I do love you. I do. I love you at least as much as I hate you, which probably doesn’t feel very good since you are aware how much I— It doesn’t matter. I can just say it, and leave it out there. No need to add anything. Just say it. I love you.”

Grian let a hand rest against the other side of the mirror. “I love you too.”

Mumbo stared into the mirror for a long time that day. For a minute, Grian thought he’d heard it’s, but no, there was no recognition there, no fear or excitement. Unless..

Grian was quite happy with ‘unless.’

…

“A demon. A literal demon this time, I swear, this guy can see spirits in order to actively avoid them and he’s the worst human I’ve ever had guardianship over in terms of plain bad luck. And it’s— it’s not that I want to discourage him from buying the things he likes to buy, this is Mumbo’s life and he should get to live it without interference just like any other human, but he’s a spirit magnet! Now if you’d told me that before, I wouldn’t have believed it was a thing, but you could convince me now if you’d told me you’d seen another case like this!”

“A demon, huh? Must be a pretty nasty guy.” Impulse didn’t look back from where he was shoveling coal into a massive furnace; hell had frozen over again, and he was part of the crew that got things back into shape. Impulse did, however, spare Skizz a glance when he scoffed, wiping soot from his face as he spoke, “What, am I not supposed to be offended?”

“You’re not offended.”

Impulse shrugged. “I might be,” he said coyly, turning back to his work.

Skizz rolled his eyes. “Any extra shovels down here?”

“No. Can’t have you lingering, you know that. Move along, now.”

“Naahhh, that’s nonsense, no one is here. I’ll use my hands if you don’t point me in the direction of a spade.”

“No can do.” Impulse’s bulky tail swished impatiently, but Skizz did not cave so easily. He sidled up beside Impulse, leaning over to grab a handful of black-red coals before Impulse could yelp, “Skizz! Those are hot!”

Skizz’s scream confirmed that yes, the coals were indeed hot. You win this time, hell.

[minteagalaxea]

seelie | jy. uso

jey uso . breakers series

genre: smut (minors dni) . modicum of plot content warnings: public sex . unprotected sex (please use protection) . creampie . afab reader (they/them pronouns) . implied age gap (reader is in their early twenties/college) word count: 1.1k inspiration: jey winning world heavyweight champion . cinderella . jey's new neck tattoo . spring break . me being on spring break . fairies songs: "full house" by mobb (x) . "backstage romance" by moulin rouge! the musical (x) read also: "siren" (x) . "serpent" (x) note: thank you so so much for everyone who has been following along with this little miniseries! wanted to give a big shoutout to @spiicii for literally riding it out with me and keeping me motivated! i've been not in the best headspace, but hopefully this helps! also thank you to @lov3rla03 for the shenans over in the whorehouse for helping me get through this.

maybe this was a mistake.

keyword: maybe.

they weren’t quite like their best friends when it came to matters of romance, who were feral and cerebral, respectively. they loved those two, the perfect contrast to one another.

yet, they were the one who paired off first. all because of a stupid neck tattoo.

they were pretty sure it was done recently, the black ink vibrant underneath the miami sun as the group entered the resort’s dayclub, and it was the first thing they saw. it didn’t matter who was wearing that piece, but they knew that was the thing they were going to chase.

they hadn’t expected him—jey—to welcome their compliments with charm and slip a glass of champagne into their hands and to whisk them away into his cabana like it was a fairytale romance. well, it would have been a fairytale romance if they were the nonbinary version of cinderella, he was a tatted-up prince charming, and the ball was a wild dayclub playing questionable edm during spring break.

so, the real mistake would be, then, that they let him inside of their depths in the middle of the ball. so maybe, this was their version of dancing as he turned them both onto their sides, the weight of his hand heavy on their cunt as he stroked their petals. enough to get them squirming and writhing for his cock amidst the tandem of whatever beat drop was happening and the bodies of everyone else doing the same shit, ostensibly. any direction, and someone was getting railed—in the cabanas, the pool. it was the greatest free for all of the spring break shenanigans they had ever encountered throughout their collegiate career.

yet, there was a charm to it, though they wanted to think it had more to do with the fact that their friends were doing the same damn thing as they were doing. evidently, jey’s twin matched exactly the level of freak as her history major best friend, with how hard he was railing her. they turned to the other side to find that their other friend was engaging in something with his cousin.

his hips were assured as he pressed his forehead against theirs, their right leg hiked up against his thigh to give him better access to their walls as their foreheads touched. “you’re so fucking beautiful, baby,” jey groaned against their soft mouth as his hips pistoned in a measured pace. he swallowed those noises as they moved, the rhythm something grounding and mythical.

in between the fervent, heady kisses, they murmured into his mouth, “you’re so good to me, jey. so fucking deep inside.”

they weren’t lying—he touched their depths in unimaginable ways, ways that soothed the aches and pains of their body as he kept his thrusts measured, purposeful, yet voracious. his tongue slipped into their mouth in a sensuous tango, a conversation more than a conquest.

it numbed their mind in all the ways they didn’t realize was liberating. there weren’t any thoughts of school, of integrals and matrices, of whatever stupid drama from their student organizations that left them reeling like maybe they were cinderella, and everything else in life was the wicked stepmother and stepsisters.

the suggestion, then, was when midnight would strike. would they linger? how much of this was meant to be a fairytale? they weren’t sure, and they weren’t sure if they wanted to know just yet as the tip of jey’s cock kissed that perfect spot inside them that erased any doubt, any concerns for the moment ebbing as he continued.

his name spilled from their lips over and over, each thrust rattling everything to their core. their breaths emerged in fervent pants as jey stared at them with a certain sense of awe, of reverence, of addiction. there was no other way for them to describe that feeling as he devoured every sound made with fervor. he groaned when they pressed their lips up against that new neck tattoo, practically licking the ink off of it if they could. that action always pressed their body up into his, their chests melding and jey’s cock so so deep inside that the angle made it even deeper, made it feel so so deep that there was no way they weren’t dreaming.

“baby, you’re like a fucking angel. sent down here just for me.”

“crazy talk,” they mumbled against his lips, body seizing up in a climax as his tip stabbed just right inside of them to propel them to a climax. that sound was airy, a stutter of absolute pleasure as they arched their frame into him, their walls pulsating in harmony to whatever song was playing off the club’s numerous speakers.

“baby, those walls of yours are like some fairy wings or something,” he gritted out as his hips stilled to deposit his load into their sweet, fluttering depths. it was full, it was warm, and that felt more like the stroke of midnight than maybe the end of a long, semi-romantic fuck.

they couldn’t leave—not with how jey held close onto them like a vine. his eyes were heavy with need for them, like they were the blessing he had been praying and searching for. he held them close as the song transitioned, length staying inside as he continued rocking into them, pushing his seed deeper and deeper into them like he wanted a part of him to remain in them.

“my little fairy,” jey mused with awe, as if he was seeing them for the first time beyond what led them into the cabana. their hips rocked into his, their lashes fluttering against his cheeks. their lips remained affixed to his neck, suckling marks on one side and paying reverence and worship to the freshly inked side.

“look at those pretty wings of yours,” he teased, pressing his lips to the side of their eye, brushing close to their lashes. their cheeks warmed at the gesture, snuggling close as their breaths mingled, their mimosa tangling with his bourbon.

“jey,” they breathed. it was the only word they could say as they stayed, long after the proverbial stroke of midnight and the music escalated and so did everyone else. their walls pulsed and beat like the wings of a fae.

“just stay with me, my little angel. stay all week long.” it sounded like a prayer to a creature they definitely weren’t, but cursed their little soft romantic heart and the softness of his eyes. he kissed them over and over, trying to imprint the taste of them on his lips as their tongues conversed again, dancing in candied delight and coquettish deviousness. it was less of that stupid cinderella tale they thought as jey drank them in, hardening once more at those soft contractions of their nether, rocking to have them mewl and preen under the miami sun.

they would stay. fairies loved lost things, after all. and there weren’t conditions like cinderella’s ball when they were the fairy godmother.

taglist ⇢ @yana3sworld . @roseydoesypoesy . @fearlesschimera . @theusotwinzcom . @acute-crashout-jeyuso . @geekinstilettos . @pr0wlerpunk . 

[earlgreytea68]

I have read another terrible book so it is time for me to talk again about terrible books.

All of the terrible books that I have read recently have all had fantastic premises. This was why I picked them up to read. And all of them had glimmers of something good somewhere inside of them. I can't tell if the fault with the book lies with the writers or with the editors. Because in my experience editors don't think super-hard about why characters behave in a certain way, as long as whatever is happening "sounds good" in a plot sort of way. So maybe these were all great books that got edited into absurdity. Or maybe the writers wrote the books in this foolish way, but it's still the fault of the publishers for publishing them like this. Either way, I think everyone could benefit SO MUCH from just, like, thinking a little bit harder about the way characters are behaving???????

I don't often name the books I think are terrible because I don't want to make anyone feel bad for loving those books! It's cool! If you find something that brings you joy, embrace it! I am going to name this recent book, though, because I have Things to Say.

It was The Wishing Game. MASSIVE SPOILERS BELOW.

The premise of this book sounds great because it's like a spin on Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (and the author says that was the point in her acknowledgments at the end). And there are glimmers of a pretty complete world the author has dreamed up for the books that form the basis of the in-book fandom.

But. Okay. In Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, the golden ticket game is *in theory* totally random, and all the children except Charlie are awful and in the end Charlie wins.* In this book, the author chooses deliberately who to have compete in this contest and they all seem like nice people and in the end NONE OF THEM WIN because of how stupid this book is lol.

Even worse than the stupid, pointless, manipulative premise (oh, btw, we're meant to believe that the author in question is just a charming and lonely old man NO, HE IS MANIPULATING EVERYONE WHO COMES NEAR HIM AND IT'S CREEPY) is the fact that the MC is the worst Mary Sue I've encountered in years. I cannot believe that for so many years fic had such a bad reputation and meanwhile this professionally published book presented THIS MAIN CHARACTER to me. This woman is so deeply self-centered and selfish and childish and yet is presented as the bestest woman ever who deserves all the bestest things in life. This woman wants to adopt a child whose parents have died, okay, fine, but, like, she consistently refers to herself as this child's mother and seems to want to just pretend his real parents never existed, which is...weird, but Idk, whatever, maybe that can be justified or something, but throughout the book all this woman does is whine about how her parents never loved her. We find out that she believes this because her older sister was really, really sick throughout her life and constantly being hospitalized, so the parents were endlessly in the hospital with the older sister. I get it, she felt abandoned, that does sound rough and awful. Except then we find out that she was sent to live with her grandparents and I understand she feels abandoned by her parents but we find out that her grandparents were apparently lovely people who loved her very much so the fact that she is so constantly angry that she was never loved is...weird, again. AND THEN even worse she haaaaaates her sister so much that she refuses to talk to her, even as a grown-up, and it feels like as a grown-up you should maybe at least start to have some understanding that it wasn't her sister's fault she was so sick???? Like, her sister was genuinely sick, she wasn't faking, it seems, again, REALLY WEIRD that she hates her so furiously. And then they, Idk, make up in the course of a page because this book is like this and then the MC finds out her sister only has a few months to live (BECAUSE SHE'S BEEN REALLY SICK HER WHOLE LIFE) and once again it's ALL ABOUT THE MC, she's all, "Woe is me! I just found her again! This isn't fair!" SHE WAS NEVER LOST. YOU WERE JUST A SELFISH JERK. ALSO I THINK IT'S WORSE FOR HER.

Because this book was sooooo focused on the MC, we never found out very much at all about the other competitors, who all seemed like perfectly nice people, we have no reason to think otherwise. But no. At the end, BECAUSE THE MC IS SO PERFECT, the author chooses HER to basically leave his entire fortune to, but that is a choice that makes no sense when you don't know why the other characters couldn't have gotten it! And she's known this author like a week at this point but she moves herself and HER NEWLY ADOPTED CHILD to live with this guy and this seems like not the wisest course of action?????

And you can see from the Goodreads link that this book has over four stars and was nominated for awards and I'm like, ......WHAT IS HAPPENING?????

I read a lot a lot of terrible books that make me despair, because, again, THESE PEOPLE ARE BEING PAID TO WRITE THIS TERRIBLE STUFF. MULTIPLE PEOPLE ARE BEING PAID TO PROMOTE THIS TERRIBLE STUFF. WHY SO MANY RESOURCES BEHIND THESE THINGS?????

But in between these terrible books that honestly at this point I'm reading for sociological investigative purposes, I also sometimes scatter some classics, either that I've never read or that I read years ago and want to revisit. So after finishing this terrible book, I looked at the next book on the very long TBR list that I keep, and it was Kate Chopin's "The Awakening," which I haven't read since high school. I am about a quarter of the way through this book and...the writing is so good. The writing is SO GOOD. I mean, obviously, of course, it should be, the book is a classic and so it should be good. But it's just a relief to remember that I do like to read books lol and some books are really good.

*My personal theory of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, as I think I've mentioned before, is that Charlie is Willy Wonka's illegitimate son and the whole contest is manufactured to get Charlie into the factory and allow Willy Wonka to give the factory to him without acknowledging him as his son (because Willy Wonka obviously can never admit to having sex). The end.

[witchthewriter]

𝐏𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞ⵑ𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧ⵑ𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

for anon! I hope this is enjoyable my love! ˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚⋆˚࿔

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・The relationship started out as a quest.

・One that your future boyfriend needed help with; to find his sister who had gone to land.

・You, however, really did not want to help ... anyone. Except yourself and your crew.

・But with a thirst for treasure, what choice did you have? Especially when your lil merman promised you jewels beyond your wildest dreams ... if you helped him with this one tiny thing.

・That tiny thing turned out to be a near death experience; which you were not happy about.

・His sister was goddamn happy where she was; as his merpeople were offered a life on land. However, they were never allowed back to the sea.

・But in the process...you two fell in love.

・It took a long time for either of you two to admit it. But ... when it happened, it felt like a world you had never known.

・He always has your back, no matter what. Even if he disagrees with your decision (he will tell you in private his real thoughts).

・Yes, he can transform into a 'human.' His tail seemingly melts into legs when he wills it (and is out of water; the sea holds power over all merfolk).

・Though he does still have pointed ears and an allure so charming that you've physically punched someone for getting too close.

・He's 6"6, with wide shoulders, large feet, long wavy dark hair, and the pure definition of 'eyes so blue, like the sea.'

・Your merman is quite mischievous; he loves riling you up, causing a little chaos.

・Loves being called pretty

・Walks much too fast, and is fascinated by 'hot' things e.g., hot soup, tea, baths, candles, ... oh he has set things on fire a lot. He's actually banned from fire.

・The crew love him.

・They share wild stories, but your Merman still has to learn all the different types of humour.

・No one laughed at his squid joke...

・Mates are quite serious in the Merfolk/Merpeople culture. Once they've found the one, they will not take another.

・He has decided that his Mate is you.

・And it took him a long time to tell you.

・He distanced himself, sure that you would not want him. That you could have whoever you desired.

・But the truth was, you were yearning for him. And you wanted no other.

・It took you weeks to find him. (He was leaving you clues...the angsty thing he is.)

・And he decided that if you did find him. That meant he would tell you how he truly felt:

"Why did you leave?" You asked, clinging to the rails. You hadn't wanted to be so emotional, but here you were. Captain of the fastest ship, on the verge of tears.

"I thought you did not want me," he replied. Smiling. The little shithead was smiling while you had been searching high and low for him. For weeks.

And yet, this smile made your stomach flutter. Your cheeks blush.

"Well you thought wrong fish boy!" You grumbled, tugging off your boots, and climbing onto the rail. Without a second thought, you dove right in.

The water was freezing.

"Fuck!" you said, as you surfaced, coming face to face with the merman. With your merman.

"You found me," he whispered, moving the hair from your face. His webbed fingers felt smooth against your skin. Your hands clung to his shoulders as his powerful tail swished beneath you.

"I will aways find you," you replied, one hand moving to his neck.

You looked into his eyes and saw so much. Your heart pounded as he moved. Drawing your body closer to his.

"I am eternally yours. I choose you-" and before he could finish, you kissed him.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Rivals to Lovers

"Look at that stupid dumbass man, ha! Oh shit that's my dumbass-"

Love language is physical touch x Is touch starved

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Fake Relationship

Love Conquers All

Found Family

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Song of the Sea by Lisa Hannigan

Swan Lake by Hidden Citizens

The Songchord by Zoe Saldana

[siennadoodles]

Gojo X Aria X Geto 🩵🤍💜 ~Part-2

Title: You love her too! Don’t you?

Theme: A passionate love story where both Gojo & Geto fall hopelessly in love with Aria.

On a quiet night atop a city-rooftop, Gojo Satoru and Suguru Geto stood side by side, the Tokyo lights twinkling below them. A cool breeze ruffled their hair as they reflected on the day’s events. Neither had expected their casual conversation to drift toward romance, but tonight, the stars and the city were conspiring. Gojo took a deep breath, eyes shining.

Gojo: “You know, Geto, I still can’t get over what happened today. So, I was grabbing coffee on my day off, right? And out of nowhere some thief tries to snatch this girl’s bouquet of flowers. Of course, I had to jump in.”

He flashed a grin, stretching his long legs out on the ledge. Geto raised an eyebrow, leaning on the railing beside him with a lazy smile.

Geto: “Let me guess: you swooped in like a guardian angel and saved the day?”

Gojo laughed, flicking an imaginary tie. Gojo: “Something like that. I mean, it was pretty heroic of me. There I am, holding a bunch of rescued roses, and I look up to see this girl–” He made a swooning gesture. “Her smile was like sunshine after a rainstorm. I swear, I almost offered to walk her home.”

Geto’s lips quirked up. He had quietly been thinking about his own strange happenstance from earlier.

Geto: “That’s funny… I had a weird moment today too. After a mission I ended up wandering by a flower shop. The shop’s windows were lit, and inside, there was this woman carefully arranging flowers. She was humming softly, and the whole scene was peaceful. Not something I expected after clearing out curses all day.”

Gojo sat up, his eyes widening. Gojo: “No way… Are you talking about the florist by the old station? I saved her flowers from that thief!”

Geto’s surprised smile turned thoughtful. Geto: “Aria?”

Gojo: “Yeah. Her name’s Aria. That’s her name.”

A beat of silence passed as the realization dawned on them. Gojo and Geto exchanged a look, eyebrows raising almost identically.

Geto: “So… we’re talking about the same girl here.”

Gojo: “Same girl,” he agreed with a chuckle, nudging Geto’s shoulder playfully. “Small world, huh?”

They both started grinning like goofballs at the cosmic coincidence. Gojo’s tone turned a little sheepish. Gojo: “Listen, man… I— I kind of liked her the moment I saw her smile. But apparently, I’m not the only one. You saw her too?”

Geto shrugged, his calm expression hiding a gentle blush. Geto: “I guess I did. She’s… nice, isn’t she? I don’t usually notice people like that, but Aria caught my eye.”

Gojo (feigning offense): “Ah, so now you’re competing, Suguru?”

Geto: “Well, do I look like someone who backs down from a friendly competition?”

The two burst into laughter. The night sky felt a little warmer.

Gojo: “You know, we might both be a bit smitten.”

Geto (smirking): “A bit? Come on, I saw you staring like you were in a coma.”

Gojo (waving it off): “Whatever. I say we do something about it. Double date style.”

Geto: “Double date? Heh, with both of us vying for her attention? That sounds dangerously fun.”

Gojo grinned slyly and held out a finger to shake on it. Gojo: “Tomorrow morning. We go to her flower shop together. You and me. And we see what happens.”

Geto took Gojo’s hand and gave it a firm shake. Geto: “Deal. Loser buys dessert after.”

Gojo laughed. Gojo: “You’re on. But you know, I was born for this. She’s going to be charmed off her feet.”

Geto winked. Geto: “My eloquence knows no bounds. She’ll be practically asking me out by the end.”

They parted ways for the night with arms thrown around each other’s shoulders. The stars watched over them as they already imagined tomorrow’s antics.

⸻

What actually happened at the shop that day (acc to Part-1)

Morning sunlight filtered through the glass door of Aria’s cozy flower shop. Inside, the air was sweet with roses and fresh earth. Gojo and Geto pushed open the door together, flowers chiming a little welcome. Aria, the florist, looked up from a half-finished bouquet and almost dropped her ribbon in surprise when she saw them. Her dark hair was pulled back with a few loose strands framing her face, and her warm brown eyes lit up with recognition.

Aria: “Good morning, Gojo-sensei, Suguru-kun! Back for more flowers?”

Gojo stepped forward with a dramatic bow, eyes sparkling. Gojo: “Ah, Aria-chan! Good morning! Yes, indeed. We couldn’t stay away after our last visit. Your flowers are almost as beautiful as you are.”

Geto rolled his eyes playfully. Geto: “I think he’s practicing lines. Don’t encourage him too much.”

Aria blushed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Aria: “Oh! Heh, you two are impossible. What brings you here today?”

Gojo waved a hand grandly. Gojo: “We’re on a mission—to find the perfect bouquet for someone very special. And we need your expert guidance.”

Geto (grinning): “We’re actually kind of competing. But no pressure, right?”

Aria giggled, walking over to the flower racks. She was patient and kind, taking care to select blooms as the two men offered suggestions.

Gojo: “I think she’d love the bright sunflowers. They remind me of her smile. Maybe toss in some red roses too, for passion!”

He gave Geto an exaggerated wink.

Geto: “Hmm, sunflowers are great, but how about white lilies? They’re elegant, just like she is. Maybe a few daisies for sweetness.”

Gojo reached for a sunflower, swirling it between his fingers. Gojo: “Daisies are okay but not as bold as I am. How about some blue irises to stand out?”

Geto (raising an eyebrow): “Blue irises? Are we decorating a bouquet or painting a portrait here?”

Gojo stuck out his tongue. Gojo: “Sarcasm is just your secret weapon, isn’t it?”

Aria watched them banter with a fond smile. She turned back to her flowers. Aria: “I think I have the perfect idea. Let’s do a mixed bouquet: vibrant sunflowers and roses from Gojo, elegant lilies from Geto, and a few cheerful daisies to tie them together.”

Geto and Gojo exchanged a surprised glance, then both turned back to Aria with wide smiles.

Gojo: “Mixed bouquet genius! Aria, you’re a flower wizard!”

Geto: “Yes, thank you. This is even better than what we imagined.”

Aria gently wove the stems together, wrapping the bouquet in pale yellow ribbon. Gojo stood unusually still for once, admiring the bouquet as if it were a masterpiece. Geto watched Aria’s quick hands at work.

Aria: “All done! This should make a great gift.”

Geto scooped up the bouquet carefully. Geto: “It’s perfect. You did great, Aria.”

Gojo (winking at Aria): “She certainly did. And you two make quite a team.”

Aria blushed again, handing the bouquet to Geto. Aria: “Thank you, both of you. Be sure to come by anytime.”

Gojo and Geto each paid with a friendly wave.

Aria: “Bye-bye!”

As the door closed behind them with a tiny chime, sunlight spilled onto Gojo and Geto on the sidewalk. The mixed bouquet, a riot of yellow, red, white and blue, was nestled under their arms.

Geto: “Alright, we got the flowers. Who’s going to work up the nerve to ask her out first?”

He nudged Gojo with an elbow, already smirking.

Gojo: “Obviously I will. Look how nice she smiled at me.”

Geto: “Oh really? She smiled at me when I said lilies are like her–”

Gojo: “–She said I had sun-kissed charm. Hand on heart, bro.”

Geto: “Your scarf is sun-kissed, maybe.”

Gojo: “At least I have a nice scarf to my name. You were wearing that same old hat she gave you last week!”

Geto pretended to adjust his nonexistent hat. Geto: “This hat is vintage, thank you very much.”

They both laughed, stepping away from the shop’s threshold. The afternoon air was warm, and Gojo tossed a sunflower from the bouquet into the air and caught it.

Geto: “Between your stunning style and my irresistible smooth talk, who could blame her? Face it, Gojo, you’re gonna have to step up.”

Gojo (dramatically clutching his chest): “Ouch. My wounded pride bleeds. But fine. Let’s have a formal contest. Next week. Whoever plans the best date for her wins.”

Geto grabbed the bouquet and pretended to salute. Geto: “Deal. I already have a few ideas brewing.”

Gojo: “I mean, polyam or not, someone’s got to make the move first.”

Geto snorted. Geto: “She’s not going to date both of us at once, calm down.”

Gojo: “Hey, now. A guy can hope!”

They strolled down the street shoulder to shoulder, still ribbing each other and joking. The mixed bouquet bobbed between them, a symbol of their friendly rivalry.

Gojo: “May the best man win.”

Geto: “Oh, he will. He definitely will.”

Their laughter echoed down the quiet street as the afternoon sun set behind them, warm and triumphant.

What do you think happens next?

Image Credits: harshxryu/ Pinterest <3

[madphantom]

Ngl Skulduggery in the first two books always reminds me of the first antifascist who radicalized me. I was seventeen and pretty lonely at the time, and he approached me and struck up a conversation at a lecture. He was in his thirties, the most unassuming, unremarkable looking man you could imagine, but had the most incredibly soothing voice I've ever heard, and he was like. The kind of guy you just HAVE to like. Well-spoken, educated, funny, flawed enough to not be too perfect at first glance, classically heroic, charming, kind. He could wrap anyone around his finger. And for fucking ages I. Just tagged along with him and his crew. Through thick and thin. Even when I was emotionally scarred by things that happened and things they did, I continued tagging along, because I thought I somehow owed them for introducing me to their world of adventure, for giving me a sense of purpose and belonging, as fucked as that belonging was. Even when I found out unspeakable things about him and his past, I continued tagging along. Because I couldn't hate him. He really inspired loyalty in you.

And even now that I've finally woken up to the realization that the entire group has been nothing but toxic, and he personally enabled this, I. Still find it impossible to hate him.

[butchjess]

a canticle for leibowitz a book that is like a vaccine in getting you to forgive fictional christians for being annoying. i love you religion prevailing after the world ends and then starts again i love you the cyclical nature of man and empires and nations

[chososrightnipple]

❝𝗷𝗷𝗸 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀 + 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘀❞

a/n: i'm going insane guys anyway love u all mwah <333333 afab body but no gendered language btw!

part two.

── დ ──

. *. ⋆ GOJO SATORU

▸ creampies. please just let this man cum inside of you omg he'll go insane. seeing the way his release leaks out of you afterward has him ready for another round almost immediately.

▸ dacryphilia. "you crying'?" says it all right there. he'll coo, a bit mocking, and wipe at the tears running down your cheeks.

▸ size difference. he's so big compared to you. his height, his hands, his dick. he gets off on it so hard seeing you have to look up at him :(

▸ praise (giving + receiving). he'll charm your panties off if you really want, just make sure to let him know how good he's fucking you, too.

▸ overstimulation. hand in hand with dacryphilia. he's not done with you until he's shooting blanks and you're a weeping mess below him.

▸ breeding. listen.. he needs an heir for the gojo clan. he'll fuck you into the mattress for hours on end- he just wants to make sure his baby takes, that's all.

▸ orgasm denial. he's a cocky man, and he knows it. he loves the exhilaration he gets controlling your orgasm, making you beg for it before he gives you any satisfaction.

▸ pussy/thigh/boob jobs. he wants to put good use to all of your body.

. *. ⋆ GETO SUGURU

▸ choking. the feeling of you swallowing as his large hands cusp at your neck is like a drug to him.

▸ begging. seeing you so compliant under him as you plead and cry for his touch... those pretty little eyes and wobbling lip. it's mean, he knows that. he just couldn't care less.

▸ sense deprivation. tying you up and blindfolding you, giving him all that power? he goes crazy for it.

▸ degradation. you wanna be fucked like a slut, he's gonna treat you like one.

▸ edging. when he's feeling really mean, he'll edge you for hours. until you're shaking and whining and the only word you can get out is a broken moan of his name.

▸ impact play. he loves waking up and seeing the red imprint of his hand on your ass oh my godddd don't get him started.

▸ hair pulling (receiving). he wants you to tug at his hair, card your fingers through it, pull it as you're riding his face!!!

▸ sadism. pretty much hand in hand with everything above. he's such a mean boyfriend but he knows how much you love it.

. *. ⋆ CHOSO KAMO

▸ biting. your shoulders, neck, and thighs are full of his teeth marks, almost perpetually. and of course he's not gonna complain if you leave a few bites, too.

▸ begging. show him how much you want him, how badly you need him, and he'll fuck you as much as you want. you just gotta put in a little work first.

▸ worship (giving + receiving). seriously this man worships the ground you walk on from the moment you wake up to the second you fall asleep. he just asks you worship his cock the same

▸ overstimulation. he's fuckin you until his legs are giving out from under him and you're nothing but a fucked out, drooling mess being pressed into the bed.

▸ blood play. i mean... i think this is a given.. will purposefully bite down too hard just to lick the blood clean as an apology.

▸ orgasm denial. he knows once you cum, it's over, and he just wants to stay sat in your pretty pussy a little bit longer- you understand that, right?

▸ somnophilia. his favorite breakfast is in between your thighs. besides, you don't think there's any better way to wake up, anyway.

▸ voyeurism. pleaseeee pleaseee pleaseee let him watch you masturbate it's all he needs in this world !!!!!

. *. ⋆ SUKUNA RYOMEN

▸ anal. he needs to claim every hole your body has to offer. plus true form sukuna is a slut for his double penetration just saying

▸ choking. hearing your choked gasps as he squeezes your throat could make him cum on the damn spot. watching your eyes roll into the back of your head as each second passes on.

▸ exhibitionism. no, he doesn't care that there are other curses around and no, he doesn't care if they can see. you're his, and he'll fuck you anywhere he wants to.

▸ extreme bondage. watching your poor, writhing little human body tug at your restraints uselessly is something he'll never get tired of.

▸ collaring. he'll even get his name custom engraved, just so everyone who looks at you know exactly who you belong to.

▸ degradation. he's a mean thing, but you seem to enjoy that for some reason. he savors in the way you clench around him every time he calls you a whore.

▸ edging. you're not allowed to cum until he's says so, and anything before that? you're in for one hell of a night.

▸ predator/prey. let him chase you through the woods as foreplay. he'll inevitably catch up, of course, but seeing you attempt to get away is so cute to him. especially when he's had enough of the teasing and is pinning you against the nearest tree.

[cameronsbabydoll]

spoiled kook reader is everything rafe wants: soft, naive, and effortlessly pretty, with that clueless, wide-eyed charm that makes him feel needed and in control. she’s not dumb, but she’s oblivious to danger, which fuels his overprotectiveness. rafe gets frustrated when she doesn’t take things seriously—like when she giggles at something he’s mad about or brushes off red flags because she’s too caught up in her own little world.

but at the same time, rafe loves it. he loves that she needs him to make decisions, loves that she’s so wrapped up in her pink-tinted bubble that she doesn’t see how crazy he is about her. she’s the kind of girl who pouts when she doesn’t get her way, who spends hours doing her hair just to lounge by the pool, who buys expensive things without thinking about the price. and rafe? he enables it. always tells her she doesn’t have to worry about anything—that’s his job.

the way he grips her jaw and forces her to listen when she gets too lost in her own head? the way he growls out, “pay attention when I’m talkin’ to you, princess,” because she’s too busy twirling her hair and admiring her manicure?

and can you imagine when rafe brings her around his friends? she’s completely out of place in their conversations, sitting pretty in his lap with her pink manicured fingers wrapped around a vodka cran, her lips glossy and slightly parted because she’s only half-listening. rafe is of course deep in conversation about something serious—money, business, or maybe even something dumb like the stock market or sports —and she just blinks up at him, twirling a strand of her perfectly curled hair.

“rafey, what does offshore mean?” she asks, tilting her head, genuinely clueless while the guys snicker.

kelce will mutter something like, “god, she’s adorable,” and topper will laugh and say, “you keep her around for the looks, huh, rafe?”

and rafe? he hates when they talk about her like that, like she’s just some dumb, pretty accessory. his grip on her thigh tightens, fingers digging into her soft skin as he glares at his friends. “shut the fuck up.”

but she doesn’t even realize what’s happening. she’s just giggling, clinking her nails against her drink. “ugh why are you squeezing so hard, rafey? gonna leave bruises,” she pouts, not even realizing that’s exactly what he wants.

and when another guy—maybe some no-name Kook douche—tries to flirt with her, assuming she’s too airheaded to notice? rafe will lose his shit. because sure, she may be ditzy, but she’s his.

“she is not interested,” rafe snaps before she can even process what’s happening, wrapping a possessive arm around her waist and pulling her flush against him.

but instead of understanding, she just blinks up at him, wide-eyed and confused. “omg wait, was he flirting?”

rafe clenches his jaw, barely containing his frustration. because of course she didn’t. she’s far too sweet, too oblivious. and it drives him crazy.

and later, when they’re alone, he makes sure she knows who she belongs to. “you don’t even get it, do you?” he mutters, pressing her against the nearest surface. “y-you walk around lookin’ like that, talkin’ like that, and you don’t even realize what you do to me.”

and she just blinks up at him, chewing on her glossy bottom lip. “…like what?”

and rafe just groans, dragging a hand down his face. Because he loves her, but she’s gonna be the death of him.

[madamechrissy]

Losing Control Now masterlist/ Mafia! Prettyboy Gojo headcanons

part one - part two - part three

Pairings: Mobster Gojo x bartender F!reader

Summary: Something about running the Gojo mafia just makes Satoru so bored. Boring, boring boring. Sure, he loves money, he loves women, he loves snorting snowy powder off their bodies. He loves the power that comes from it- but he's just bored. That is, until he stumbles upon you, the brand new bartender that makes him pause, falter, and then soon he becomes obsessed, with knowing you, in every single way. Paying off your mom's debts and working two jobs, you're exhausted, but something about this pretty Mob boy just makes you... excited again. How far in are you, and how far is Satoru in the mafia world? All he knows, is he must have you.

CW: Sexual tension, eventually explicit sex, mafia themes, drug themes, violence, obsessed ass whipped ass Satoru Gojo, oral sex, possessive Gojo, drug use and drug dealing - lowkey Yandere fkn Gojo hehe. Light angst, some fluff, heavy smut, lots of teasing, light angst and hurt comfort.

That Gojo art is by michi_ia on X!!! This is the Gojo from Pour it Up (Stripclub owner Sukuna x reader)- likely a mini series- I would suggest reading it too so you'll see his personality, but can be a standalone WC so far- 22.5k

Playlist -Mafia! Prettyboy Gojo headcanons below

Mafia! Prettyboy Gojo who just finds everything so boring, even snorting lines off pretty stripper's bodies, even drinking with his best friend and partner in crime, Suguru. These meetings and those things, and this job, and this drop, blah. Negotiations!? Pfft. No he wants something fun and no amount of fruity drinks or sugar up the nose is cutting it anymore.

Mafia! Prettyboy Gojo has his drink getting filled by one dancer, sipping it and finding it much too harsh, he stands up then, as Sukuna chuckles 'need it even more of a lil bitch drink?' Satoru rolls his blue eyes, flipping Sukuna off then saying 'it's not sweet enough!' Satoru walks out into the humming club then, faltering as he sees a girl that must be new, in a black bra, black booty shorts and fishnets that are glowing under the blacklights. His eyes trail slowly up and down her body, filling him with filthy images as he finally meets her eyes- your eyes.

Mafia! Prettyboy Gojo who is usually so cocky and arrogant just stands there for a minute, like you're bringing him right out of some haze he's been in, as he feels your eyes looking right back, nervous smile on your pretty face. 'New here, sweetheart?' he asks, voice husky and deep, probably the prettiest damn person you've ever seen, for a moment you can't answer, blue eyes swirling and bright even under the club's dark lights and through the smoke and fog, you feel his gaze on your body as you're leaning over the side of the bar. 'I am new'

Mafia! Prettyboy Gojo can't get your name out of his mind, as you bite your lower lip, focusing on making his drink - 'the first of the new job, you're special' you tease, and Satoru manages to get some of his charm together, chuckling as he leans over the bar. 'I am special, hmm?' you wonder why he wants that many sugary concoctions in one drink, but god it's the best drink, and he has to murmur 'bet you taste even better' earning your blush even under the flashing lights, 'huh?' he just brushes back your hair, smirking before he walks off, bombarding Sukuna with questions about you.

Mafia! Prettyboy Gojo specifically requests you sit with him during the next meeting, as they discuss the Zenin family and the Kamo family, two other big names in the Mob scene, but now he gets to focus on you, as he decorates your collarbone with snowy powder, snorting it off you, while you can't stop a little whimper. No one hears it but him, and it makes him feral, cock throbbing as your hips shift, his eyes notice every movement until they close, and he licks the residue off your throat, hot tongue making your mind go insane with images of just what that long pink tongue can do.

Mafia! Prettyboy Gojo finds these meetings about the business so much more fun now, but instead of looking at any of the strippers, he's only looking at you, at your pretty eyes, plump lips parted as you look at him, and he wonders how pretty you'll look cumming just for him. When they're all leaving the meeting in the VIP room the next time, you can't stop yourself, sitting on his damn thigh, wetness making your panties sticky, and you look at him then. 'Need something, sweets?' he murmurs, smirking like an arrogant little ass, as his hand slips up and down your thigh, and he's been edging you for just too long, so you break - 'touch me, please Mr. Gojo'

Mafia! Prettyboy Gojo dies internally at your request, precum already making his boxers stick as he finds your clit under this slutty skirt you have on, rolling a fingertip over a twitchy clit, and your head falls back, 'mnh, s'good!' you whine, grinding on his thigh, but it's just not enough for Satoru, he turns you so you're straddling him on this red velvet couch, he looks dangerous but somehow sweet, as you clutch his suit jacket, and he sinks two fingers in your cunt, pressing against that spongy spot in your slick walls, making your cunt drool down to his pretty silver rolex, those sleeves of his coated with you as you roll your hips, moaning, back arching - 'shh, sweets, don't want anyone t'hear this slutty cunt, hmm?'

Mafia! Prettyboy Gojo has the most ridiculous, long thick fingers you've ever felt, you're closer and closer as he continues curling them inside your eager hole, your lips just a breath from his as your hands now enwrap in his silky white locks, grinding even more on his hand, as he chuckles softly, his breath ghosting over your lips. 'need me to play with that little clit, too?' you nod weakly - 'sure things, pretty girl, there you go, that's it' you're shattering now, and Satoru is watching, while his thumb presses over your twitchy clit, and you're cumming so hard you feel dizzy, pussy pulsing and dripping down his fingers, trembling thighs on either side of him.

Mafia! Prettyboy Gojo sighs at how pretty you are, slipping those two fingers in your mouth, smirking and murmuring 'suck them clean, be a good girl for me' and you eagerly obey, before he grabs your hair by the nape of your neck, slamming your lips down on his. You both get interrupted by a very amused Sukuna then, who says 'let her get to work Satoru, or you need to get behind the bar and shake your ass' Satoru chuckles as you're blushing furiously, and he helps you adjust your skirt and panties, 'give her the day off tomorrow, I'll pay to cover someone' Sukuna sighs 'whatever' he grumbles, you blink then, looking down at his grinning face 'Satoru I can't afford to take off' he doesn't know the bills you have, the situation you have to take care of with your family, to help them, he sighs then 'I'll pay you four times your shift to just date me'

Mafia! Prettyboy Gojo has never really gone on a date, no he just has girls on his arm, under him on his bed, he certainly didn't have to even try to do something like offer money, but he'd offer anything for a chance at you. You all don't end up going anywhere, though, because once you're in the back of Satoru's limo, and he's doing a line off your inner thigh, he starts licking at it, and before you know it he's dragged your panties off, burying his pretty face right in your pussy. 'ah, Mr. Gojo!' he leans up as he swipes the flat of his tongue from your drooling little hole to your clit, pressing a kiss on it 'Satoru, while you're cummin' all over m'face, hmm baby? taste s'fucking sweet' Satoru dives back in and the sounds of him slurping you up are obscene

Mafia! Prettyboy Gojo licks and sucks your clit, humming on it until you're shattering, cumming so hard you see stars, then you're riding him right in that limo, struggling to take his huge cock, as it stretches your tight little pussy out, veiny and thick and sloppy, he moans into your mouth as your walls tighten around his cock, as he slams up endlessly into your pretty cunt over and over. You're on your knees, sucking his cum off him, off his pretty pink tip, before you're on your knees right in the plush limo seat, and he's hitting it from the back, making you cry out 'Satoru!' which makes him bust again, inside you so deep, pulling out and watching your arousal and his cock drip down so messy, before he scoops his sticky cum and shoves it back inside you.

Mafia! Prettyboy Gojo can't stop thinking of how good it looked, your pussy sucking up the cum so greedy, when he sees you the next day at your work, and it's not long until he's behind the bar, eating your pussy that he cannot get enough of, all while you're trying to work, you're so cute trying to mix a drink when his tongue is on your clit, and you're squeaking at him, 'Satoru, s-stop' but he can't stop. He's got your panties in his pocket, he'll keep them for later, you shouldn't worry about that, but you're trembling with nerves and fear when he runs out to deal with the Zenin bullshit with everyone, worried about things you don't fully know yet.

Mafia! Prettyboy Gojo is dying to get back to you, he doesn't wanna deal with all this shit, he just wants to drink you up more, but here he is, as he deals with some of the bullshit that the Zenins are doing, he can't stand them then, when he has to actually show them just who and what the Gojo family is. When he is covered in blood, him, Suguru, Toji and Sukuna come back to the club, exhausted, when you see him you blink back tears, and he murmurs 'come to my place, clean me up?' He is exhaling and shooting that smirk, but there's so much behind it, you see now. You eagerly obey, realizing you both don't know anything about each other yet, as you're bandaging his pretty face, all cut up, in his pristine bathroom, and you're wondering just what it is that Satoru has gotten into, but for now you both just kiss, his blood tangy against your lips, as his kiss gets hungry, desperate, and he murmurs 'I need you'

Mafia! Prettyboy Gojo He's smearing that blood across your pretty tits as he has you right on his bathroom counter, knowing he'll do anything to protect you, to keep you, from shit you will now get into for being with him, cupping your face as he fucks into you, and your eyes roll back in your skull, covered in Satoru's spit, his blood, now his precum as he's pumping in and out of you, knowing he certainly can't let you go, but he also can't let anyone know you're his weakness.

Buy me a glass of wine🍷 - Gen Masterlist - ©All works by Madamechrissy you may not reproduce

[thalwri]

TEACH ME, SIR!

part 2!

STARRING: art professor!rafayel x art student!reader

synopsis: you've been struggling in your art classes, and your professor hadn't made it any easier for you. who would have thought he'd come looking for you when you stopped coming to the lessons?

warnings: porn with plot, all characters are aged up (and in university), fingering, body worship, cunnilingus, cockblocking, male masturbation, dirty talk, cock slapping, overstimulation, cum eating, pure filth.

wc: 7,5k

MINORS DON'T INTERACT!

you were more than prepared to throw that chunk of clay out the window. you could feel the pressure looming over you, mostly on your neck. you were just over a month away from your practical exam and you were drowning in absolute shit.

how did you end up in this unworthy predicament? 

out of the kindness of your heart, and the fact that you owed them big time, you decided to take up an art course with one of your closest friends so that she wouldn’t be lonely throughout the semester. 

you were registered and everything, with the needed supplies clean and fresh and ready for use. the glossy joy of it slowly disappeared when you slowly came to realise over the following days that your friend wasn’t attending classes for a reason. she dropped out. not of the class. of the university. and ran to another country with her boyfriend for a six month vacation.

perfect. now you were all on your own in an art class as someone who had no clue on how to draw, paint, or do anything art related. the only consolation – and misfortune – was your unnaturally handsome professor. despite his pretty face and alluring voice, he had a certain knack that always got on your nerves.

based off the rumours you’ve heard, professor rafayel worked as both a teacher of art and classical music, specialising in opera. apparently he had a voice so divine that half the auditorium fainted or fell ‘madly’ in love with him. his artwork was basically on par with his voice. 

not only was he a renown artist globally, he often worked on pieces to send to the gallery near the university which attracted multiple art lovers from all corners of the world. he was rarely in lectures in the previous years but this year he decided to buckle down and teach full time. 

and the first thing he had you do for your finals was a trial sculpture. you had started with something basic: a fish. a cute little fishie that would be surrounded by a wave. not too simplistic but it had enough detail to be easy to look at and mark. 

you were almost certain your professor would compliment you for the detail you’ve meticulously added to your work. the way you’ve made something so simple so beautiful especially for your first time.

“it’s lazy.” that melodic voice quickly soured into a baneful buzz of noise. rafayel stared at your work with a hint of disdain on his face. your hopeful smile slowly fell in disbelief. you spent hours on that. hours. you could hear the giggles from the girls in the studio erupt behind you. 

it wasn’t surprising that the professor had gathered a cutthroat fanbase of women who would do anything to gain his favour– and from some others, fuck him. solidarity clearly didn’t exist when it came to the illusive rafayel. 

“this is something a child would do,” he scoffed, brushing his finger across the still-drying fins of your poor fish. “this may be a trial practice before the real thing, sure. but it’s no excuse to show no effort. you’ll get a 50 for this if it gets moderated.”

a pass. barely. those charming purple-blue eyes scanned your solemn face before he glided off to the next sculpture, immediately grazing the artist. but not as badly as he did with you. 

you stared at your little fish, its form now scorned with the assault of his graceful, well maintained finger. for someone so effortlessly handsome, he was such a bitch. and you weren’t afraid to say it out loud. in fact, you did. 

it came out as a mumble low enough not to be heard. yet he somehow did. those ethereal eyes glanced at you momentarily as if he acknowledged it, and a small grin curved on his lips.

you wouldn’t say you were accustomed to his ‘bullying’. however, it wasn’t the first time he’d pick on you. during the theory-based lectures, rafayel would turn his attention to you, poking and prodding you endlessly for the historical accounts of artists that you didn’t know existed. then he’d ask you – mind you, only you – which techniques should be used with which equipment for whichever type of painting style that came up in that stupidly pretty mind of his. that extensive mind covered and protected by a mane of purple wavy hair. 

you had often wondered how soft his hair would be. and what his hands would feel like in yours. soft? calloused? he was always well dressed, adorned in expensive garb, always appearing in ways that would have any passerby fall madly in love.

he must have been some kind of siren. you were almost lucky you weren’t damned to hear his voice live. 

but the picking and scolding was becoming unbearable. you were beginning to question your worth in the class. you knew you had minimal experience from the get-go, and you never dishonoured yourself by lying or trying to fake it. 

with that being said, there’s only so much slander you can handle from not only your peers but your own professor before it becomes unbearable. eventually, like all straining predicaments, today was your inevitable breaking point.

you sat as you usually would, smack bang in the middle of the lecture hall, taking notes of whatever your professor said as quickly as possible. you took every word seriously, even if he repeatedly mentioned things like “you all should already know this,” or “which you should have learned from last year,”. 

you had worked diligently, listening and writing and occasionally glancing at the board to keep up, in a constant flow determined to finish the course well. up until the lecture hall fell quiet, followed by multiple rings of notifications, even your phone vibrated. 

and one by one, giggles erupted around you, gradually bursting into relentless chortles and laughs. the classmate seated beside you, showed you her phone revealing a devastating sight.

your trial sculpture, that was graded with a bare pass, was crushed and ruined before it could even dry. and right in front of the crime scene, stood a very familiar purple haired artist looking down on your besmirched work. his face was not fully clear in the image but you could see what you believed was a scowl. 

with blurring vision, blinded by your tears scorching your eyes, you raised your gaze to rafayel and the professor’s face masked no shame, no grief, no remorse, just confusion. almost like he didn’t realise what had taken place. 

but he must have. especially if he gave you such a low grade. your teeth ground and pressed against each other, forcing a tick in your jaw. you watched his face slowly contort in a slight realisation of what was happening. he stepped forward, his plump lips slowly split to speak but your things were already packed in your back and you were on your feet, ready to leave.

to make matters worse, the exposure clearly wasn’t enough to embarrass you. of course you had to sit in the middle of your row and stumble out under the sharp, scrutinising gaze of your peers. their snickers, hisses, and cruel whispers did not fall deaf to your ears. you absorbed them like a sponge, your face hardening more and more.

if it meant saving the last few threads of your dignity, you’d keep your head high. you stormed down the stairs, not sparing anyone a glance to push the doors wide open marking your escape. 

and by your word, that was the last time you would ever touch that lecture theatre for the rest of the year.

“i shouldn’t have bothered with that course,” you hissed, stabbing your fork into a fresh pastry. “i should have dropped it when i had the chance.”

it had been three weeks since that embarrassing event. you kept your word to yourself and didn’t bother going to the lectures or the studio sessions. your absence initially did not go unnoticed. as expected, your more confident peers would occasionally tease you or laugh behind your back to get a kick at you. fortunately you knew better than to bite back. 

like clockwork, the whispers dulled into eventual silence and you were at peace for once in the last few months. good riddance.

“you need to go back to your lectures.” zayne, a close companion of yours, muttered as he reached to have another piece of cake. that would be his third slice in the last hour. “your prac is in less than a week.”

“you’ve got a med lab tomorrow and yet you’re here for a limited cake.” you scoffed, watching his eyes light up in delight from the bursting flavour of chocolate mixing with vanilla. you wondered if he would have the same reaction with a carrot cake. mind you, he was likely going to be your future doctor.

“that handsome dickhead thinks he can almost fail my trial and then destroy it?” stab, stab, stab went your fork until it made the table shake. zayne swiftly held his plate up to protect his cake. “does he think i won’t report it to the dean?”

honestly, if you did there was a high chance you wouldn’t succeed. with rafayel’s reputation and the allegations of his donations to the university, you were more likely to be bullied into either apologising to rafayel for causing a ruckus or you’d be forced into silence. judging by the look on his face, zayne seemed to have the same idea.

“it’s only a month left of this crap. i’ve just got the prac and i can put all of it behind me. besides,” you stabbed the pastry again, visualising it as that stupid professor of yours. again and again, you stabbed until you felt it would reach your heart’s content. 

and then a striking idea seeped into your mind. what better revenge than to crush him too?

“besides?” zayne repeated with a raised brow. he held out his hand, waiting for you to explain yourself. 

“i have a plan.” your lips spread into a devilish grin. zayne cringed at the sight. he knew that face well. and it only meant trouble was near. “i’m going to make a sculpture of him. dying terribly.”

“isn’t that unethical?”

“i saw someone make a sculpture of their dick, i’ll be fine.”

your alarm went off abruptly, bringing your mind back to your revenge plot. you had already started creating rafayel’s annoyingly perfect head, using pictures you found of him online as a reference. 

you were supposed to do it at the studio, but one of your senior art friends let you use their private room to prepare it. you would do anything if it meant you’d never have to see him more than you had to. after that stunt he pulled, he’d never get the chance to make fun of you again.

you quickly said your goodbyes to zayne – quickly swiping a bite from his cake – and rushed back to the art faculty, beelining straight to the private studios. you mind buzzed with images of you drowning rafayel in the ocean, watching him gracefully swim with fishes, of you burning him alive, of him seducing you with his looks and his tragically angelic voice as his bare form lay for you to replicate with clay– 

a mere pause wasn’t enough for you to gauge what you were just thinking about. those juxtaposing thoughts had your hand on the wall to hold you upright in case you toppled over from your breath being wheezed right out of you.

since when did you find him that hot?

in all honesty, it wasn’t a lie. rafayel’s an insanely attractive man. truly, if you weren’t more reserved with your attraction to him, you’d probably tried to shoot your shot like all the other desperate people in your class. 

his skin was almost pale like he had spent his entire life underwater, clear and soft and constantly emphasising his damn perfect features. not to mention the moles all over him. it was only up to your imagination what everything beneath his clothing was like. perhaps he hid his muscles well under his clothing.

you quickly shook your head, swatting away those mischievous thoughts about him. those visions of him kissing you, and painting you– fuck.

you deeply inhaled, filling your lungs with as much air as you could muster. your eyes fluttered shut, holding back the profanities brewing deep in your throat.

“that damned–“ within an instant your centre of gravity was toppled and travelled to your arm, which was bring dragged by an almost inhumane amount of strength. 

you couldn’t look at who was pulling you without completely losing your balance and toppling over. you stumbled as your dragger’s pace sped up until you were yanked into complete darkness except the small ceiling lamp dimly illuminating the small space.

as your vision adjusted, you observed the room noting a second heavy breath outside of your own. you felt for whatever was close to you. soft bristles, cold metallic cylinders, the overwhelming smell of chemicals. of paint. this was the supply room.

“where were you?” a siren’s melody swam into your ears like water clearing out the impurities from your hearing. rafayel.

you swiftly turned to face him, following his voice. and fuck damn.

he was disheveled. like, roughed up like he ran all the way across campus just to find you. that dumb big chest of his rose up and down las if a child was using it as a trampoline. small beads of sweat dripped down the opening of his button-up shirt to his abdomen, hidden by silk. 

he asked again. “where were you.” less of a question this time, more like a statement.

“that isn’t any of your business.” your eyes narrowed in scrutiny. why would he care?

“it is my business.” he protested, stepping towards you. instinctively, your legs took you an equivalent step back. this was reminding you too much of those cliche scenes– and they only ended in two ways.

to be frank, you wouldn’t have minded the more action-based ending. you may hate the man but that didn’t mean his face wasn’t pretty.

again and again he draws near and close, and again and again does the space between you and the cabinet full of paint grow smaller and smaller. your tongue slipped out, lubricating the small cracks forming on your dry lips.

a small groaned erupts in the room, rafayel slapped his hand over his mouth and halted in his steps. those purple-blue irises rolled back for a millisecond then returned both hazed and dilated. you tugged at the collar of your shirt, your body warming up the more you brought air into your lungs. 

he was acting weirdly. was it the smell of paint? 

“you haven’t been attending classes.” you couldn’t help but laugh. since when was that his concern? “it will affect your final mark.”

“i’ve checked the handbook,” you scowled. yes, you took the time to read the handbook in depth to make sure you weren’t going to get screwed for skipping lectures. “attendance is recommended but optional.”

pink slowly tinted his cheeks under the dim light, contradicting the enraged look on rafayel’s face– almost a bit too similar to the face he made when he scrutinised your sculpture. your lips twitched, almost exposing your smug satisfaction.

truly, you had no reason to be in his class anymore other than the fact that you had given too much of your time to it already. all those sleepless nights, those days of endurance, those moments of temptation– temptation to walk out the door and never turn back. you wanted it. you often felt that you desperately needed it. 

but you knew better. your friends knew better. in those three weeks of your absence zayne persisted in ensuring you finished what you started, whether it was forcing you to work or giving you moral support by making his own botched version of whatever assignment you had to complete. though it did end up helping him when it came to making notes on anatomy. 

you’ve had endless mounds of support in those three weeks. where you felt like absolute shit. where you wanted to just hide. where you were almost willing to drop out.

fucking rafayel wasn’t going to take that away from you. you had nothing to lose. and he wasn’t going to plague you any longer.

“so if you think dragging me into this supply room will do anything, it’ll only get you into a very dangerous meeting with the dean.” you harshly grinned, waving your phone in your hand. rafayel’s eyes slowly widened upon seeing what was displayed on the screen.

you were recording the conversation. you had been since you got tugged away.

“no donations and pretty artworks can take away the blow of harassment,” your phone rested on top of a can of paint on the floor as you glided towards him in a new air of confidence and spite. “professor.”

his response was disappointing. literally, he said and did nothing. like a marbled statue purely there to be admired. damn him, he was so unnecessarily handsome on a godly level. those disrespectful plump pink lips parted and closed as if trying to figure out what words to spout. 

your smile twitched in agitation under his gaze scanning you from your hair to your skintight top pronouncing your curves, and back up to your face. your stance remained rigid, head held high and face taut with wavering spite.

rafayel’s calmness as unsettling, too calculating for your own preference. “you bite your pen when you concentrate in lectures, did you know that?” his voice dropped an octave, reaching a husky flow. a shiver rolled down your spine as it arched in response to his voice. like a siren calling a damned sailor.

“what?” your disbelief came out in a choked whisper. the moisture in your throat was wiped clean from you, leaving complete dryness almost worse than a desert. 

“and you like to listen to the questions,” rafayel continued, moving closer to you in tandem with your rising pulse. his eyes were locked on yours, dragging you deeper into his abyss intending not to let you go. “you bite your lip whenever my voice deepens. and you always have questions but choose not to ask.”

he was getting too close. you were too close. the heat of his breath fanned your skin as his height forced you to raise your gaze to maintain your stare-off. something about it felt a little too hot for your liking. your skin prickled in sensitivity rubbing against the fabric of your clothing.

there was no way this was getting you aroused. no fucking way.

“do you know why you don’t ask?” his hand gripped the edge of the cabinet, just a few centimetres from your head. the distance between your lips slowly yet inevitably closed. your breath was trapped in your throat almost clawing for release but it remained trapped. 

“you’re scared.”

“i’m not afraid of drawing, rafayel.” first name basis already? you were really testing your luck. you expected him to return to that unsettling silence again before telling you that your suspension was pending.

instead, rafayel broke into a chuckle, sweat-slick chest and shoulders shaking as he laughed. he quickly straightened his lips upon seeing your eye twitch, only to burst into another fit of suppressed laughs. 

“who in their mind would be afraid of a bit of paint?” his voice returned to that familiar serene, light tone. the one that brought half the student body to its knees. “no, no, no. i’ve managed to reduce it to two things.” 

you instantly jerked back as far as you could – which wasn’t really that far because were already at your dead end – and balled your hand into a tight fist, ready to punch him square in the jaw. the side of your neck tickled with heat as his lips hovered by your ear.

“me, or the chance that you’ll do incredibly well.”

bewildered was an understatement. you were discombobulated at the least. you couldn’t even say it was a bizarre assumption because it was true. 

not the fact that you were afraid of rafayel– he’s a walking model who pouts whenever someone speaks to him with a bit more sass than him. even his relentless critique of you doesn’t illicit fear. the only thing he’s gained from that was you growing to despise him.

but your confidence in your artistic abilities were never high. remember, you only joined the course for your friend. and they ditched you last minute. you walked into the studio with the mindset of knowing that you were likely to fail even if you put your hardest work in. 

clearly, he noticed.

“you walked into my class knowing nothing,” rafayel leaned back to face your gaze once more with a stern look on his face. “it’s only understandable that you’d be afraid of messing it up. i can see it in your art. i can sense the fear.”

“yeah, right.” you huffed, turning your face away to blink away the stinging sensation burning your eyes. “you prefer to call it lazy and then destroy it.”

for the first time in however long its been since you were trapped in this room with him, rafayel’s facade broke. a flicker of guilt flashed in his gaze. then confusion.

“destroy?”

“don’t act coy.” he could not just play coy. “you destroyed my trial sculpture. there are pictures of it spreading everywhere. you know what you did.” 

rafayel slowly shook his head. “i found it like that,” his voice was grave, eyes almost darkened just from the memory. “i was trying to get a scope of the damage to see if i could redo it for you, but it was beyond repair.”

a grave heaviness weighed on your heart. he wanted to fix it? despite being so cruel to you he was that willing to repair your work on your behalf… but that didn’t answer the footage.

“and the picture?” what was meant to come out as a scrutinising hiss escaped as a whisper, holding back the many tears brewing in your eyes.

“i had heard giggles outside the studio, but they ran out before i could check.” his perfect brows furrowed as he observed you. it was more than just intuitive for him to comfort you, console your shock away. his hand reached to hold your arm, to transfer his remorse through his body’s warmth. “i am sorry about what happened to your sculpture. really.”

“don’t.” the involuntary pang in rafayel’s chest did not go unnoticed. his lungs filled with shaking air, unsure of how to proceed. you weren’t pushing him away nor were you hiding. it looked like you were equally as unsure.

“the mark you gave it–“ you seethed, voice cracking as the venom of your tongue delivered each words with malice. “the embarrassment. the shame it left me drowning in, all of it. it was you. and you think you can play innocent and ask why i haven’t shown up?”

rafayel’s fingers twitched, hovering over your skin hesitant to move away. perhaps he was too hard on you, too particular in his interest to monitor your growth in the arts. his face scrunched up, unsure of what you’d allow him to try without violating your space.

“you think you can use that stupidly pretty face to ask for forgiveness?” it was clearly intended to be a mumble that he wasn’t supposed to hear but he did. loud and clear. the tips of his ears instantly warmed and his brows rose.

“stupidly pretty face?” 

shit.

shit.

of course he heard you. of course he fucking heard you call him pretty. you just wanted to crawl into a pint of paint and choke on it until it filled your lungs with chemical pigment. and there was no way out of this too. rafayel quite literally had you trapped with his body. 

his tall, divinely sculpted, soft, gorgeous body. that artistically designed form that you’ve dreamt of touching, that you’ve touched yourself to in your quiet nights– not that you’d ever admit it to anyone let alone him.

warm, almost hot, fingers slide up your arm trailing the standing hairs on your skin. they rounded your shoulder and meeting with the fabric of your clothing, fondling it to check its quality. they reached higher, and hotter, slow and intentional feeling the curve of your throat until the pad of his thumb reached your chin, lifting it until your gaze found his. a raw, newfound level of unspoken, familiar need engulfed you— and you weren’t uncomfortable with it.

“you think i’m pretty?” that husk tone returned, tickling away your nerves replacing them with something more feral. 

“everyone does.” you huffed, trying to maintain the front of rafayel’s charms not affecting you. it was almost obvious to you both that you’d fallen in deep. 

and yet despite embarrassing yourself, rafayel refused to back down. his thumb’s touch on your chin roughened into a grip with his hand. a mischievous glint twinkled in his eyes. 

“say it again.”

it was either the way he said it or the way he looked at you while saying it. regardless, it left your core warm and throbbing with an unprecedented level of need. this was wrong but it felt so right.

you slowly swallowed. “say what?”

the distance between your lips slowly closed, bit by bit. “that i have a stupidly pretty face.”

“no.”

his soft laugh fanned your face like a warm, mint scented breeze. “say it.”

your eyes darted between his own, noting how unnatural yet befitting the colours mixes and emphasised his almost inhumane beauty. it used to sink you yet now you could tell he was starting to drown in yours.

“make me.”

an erratic charge surged between you like lightning striking a tense, hot night. rafayel softly tutted, shaking his head��� almost desperate to shake off his unspoken desire to pursue this. to pursue you. his hands did not leave you though. his grip on your face returned to your neck, securing a gentle hold on the base of your exposed flesh, both soft and pulsating with nerves.

rafayel pressed his forehead on yours, your connection anchoring him to reality and restraining his needs. “tell me you think i’m pretty.” his eyes grew heavy with heat, hazing in and out of focus as they moved from your spit-slick lips, your eyes, and every distinguishable feature on your face.

in twisted, lewd synchrony, your lower lip found itself caught seductively in the bite of your teeth. the corners of your lips twitched like they wanted to expose your snarky grin. like your body wanted to show rafayel how you’ve dreamt of that moment.

you should be pushing him away. you should minutes ago. but you didn’t. you didn’t want to. your eyes fluttered shut as rafayel’s grip on your face tightened, finally pulling you both into the passionate embrace of your lips. 

the first contact was a shock, forcing you into a soft jolt. his lips were even softer than you imagined, his hands gentle yet crushing to keep you in his hold rubbing small circles on your skin with his thumb.

then the erratic hunger kicked in like a shot of vodka. your faces pushed deeper into each other almost desperate to keep yourselves deep in your embrace. your fingers tangled in his soft locks, your mind drowning in the flowing currents of his scent. 

lips waltzing in a push and pull fell into an intoxicating dance of tug and bite. it drove you insane until it was just too much. 

you slowly pulled your head back, still connected to him by his teeth latched onto your lower lip nibbling at your swollen flesh.

“this can’t be right.” you sighed against his lips, leaning your head back to catch some air without feeling like your face will get hotter. “we must be violating some code of conduct.”

that irritating chuckle escaped his lips again. “then push me away.”

you should have. you definitely should have. before you could even consider it you found your lips back on his, drooling tongue sweeping past the enclosure of his lips to meet his. it was hot and deliciously wet meeting in a careless fight to taste as much as your breaths could allow.

you rolled your hips against his– slight and subtle– just enough to feel a slight brush of him. to feel it. he felt so big and thick. 

a sharp curse flooded your ears, his hands tugged at your waist to pull you closer and make you feel it. his fingers twitched and squeezed you, caressing your waist without abandon, rising ruthlessly higher until his hands disappeared under your shirt. he was boiling, a human inferno trapped in a body of flesh and bone restricted by restraint yet fuelled with hunger. 

they reached inchingly closer to the swell of your breasts, barely contained by your bra– you needed him to rip it off at this point. they curved over the lace and enclosed on each one, pulling your perked nipples out to fondle.

his tight hold on you dragged out a sound not meant to leave your lips. it was enough to make him snap. two hot bodies pressed to each other, clothing almost completely unravelled, and the door behind you still unlocked.

the air was thick and hot with heavy pressure and mutual need. 

a low grunt rumbled deep in rafayel’s throat as he pulled away from the intoxication that was your lips. “tell me to stop.” his lips ghosted over your skin, dragging a light trail of your mixed saliva down your neck until it stopped with a gentle peck. “tell me to walk away.”

“fuck no.” you panted. your hand tugged at his soft hair, pushing him deeper into your neck. “finish what you started.”

he laughed against your skin, marvelled by how much wittier you became when you weren’t tense. when you were fogged in temptation. he could only imagine how much more of you he’d experience the further down his lips went.

perhaps you tasted just as good as you smelt. his knees buckled at the thought, the mere sight of his eyes looking up to you as you lost composure was as unprofessional as it could get. his cock throbbed in his slacks, pumping so loudly he could barely hear himself breathe.

still gripping your fleshy mounds, rafayel sunk beneath your gaze never breaking contact with your beautiful eyes. one hand slowly crept down out of the warmth of your shirt to your alarmingly short skirt.

it was the third time he had seen you wear it since you joined his class. and every time his eyes were attached to you more than before. the vision of raising it above your pretty ass had always crossed his mind but he always had the mind to maintain decorum. the sea must have blessed him with this privilege today.

“need to eat you,” he whispered into your skin, spreading kisses all over you like invisible marks of his name. “taste you.”

your imagination conjured many things for you to indulge in, but this was beyond what even you could dream of. his glossy gaze, deliberate hot touch, his damned soft lips searing you with his affections… how could you say no?

your head hit the edge of the cabinet as you nodded in desperation, so needy for his mouth to explore you everywhere, so aroused that nothing could hold you back from sinking deeper and deeper. your legs slowly split apart, welcoming rafayel’s gentle hand with grace.

completely sat on the floor, the professor stared at your legs in a daze of reverence and worship. he was salivating the scent of your dripping pussy reeling him in like a fish swimming to bait. and he wouldn’t even consider himself damned if it meant being hooked by you.

his grip tightened on your thigh, fingers pressing into you to memorise your shape and how you felt by his touch. his hand slid down your leg in a great struggle to hold onto the last of his restraint while your pants and soft moans just made things so much worse.

“don’t make too much noise,” he quietly groaned, licking a line up your thigh up to the lacy panties covering your warmth. his eyes rolled back as your scent flooded his senses like a drug. in a fuss, rafayel pushed your skirt up revealing red lace. 

he almost came on the spot. 

his fingers slipped between the hem, feeling you up and down. he just had to go a bit further… just a little to get a taste of that sweet nectar. his eyes darted upwards to find you completely disheveled, pretty lips parted, chest heaving with your nipples pressed against your shirt, and your hands holding his head as close to your cunny as possible.

rafayel’s lips curved into a lustful smile and finally pushed his fingers further into your panties, brushing over your sensitive nub. a sharp gasp sounded in the room, his scalp ached from the harsh tug you forced on him before slowly pushing him back where he was.

you were so cute.

you didn’t feel cute. you felt like you were boiling up, throbbing to the point where it hurt, dripping like a fucking river. you were surprised your wetness wasn’t dripping down your legs already. rafayel was definitely the type to lick it up to prevent it going to waste.

his fingers crept around your clit, ghosting circles round and round in a teasing tickle almost like he wanted to pull a reaction out of you. every subtle reaction, every jolt and twitch, and every hesitant tug at his hair made his hips jut into the air with his cock roughly straining his slacks.

he tilted his head, lips enclosing around your clothed clit, swiping his tongue sloppily around you, loudly moaning at your taste. his fingers finally found your pussy, soaking before they even went inside you. you slapped your hand over your mouth. he was going to drive you insane.

loud squelches echoed around you with his fingers teasing and tapping your hole to draw out as much of your nectar as he could. your pussy lips were as swollen the lips he kissed and bit, sensitive to his finger sliding up and down before slowly plunging into you.

just as his lips parted more– a loud bang! shocked you both out of your trance of indulgence. you yelped and jerked back, pussy walls tightening around his fingers as he swiftly moved his head away from your core– a string of saliva connecting him to your clit cruelly reminding him how far he let his desire take him.

the shockwave of the noise sent the door rattling as if someone was about to walk in on you. rafayel adjusted your underwear back in place and tugged your skirt down, rearranging it so that you were somewhat presentable. your hands shakily fixed his messed hair in a sore attempt to ignore the aching need your pussy screamed to you.

your clothes stuck to your skin from the heat, your vision hazed by lust and interrupted pleasure so filthy and sinful that you couldn’t help but bite your lip. 

rafayel licked his lips as he rose to his feet, knees aching even though it felt like he had only been beneath you for seconds. he straightened his clothing, mustering the courage to face your gaze. you were dangerously close. dangerously beautiful. dangerously arousing. he just had to kiss you again. 

“i’ll deal with the person that damaged your sculpture.” his voice both husky and cracked still rumbled deep within you. “please forgive me and the incident.” 

without another word, he stalked out of the supply room leaving you to fully dissect what just happened.

he almost ate you out.

rafayel, your professor, almost ate you out. in a supply room. and he left you in need for so much more. a single step would send your poor clit, and your pussy really, into a frenzy– both sore and soaked, vibrating with pleasure. 

you were going to have to figure out how to deal with it.

but rafayel was determined to deal with it now.

he almost sprinted to his office, dizzy with lust. it was locked and dark with only candles giving him light. stacks of paper was spread out all over his desk left abandoned while he sat in front of his recent work– a completely blank canvas.

gods, his length was already leaking through his pants and aching so fucking hard that any subtle movement would have him cumming for hours.

rafayel didn’t bother removing himself with the delicacy of taking care of himself properly. his hands fumbled at the buckle of his belt, fingers slipping out of control before he could tug it off and toss it to the floor.

his vision was blurring him blind and abandoned him in the memory of your lips, your divine mixing scent, your melodic voice, and your taste. your noses had brushed and bumped into each other while his tongue ventured deep in your mouth, tasting the remains of the sweet pastry and bitter coffee you had consumed beforehand.

the office was somehow as hot as he was, the air burned with the fading remnants of your scent driving into a state of great distress. the zipper to his pants were already forced down from the sheer will of his cock raging and throbbing against its confines. he barely bothered himself with pulling them down, hurriedly gripping his girthy length both recklessly pulsating and near suffocating in dribbling precum.

his fingers rose to his lips, rubbing at the swollen effect of you attacking him with your teeth. it still stung from a light touch and that only aroused him more. his fingers were still sticky from caressing and plunging into your juicy cunny— explicitly reminding him how delicious you were.

without further thought, he pushing his digits on his salivating tongue and the flavours that were you burst into his senses like an inferno raging through a dry forest. rafayel’s eyes fluttered as they rolled back, a loud and deep moan soon to follow. 

“f-fuck.” he could just curse and curse for hours. “you did this to me.”

his tongue swirled between his fingers to absorb and savour as much of you as it could. he wasn’t too sure on whether he’d get the privilege to be so close to you again. he suckled on the tips of his finger like he would with that swollen clit of yours. fuck, you just somehow got a grip on him that he couldn’t shake off.

every moment he spent observing you just made him attach more and more even when he knew he shouldn’t have. but you intrigued him. your determination despite your lack of confidence. your thick skin in the face of his - often unnecessary - critique. 

not to mention of good your lips felt with his own. 

a shaky sigh shuddered out his lips as his hand slowly stroked up and down reaching to his base and tickling the leaky slit of his reddened tip. his hips jerked into his hand violently sending his head lolling back over the couch. 

the tandem rhythm of his hips remained constant, thrusting into the air and being squeezed tightly by his hand to simulate that jaw clenching strength your pussy walls used to grip on him. no matter how hard he’d try nothing would be able to replicate the effect you had on him. 

your name bouncing on the walls in an endless prayer turned to a song of moans and grunts. rafayel’s saliva-slick hand ran down his neck to his chest and slipped through his shirt to circle his perked nipples now rendered completely sensitive to even a breath.

while feeling each vine surrounding his cock pulsate, a lewd idea slithered into his mind like his most devious desires slipping right out to control him. he was so painfully hard it hurt. his clothes were sticking to his skin, dampened by his sweat and precum mixed together.

and then he raised his palm and struck it across his cock. smack! the sound struck through the room like thunder. 

a gasp, then a laugh, then another smack! followed by a husky moan.

the sting melted into rousing pleasure so instantaneously it almost gave him whiplash. he did it again.

smack!

and again.

smack!

up until the pain was enough to knock him unconscious. with each swing, his cock flew back upwards and jutted into the air shooting drops of precum up. rafayel bit his lip at the sight, greedily laughing at the pure slutty act he performed for himself. 

he could only dream for you to do the same thing.

his hand did not stop once it returned to stroking. the plap! plap! rapidly sounding as his hand fisted his cock to oblivion was disrespectfully slick. but it could be so much wetter. rafayel swiftly leaned over his length and spat straight onto his sobbing cockhead, pulling his hand right up to swirl and mix it all with his palm.

the wet friction alone was debilitating. he fucked himself into his hand like a rabid animal in intense heat, rutting like a fool drunken by a mere whiff of your scent. his hips lifted right off the couch, chasing his climax and hand that wasn’t even running from him– though could imagine you would.

“so– fucking– tight–“ he squeezed harder until his entire cock was red. the pain no longer affected him. his only devotion was hitting his edge in the hopes that it would feel like a fraction of what it would be like inside you.

inside your wet mouth, stretched wide open for him, drooling down your chin right onto your tits. or even inside your sweet cunny, throbbing and fluttering as your walls squeeze him with each thrust that tickles you to multiple orgasms.

“take it– take– oh fuck.” his voice cracked into a whiny whimper as his hands rolled over his leaking slit every time his hand brushed over his tip. the other hand continued to assault his chest, abusing his sensitivity to the max. 

the hand pumping his cock raised to smack it over and over, left and right in a broken tempo. his cock jumped, legs practically shivering from the pleasure and spreading wider and wider like you sat between them to take him deep in your mouth.

he couldn’t help himself. smack! the pain felt so good. smack! it was so wrong yet so stupidly right. smack! he’d do this for hours if he could. his core tightened, awaiting his incoming climax as his cock pulsed in a plea for him to stroke it to oblivion.

his grip became utterly brutal, rapidly pumping his shaft like his hand was a fucking fleshlight. he was messy, wet, and his lewd mixture of fluid was dripping down his legs onto the couch beneath him, staining and soaking the fabric. he twisted his hand right at the tip shocking his senses beyond the board.

he brought his hand to his tongue, lapping up all the precum sitting so impolitely on him, swallowing every drop like sacred water. his free hand slid down to finish what he started and rubbed and stroked with the intention to push him right to the end.

his body tensed as one more cruel squeeze snapped the tight thin rope within him. his eyes crossed, seeing only pure white. his breath hitched, and thick ropes of hot, sticky cum shot up like rockets and splattered all over him like fallen paint.

moans and whimpers shivered out of him like a broken record, your name remained mixed within his curses. his hand didn’t stop its relentless strokes. it persisted in dragging him through his high no matter how many times he’d try to stop himself. 

his cock ached and weeped, leaking hot white all over his hand as it gradually slowed. it had gone right up to his chin. rafayel lowly groaned, both fucked out and ruined beyond comprehension. ruined by his own hand and the thought of what more you could have done in that supply room.

rafayel raised his shaking hand to his face, analysing the way it glistened over his flushed skin. his tongue poked out of his lips and swiped all the way up from his wrist to the tip of his finger then took it deep inside. the flavour of his own juices mixed with your own, drawing a lustful moan from him.

he slurped it all up, licking his hand completely clean in an obscene and deliberate manner. like he was putting on a show for you, even though you weren’t actually there, and swallowed it all with great satisfaction.

he slouched into the couch, breath still laboured and heavy. he was still filthy and drenched and yet he still had the greed for so much more. 

that beautiful laugh replaced the echoes of his lewd noises once his high slowly dissipated. 

all that from a kiss?

rafayel was fucked.

might just post a calm part ii if you guys like it

[flwrkid14]

Love and Obsession: The Tim Drake Way

part 2

Everyone in the Batfamily knows Tim Drake has… issues with boundaries. They’ve spent years trying to teach him what’s appropriate and what’s—well—deeply unsettling and completely invasive. To be fair, he’s learned. Mostly. He doesn’t stalk his family anymore (much), and he no longer pulls up files on every single person they talk to (okay, maybe just sometimes). But it’s progress.

But then Tim starts dating Danny Fenton. And, oh boy, a few screws come loose.

It starts small, as always. Just little things. Tim’s a detective, after all—background checks are second nature. Danny’s living in Gotham, and Gotham isn’t safe. So, really, what’s the harm in knowing a little more about Danny’s friends? And his professors? And maybe also his classmates? It’s just standard protocol. Okay?

“Tim, you’ve run a full dossier on my entire biology class?” Danny asks one day, laughing as he flips through a file on the coffee table. Tim shrugs. “What if one of them is dangerous?” “Pretty sure the most dangerous thing in that class is the midterm.”

Danny doesn’t think much of it. He’s a little flattered, even. Tim’s protective. It’s sweet.

But Tim’s mind doesn’t stop there. Danny’s too handsome. Too charming. What if someone tries to hurt him? What if someone tries to take him away? It’s not obsessive—it’s just concern. So, a tracker on Danny’s phone? Necessary. Cameras in his apartment? Standard. Monitoring his sleeping patterns and hangout spots? Logical.

Tim tells himself it’s love. And maybe a little insecurity.

“You have a tracker on his phone?” Dick asks, trying not to sound alarmed. Tim nods, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Of course. What if something happens to him?” “And the cameras?” “Safety.” “The background checks on his professors?” “Gotham U isn’t exactly known for its stellar staff, Dick.”

It doesn’t stop there. Tim knows everything. Danny’s eating habits, his favorite places to go when he’s stressed, his childhood allergies. Tim’s mapped out Danny’s entire life. He knows about Danny’s ghost powers too—of course he does. He’s Tim Drake. The moment he realized Danny was Phantom, it just… clicked.

Danny being half-ghost? That’s just one more reason to worry. Tim’s up late at night, watching for any signs of ectoplasmic interference. He tracks the energy spikes. He monitors Danny’s fights.

He doesn’t think Danny knows. He’s terrified of what will happen if he finds out.

But then he does.

One evening, Danny walks into Tim’s apartment and casually drops a folder on the table. Tim’s heart stops.

“What’s this?” Danny asks, raising an eyebrow. Tim swallows hard. “I… it’s just…” “You’ve been tracking me?” Danny opens the file, glancing through pages of surveillance reports, background checks, even analysis of his ectoplasmic energy. Tim feels like his world is about to shatter.

“I… I can explain,” Tim says, his voice tight. “I’m just… worried about you. You’re in danger all the time, and I—” Danny walks over, cupping Tim’s face in his hands. Tim braces for the worst.

But Danny just smiles. “Can I put a tracker on you too?”

Tim blinks. “What?” Danny kisses his cheek. “If you’re watching my back, it’s only fair I watch yours. I need to make sure you’re safe too.”

Tim stares at him, speechless. Danny doesn’t look scared. Or angry. He looks… fond. Like Tim’s obsessive tendencies aren’t a problem at all.

“I’ve never had someone care about me this much,” Danny says softly. “I trust you with my life, Tim. This? This just proves how serious you are.”

Tim thinks he’s just fallen deeper in love.

-------------------

The Batfamily? They’re worried.

Jason corners Tim in the cave. “Okay, so let me get this straight. You’ve got cameras in his apartment. You’ve mapped out his entire life. You’ve got a tracker on him and a heartbeat monitor. And he’s… fine with it?” Tim nods, a dreamy smile on his face. “Yeah. He even wants to put a tracker on me.” “That’s not… healthy, Tim,” Dick says carefully. “That’s—” “It’s mutual,” Tim interrupts. “We’re protecting each other.”

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. “Tim, this isn’t how relationships are supposed to work.” Tim shrugs. “It’s how ours works.”

Damian watches the whole thing with narrowed eyes. “This is deeply unsettling,” he mutters.

They try to talk to Danny. Intervention style. They invite him over, sit him down, and gently (or not so gently) try to explain that Tim’s behavior isn’t normal.

Danny just laughs. “You guys do know I’m half-ghost, right?” “That doesn’t mean—” Dick starts. “I spent my entire life being hunted by ghost hunters. I’ve had worse invasions of privacy.” Danny smiles. “Tim cares. He keeps me safe. That’s all I need.”

The bats don't quite know what to say.

-------------------

Tim and Danny, two slightly unhinged souls who think mutual surveillance is the ultimate act of love.

The bats? They’re just trying to keep up.

(“At least they’re happy?” Barbara offers weakly. Bruce sighs. “For now.”)

Gotham’s version of love was never going to be normal. But this? This is a whole new level.