#it will be the most ridiculous comedy ever

[ladyloveandjustice]

the absolute reaches I'm seeing people make so they can condemn people criticizing Seiko's design are actually so funny. "Actually if you don't like the grandma who looks literally identical to her teenage grandaughter besides having bigger boobs you are RACIST and also INSULTING people who look younger than their AGE"

Let's be real here. let's be real.

She's not a person who looks young for her age. Aira literally thought she was Momo's sister and refused to believe she was her grandmother. Stop trying to pretend it's a "oh she just looks a little young for her age in a realistic way" when the anime itself has directly acknowledged that she looks like a teenager and it's not normal.

Y'all always make these massive reaches to refuse to acknowledge the truth, which is that lot of anime thinks women who look older aren't hot, hence why "old woman transforms herself to look hot" is ridiculously common in anime. Seiko doesn't look older because she wouldn't be considered hot that way. either that or it's a long shot joke that will have a payoff. The mangaka wasn't basing her looks on any grandma he ever met. Why not just accept the most obvious explanation?

It always come down to this doesn't it:

The underaged children literally spent the entirety of episode 9 naked (okarun) and in their underwear (Momo and Aira) c'mon now.

It's done much more matter of factly than most fanservice and I've set my expectations. It's a (mild) sex comedy aimed at teenagers. it helps a lot that Momo looks like an actual human being and that Okarun is getting it pretty much equally, but again. that's what it is.

I know this is going to continue to happen, it happens whenever people like something and want to justify liking it, but these two comments just sent me too much.

[sotwk]

I never feel dumber than when I'm trying to write a kissing scene, it's a miracle even I've gotten anyone to read my romance fics.

[softandwildx]

My favorite genre of entertainment is videos of people who unfortunately made it onto game shows like Family Feud

[imaginarypasta]

just got the most fun idea for ocs in a vision

[talk-danmei-to-me]

pls pls pls pls make a list of all danmei people should read. I am thirsty for love and angst and pls be my salvation

Omg I can't say no to that!

Full disclosure, I've only been reading danmei since May. Also, I only read official translations. Others may be able to give a wider range.

But since you asked so nicely, let's go!

1) Yuwu/Remnants of Filth

Obviously, my number 1 is going to be the danmei I spend 80% of my time here trying to convince people to read.

Yuwu is a gift for fans of angst, literally opens with the MC getting stabbed in the heart and Meatbun doesn't let up from there.

Fun fact - the only Meatbun without non-con elements in the primary ship.

Sad fact - it also lacks her usual comedy.

Why I love it: Mo Xi, my princess, genuinely the saddest boy in all of danmei. I'm ridiculously invested in Ximang's quest for happiness.

2) 2ha/Erha/The Husky and his White Cat Shizun

At it's heart (at least to where the official translations are up to) 2ha is a romantic comedy. Tropes you may have found in other danmei hit so good (ghost weddings and shizun fucking).

Fun fact - Has my favourite confession scene out of all danmei I've read.

Sad fact - Being Meatbun's most popular work, you can basically collect spoilers like pokemon cards. Not even ao3 tags are safe.

Why I love it - Meatbun's smut writing is S tier and Mo Ran is one of my favourite protaganists... although he has some competition.

3) Ballad of Sword and Wine

I feel like I need to formally apologise for sleeping on this series after reading the first volume. It’s so, so juicy! Obsessed with the character dynamics and it’s always a winner when the main couple starts to dabble with each other in the first volume. It’s not Meatbun levels of smut peddling but I appreciate Tang Jiu Qing’s hustle. If you love courtly politics, graphic descriptions of violence and the most insane levels of sexual tension you will ever read. You need this danmei in your life.

Fun fact - I am as obsessed with Cezhou as Xiao Chiye is with the nape of Shen Lanzhou’s neck.

Sad fact - The sheer amount of characters will drive you insane.

4) To Rule in a Turbulent World

Enter You Miao! His introduction made me fall in love with him just as fast as I did Mo Ran! There's a reason everyone raves about chapter 3. Hilarious, horny and wholesome. The side characters are amazing, the main couple is adorable and it's giving hints of political powerplays. Also the first danmei I've read that seems to really deliver when it comes to skinship. The main couple literally can't keep their hands to themselves.

Fun fact - I'm only 50% through but I am buying every single Fei Tian Ye Xiang 7 seas is about to release day 1.

Sad fact - there's no pictures. Also I'm not sure how angsty it's going to get.

Bonus: For the toxic yaoi fan in your life

Meatbun's most unhinged work. She's peddling all the toxic smut fans of bl mangas and manhwas will be familiar with. Even though it's modern it made me nostalgic for that reason. He Yu is a clown and I adore him. Meatbun is airing all her kinks with this one and I'm not mad about it.

Fun fact- This is the first modern danmei I've read. Also, one of the more fun uses of the straight man trope I've read.

Sad fact - Vol 3 cliffhanger!

Why I love it - It's just pure Meatbun chaos.

(Am I just exposing myself as a Meatbun stan, probably, but she delivers every time.)

[hoonven]

IS IT NEW YEARS YET?

1.2K ⸺ a christmas hater and a christmas lover find themselves in the kitchen of a cozy apartment, trading sarcasm, small talk, and maybe a little more

PAIRING! yang jungwon x female reader

GENRES! fluff, comedy, frenemies trope

PLAYLIST! is it new years yet? by sabrina carpenter

WARNINGS! reader doesn't like christmas, reader drinks cocoa

December is a prison.

Everywhere you look, someone is trying to shove some holiday cheer down your throat. You hate it. The blinding, glittering lights and tinny jingles that cause a headache trying way too hard to convince you that this is the most wonderful time of the year.

The relentless cheer, the endless loop of Mariah Carey in every store, the corny hallmark movies, inflatable Santas, and people pretending eggnog is drinkable and fruitcake is edible. You don’t buy it. For you, December is just another month to survive, one suffocating under an avalanche of forced cheer and bad decisions disguised as tradition. The holiday shoppers, the sweaters, the increase of whining children—it’s all too much.

Yet here you are, trapped in a Christmas Eve party that feels more like a hostage situation. You’d planned on staying home with a glass of wine and a movie that didn’t feature talking reindeer or falling snow, but your friend—if you can even call her that—insisted. And because you have a masochistic streak, or maybe just a lack of willpower, you showed up.

You’ve stationed yourself in the kitchen, it’s quieter here, a sanctuary compared to the crowded living room packed with people you barely know, all laughing too loudly and swapping gifts you’re certain will end up in a landfill by February.

You’ve been hiding out here for the past twenty minutes, nursing a drink and hoping no one will notice your absence. Arms crossed, leaning against the counter, glaring at the glittery centerpiece on the table like it personally offended you.

“Well, if it isn’t our resident holiday killjoy.”

You don't have to look to know who it is. The voice is unmistakable—light, teasing, and annoyingly smug.

Jungwon.

You glance at him anyway, because ignoring him won’t make him go away.

He’s leaning against the doorway, his ridiculous Christmas sweater somehow managing to look good on him. It’s got a snowman with googly eyes, and you want to hate it, but the worst part is you don’t. His grin is as infuriating as always—bright, mischievous, and unbothered, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he takes in your expression that screams don’t talk to me.

“And here I thought you were too busy decking the halls to notice me,” you reply, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

He smirks, stepping into the kitchen like he owns the place. “Oh, I noticed you. You’re kind of hard to miss when you’re the only person in this joint giving off Scrooge energy.”

“I’m not giving off Scrooge energy,” you snap, though you are. “I’m avoiding unnecessary human interaction, which, by the way, you’re currently ruining.”

Jungwon doesn’t take the hint. He never does. Instead, he grabs a cookie off the counter, takes a bite, and leans casually against the counter next to you. “So, what’s the escape plan? Gonna fake a tummy ache or claim you have to leave early because of some elaborate story you clearly just made up?”

You decide not to admit it was the latter, the last thing you need tonight is to prove Jungwon right.

“I was thinking of just walking out,” you say dryly. “No excuses. Just leave.”

He snorts. “Bold move. Very on-brand for you.”

Finally, you turn to face him, narrowing your eyes. “Why are you here, Jungwon? Don’t you have some caroling to do or a snowman to build?”

He grins, unfazed by your sarcasm. “Oh, I’ve already done both. I'm here to check on you, you know, like Cindy Lou Who did for the Grinch?”

“Your heart is two sizes too small,” he says, and proceeds to make the dumbest sad face you've ever seen.

You try to fight the tiny smile tugging at your lips but fail. Jungwon notices, of course, because he notices everything.

“See? I knew you didn't hate Christmas that much,” he says, triumphantly.

You sigh, crossing your arms. “I don’t hate it. I just don’t see the point. It’s loud, obnoxious, and overrated.”

“Or,” he counters, gesturing toward the living room, where people are laughing and exchanging gifts by a sparkling tree. “It's about that.”

You raise an eyebrow, skeptical. But there's a slight tug at your heartstrings as you watch a girl hug her friend with tears pricking her eyes. “What exactly are we looking at?”

He tilts his head, studying you with that irritatingly perceptive gaze of his. “You know, you’re like a walking anti-Christmas PSA. It’s impressive, really.”

You roll your eyes. “And you’ve clearly auditioned for Santa’s favorite elf.”

“Wrong. I’m more of a ‘holiday mischief maker,’” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. “And right now, my mission is to annoy you with all the holiday cheer I can possibly muster.”

You glare at him, but there’s no real heat behind it. The worst part is, Jungwon is so annoyingly persistent and unshakably optimistic that part of you almost envies him. Almost.

“It's nice.” you shrug. “But not everyone thinks this season is magical, you know.”

“Ah, I see. You’re one of those people who hates Christmas because it never lives up to the hype.”

You pause, caught off guard by how easily he’s summed you up. “It’s not about the hype,” you say finally, avoiding his gaze. “It’s about how empty it all feels. Everyone’s running around acting like this one day is supposed to fix everything, but it doesn’t. We’ll all go back to our regular lives the next day like none of it ever happened.”

He doesn’t respond right away, and for a second, you think you’ve actually managed to scare him off. But then he leans closer, his voice softer now, less playful. “You know what I think? I think you’re trying so hard not to care that you’ve forgotten how to let yourself enjoy the small stuff.”

You blink at him, thrown by the sudden sincerity in his tone. “And you’re suddenly the expert on what I need?”

“Not an expert,” he says, his grin returning. “Just observant.”

He gestures toward the party again. “Look, I get it. The holidays can be a lot. But they can also be kind of great, if you let them. Like right now—this could be one of those moments you look back on, and it’s not about the decorations or the music. It’s just… people. Being together. Isn’t that worth something?”

You arch an eyebrow. “Do you hear yourself right now? You sound like a Hallmark movie character.”

“And you sound like someone who’s never actually tried to enjoy Christmas,” he shoots back, smirking.

You snort, shaking your head. “I can't believe people really believe all that.”

“Well, I do.” He holds up his cookie like a toast. “And by the end of the night, I’m betting I’ll convince you too.”

“Well, don’t hold your breath,” you say, reaching for the mug of cocoa that was surprisingly still warm and taking a sip. It’s too sweet, just like everything else tonight, but somehow, with Jungwon standing there, it doesn’t feel quite as unbearable.

And for a moment, you let yourself enjoy it.

“Don’t worry,” he says with a wink. “I’m patient.”

“Good luck with that,” you mutter, but there’s a faint smile tugging at the corner of your lips now, one you can’t quite suppress.

Jungwon notices, of course. He always does. You imagine he always will. And as much as you hate to admit it, you’re kind of glad he came into the kitchen.

December was a bore, and you were sick and tired of this holiday, but small talk in the kitchen with Yang Jungwon wasn't half bad.

© 2024 hoonven, all rights reserved. i do not give permission to modify, repost, translate, or plagiarize my works on any platform. NETWORK! @kstrucknet

[mareastrorum]

I have never enjoyed a D&D series more than Misfits & Magic and it's entirely because of Brennan Lee Mulligan. I am fully aware that most viewers thought Evan Kelmp was ridiculously over the top and played up for laughs. I'm sure so many people thought it was for comedy.

I have never seen a poverty-stricken and violence-afflicted character portrayed so well.

People who have not experienced that level of desperation rarely ever comprehend the constant level of fear, but Brennan was locked in on it wonderfully.

Every moment is fixated on food, safety, and shelter. It takes so much effort and emotional vulnerability to shift attention from it. Free food? Gotta gently press to get more and more and more and more, but you can't ask too quick or people might kick you out. Someone's a threat? Gotta make it 100% clear that you will not be fucked with, and it does not matter what it costs you socially. Need to do something long term? Gotta figure out where and how you're going to sleep without anyone to watch your back; can you lock yourself in somewhere? Can it be somewhere alone? Where can you hide?

What will this cost?

The strained politeness and immediate switch to a fight response was excellent. People who want to help you do not trigger violent responses. People that do not want to help you and are in your business need to be dealt with. Brennan knew exactly how to demonstrate the tension of usually being treated as a dangerous animal rather than a person. It instills a script to be as perfect a person as possible, and as soon as anyone veers off the social script, be exactly what they're afraid of: a monster. Better to be a monster than a victim.

The one mistake was during the holiday special that he said credit cards instead of (stolen) gift cards for making a shank with razor blades. You'd get a secured one at 18, but not before then. Otherwise would have been perfect. (Duct tape's expensive, but not too hard to steal. I carried a bag with my laundry coins as an impromptu weapon. As soon as he ordered any drink with a glass bottle, I yelled, "Make a shank!" AND HE FUCKING DELIVERED.)

I often get so annoyed at terrible portrayals of children that grew up in impoverished, violent circumstances, but this is the first time I legitimately enjoyed myself.

Well done.

[elsecrytt]

okay NEW curse technique concept: love conquers all!

your technique straight up alters reality. it will heal you or others, kill or harm people in any specific way, you can travel quickly, produce objects/food/etc. out of nowhere, whatever you want.

however. you can only do it if you genuinely believe it will make your loved one happy. otherwise you are just a regular person.

if you're not in love with someone, you're an ordinary person.

thankfully (?) you're a bleeding heart romantic and you fall in love pretty often! you might be shallow at first but your desire to pursue a relationship and get to know your crush is 100% sincere!

for added comic effect, you do not know what curses are and are unaware of your cursed technique. you just know that you're super capable whenever you're doing it ~for love~

unfortunately, when you fell in love with satoru gojo, he pretty much immediately shot you down.

commitment issues, sorcerer problems, yada yada. he could tell that you were genuine with your feelings, too, and satoru does do hookups but he's not a total asshole.

satoru being LITERALLY the luckiest person ever - six eyes, limitless, ridiculously tall and beautiful, talented students and powerful allies - and he's handed an instant win ticket to life in the form of your undying love and devotion and he just tosses it out LMAOOO.

so you go through your heartbreak phase, grieve for a while, and of course eventually get back on the market.

and you find him! the kindest, most considerate, respectful man alive.

he's a bit of a workaholic, but he's unbelievably polite and sincere, and every bit of understanding you show him is repaid tenfold.

seriously. he was late for a date once because of work, texting ahead twenty minutes and apologizing profusely, showing up with flowers and a thousand "I'm so sorry, my superior at work was a bit unreasonable - he works hard, too, though. I'll plan better in advance!"

when you smile and hug him and accept his apologies easily, you can see him holding back tears, a giant load releases his shoulders.

the more you learn about his work, though, the more you realize it's his only flaw. it's not even his fault!

his superior is just this giant asshole. "he works very hard, he's excellent at his job" your fucking ASS, why should your man have to put in constant overtime to drive his ass around?

apparently he had to drive three hours to pick up some sweets. kikufuku, of all things, from this one specialty store in another prefecture, just for his stupid coworker -

it pisses you off!

so when ichiji arrives for your date one day, nervous, with his unreasonable coworker in tow - well, you're shocked to see that you recognize him.

satoru, of course, immediately gloats that he recognizes ichiji's precious girlfriend - she even asked him out, once, before!

internally, he supposes it's kind of nice that you found someone better suited for commitment. although ichiji really doesn't deserve someone as good-looking as you -

SLAP!

he stares, dumbfounded, his cheek red and stinging. something strange curling in his chest at your vicious glare.

"You're Ichiji's shitty coworker?" You growl, "I'm glad you turned me down. Don't ever bully my man again, or you're dead meat."

holy shit, satoru thinks to himself as you snarl at him, ichiji panicking, trying to hold you back.

dead meat. holy shit, he actually believes you.

-

obviously from there the plan would be enemies to lovers, with the requisite comedy and pining on gojo's part about having let you go the first time.

you have a very strict policy of never EVER pursuing someone who turns you down (you don't know this, but it's actually a condition of your cursed technique). but satoru will find out - that doesn't stop him from pursuing you.

unfortunately, you're also unbelievably prideful, and still very in love with ichiji (who himself is struggling with a sense of inferiority which will eventually tank your relationship).

so gojo gets his ass beat on multiple occasions,,, watching in awe as you do thinks even he can't, and doubly flabbergasted when you insist you're not doing anything particularly weird.

you punch through his infinity? "are you telling me you think you're a wizard with an invisible force field around yourself? seriously?" cursed spirits? "is this a cult?? ichiji is your coworker in a CULT?" his hollow purple doesn't leave a scratch "i mean, was it supposed to?"

god i'm just feeling the comedy these days. i need to make fun of these silly little guys in this silly little manga, i love them so much

[mktskii]

—Burnt Pancakes and a Loser in Denial

—Synopsis: As a newcomer in a busy restaurant kitchen, you’re a disaster waiting to happen, and Bakugou Katsuki isn’t shy about making that clear. The hot-headed line cook has no time for incompetence, and yet he finds himself begrudgingly stuck with you—his clumsy, relentlessly upbeat coworker who can barely crack an egg. Frustrated with your lack of skill, Bakugou can't explain the nagging urge to keep an eye on you or why your laugh sticks in his mind long after you’ve clocked out. Somewhere between burnt pancakes and late-night cleanups, Bakugou is forced to confront the unsettling truth: he just might be falling for the one person he insists he can’t stand.

—Pairing: Line Cook!Bakugou Katsuki x AFAB!Newbie Line Cook!Reader

—Genre: Slice-of-life, comedy, romance

—Tags: unrequited love (sort of), slow burn, workplace, oblivious crush, enemies to (one-sided) lovers, Bakugou Katsuki x reader, harsh Bakugou, denial, quirkless AU

—Notes: ..uh...hi everyone. soooo exuse my insanly long absence. i could use my excuse that I had lined up but would it really matter?? MOVING ON! i got this idea from @/tokenirainanfriend on tiktok soo go follow him ! THE SERIES WILL BE ON HOLD soly because..well..i need ideas. if you all have any, PLEASE message me! i would like to keep it going for a while. also, apologies to people who can actually cook, I'm taking away your skills for this one. ENJOY!!

Bakugou didn’t understand how anyone could be this goddamn dense. Not in a million years would he have guessed that someone who managed to survive in the world, breathe in and out each day, would lack the most basic ability to crack an egg without turning it into a massacre. And yet, here you were, assigned as his new coworker in the bustling, chaotic depths of the kitchen—his kingdom.

As the restaurant’s most efficient line cook, he’d established a meticulous routine to keep things running at the rapid pace they needed to. No time for nonsense. But now? With you around, it was as if the world itself had taken a nosedive into hellfire. He couldn’t go two seconds without hearing you calling his name over the clattering sounds of spatulas, saucepans, and the relentless sizzle of grills.

“Hey, Bakugou..uh,” you called timidly from behind him, holding a spatula in a death grip.

“What?” He turned, already bracing for whatever catastrophe you were brewing.

You offered him a plate of burnt, vaguely pancake-like shapes. “Do these look…right?”

He took one look. Actually— one GLANCE, and he felt two emotions. Disbelief and pure anger.

“Do they look right?" He scoffed "They look like somethin’ crawled out of a dumpster and got hit by a truck. What the hell do you call that?” He didn’t wait for you to respond, grabbing the plate and practically throwing it into the trash. “You don’t call it food, that’s for sure.”

The embarrassment on your face was plain as day, but you bit your lip, nodded, and set to remaking the pancakes with an exhausted sigh. Bakugou had half a mind to scream—honestly, just to get it out of his system. Why the hell did it bug him that you looked so damn disappointed? It was your own fault for taking a job you clearly had no skills for. And yet…

Goddammit, it pissed him off.

It shouldn’t have, but every time you tripped over your own feet trying to get out of his way, or when you muttered a soft “sorry” as if your very presence was an inconvenience, it lit some unidentifiable fuse in him. Not the usual, angry fuse—something else, something gnawing and ridiculous that had his stomach tying up in impossible knots.

And he wasn’t about to let that feeling win.

A few weeks in, the irritation only intensified. The kitchen was a battleground, and you were making him lose his mind. Bakugou was convinced you were planted there to make him suffer—some sort of karmic punishment for every curse he’d ever muttered and every rude remark he’d thrown.

But something was wrong.

Because somewhere between your second attempt at pancakes and your third night shift, Bakugou found himself…observing you. Watching out of the corner of his eye as you focused, cheeks red with effort, brow furrowed as you strained to not mess up. If someone so much as raised their voice at you (and he was well aware, he’d done more than his fair share), he felt his blood boil with some twisted, misguided desire to tell them to back off.

And he despised that feeling.

Every time he caught himself, Bakugou wanted to smash his head against the freezer door.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” he muttered under his breath, scrubbing a pan with more aggression than necessary. But when you glanced his way, offering that usual tentative smile, it was like the damn pan wasn’t even in his hand anymore. For all he knew, it had slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor—but it wouldn’t have mattered, not with the way his pulse thrummed a little harder, just because of you.

“Did you need any…uh, any help, Bakugou?” you asked quietly, probably hoping not to set off his temper.

It was so ridiculous, he almost laughed—almost.

“Pfft, as if I’d need your help. Just don’t get in my way, alright?” he shot back, trying to ignore the weird pang in his chest at the dejection on your face. But before he could stop himself, he added, “But, uh…I mean, maybe later, if you’re still here, you could work on, I dunno, keeping up with me. No sense in dragging everyone down.”

There was that smile again, softer this time. “I’ll do my best, then.”

Bakugou glared at the pan, willing his pulse to slow down, all the while knowing this was some cosmic joke at his expense.

It wasn’t until one night—one particularly quiet closing shift—that the reality hit him like a two-ton truck.

You were cleaning up the kitchen, humming softly under your breath, and Bakugou was stuck restocking supplies, fuming at the sight of you so…comfortable, so at home in the space you’d once fumbled around in.

And for reasons he could barely understand, he just…watched you. Not out of annoyance or critique, not out of irritation, but just because.

For once, you weren’t trying to make conversation, and he wasn’t telling you off. You looked…content. And when you laughed softly to yourself—at some thought he’d never know—his chest squeezed so tight he was damn sure he’d forgotten how to breathe.

“Hey, idiot,” he muttered, so low he wasn’t sure if you’d even heard him.

You turned, eyebrows raised, that smile making his stomach churn. “Yeah?”

For a moment, he lost track of every insult, every complaint he’d been about to throw at you. Instead, he felt his cheeks burn, and he cursed under his breath, forcing himself to look away.

“Forget it,” he said gruffly, busily organizing the shelf with furious precision. But his mind was already spiraling into the depths of horror: Oh, no. Hell no. No way. This is not happening.

Bakugou Katsuki, a guy who’d barely thought twice about anyone, was…interested? Him? In you?

The thought was absurd. Impossible. But it sat there in his mind, solid as a rock, completely unmoving and irritatingly present. He wanted to punch something—or better yet, punch the feeling itself out of his gut.

For the next hour, he did everything he could to avoid looking your way, stomping around the kitchen like he was gearing up for war, trying to deny this…this idiotic pull. He wasn’t some clueless fool—he’d seen people fall over themselves, getting all mushy and soft around others. But that wasn’t him, dammit.

Yet the feeling sat there, mocking him.

And when you called out, “Goodnight, Bakugou. See you tomorrow!” as you walked out the door, he barely managed a stiff nod. He had an insane urge to follow after you, to make sure you got home safe. Stupid. You can take care of yourself. And it’s not like you’d want him hovering around, anyway.

He slumped against the counter, rubbing his face, silently willing this “crush” or whatever it was to just burn out like a candle in the wind. But he knew it wouldn’t. Not as long as he saw you, talked to you, heard that laugh and saw that damn smile.

Bakugou Katsuki, now a loser in love, was stuck. He’d be damned before he ever admitted it out loud.

Reblogs and comments are appreciated <3

[the-thing-inside-your-closet]

Prompts I’ve seen/found online that I have used an inspiration for many things, but mainly DP X DC stuff.

There’s 200 prompts/quotes in there

1. They match each other’s freak to a degree that is dangerous to the public.

2. People often mistake me for an adult because of my age.

3. “I have a solution.”

“Thank goodness.”

“It involves fire.”

“Absolutely not.”

4. Why are you hiding behind me? What did you do?

5. We can’t have a crisis - my schedule is already full!

6. “What’s our exit strategy?”

“Our what?”

“We’re all going to die.”

7. That is a terrible, horrible, incredibly foolish idea. Let’s do it and see what happens.

8. “This coffee tastes weird.”

“That’s probably because it’s not coffee.”

9. “Can I bother you for a second?”

“You always bother me, but go ahead.”

10. “Are you mad?”

“No.”

“So sharpening knives at 2am is just a hobby?”

11. I’m going to give my inner child a gun.

12. Your inability to learn complicated handshakes is tearing this gang apart.

13. I get so affectionate when I’m sleepy it’s disgusting.

14. Leaving a watermelon on someone’s doorstep in the middle of the night is a pretty inexpensive way to occupy a portion of their mind forever.

15. No offence to myself or anything but what the fuck am I doing.

16. I would love to be mysterious but I never shut the fuck up.

17. The divorce rate amongst my socks is astonishing.

18. Adulthood is a scam I want to be a crow.

19. Good morning! God has let me live another day and I’m about to make it everybody’s problem.

20. My house is haunted because I live there.

21. That’s my emotional support entity of questionable moral standing.

22. God released me into the wild and now he’s hunting me for sport.

23. No, no you don’t want to get to know me, I’m better as a concept.

24. I can’t wait until I’m old enough to pretend I can’t hear.

25. Do birds every just fly for fun or are they always on some kind of mission?

26. The older I get the more I understand why roosters scream to start their day.

27. ‘You’ll understand when you’re older.’ I am older and I understand absolutely nothing.

28. Source? It was revealed to me in a delusion.

29. Why do drugs after 30 when you can just stand up too fast?

30. I won’t ever be the bigger person in an argument. God made me 5’ for a reason.

31. This meeting could have been a fist fight.

32. I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m never going to have a midlife crisis because my entire fucking life is a crisis.

33. Anyone fancy going off the fucking rails with me I’ve had enough.

34. Go ahead and get in the pond since you wanna act like a silly goose.

35. My life is like a romantic comedy except there’s no romance and it’s just me laughing at my own jokes.

36. Who the fuck decided to call it ‘emotional baggage’ and not ‘griefcase?’

37. I don’t have a nervous system. I am a nervous system.

38. “What makes us human?”

“Selecting all of the images with traffic lights.”

39. Don’t let anyone else ruin your day. It’s your day. Ruin it yourself.

40. The sixth love language is combat.

41. “I just told you 2 minutes ago.”

“I do not control the remember.”

42. Due to not wanting to. I will not be.

43. My flabbers be gasted daily.

44. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Like a hallucination, a therapist, or a person?”

45. “You’re the most ridiculous person I’ve ever met.”

“Thank you I try my best.”

46. I tried to embrace my inner child today and the little asshole bit me.

47. I think my dark under eye circles are adding to the aesthetic actually.

48. Being smart has never stopped me from being a complete fucking idiot.

49. Next time I’m opening up to someone will be at my autopsy.

50. Too many songs about love. Not enough song about sword fights.

51. “You’re cute.”

“I’m feral and chaotic, don’t touch me.”

52. I’m not as unhinged as I could be and I want everyone to be great full for that.

53. How dare you know stuff about things.

54. “I have a plan.”

“Is it a good one?”

“I have a plan.”

55. “Are you decent?”

“Not morally, but I’m wearing pants if that’s what you’re asking.”

56. I may have the right to remain silent but I do not have the ability.

57. I don’t want to look ‘pretty.’ I want to look otherworldly and vaguely threatening.

58. If you ever feel safe please remember that I’m out there.

59. “I’m too good for revenge.”

“Well I’m not. Give me the gun.”

60. “You know I really feel like we aren’t seeing eye to eye.

“It’s because you’re taller than me asshole.”

61. “They rely on you.”

“I can’t be blamed for their lack of judgment..”

62. Well, aren’t you a little Ray of pitch black.

63. I can get behind murder but I draw the line at misogyny.

64. In my defence your honour, I simply do not vibe with the law.

65. Life is a tornado and I’m just the cow being spun around for cinematic value.

66. You can burn all the sage you want, I’ll be back.

67. I believe in holding grudges. I’ll heal in hell.

68. You know…they make medication for the way you act.

69. I like men with massive, throbbing vocabularies.

70. My swear jar could finance the fucking space program.

71. “Well if you want my opinion-”

“I don’t. I have my own.”

72. I’m awake but not operational.

73. Due to personal reasons I’ll be going back to sleep.

74. The bags under my eyes are Prada.

75. I identify as a threat. My pronouns are try/me.

76. Audacity must be on sale this year…

77. “Have you ever been handcuffed?”

“Sexually or by law enforcement?”

78. I don’t like salad or eye contact.

79. “Come here.”

“Why?”

“Just come here.”

“No you’re gonna hit me!”

80. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“I didn’t throw it.”

81. I have to keep reminding myself that I am an adult and will be charged as one.

82. Apparently ‘spite’ is not an appropriate answer to ‘what motives you?’

83. There is a fine line between my crazy and my intelligence. I use that line like a jump rope.

84. I don’t know where you got your opinion but I hope you kept the receipt.

85. Sometimes when I close my eyes…I can’t see.

86. Is being stupid a profession or are you just gifted?

87. Some days the supply of available curse words is insufficient to meet my demands.

88. I’m running out of reasons to not stab you.

89. When I said ‘how stupid can you be?’ It wasn’t a challenge.

90. Love at first sight? Tired, boring. Love at first assassination attempt? Spicy.

91. I’m sorry I don’t take orders. I barley take suggestions.

92. And that’s a wrap on another day where I acted like I knew what I was doing.

93. Now if you’ll excuse me…tonight’s bad decision isn’t going to make itself.

94. I take super hot showers to practice burning in hell.

95. I wanna be 14 again and ruin my life differently. I have new ideas.

96. Don’t be ashamed of who you are. That’s your parent’s job.

97. Being an adult is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.

98. If I’m ever murdered, feel comfort in knowing I ran my mouth until the bitter end.

99. My spirit animal would fucking eat yours.

100. Some people will only like you if you fit inside their box. Don’t be afraid to shove that box up their ass.

101. I wonder if people look both ways before getting on my fucking nerves.

102. If I was a bird, I know who I’d shit on.

103. Giving a fuck doesn’t really go with my outfit.

104. I’m not insulting you, I’m describing you.

105. Life is full of disappointments and I just added you to the list.

106. And then I decided to take a detour to deliver an ass beating.

107. I wanna contribute to the chaos.

108. I’m gay and also stronger than all of you. So don’t try any shit.

109. With all due respect, which is none

110. What, pray tell, the fuck?

111. My arson charges don’t define me.

112. Those are bold words for someone in stabbing range.

113. I don’t understand your specific kind of crazy but I do admire your total commitment to it.

114. I am not above slashing my own tires to avoid going to this family brunch.

115. I don’t want to heal my inner child I want them to get revenge.

116. In order to insult me I must first value your opinion. Nice try though.

117. There’s someone for everyone and the person for you is a psychiatrist.

118. Keep rolling your eyes, maybe you’ll find a brain back there.

119. I think my guardian angel drinks.

120. In my defence, I was left unsupervised.

121. I believe in you. I also believe in Bigfoot so don’t get too excited.

122. If you figure me out I want an explanation.

123. I don’t think I meet the height requirements to ride your emotional roller coaster.

124. When killing them with kindness doesn’t work, try voodoo.

125. Another fine day ruined by responsibility.

126. You call them swear words. I call them sentence enhancers.

127. Stop petting my peeves.

128. What a year this week has been.

129. Don’t follow me I don’t know where I’m going.

130. Due to unfortunate circumstances, I am awake.

131. I didn’t say it was your fault, I said I was blaming you.

132. Please don’t interrupt me while I’m ignoring you.

133. Everyone has the right to be stupid but you’re abusing the privilege.

134. I just know I will die trying to pet something I shouldn’t.

135. At this point, if a clown invited me into the woods, I’d just go.

136. I told him to take care of his eyes because they’re the only balls he has.

137. The trash gets picked up tomorrow. Be ready.

138. My last words will probably be sarcastic.

139. We don’t have time to unpack all that.

140. I may have committed light treason.

141. How is ‘pretty boy’ supposed to be an insult? I’m the prettiest goddamn boy in this town.

142. I’m not interested in being polite or heterosexual.

143. “Based on statistical evidence, I’m immortal.”

“How so?”

“Haven’t died yet.”

144. I’m just here to establish an alibi.

145. Take the day off from being the bigger person and choose violence, you deserve it.

146. Forgive and forget? I’m neither Jesus nor do I have alzheimers.

147. People are so ungrateful. No one ever thanks me for having the patience to not kill them.

148. “I can see your bra.”

“Fucking good it was expensive.”

149. Sir, that’s my emotional support knife collection.

150. My idea of ‘help from above’ is a sniper on the roof.

151. “We’re surrounded!”

“Excellent, we can attack in any direction!

152. Lord give me patience or an untractable handgun.

153. Step back! I’m a professional idiot!

154. “Trust your gut.”

“I have anxiety. My gut is always telling me to abort mission.”

155. Keep your morals away from me.

156. Your existence gives me a headache go stand over there.

157. What, from the bottom of my heart, the fuck?

158. My heart is not a home for cowards.

159. Underestimate me so I can embarrass you.

160. “It’ll be easy. You just have to seduce them.”

“You’re kidding, right? I’m about as seductive as a cabbage.”

161. You’ve got heart, kid. Several hearts. Honestly, I’m a little scared of you.

162. It takes a very special kind of idiot to pull off what you just did.

163. I’m no doctor - but I think he’s dead.

164. I love you. You enormously stubborn pain in the ass.

165. “What brings you here?”

“A continuum of terrible choices.”

“You’d be surprised to know how often people say that.”

166. “I thought we agreed to tell each other when we were bleeding internally.”

“That’s a very specific promise I don’t remember making.”

167. “Did you really google how to flirt with a girl?”

“What? How’d you know that?”

“You do realise there’s a search history?”

168. “I’m gonna…”

“If you kick down the door, I swear…”

“I’M GONNA PUNCH IT WITH MY FOOT!”

169. “Is it still murder if I give them a heads up?”

“That’s a threat.”

“Damn.”

170. Surprise! I’m back from the dead! Isn’t that exciting?

171. Don’t mind me, I’ll just be in the corner, having another existential crisis.

172. I’d agree with you, but then we’d both be wrong.

173. You’re important to me you piece of shit.

174. “Why are your hands purple?”

“That’s a very good question.”

175. Can someone turn off the sun please?

176. “I had a thought.”

“Oh no.”

“I swear it’s a good one this time!”

177. I’ve met bread smarter than you.

178. “Please stop getting shot, it stresses me out.”

“Oh, well if YOU don’t like it.”

179. Dude, we are not asking the dragon for directions.

180. You’ve got as much charm as a dead slug.

181. For you, I could steal the stars - but I can also get them through legitimate means, if that impresses you more.

182. I am under no obligation to make sense to you.

183. You smile like an idiot when you’re talking to them.

184. Don’t you sign to me in that tone.

185. Excuse me. I have to go make a scene.

186. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Don’t care. Shut up.”

187. Now that I made it weird, I’m going to make my exit.

188. So uh, I noticed you’re kinda naked. Is that intentional or…?

189. “Do you trust me?”

“No.”

“Smart man.”

190. Well, if you’d woken up properly the first time I kicked you, I wouldn’t have had to do it four more times.

191. “I have NEVER been so insulted.”

“You don’t listen much, do you?”

192. “Don’t you know who I am?”

“Yup. I just don’t care.”

193. I didn’t really know what I was getting myself into. I just thought it would be amusing.

194. I would tell you to be yourself but that almost got us killed last time.

195. “Why aren’t you worshipping me, mortal?”

“Not interested. Thanks.”

196. “I’d rather be dead.”

“Then I have some good news for you.”

197. “Did you hear that scream?”

“Yes, I’m the one who screamed.”

198. “What happened to your-”

“I lost a bet.”

“Why-”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

199. Reading way above my grade level didn’t get me as far in life as I had hoped.

200. Due to foreseen circumstances well within my control I will be late.

[naomijoestar]

⋆.ೃ JJBA SCENARIOS ࿔*:･

Masterlist here <3

genre: comedy, fluff

warnings: none

characters: jonathan, joseph, jotaro, josuke, giorno, jolyne

notes: GN!reader // i tried making this funny and lighthearted, so i hope i succeeded :)

You were infront of your mirror, wearing JoJo’s clothes and posing dramatically, until they walked in on you!

Jonathan Joestar

You’re striking the most elegant pose, Jonathan’s fancy coat draped over your shoulders, trying to look as noble as possible. Jonathan bursts through the door dramatically, as if walking in on a duel. His eyes widen in surprise.

“Good heavens!” he gasps, covering his heart like he’s been hit by an arrow of fashion.

He dramatically kneels down, bowing as if in the presence of royalty.

“You wear my clothes better than I ever could! You are… the true Joestar!”

He’s so sincere that it’s almost ridiculous. You try not to laugh as he swears loyalty to you, as if you’ve just become the Joestar heir.

Joseph Joestar

You’re in Joseph’s hat and scarf, throwing dramatic poses like an action hero in front of the mirror. Joseph slams the door open, doing his classic point.

“OH NO! YOU DIDN’T!”

He rushes over, gasping theatrically.

“You’ve stolen my STYLE!”

He grabs the nearest object (probably something completely random, like a broom), and starts mimicking your poses, going all-in with the ridiculousness.

“We’ll settle this with a pose-off! Loser buys dinner!”

You end up in a goofy battle of increasingly absurd poses, while Joseph cheers like you’re in a fashion show.

Jotaro Kujo

You’re mid-serious JoJo pose in Jotaro’s long coat and hat, looking tough as nails in the mirror. Jotaro silently walks in, spots you in full pose, and just freezes. For a solid five seconds, he says nothing, deadpan expression intact. Then, he lets out a long, exasperated sigh.

“Yare yare daze…”

But just when you think you’re about to get scolded, he pulls his hat down, hiding his eyes, and starts walking away.

“You’re not pulling it off. Lemme show you how it’s done.”

He comes back, slides in next to you, and strikes a way cooler pose without breaking a sweat. He stares at your reflection for a beat before muttering,

“It’s about attitude.”

It’s so unexpectedly cool you just gape at him, and he leaves like nothing happened.

Josuke Higashikata

You’re posing in Josuke’s iconic pompadour jacket, spinning in front of the mirror like you’re a rock star. Josuke barges in, his eyes immediately zeroing in on his jacket.

“NOOO! What are you doing in my precious jacket?!”

He’s torn between laughing and panicking, hands flailing.

“That’s, like, designer, dude!”

He rushes over, pulling at the jacket gently as if it’s fragile. Then he notices how cool you look mid-pose and suddenly freezes.

“Wait a sec… actually, you kinda look—”

But before he can finish the compliment, his eyes shoot wide open, and he throws a dramatic arm in front of you.

“No way, it’s still MY look! Get your own style, punk!”

You both end up laughing as he mock-fights you for his jacket back.

Giorno Giovanna

You’re dramatically posing in Giorno’s sleek suit, gazing at yourself like you’re the protagonist of a fashion magazine. Giorno walks in with his usual composed demeanor but stops mid-step when he sees you, his hair glowing like a halo.

Without saying a word, he pulls a golden rose from… somewhere (seriously tho where does he get those), and gracefully walks over, placing it in your hand.

“You… are perfection.” he declares with a flourish, like he’s coronating you as the new king of fashion.

Then, as if possessed by the spirit of the most fabulous model ever, Giorno joins you in posing—no words, just intense eye contact and synchronized majestic poses. The two of you end up striking so many fabulous poses together that the room practically sparkles.

“We are unstoppable.”

Jolyne Cujoh

You’re mid-action pose in Jolyne’s signature string-covered tank top, trying to channel all of her badassery. Jolyne kicks open the door like she’s about to fight a Stand, then just stops dead in her tracks when she sees you.

Her face scrunches up, trying to figure out if she should laugh or yell.

“What… the hell are you doing?!” she finally blurts, trying not to crack up.

You sheepishly explain, still frozen mid-pose, and she bursts out laughing, practically falling to the floor.

“You look ridiculous!” she says, wiping a tear from her eye. But then, as if flipping a switch, she goes full dramatic mode.

“Alright, if you’re gonna wear my stuff, you better work it.”

She jumps in front of the mirror next to you, both of you trying out increasingly ridiculous and over-the-top poses like you’re at a photoshoot. You’re both laughing too hard by the end to even finish.

[outlaw-apologist]

Halloween With The X-Men (HCs)

Characters: Logan, Scott, Hank, Kurt, Remy, Jean, Ororo, Rogue

Logan:

You and Jean had to convince him to dress up, with Jean having to bribe him with the promise of extra Danger Room time and you sweetening the deal with all the mini Reese’s you could find. He grumbles and rolls his eyes when you hand him the costume, but deep down, he loves the whole get-up. You watch him tug on a pair of fake ears and mess his hair up even more than usual, the growl he gives you playful but... it sends a shiver up your spine. He thinks he looks ridiculous, but the way you’re looking at him, he feels like the most dangerous guy in the room.

He sneaks candy the whole night, ducking around corners to snag a chocolate bar or two before Scott notices. And every time he manages to snag a few pieces, he slips one into your hand with this mischievous, guilty little smirk, muttering, “I’ll replace ‘em, kid. Promise.” There’s always more candy in his jacket pockets than he’d ever admit to.

When the “Monster Mash” starts playing, Logan raises an eyebrow at Jean, half-accusing her of playing something so “dirty” at a kid’s party. It takes a good five minutes of explaining (with Jean laughing so hard she has to sit down) before he realizes it’s not what he thought. You’re still snickering about it later when he grumbles, “Ya can’t blame me for thinkin’ it was somethin’... else, alright?”

You’d shown him Supernatural weeks ago, and he’d taken to it immediately, bonding with Dean’s tough-guy act and wry humor. When you find him quoting Dean under his breath, it’s hard to hold back a grin, and Logan notices, giving you a look that says, Yeah, I know you’re laughing at me. But later, when no one’s around, he leans in close and whispers, “Gotta say, darlin’, I get why ya like that show... maybe that Winchester guy’s got a few tricks worth learnin’.” It’s the most subtle admission of affection he can manage, and it sends your heart racing every time.

As the night winds down and the kids go to bed, he pulls you aside, holding out his candy stash as if he’s making an offering. “All yours, if ya want it,” he mutters, looking almost sheepish. And even though he’d clearly been enjoying it all night, he’d rather see you smile than keep it for himself. You take a few pieces, sharing them with him and leaning into his shoulder. He might grumble about Halloween, but the warmth between you two makes him realize it might just be his new favorite holiday.

Scott:

He spends days agonizing over his costume choice, pacing back and forth in front of the mirror as he tries on a black leather jacket one moment and holds up a pair of pointed ears the next. “I mean, James Dean is cool… but Spock has that logical flair, you know?” He glances at you, looking genuinely torn. In the end, you pick for him, and the look on his face is priceless when he sees himself as Spock (because let’s be honest, you know he secretly loves it). If you want a couples costume you can go as sexy Kirk!

Putting up Halloween decorations with him is pure comedy. He’s dead serious about hanging every last ghost and cobweb at a perfect 90-degree angle, but it’s impossible to keep things that precise with autumn leaves swirling around everywhere. When one floats past him, he catches it without thinking, and you make a playful challenge of it, trying to out-catch him. By the end of it, you’re both laughing, arms full of leaves, and the decorations look delightfully messy.

“We’ve gotta make sure there’s no tricks,” he says, face all seriousness as you two prepare to take the younger kids out. You can barely hold back a grin. Yet despite his stern approach, he’s all smiles with the kids, holding their bags when they get too full, getting down to their level to talk to them, and even convincing a few hesitant ones to brave the spookier houses. When he hands you your own stash of treats at the end, he whispers, “Just in case you didn’t get enough.”

Watching Halloween with him before bed seemed like a fun idea… until you’re both lying in bed afterward, and he keeps glancing over at the shadow by the window. You offer to turn on a nightlight, but he stubbornly insists he’s fine. When you jokingly try to spook him with a little “Boo,” he jumps, and his hand immediately goes for your shoulder. You laugh, and he huffs, muttering, “Don’t push your luck,” even as he scoots closer.

Kurt:

He lights up the moment you show him your costume, practically floating over to you, his tail swishing with excitement. “You look so beautiful,” he murmurs, eyes shining as he gazes at you with that love-drunk grin. It’s clear that he’s more interested in showing you off than in what he’ll wear himself. You both end up with matching costumes because he’s delighted by the idea of everyone knowing you’re together. Throughout the night, you catch him glancing at you, pride and admiration all over his face.

He volunteers to string up all the lights, insisting he can do it faster and safer with his teleporting abilities. Halfway through, you hear all sorts of bumps and thumps from the attic, and suddenly, a handful of younger kids are running up to you, wide-eyed, convinced it’s “Casper the friendly ghost.” Kurt overhears them and plays along, going bamf around corners with a grin, happily feeding the mystery.

Unlike Scott, Kurt lives for Halloween mischief. While everyone else trick-or-treats, he spends the night popping out from behind trees, gently tugging on costume capes, and letting out perfectly timed ghostly groans. He has the time of his life being the “spooky” part of the evening, and every time he startles someone, he returns to you looking like he’s just won a prize.

The night winds down with you both curled up under a thick blanket, sipping hot chocolate as he recounts stories of Halloween in Germany. He shares tales of bonfires, costumes, and some of the eerie traditions he remembers, his voice low and warm as you snuggle up close, lulled by his stories and the comfort of his presence.

Hank:

Halloween costume plans aren’t really his thing this year, not when he already feels like a “big blue monster.” You and Logan, however, won’t take no for an answer. Logan grumbles that he’s not letting Hank skip out on a night off, and when Scott calls dibs on Spock, you offer a new idea: a “Ghostbusters” duo. Hank raises an eyebrow, but his resistance finally breaks when you promise to take the whole theme seriously. Watching you two suit up together, he can’t help but laugh, fully in the spirit.

He gets so into the holiday that he bakes trays of Halloween cookies – tiny jack-o-lanterns, witches, and a batch of sugar bats just for you. But after you find a stray blue hair in your ‘graveyard dirt’ pudding, you make him redo the cookies in his human form. “The sacrifices I make for good hygiene,” he jokes, but he looks happy, relieved to share the night in this way.

After you two watch Sleepy Hollow, he shakes his head, muttering something about folklore and local superstition. “We must visit Sleepy Hollow someday,” he insists, with every bit of his scientific curiosity sparking. “I’ll prove that headless apparitions are nothing more than myth!” You nod along, eyes glinting with excitement – though you’re half-hoping for an unexplained flicker of movement, if only to see him jump.

By the end of the night, you find yourselves wandering a gothic cemetery, Hank’s excitement as bright as ever, talking about spectrometry and ectoplasm while you playfully spook him, mimicking ghostly voices. Under the full moon’s light, the cemetery is eerie and quiet, the perfect end to your ghostbusting adventure.

Remy:

“It’ll be fun!” he insists with that irresistible grin as he holds up a Ouija board, eyes practically sparkling at the thought. You’re on board, of course, until Jean marches over, all serious, and insists he get rid of it. She’s adamant that there’s no way it’s staying in the mansion, but you and Remy get a good laugh watching her haul it out, grumbling the whole way.

He’s every bit the New Orleans vampire, cape and fangs, his accent somehow thicker and smoother when he leans in close to say, “Don’t I look the part, chérie?” You laugh, but it’s hard not to appreciate how much he gets into the role, his natural charm perfect for a little Halloween theatrics.

Remy decides to teach a “lesson” on the difference between Voodoo and Hoodoo, diving into stories about his home. You’re pretty sure his knowledge is spotty at best, but it’s worth it just to hear him talk about New Orleans, his love for the place adding color to every word. The students eat it up, fully entranced by the mystery and magic he spins.

Carving pumpkins with the kids, he decides to one-up everyone and light one on fire to show his “signature touch.” Within seconds, there’s smoke billowing, and he’s scrambling to put it out while you laugh, watching him juggle his pumpkin masterpiece in a panic. By the end, he’s muttering about “no appreciation for creativity” but looks at you with a glint of mischief, already plotting his next Halloween stunt.

Jean:

She’s a total Daphne Blake, decked out in purple with a bright orange scarf, every bit of her glammed up in Scooby-Doo style. You go as her Freddy (or Velma if the mood strikes), and when you two sneak a playful kiss in front of Logan, he goes visibly stiff, jaw clenched, looking at anything else in the room to keep himself in check. Jean catches it and just laughs, leaning closer to you with an exaggerated wink that has you both grinning.

She leads the arts and crafts with the younger kids, showing them how to make little bat cutouts, ghosts, and grinning pumpkin faces. By the end, the mansion is a patchwork of their colorful creations taped up in the halls, and the kids adore her, crowding around with their paper cutouts and glue sticks.

At some point, she grabs the face paints and convinces Scott and even the professor to let her and you paint their faces. Scott’s hesitant but ends up with a clumsy ghost on one cheek, and you give the professor a cartoonish bat that has him chuckling. Jean, of course, goes all out with her own look, adding vibrant purples and greens to match her Daphne outfit.

She’s a die-hard Scream fan, no question. You two settle down with popcorn, candy, and a blanket for a full Scream marathon, quoting your favorite lines and laughing at all the jump scares. Every time Ghostface pops up, she leans closer to you, grinning, totally at home in the suspense and thrill of the night.

Rogue:

She’s all Janis Joplin vibes, dressed up in vintage fringe, colorful scarves, and tinted shades. When you ask her to give you a little twirl, she laughs, spinning around before breaking into a few lines of “Piece of My Heart.” She’s all smiles, her voice playful and smoky, and you can’t help but cheer. Logan, passing by, gives her an approving nod. “Got the look down, kid,” he says, and mentions he’s even met the real Janis. Her eyes go wide with admiration, and you catch her humming songs under her breath the rest of the night.

“Coffin races? Morbid as hell, I’m in!” When you and Rogue decide to enter the local coffin race, Remy insists on joining, which only makes Scott even more disapproving. But with Rogue’s design, your ideas, and Remy’s flair, you three craft the slickest, wildest coffin go-cart in the race. The big day comes, and Remy gets a little too excited—he veers off course, and the whole contraption crashes in spectacular, hilarious fashion. You’re all laughing, even Scott eventually, but the coffin’s definitely seen its last race.

You two get your tarot cards read by a booth vendor, and she perks up, especially when it comes to the love life section. She blushes when she glances over at you, biting her lip before daring to ask her question. Her gloved fingers graze yours under the table, and there’s a shy smile she’s trying to hide.

The night winds down with the two of you curled up for Phantom of the Opera. Rogue’s eyes shine as she sings along to every song, voice soft in your ear, and before long, the film fades into the background. The night ends in soft, lingering looks.

Ororo:

At first, she’s hesitant when you and Remy try to talk her into dressing up. Halloween’s always felt too close to mockery to her, a night that could disrespect the spirits. But when she sees the kids’ faces light up at her Catwoman costume, she finally softens, even giving you and Remy an amused look before flashing her best fierce pose.

You settle in to watch The Haunting of Hill House, and Ororo pretends to be calm and collected. But by episode three, she’s clutching your arm just a little tighter, glancing nervously around the room. For days afterward, she avoids walking down dark hallways in the mansion, laughing it off but unable to shake the ghostly chill. She swears she sees movement in the shadows sometimes and gives Logan a hard time, accusing him of sneaking around.

When it’s nearing midnight and the students refuse to come back inside from their last trick-or-treat round, she raises a single eyebrow before quietly summoning a drizzle that quickly turns to a full-on rainstorm. The kids groan and race for the mansion doors, leaving candy wrappers and laughter in their wake. She sends you a conspiratorial smile, looking pretty pleased with herself.

Finally, with the horror out of the way, you both decide to finish the night on a lighter note, cozying up together on the couch with a stack of rom-coms. Sharing a bowl of candy, you end up feeding each other pieces as you laugh, the sweet quiet moments pushing all the lingering shadows far from her mind.

[redcherrykook]

── ˙✧°📷 TORN PICTURES AND FROZEN LENSES 3

────୨ৎ────

College Photography Teacher!Jungkook x Student!Reader

27 year old, stupidly handsome asshole teacher Mr. Jeon has absolutely no human decency, he believes your victim complex is what keeps you from ever achieving anything, letting people use you as a bridge. When something unexpected happens, the ice starts to melt as a foreign word called "empathy" enters his egocentric lense. Maybe he will finally manage to teach you a lesson now, since you keep failing his class.

(Mini series)- Episode three!

Song recommendation: The heart wants what it wants- selena gomez

Content: Cold, mean, distant, unprofessional Jungkook, hurt, stubborn reader, enemies to lovers, lowkey dramatic, accident happens, mutually beneficial relationship (emotionally), Jk learns a lot from her, Jk is mean but has a soft spot for reader (eventually), 6 year age gap, Reader is from a struggling background, Jk kind of rescues her, happy ending, angst at first, fluff, smut, comedy/crack, bickering, college setting

Warnings: swearing, name-calling,mentions of an accident involving a biker, mentions of hospital, mentions of injuries, really mean Jungkook, i promise he gets sweet, mentions of trauma and abuse (non detailed), mental health struggles (semi detailed), arguments, alcohol consumption

────୨ৎ────

You're running around in a beautiful field, kissed by sun, however, when you listen closely...

Riiing

Riiiing

"God what the hell" you grumble, rubbing your eyes instinctively. Finally understanding you were infact not in a pretty field but instead awoken by that damn alarm, you turn to your phone, shushing the unbearable ringing.

6:45 am.

Confused and hazed by the morning, your brain still foggy and not quite caught up, you sit there, blankly staring at the wall.

Jungkooks wall.

Right, you are in your teachers house.

In his bed even, well, his guest bed.

Without knowing what to do next, you try follow your usual morning routine, a miserable attempt at normality. Like making the bed and opening the window.

Toothpaste, toothbrush, hairbrush, deodorant, moisturizer and fresh clothes in hand. On your way to the bathroom, starting an easy and clean morning

Opening the door you didn't think twice about seeing Jungkook, purposefully you had set the alarm early. Class doesn't start until 8:45, although it wasn't Jungkooks class today, he should be in school around the same time.

That would mean leaving at around 8.

So a little more than an hour earlier should do the trick just right.

"Look whos finally done sleeping"

His raspy voice makes its way to your ears,

Assumed wrong i suppose.

He's stood at the table in the living room, setting down a kettle and plates. Given the impression that he has already made breakfast, you wonder just when he wakes up in the mornings.

Most importantly, he's in the very same clothes as yesterday, loose grey sweats that sit lowly on his hips, a oversized black tshirt covering his torso. His brown- darkish hair is still a little rough from sleeping. Additionally to not wearing any glasses, he looks,

different.

You had always known that Jungkook was very physically attractive. You're stubborn sure, maybe a little slow.

Certainly not blind.

On this day, he seems particularly pretty. At this point you're practically oggling at his tattoos that are on full display, a casual outfit displaying his well built body, it made him look so,

Attainable.

Enough, enough of fanatasizing about the looks of Jungkook.

"Uh, yeah, good morning" you clear your throat after awkwardly noticing how obvious your staring must have been.

He chuckles quietly, "Had a rough sleep i see" his usually glaring eyes wander up and down your face, pointing to your hair with his finger as he holds back a cocky laugh.

It is only know you noticed how ridiculous you must look, haven just woken up, hair in a mess and the same clothes from yesterday all twisted and turned.

While he stood there, looking..

Whatever

"Shut up" you roll your eyes at him, walking to the bathroom.

But his voice stops you,

"Did you get changed already?" The question made no sense to you, was it because you worse the same clothes you went to bed with?

"What do you mean?"

He shakes his head "Because you are wearing the same things as yesterday. Don't tell me you slept in that?"

Your eyes wander to the ground, sighing in embarrassment while also asking yourself how slow he really is.

"Unfortunately Jungkook, I have to. I can't tell if you're making fun of me or if you're seriously behind, why do you think i only got one bag? I got like, 10 shirts, 6 pants none of them bad enough to sleep in" Furrowing your eyebrows, you meet his annoyed expression

Scoffing he waks into his room, leaving your question on heard.

What a great start.

After that lovely conversation, you make your way into the bathroom, trying to wash away the weird feeling of sleeping in Jungkooks guest bed.

By washing your face, freshening up, changing (finally) and putting your medium greasy hair neatly into a ponytail.

In all honesty you're in desperate need for a shower. Restricted by the thought of getting naked in your teacher's shower, it made you so repulsed you preferred spraying yourself in deodorant from top to bottom to cover up.

It's not like he meant what he said yesterday, not like you would have to use his shower eventually,

You wouldn't actually be staying here.

If it was not for your stomach grumbling loudly, you could be spending the rest of the day locked in the bathroom, thinking about that sentence

Just fucking stay here

As soon as you walk out of the spacious, brightly lit bathroom, you are hit with something else.

No really, you're hit in the face with a black shirt. The scent of cotton and wood immediately clouding your sense, this shirt did not belong to you. The much larger size being another give away that yes, Jungkook just threw his shirt on your face. Catching it in your hands, you look at him confused, fully stopped in your tracks.

"Just wear this when you sleep, dumbass. I have too many anyways. Get to eating now we need to leave soon"

He mumbles while sitting down at the table and eating the eggs he had cooked earlier, his eyes not looking into yours once.

There is no way he could look into your eyes after imaging you wearing his shirt to sleep, disgusted at himself for that image. He simply wanted to help you out, thats all.

For some reason.

Registering what just happened, you giggle in disbelief, thanking him for the food and sitting down yourself. He just groans in response.

He doesn't think he will ever get used to that clingy gratittude.

"You know, you're doing great at becoming nicer. Im starting to actually like you" you say while chewing on a toast.

It would be a lie to say you did not like him. After being a complete menace, he has only shown you kindness. In his own, very strange way. Someone showing you care trying to understand the situation you are in, that was rare. Naturally, it meant even more when the person has previously contributed to you feeling horrible.

Living a life of prejudice and judgement meant appreciation and insight on the smallest signs of help and kindness.

His eyes dart up to meet yours, surpised at first before regulating into a blank look. He nods, smirking just a little bit.

"You're becoming more annoying by the day. Guess we really are learning"

You give him a expressionless "ha ha" in return for that snarky comment.

He's still an asshole, that's for certain.

He hums, remembering something.

"So about yesterday"

Immediately you knew where this was heading, he was gonna tell you to get out today and find somewhere to go. Obviously, you weren't upset at that, he has done enough for you. It would just be painfully awkward to make the walk of shame out, still having no idea where to spend the next night.

"yeah dont worry, I'm gonna find something"

Confidently you set your finished plate on top of his, ready to clean up.

His eyes roll,

"You never listen huh? I told you, you can stay here. Im sure a shelter will call back within the week. Im not risking having to pick you up again anyways or you doing some stupid illegal shit" he reaches to take the plates into the kitchen while finishing his sentence, organized as always.

"You would actually let me stay?" Your voice sounding a little irritated, not because he suggested you to stay, it´s the way he presented it to you. Irritated that he assumes for you to cause trouble and having to act like a caretaker for you.

"Want me to say it a third time? Look, if you don't want to i obviously don't care"

Jungkook can't help but feel offened at the thought of you rejecting his help. He's trying way too hard for some student of his, the more he thinks about it, coupled by your silence, the angrier he gets,

that also reflects audibly in his voice.

"I know there isn't much in that head of yours but god can you say at least something? Im not wasting my time trying to help you if you're gonna be a lost cause"

You frown, looking at him nervously and taken aback at his harsh words. It had been some time since you had last seen him angry. The rapid change from the downlow mean guy you had adjusted to, to an angry man in front of you had made you begin to tremble, recalling past encounters.

"I-I'm sorry i, I just was surprised you would be willing to take that burden on you. I didn't mean to, anger you or something" the words come out in a low stutter, feeling like one potential conversation into the direction of genuine friendship was now endangered.

Upon hearing the way you responded he sighs, two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he closes his eyes.

It made him feel heavy.

Jungkook was slowly begining to let you get through all the walls he had so firmly build up, all to hold up that unattainable and cold exterior of his. He knew it aswell, he could feel himself wanting to be nicer to you, getting to know you beyond you being the worst student in his class.

Beyond what he had thought to be an awfully annoying brat.

He just could not explain why, why you bothered him so much, why you got through to him so much quicker than anyone who has ever attempted and notably, failed.

"Damn I, I didn't mean to get so loud. Let's just forget it yeah? You're welcome to stay here, if not i'm gonna drop you off at least"

Once his eyes open they nervously make their way over to you own, soft ones.

Relief enters his system seeing you less intimidated. However, looking down to your visibly trembling hand, a pang enters his chest.

"Are you-"

"Oh look, its almost time to leave. Im gonna get my bag" you rush past him, entering the guest bedroom and closing the door.

For the second time today, in the span of what had only been an hour, you find yourself staring blankly at his wall.

The question of actually staying with Jungkook for a couple more days floating around in your head. Was it really okay for you to sleep, eat, shower, exist in his house for so long? Wouldn't he be too bothered by it?

He did suggest it and hes not one for kindness out of respect.

Where else were you going to go?

It would only be for this week anyways, since it's tuesday already, that's five days at maximum.

Fuck, I'm really gonna have to stay here.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The car ride to University has gone by for what felt like eternity. Jungkook refused to turn on the radio once again, claiming that it would give him a headache this early in the morning. Just like it would have at night or you guessed he would use the same , lame excuse for every hour of the day.

He hasn't spoken a word about your stay nor have you, feeling too afraid to trigger another argument.

In order to protect his job and your reputation, if there is any left, he lets you off at a cornerstore 10 minutes from campus.

"I"ll go collect you later at F41 yeah?"

You nod, closing the car door and walking on to campus.

The University is decently sized, not as big as a state college but far from a small town school. A library, a buisness, medical, performing arts building and a cafeteria all inter connected.

On any other day you would be walking to the performing arts building, tuesday morning classes are always practical lessons like guitar, piano, trumbone, violine and many more depending on your skills and chosen instrument, of course.

However having recently seen an advertisement around campus for a crash course and orientation in art majors, directed to the next freshmen, you decided to take up the chance to meet some new people. Although a massive introvert, you need friends, at least a couple. As a music major, you had every right to attend as well.

In reality you just needed an excuse to not show up to miss Yun's dreaded piano lessons.

F41 is a giant hall reserved for events and rehearsals, having been in that room countless of times over the past two years, seeing it filled with all sorts of people, sounds, activities. A warm feeling spreading inside your chest when remembering so many people come together to create.

Jungkook would be attending the event around 10:25, right when his first lesson of the day ended. As a representative of an arts major, he should be there to finesse new freshmen into his classes. Whether that be by his charming looks or his passion for photography.

When entering the room, it was already filled to the brim with people from your university. Familiar faces you had seen in classes, girls everyone knew and wanted to be like, guys everyone wanted to get with, all the while mentally groaning at the idea of it getting even more crowded with time passing.

And so the time did pass, glancing up at a clock hung up high, it read 10:05 am. You must have talked to over two dozen people at this point.

Lost in your own little world, ready to look for more potential freshmen interested in music, and making even more uncomfortable small talk with classmates you were able to tolerate, something fell to the ground.

A loud thump echoing across the hall, everyone in the vicinity turning around to look what could have fallen to create a sound like that.

Correction,

Who could have made a sound like that..

"Oh god do you need help?" You ask, crouching down and reaching a hand forward to the handsome guy that just fell face first on the floor.

His jawline is so sharp it could cut, his eyes are monolided and a dark shade of hazel, with a head full of curly black hair and full lips, a high nosebridge and lots of moles on his face.

He definitely looks like an artist.

"Oh uhm, yeah, thanks" he mumbles shyly, accepting your hand with his slim fingers, pulling his slim form up with your help.

When he stood in front of you, his figure was a lot taller than yours, looking down to you appreciatively.

"I'm Kim Taehyung" he says while smiling, the palm of his hand rubbing his nape.

The way in which he speaks has you smiling, dark and raspy,

It reminded you of Jungkook this morning.

"Y/n. Are you a freshmen?" You ask him curiously, he looks to be around the same age as you.

He nods before replying "Pretty name for a pretty girl. Yeah, looking into photography" he explains.

You´re kind of blushing at the way he so shamelessly flirts after having fallen on his face just two minutes ago.

Your eyes widen as you begin to shake your hands furiously in an X motion

"Oh my god don't even THINK about photography. I have it and its horrible, plus the teacher is an asshole, to get on his good side you have to be-"

"That would be me. Nice to meet you, I'm Mr Jeon., head of photography and you're currently speaking to my worst student"

Jungkooks stern voice cuts you off rudely, he shoots you a glare while wrapping a hand around your shoulder firmly when referring to you.

You look back at him with a nervous smile, squirming at the sudden touch

Taehyung bows to Jungkook, "I'm looking forward to meeting you mr Jeon."

He turns back to you, giving a flirty wink,

"See you around then, pretty"

Jungkook scoffs and makes a gagging sound once Taehyung has left, looking after him as if his eyes were lasers and Taehyung was the target.

You look up at him with a scrunched nose "Seriously? The one time i get hit on you remind me I'm gross?" you say to him clearly pissed off, his eyes roll as lets his grip on your shoulder go.

"Yeah you idiot, what else would i be doing. Lets get out of here I'm bored already, had a horrible meeting just now" his jaw clenches at the memory.

For Jungkook, there is nothing worse than people misjudging him. He so carefully, so delicately created his distance so no one could over interpret meaning into his words. His rough attitude is that way so everything is as clear as day, everyone is aware of the one and only way Mr. Jeon acts.

Surprisingly, some people still did not catch on. A substitute teacher started a huge fuss over Jungkook calling someone's artwork tasteless, she accused him of a billion different things except for honesty. The one thing he always tried to be.

Emphasis on tried.

"Responsible , mr. Jeon" you nod to mock him, he just groans and speed walks off to his car with you jogging behind.

When sat in his car, the conversation of where to let you be had to have come up eventually. You couldn't tip toe around any longer, see where things would go, it would just lead to Jungkook being frustrated at your carelessness, even if you did not mean to be careless at all.

"I'm staying at yours" you say suddenly, turning your head around to find him already looking at you, he smiles briefly,

"Not the bench huh? Liar" his joke about the night in the library makes you snicker but cross your arms in defense.

"Under one condition" you add afterwards, having a genius plan in mind.

As anticipated he does not look happy to even hear you out.

"We get drunk tonight. Just, lets just buy some cheap soju and get tipsy, i need to reset all of this mess" a sigh escapes your lips when you think about the past week and the events that have let you here.

Too much happening in too little time.

Jungkook shrugs,

"Sounds better than what i imagined that weird head of yours could come up with. What do you wanna eat? Soju pairs great with chicken" he suggests, small bundles of excitement forming in Jungkook's brain as he imagines you being drunk and funny around him, comfortable around him.

He wondered if it would be a chance for him to loosen up too.

"Sounds fantastic! Havent eaten that in a while. I'll pay for soju yeah?" you grin, hands clasped together as you turn towards him when he begins driving.

He shakes his head, "Am not letting you pay. You cried to me about being poor and think i'll let you buy me anything?"

You open your mouth in a dramatic gasp,

"Wowww okay rich teacher, I never cried though you absolute drama queen"

Jungkook rolls his eyes and chuckles, he mutters a "whatever" while continuing to drive back to his apartment.

"No, thank you though. I feel bad for being on your ass so much" you punch his shoulder lightly, a small gesture of friendship that tells him you're starting to become more free and easy going around him.

"Yeah whatever stop saying it like that. You're making it weird"

You knew he didn't mean it, his eyes remained soften for the rest of the drive.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Settling down has never been your thing, being used to moving around all the time and never really finding ground to sprout on has made you easily adaptable though.

Like spending nights at a library studying or sleeping in your teachers apartment.

It has not prepared you, however, to be comfortable in every situation.

Oddly enough, the past 7 hours you've been comfortably sitting at Jungkook's living room table, studying your heart out while he prepares his lessons and corrects exams.

A peaceful work space for the both of you as you have barely said anything to one another. Only one dim light illuminating the room, his laptop counting as a small light as well. You asked him to light a candle, since it would create a cozier space.

As expected he reluctantly agreed

The silence never once being awkward during this time.

Here and there you had exchanged glances and maybe you have stared at him and he caught you.

Multiple times.

So what? You simply appreciate a good looking guy when you see him.

Somehow the whole day it has been especially evident, from breakfast to the car to now.

How could you not look at him when he sits there, his face full of concentration and his tongue licking his lip piercing, probably unaware he is even doing it?

Moreover, how could he not clear his throat in an attempt to not call you out, asking you why you look at him like you want to kiss him?

Mutually impossible.

"Its getting late already. Lets go soon" he says while stretching his arms above his his head and tilting his head back, his neck exposed delicately to you, you wonder if he´s trying to tease you.

looking away trying to shake off that stupid thought, you answer him.

"Yeah, i'll take a shower first i think"

His nose scrunches up as he hold it, as if signaling to not wanting to smell you

"PLEASE you stink"

A quiet laughter fills the room when you look at him again, his face just looking so unserious and non- Jungkook, not super blank and not super stern either.

Perhaps this was actually the most Jungkook you had ever seen him.

"Nevermind I won't, so i get on your nerves even more" you stick your tongue out when you say that, he replies with his middle finger and you burst out in laughter at his childishly stupid behavior.

27 whole years old and holding up a middle finger.

"Im kindly asking you please take a shower for fucks sake. Didn´t you say you DON´T want to get on my nerves?" he says again, giggling slightly, his smile not matching his eyes that are focused on yours.

"Is it really that bad?" wondering self consciously, you smell your shirt, shrugging afterwards "Its alright to me"

"Yes, yes it is bad, awful literlly disgusting" he goes back and forth with you on this for a while, even while you to grab your sweatpants and a spare tank top you have from the guestroom, he keeps arguing with you, follwing closely behind and using every insult for smelling bad he could think of.

"You're so childish Jungkook it's insane"

Managing to manuver your way into the bathroom frame and he's still chanting for you to shower, you decide enough is enough

"Shut up you just wanna have me naked in your house you creep" and then, just like that, the door shuts, locking yourself in.

Your giggles can be heard from outside of the bathroom, clearly satisfied at managing to stun him in place.

Jungkook just stands there, stunned at the fact you really just said something so vulgar to him, something so out of left field.

It began with you guys arguing like crazy and ended with him following you around his own apartment before getting drunk together.

Cruel world?

"HEY! NO- THATS-" he tries to argue, banging against the locked bathroom door.

"LALALAL CAN'T HEAR YOUUU" you scream back, turning on the water and finally blessing yourself with a much needed shower.

So much to feeling repulsed at the idea of showering here.

One of many things you had said you would not do,

Oh well.

Jungkook laughs a genuine laugh when turning to lean his head and back to the door, listening to the water running as his thoughts start to cloud up his mind.

His eyes close when he understands that, you really were naked inside his bathroom, just on the other side of the door.

He can't stop himself from biting his lip when his thoughts shift to picture how you must look, small hands gently roaming to wash your wet frame, massaging and reaching for every inch of your skin covered in water.

How you must have looked stripping away each item of yours so carefully, slipping your panties down your hips and legs, your shirt stretched over your head

After what has been only a couple seconds to him, the water stops and he's ripped out of his daydreams.

Shaking his head and covering his mouth with his eyes growing more wide by the second, he realizes he had spend minimum the last 10 minutes fantasizing about your naked body, touching yourself, washing yourself under the warm soapy water of his very own bathroom.

Looking down to glance at the tent in his pants, he quickly scurries away from the door,

"What the actual fuck is wrong with me?" he mumbles to himself, practically running into his room to change.

[tinytinyblogs]

Out? i don't think you need it, darling.

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Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Han

Han's laughter erupted like a thunderclap, filling every corner of the room with wild, unrestrained mirth. It grew louder and more maniacal as you meekly mentioned your desire to go out alone. His eyes sparkled with disbelief, as if you had just told the most absurd joke. "Why on earth would you want to do that, honey?" he choked out between giggles. His laughter echoed off the walls as he wiped tears from his eyes. "Oh, sweetie, you don't need to go out… You need me," he declared. His fingers brushed your cheek tenderly before he planted a kiss, leaving a chilling sense of his dominance. "You know you can never be away from me," he continued, his tone dripping with arrogance. To Han, the notion was beyond absurd—it was laughable. He lived in a delusional world where you were irrevocably his. The thought of you stepping out alone was the height of comedy for him. Why would you walk away when you'd inevitably yearn for his presence? He pulled you closer, locking you under his arm in a grip that felt both protective and suffocating. "You want more affection, don't you? I understand," he whispered, his voice a velvet trap.

"Now, let’s forget that ridiculous idea. I'll be your shadow, your guardian. I’ll watch over you every second." His words were a vow and a threat, his laughter now a distant memory as he settled into his role as your overseer. The room seemed to close in, making the outside world feel like an impossible dream. Han's grip tightened, his eyes boring into yours with possessiveness. "I know what's best for you," he murmured, soothing yet sinister. "You don't need anyone else. Just me. Always me." His certainty was unnerving, reflecting his deluded belief that your life revolved around him. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "We'll be together forever. No need to venture out into that big, scary world when you have everything you need right here," he said, his voice a chilling blend of love and control. "Remember, you belong to me." The room felt smaller, the air heavier, as his presence engulfed you. His laughter had been replaced by cold determination. He was your protector, your jailer, your world. The idea of leaving, of stepping out into the unknown, was now a distant, laughable thought. Han's reality had become yours, and there was no escaping it.

Felix

He lay with his head nestled in your lap, a picture of serenity, his breaths slow and even. For a moment, everything seemed perfect—until you mentioned wanting to go out alone. The change was immediate. He sat up abruptly, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. He struggled to maintain a semblance of a smile, but his eyes betrayed his concern. "You know," he began, his voice low and urgent, "something bad might happen to you if you go out." His body tensed as he adjusted his position, sitting up straight, his posture rigid with anxiety. "I wouldn't let it happen," he vowed, the words coming out almost as a growl. "Don't go out, don't ever go out," he repeated, his tone laden with a mix of desperation and determination, as if the very idea of your leaving was the most reckless, absurd notion he had ever encountered. "Everything you need is here," he insisted, gesturing around the room as if it were a fortress against the chaos outside. "Comfort, safety, and me—your favorite person," he added, a touch of possessiveness creeping into his voice.

His eyes bore into yours, an intense, almost hypnotic stare that seemed to weave a spell around you. He was trying to reshape your desires, to make you see the world through his lens of protective fervor. And maybe, just maybe, he thought, if he spoke with enough conviction, you would understand. You would listen to him, wouldn't you? "You wouldn't go out, right?" he asked, his face drawing closer until you could feel his breath on your skin, his hand gently threading through your hair. There was an intensity in his eyes that made your heart race. "Tell me," he demanded, his voice soft but insistent. You slowly shook your head, indicating your agreement to stay. A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face as he leaned in to kiss your forehead, the gesture tender and reassuring. He then settled back down, his head resting in your lap once more. "Don't dare say those stupid words again, love," he murmured, his eyes fluttering shut. His voice dropped to a low, almost dangerous whisper, "Or I'll have no choice but to make sure you understand, even if it means using force." There was a finality to his words, a possessive edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

Seungmin

He fell silent when he heard you wanted to go out alone. His demeanor shifted, and he looked down at your hand, holding it gently as if afraid to let go. After a moment, he asked softly, "Why?" There was a vulnerability in his voice that hadn't been there before. "You don't like being with me?" His expression grew more forlorn as he spoke, the sadness in his eyes becoming more pronounced. "Am I not enough for you?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly. "Do I make you uncomfortable?" You tried to explain, your words coming out in a rush. You just wanted to buy something, nothing serious, just a quick errand. But your explanation seemed to fall on deaf ears. He continued to look down, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. As time ticked by, his eyes lifted to meet yours, now brimming with unshed tears. "Does being with me not make you happy?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. The raw emotion in his tone was unmistakable, and it cut through the air, making the room feel smaller and heavier.

Even though your intentions were innocent, his reaction was deeply emotional, leaving you feeling guilty and trapped between your need for a small bit of independence and his overwhelming fear of being left alone. As guilt slowly crept into your conscience, you found yourself holding him tighter, the conflicting desires to assert your independence and comfort him wrestling within you. With a sigh, you reluctantly pulled away, the urge to go out by yourself gradually diminishing in the face of his palpable need for reassurance. He sighed deeply, his tension seeming to melt away as you wrapped your arms around him. His embrace was warm and comforting, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, seeking solace in your presence. But as you held him, something shifted in the air. You couldn't quite put your finger on it at first, but then you noticed it—the faintest hint of a smirk playing on his otherwise innocent face. It was a subtle expression, almost imperceptible, but it was there, lingering in the corners of his lips like a secret.

Jeongin

With a cute, fox-like smile adorning his features, he tilted his head slightly as he regarded you. "You want to go out by yourself?" he asked, his tone light and playful. You nodded in confirmation, expecting his smile to fade, but it persisted, almost unnervingly so. As you began to prepare yourself to leave, you noticed him quietly following your movements. "Jeongin, I'll go alone," you asserted, hoping to convey your desire for independence. However, despite your words, he continued to trail behind you, as if he hadn't heard you at all. It was only when you repeated yourself, a touch more firmly this time, that he drew nearer, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. In that fleeting moment, you could have sworn his gaze flickered, the usual warmth in his eyes giving way to something deeper, more profound. "Sometimes, I believe I treat you too well," he murmured, his voice a soft whisper that seemed to resonate within the depths of your soul. His hand tenderly caressed your cheek, the gesture simultaneously comforting and possessive.

"You can go anywhere you please, but it's rather bold of you to think I'd ever let you go alone. I'll always be here with you, no matter where your adventures take you. You know as well as I do that I could never bear to leave your side." His words hung in the air, laden with a mixture of affection and determination. Despite your initial intentions of seeking independence, you couldn't help but feel a sense of security in his unwavering presence. It was as if he were a steadfast guardian, always watching over you, ensuring your safety and happiness above all else. And as his reassuring touch lingered on your cheek, you couldn't deny the undeniable truth in his declaration—wherever you went, he would be there, a constant presence in your life, bound to you by an unbreakable bond of love and devotion. With that innocent smile gracing his features once more, he gently took your hand and resumed walking by your side. Amidst the admiring glances of passersby, who saw him as the epitome of the perfect partner, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more beneath the surface.

[lilac-5ky]

i wanna tie the knot (Satoru xFem!Reader)

Chapter 1: Forget me not

Story Masterlist | Masterlist | Requests | AO3

Plot: Your boyfriend takes you on a romantic getaway that will potentially change the rest of your lives.

Themes: MDNI, Established Relationship, Vacation, Teasing, Bickering, Tooth-rotting Fluff, Comedy, Onsen Smut, Sensory Deprivation (bondage and blindfolds), Breeding Kink, Oral (f. receiving), Multiple Orgasms, Yukatas, Snarky!Fem!Reader who is done with Gojo's Shenanigans but loves him regardless, Soft!Dom Gojo, Unsolicited Digimon References, and Bucketloads of Pet Names (baby, princess, bunny, honeypie, sugarplum, and every other food nickname you can think of)

Word Count: 13.3k (i was inspired, sue me. rest of it will be smaller. i think.)

check a/n at the bottom

“Last one up the hill is a loser!” Those were the parting words you left your boyfriend with before you shot in the direction of the fields, wind in your hair and pollen in the air, Satoru’s voice barely audible over the light chuckle you shed behind.

You sprint across a sea of flowers in every shape, hue, and kind—from exuberant red poppies to bashful pink asters—spanning as far as the eye can see. You want nothing more than to spare a moment and halt; breathe into the combined aroma of the autumn blossoms before winter hushes them for good, but you can’t. The faster you run, the smaller his head becomes, until it’s a mere blotch of white on the faraway horizon.

You rest assured in your victory, a breathless smile forming on your lips as you reach the top. You glance over your shoulder, confident that the man who minutes ago (literally) flew you to Ikoma on another of his spontaneous 2-day trips is still there, lamenting ever giving you a headstart. However, no matter how hard you squint, you cannot seem to find him.

“What are we looking at?” A low-pitched voice scares the wits out of you, hummed near the shell of your ear in a way that’s exclusive to the cheeky tone it carries.

“S-Satoru!” You yelp, almost throwing yourself down the stiff slope.

“Satoru?” The man in question repeats his own name, cocking his head to the side with genuine curiosity. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“What are you—”

“I only know of a winner,” he points at his chest, successfully diverting your attention from the hand that rises to flick your forehead with such force that you stagger backward.

Both your fall and his punchline are postponed, one awaiting the other while you’re left floating mid-air, the infinity between your head and his boot serving as a safety net.

“And a loser.” Satoru concludes, his grin as bright as day, when he retracts his foot and lets you plummet into the fluffy flowerbed.

In the time it takes for you to blow a tuft of hair from your eyes and prop yourself onto your elbows, Satoru’s already taken his phone out and snapped as many pictures as humanely possible. You aren’t fazed. You’re used to his constant leg-pulling, as well as his 8895-picture collection of funny faces you’ve made over the course of your 7-year relationship.

Definitely in the 9000s now.

“Most guys would help their girlfriend up instead of calling her a loser.” You frown.

“Most guys wouldn’t date a slowpoke.” He gleefully chimes, zooming in on your face. “Come on. Smiiile.”

You poke your tongue out, and he snaps what is hopefully the last embarrassing frame of the day. Your frown resumes, downturned mouth and eyes narrowed at the wonderful azure sky.

“Good enough. Here, here.” He offers you his hand. “Don’t go crying on me.”

You accept only to give him a taste of his own medicine as you lock fingers and drag him down. He shouldn’t fall, but he does so anyway, collapsing beside you in a bundle of ridiculously long limbs he either sorts behind his head or splays on the grass surrounding him.

“Can’t believe you actually got me.” Satoru says in a pouty voice that goes against the complacent smile sitting on his lips. Idiot. “Woah, the view is much prettier from down here!” He marvels at the drifting clouds, pointing at one that resembles a duck. “Is this what it feels like to be you?”

You could do without his unnecessary comments spoiling the mood, but you’re willing to overlook them for the sake of your trip. With how hectic these past three weeks were—orchestrated curse attacks ping-ponging both him and his students across Tokyo—you doubted you’d have a moment to yourselves for the remainder of the year.

But keeping him on his toes is too much fun to pass up.

“You’d be more likeable if you weren’t such a showoff, Satoru.” You scoff, no malice whatsoever.

“Oh, really? ‘Cause I thought you liked me sooo much when you were going all oh, Satoru! Love it so much, Satoru! You’re the best, Satoru! Deeper, Satoru! Y-yes, just like that, ‘Toru last night.”

“Shut up!”

You plug his mouth with both hands, though that doesn’t discourage him from blabbing his version of last night’s events, perfectly replicating the breathy tone of your voice and the soft little moans you let out in between his frantic thrusts.

Your palms relocate to cover your ears, the bright color of your cheeks soon becoming a focal point for his mockery. Satoru plucks a crimson cosmos flower and holds it to your face, twirling it around until you rip it from his grasp. Regret washes over you as soon as you unfold your fingers and see the now-crumpled petals, a little piece of the universe laying lifeless in your palm.

“I’m surprised you can still see my face behind that thing.” You point at the dark fabric that conceals his eyes. “How many fingers am I holding up?” You wave your hand in his face, constantly alternating between the number of fingers you flex.

Satoru catches your wrist and decisively intertwines your fingers. “I see enough to know you look the cutest when you’re annoyed.”

“I’m not annoyed.” You declare.

“Are you sure?” His voice is deliberately sultry as he inches closer.

Flakes of color adorn his icy strands like confetti, a stark contrast to the murky blue of his two-piece uniform. You can feel his eyes—those lovely crystal orbs of his—burning holes through the blindfold to meet yours, and in this instant, when his minty breath ghosts over your lips and promises a kiss, you’re absolutely enamored by him.

That is, until he begins poking into your cheeks like a woodpecker, and your desire to strangle the life out of him overtakes the urge to give in.

“Okay! You did it! I’m—”

Before you can finish your sentence, his lips crash into yours, a stolen peck that lasts no longer than the fluttering of a butterfly’s wings, a soft fumble that leaves you craving for more. “Definitely annoyed.” Satoru flashes a boyish smile as he ruffles your hair and pulls you to your feet with him, his hand carrying you through a path of marigolds.

“Can you�� just… slow… down?” You pant out, struggling to follow after his long strides.

But he doesn’t falter.

“Better get moving before you evolve into a Slowbro.” He sing-songs.

“Knock it off! I’m at least Jigglypuff tier.”

“Hmm,” he considers out loud. “I wouldn’t go as far as to call you useless, but—”

“Satoru!” You protest. “And I thought you liked Digimon.”

“Doesn’t hurt to know about the cheaper rip-off.”

“Pretty sure that’d be Digimon.”

“And I’m pretty sure even a regular Greymon beats your mascot into a pulp.” He beams.

Sigh.

You roll your eyes, letting him argue with himself about Digimon’s supremacy, until you reach a pool of flowers—myriad befallen fragments of the sky reflecting the vibrant blue of his eyes. You break free from his grasp and kneel among the blossoms, your fingertips skimming across the pointed petals with great care.

“Oh my God, Satoru! You know what this is?”

“Flowers…?” He changes his answer to pretty flowers upon your glaring.

“It’s forget-me-nots!”

The name doesn’t seem to ring a bell. He looks at you with the stupefied expression of a cattle who only knows how to moo and eat grass, invisible question marks spawning around his head.

“Their blooming period ends in May,” you explain. “Can’t believe we’d find some in October, and these—” You chop one of the stems and extend it to him. “These are so beautiful.”

Satoru glances between the flowers and your impressionable eyes, in which tiny stars seem to twinkle, his tone serious as he points out, “You must really love me.”

Your mouth hangs while you mull over your own words. Nope. Nothing you said remotely hints at the conclusion he alone reached.

“About time you showed me some respect.” Satoru huffs. “Don’t know about the royalty part, but—ah, it really can’t be helped. I’ll accept them if you insist.”

“Hold on a second.” His fingers close around a fistful of nothing as you retract your hand. “What respect, what royalty are you talking about?”

“Hm? You really don’t know?” You shake your head, and he brings out his phone, trading it for the flowers. “Says it all riiiight here.” He taps at the wall of text that lights up his screen.

Forget-me-not, also known as Myosotis flower, represents true love and respect and is an indisputable symbol of royalty. To King Henry IV—

“Tsk, these don’t even smell.” Satoru exclaims once he presses them to his nose.

“Not all flowers smell.” You turn off the screen and hand his phone back to him. “Your ability to google stuff and sell it as common trivia never ceases to amaze me.”

He lowers the stem to his lap and looks at you. Or so you think. You really can’t tell when he’s wearing that thing. “And? What do you make of it?”

“You just want to hear me say it, don’t you?” Your hands slide across his shoulders, fingers knitting behind his neck. “I love you, you silly, goofy, pervert specimen of a man.” You smile softly. “And I do respect you—sometimes—but best case scenario, you become prime minister. Better get that royalty idea out of your brain.”

“Not even if a mysterious big-scale accident takes all royalty on this planet out?” Satoru quips.

“Oh, just shut up and kiss me already.”

The sharp edges of his grin dissolve as he tilts his head enough for your lips to meet, tentative flicks of his tongue granting him access to your mouth. You feel the hard press of his chest once his arm wraps around your waist, nullifying the barriers that stand between you and the resounding beating of his heart.

There’s no innate technique in the way he touches; no immense amount of cursed energy in the way he kisses. None of the things that make him Gojo Satoru, the sorcerer who is hailed by all—and even himself—as the strongest are there. Only the raw vulnerability of a boy who’s used to carrying the order of the world on his shoulders and on a whim lets it crush him, because when he holds you, none of it seems to matter; because when he’s with you, he’s free to be Gojo Satoru and no more than that.

You watch through heavy eyelashes as he breaks a small stalk and brings it to your hair, securely tucking the flowers behind your ear. Warmth spreads from his slender fingers to your already feverish complexion. His palm cups your cheek, thumb swiping along your jawline with a soft expression perched on his lips, and you find yourself falling in love with him all over again.

“You deserve some love too, my…” Satoru ponders for a second, eventually snapping his fingers, “little MegaDarknessBagramon.”

A chuckle gets caught in your nostrils. “Your what now?”

“MegaDarknessBagramon.” He repeats without stuttering. “Way better than your fairy balloon cat.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why do I get the feeling you made this one up?”

“Did not! MegaDarknessBagramon is—hmph.”

You cut him off with a fond kiss on his agape lips. That’s the only way to truly shut him up. At least in public.

“We should get going. I wanna go sightseeing before nightfall.”

You wander through the city for hours upon hours, losing yourselves among the countless maple-strewn paths and quaint religious sites of the countryside. Ikoma is a quiet place. No matter how many pebbles you lift or castle ruins you peek under, you won’t find a speck of evil lurking beneath. It’s as if the land is at peace with itself, and the people who tend to it do so without any curse tainting their souls. For once, Satoru’s presence feels redundant.

His hand stays on you the entire time you stroll through the temples and marketplaces, be it as fingers that childishly swing your palm up and down—left and right—or as an arm draped over both your shoulders, stirring you in a different direction whenever his phone rings. And it does ring. A lot. So much that you actively consider flinging it at the bottom of the Sunoura River.

The conversations are rather one-sided. Satoru mhms and uh-uhs his way out of everything the voices on the other line suggest, his expression contorting all the while he mocks Nanami’s grave tone, Yaga’s dismay, and Ijichi’s apprehension. He tries his best to keep you involved—putting Megumi on speaker while the boy informs him of how Nobara gave Yuji a concussion when she mistook him for a pickpocket—and presses playful kisses on your cheek when you unwittingly pout at his neglect.

This is the one drawback of dating such a sought-after man. You have to share him with the rest of the world, and even though you know exactly how many livelihoods depend on him, you selfishly want your boyfriend to yourself.

After his sixth answered call, something inside you snaps. You shake his hand off—he barely pays mind—and fish your phone out of your jacket, dialing the first number in your contact list. My Noodle Man. With a heart emoticon, he, himself, input. Still better than the long array of toothachingly sweet nicknames he’s come up with for you over the years.

Drawing the device away from his ear, Satoru glances at the incoming caller ID and shoots you what ought to be a perplexed look.

“Pick it up!” You mouth the words without voicing them.

The world comes to a standstill while you (presumably) stare into each other’s eyes. Star-shaped leaves rain down from the trees, a minor contribution to the red and gold garb that dresses the once pebbled pathway. It’s all too scenic—if one ignores the busy tone from his phone’s speaker, which echoes wide across the hollow forest, gracelessly interrupting Utahime’s incoherent squeaks.

Are you even listening? Gojo?

“Mhm!” He breaks into an awkward chuckle. “Sounds good to me.”

What? What are you on about, you white-haired swine?

“Hey, how ‘bout you hold onto that, and we talk about it when I return?”

You seriously doubt he knows what that and it are.

Satoru doesn’t leave Utahime the chance to reply, rushing through his words at the speed of light. “Okay, great! Gotta go now. Laterrr, bye, ciao, adieu!”

Don’t you dare hang—

“Too late for that.” He comments, an afterthought that doesn’t reach its target audience before fading into his next received call.

“Baby! How are you?” The grin on his lips is so blinding, you swear it accompanies a halo.

You draw a deep breath, fingernails digging sharply at the tender flesh on the inside of your palm. “Satoru.”

“What is it, baby?” He dares ask as if you haven’t been shooting daggers at him the entire time, arms folded over your chest and eyebrow trembling above your narrowed eye.

“Satoru, the fact that I can only speak to you through the phone is insane!” Your voice climbs up a whole octave over the final word, annoyance interlaced within your tone.

“Huh?” He smiles sheepishly, head drooping to his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is, I’m standing right in front of you, begging you for an ounce of attention, and you haven’t put the phone down for ten goddamn seconds since we left the shrine, which, by the way, happened two hours ago!”

His smile dwindles, and you worry you might’ve been too harsh. It’s not like he has a choice. Regular people get to dictate their own fate, filling up their plates with however many or few obligations and freedoms they can stomach. Not Satoru. His share of responsibility was assigned to him at birth, and as aloof as he can be, he’s not the type to let all hell break loose just yet.

“Hey, um—look. If you were busy, we could’ve just taken a rain check and stayed in town. You know I wouldn’t mind holing up at my place, ordering some Chinese, and frying our retinas with another movie marathon. No need to string each other along for—what are you doing?”

Without evidence of anyone or anything approaching, Satoru twists his neck in every direction possible, searching far and wide among the tree foliage and the water streaming on the sides of the walkway, going as far as to check the gap between his own legs. Instinctively, you repeat his routine, glancing over your shoulder when you realize he’s got his eyes on you—not on you, but through you.

“Are you sure you are here? Can’t see you.” Satoru brings the phone to his lips, executing an amateur’s set of jumping jacks while waving his hands around and shouting your name at the top of his lungs, doing his absolute best to appear clueless when he passes you by and uses your head like an armrest. “Don’t tell me you got out-heighted by the trees.”

Are you sure you want to permanently delete the contact My Noodle Man <;3?

Cancel

“I’m leaving.”

You manage exactly two steps before you are halted by two arms whose length smothers you—a proper vice that closes around your shoulders and immobilizes you against what feels like a colossal tree trunk but is your (occasionally) loving boyfriend’s chest.

“Let go, Satoru!” You try to shake him off, but your conviction is about as strong as the frail set of bones he aspires to crush.

“C’mon, you just got here!” Satoru begs, his mouth so close to your ear that you feel his voice shooting straight into your heart, goosebumps erupting down your spine. “Don’t leave, mm? Mm? Pleaaase?”

You groan, dragging your feet forward, but it’s impossible to progress when a well-over-six-foot boulder weighs you down. He’s viciously clinging onto you, nuzzling to your cheeks one at a time, and humming at every kiss he prints on your grimace. His frosty spikes tickle, softer than silk and fluffier than the clouds above.

Couldn’t he have been like this five minutes ago?

“Doesn’t matter if I’m here or not.” Bitterness pools in your mouth from where your teeth bite into your gums. Your voice faint. “You’ll be on your stupid phone, anyway.”

“Is that why you’re acting all upset? You want my attention?” The lack of answer prompts him to continue, a low chuckle setting the mood for what comes next.

“If you want my attention, then… all you have to do is ask for it.”

It’s at this point that you realize more than your upper bodies are touching, his knees slightly bent for his hips to press against your ass—and with them, you feel something else pressing too. Something that oughtn’t be there when all you’ve been doing is bickering and fooling around with each other.

You gulp hard, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Satoru. His head rests fully upon the elbow on your shoulder, covered eyes definitely taking in the blush that’s become somewhat of a second nature since you got together. He’s effortlessly seductive, and you’re thankful for both his typically childish demeanor and the blindfold around his forehead, or else you’d be in big trouble denying him.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe what?” Satoru coos in a condescending tone.

You try to look away, but he won’t let you, jaw tilting atop his other arm. There’s no hiding from him, and the stupidly smug smile that begs you to erase it.

“…yes.”

“Yes what? Cheating won’t do. You need to say it.”

“That’s rich coming from the guy who won by teleporting to the finish line,” you mumble.

He doesn’t yield, and you know you’re going to be stuck there for a long time unless you stroke his ego. “Fine. Please gimme your undivided attention, oh grand sorcerer, Gojo Satoru.”

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” He croons contentedly. “Now, how much do you want it?”

“I changed my mind. I want a divorce.”

“We need to first be married in order to divorce.” He points out, rubbing salt in your wound like your next reply won’t be “You’re the one who refuses to settle down,” but it’s not. Just this once, you bite back your tongue.

Your restraints loosen as Satoru shakes his phone into your face, demonstrating how the device turns off with a click of his thumb. An airy laughter rings in your ears, and just like that, he reverts to the kind of man who giggles at knock-knock jokes and thinks it’s peak comedy when he mixes gummy worms in your cereal.

“No more calls!” He declares. “For a limited time only, strongest sorcerer Gojo Satoru is at your service.”

You snort, fighting back a smile that ends up crinkling around your eyes. “You make it sound like you’re a genie.”

“Hmm, you could always try rubbing me and see what happens. Might grant you a wish or two.”

You laugh at his attempt to flirt, trying and mostly failing to distract yourself from what was previously pushing against your body. It should embarrass you that two of your two wishes are sexual in nature, but that’s entirely on him, his innuendos, and the raw lust you’ve missed seeing transform his eyes from the sparkling color of the sea to one found a thousand meters under the surface.

Maybe three.

“Where’s the catch?”

“What catch?” He chirps.

“I know you, ‘Toru. With you, there’s always a catch.”

One moment you feel his breath on your skin, and the other you see him standing before you, his arms flexing behind his torso while he tips forward—a toothy grin stretching on his lips.

“Well, a fee is always due where there are services involved.” He takes a page from Mei’s book.

“The Gojo family vault running out of cash, so you lookin’ to extort your girlfriend?” You quip. “Go on. Name your price.”

“Oh, y’know.” His shoe traces a circle on the ground. “Just you saying what an amazing, handsome, charming, wonderful, funny, kind, and handsome boyfriend you have for the world to hear.”

You browse the acres of trees surrounding you; there is not a soul to be seen or heard within a close radius. What world?

“You said handsome twice.”

“Intentionally.” He deadpans.

You return his playfulness by saying he forgot to add infuriating to the list, even though you’ve already decided to humor him. Cute is more like it.

“My boyfriend is the most—”

“Does your boyfriend have no name? Take it from the top.”

You sigh, “My boyfriend, Gojo Satoru, is the most amazing, handsome, wonderful—”

“Ah-ah-ah!” Satoru intervenes, raising his forefinger in objection. “Forgot charming!”

Your teeth clatter, gritting a growl.

“Only one life left. Better get it right this time or,” he draws an imaginary line across his neck, faking a choking sound as he’s supposedly decapitated.

With both hands around your mouth, you shape a cone and shout so loudly that countless birds betray their hiding spots between the tree branches as they pour out into the sky. “My boyfriend, Gojo Satoru, is the most amazing, handsome, charming, wonderful, funny, kind, and handsome again, boyfriend in existence who totally didn’t put me up to this!” In a quiet voice, “Happy now?”

“Full marks!” He gleefully shoves a thumbs up in your face. “Now I’m all yours and will be for the rest of the night. Feel free to make the best of me while you can.”

“Then, can I get my first wish granted now, Mr. Genie?”

“What is it?”

He stands still as you bring your hands to his face and cup his cheeks, fingers teasing the seams of his blindfold. “Lemme see your eyes.”

“Hmm? You wanna see them? Why—you missed them?”

A nod. “Don’t put me through that same speech again. They are pretty, and yes, I miss them. We haven’t been seeing each other as often, so. C’mon. Lemme see them.”

You try to lower the fabric, but the harder you pull, the more it seems to resist. “Satoru…?”

“Mm?” He licks his lips. “What is it, sugarplum?”

Your eyes roll so far back into your skull that you’re afraid they’ll slip down your esophagus. “I said, I wanna see your eyes. May I?”

He cocks his head in consideration, entertaining an affectionate smile before he denies you with a cheeky little nope!

“Why not?”

This is the first time he denies you.

“For a multitude of reasons.” He states wryly. Uncharacteristically for him.

You wait for an explanation—a slight opening between his lips. His tongue lays flat against his teeth, darting upward as if he’ll finally say something, but he doesn’t. This happens about four times before he sternly announces, “The sun.”

“The sun…?” You glance at the sky, a veil of darkness slowly descending upon the peachy gradients of the melting clouds. “You mean the one that just set?”

“I wasn’t done talking. My other reason is…” He motions for you to get closer. You lean in as instructed, patiently hanging on his lips as if he is about to open the envelope and reveal the name of a talent show winner, yet his answer isn’t any more satisfying than the previous one is. “The people.”

“Satoru, we haven’t seen a live human in over an hour. What are you talking about? And since when were others an issue?”

“You don’t know what it feels like to be me!” Satoru exclaims in an exaggerated tone as he shakes your hands off and turns in the opposite direction. “Having everyone stare at you wherever you go, people asking, Sensei, please! We need to see your wonderful eyes! and getting called Six Eyes like you’re a piece of meat. Should’ve known you wouldn’t be any better than them, Y/N.”

You blink a number of times, “stunned” being too little of a word to describe your surprise at his sudden burst. He always had a knack for the dramatic, but with the way the back of his palm is pressed against his forehead, he’s closer to an Academy Award than ever.

“Satoru.” Your hand moves to his shoulder without ever closing the distance. Damn infinity. “What is up with you today?” You ask half-jokingly, half-concerned. “Acting insecure; you are the one who doesn’t miss the chance to show your eyes off to everyone, and when I ask you to show them, you pull this—why?”

“It’s because I only have eyes for you.” He smirks full of confidence, roughing up your hair and then bringing his thumb below your chin, holding it up for a kiss. You don’t even stop him. Hell, you don’t even close your eyes. You are too baffled to.

You regain agency over your words only after he starts parading away from you, his feet spending more time in the air than they do on land. “Hey, wait! What was that? What does you having eyes only for me have to do with anything?”

His chuckle precedes his answer. “You’ll see when we reach the inn. Last down the foothills is a double loser!”

“Ahhh, that was soooo good! I feel—ugh, reborn!”

Satoru’s joints click as he stretches both arms behind his back and over his head, the striped sleeves of his gray-colored yukata rolling down his elbows. He doesn’t mind that he’s blocking the doorway or that the long face you’ve been sporting since you parted at the lobby threatens to hit the floor at his theatrics.

Your onsen experiences differed by miles. While he was off soaking and splashing by himself at the vacant men’s baths, you were forced to endure 45 excruciating minutes in the company of a group of bachelorettes who wouldn’t shut up about the “dreamy masked man” who booked the single most expensive suite in the compound, rewriting his life story with lewd fantasies that—for as long as you could help it—would remain as such. Unrealized.

“The temperature was just perfect, the right amount of hot without scorching, and the minerals already circulate through my bloodstr—ouch!”

You shove past him and his impromptu review of the hot springs, temporarily giving up on the blockbuster that your mind crafts—Blood Bath: Revenge of the Hot Spring Killer 2—in favor of a spot where you can drop off your toiletries.

The room, or rather, the rooms, are vast in space and rich in furnishing. Opaque sliding doors separate the main area from the wardrobe and the bathroom, drawn to provide a direct view of the ryokan’s rock garden. Tatami mat flooring is indiscriminately strewn, replaced by granite tiles around the indoor hot tub. Raised alcoves host colorful ikebana vases; a couple of ukiyo-e scrolls depicting Mount Yoshino hang from opposing sides on the walls. Lastly, futons are neatly spread in the far back, with a short-legged table spanning at the center of the sitting space.

Bingo.

You settle beside it, laying your belongings on the floor while scrutinizing the couple’s gift box on top, regional specialties packed beside a ceremonial tea set that bears the inn’s logo. You flip the box on its back and attempt to decipher the cursive letters just as Satoru steals it from your hands, wasting no time ripping through the luxurious wrapping paper and tossing a block of brown-colored kuzumochi in his mouth.

“Gotta mmph hring Hahami ‘n’ Meghumi ‘ere.” He refuses to keep his remarks (or food) in his mouth, flour dusting the corners of his lips. “That oughta brighten ‘em up.” He says once he swallows, bringing his cup of welcoming tea to his teeth and cringing away at the sheer bitterness of the matcha. “Bleugh, this tastes like poison!”

You break into a quiet chuckle as you scrub his chin, sleeve curled over your fist, and thumb running stray along his frown. Cute. No, beyond cute. Adorable.

“Don’t blame the tea when your blood type is caster sugar, Satoru.”

“But that’s the secret to my sweetness.” He quips, returning to his previous floured-lip state as he flings a second kuzumochi into his mouth, supposedly to wash the bitterness away. “Think they sell more of these in the gift shop?”

You roll your eyes, humoring him with a teasing sure.

Making it back to your spot, you down your share of matcha in one go, savoring the delightful tartness the beverage leaves on your tongue. “‘Tis not even that bad.” You comment, pouring yourself a refill.

A certain form of silence prevails over the space, during which words aren’t spoken but expressed through various hums of content, with Satoru loudly nibbling on his loot and you quietly sipping on your tea. Moonlight filters the atmosphere through the semi-transparent shoji doors, casting playful shadows that dance along the subtle movements of his fingers.

He’s the puppeteer, and you his devoted audience, easily convinced that there’s genuine mastery in the way he handles his instruments and earnestly keen on trying them out before their numbers are further decimated. A pinch is at the ready, your thumb and forefinger making strategic advances towards the box of delicacies when a counter-offering presents itself to your lips.

“Say ahhhh!” Satoru waves the kuzumochi in your face, your teeth losing to the speed of his fingers as he retracts his hand at the last minute. “C’mon, c’mon!” He giggles, again dangling the bait. “Open wider. Ahhh! Ahhh!”

Your nose scrunches up. You don’t trust his intentions, and you have every right not to, considering he makes you chase after the confectionery with an open mouth, utilizing his infinity to keep you at bay whenever you get remotely close to succeeding.

“Satoru!” You yelp unamused.

“Sorry, sorry!” His apology sounds the opposite of truthful. “Promise, that was the last time. One big ahhh f’me! Ahhh—c’mon, it’s really good! You won’t regret it.”

And it’s no surprise you come to immediately regret it, your tongue hanging loose from your mouth, barely connecting with the dessert before your aghast eyes witness it being devoured by him, so quickly that you lose the opportunity to protest.

There’s no one to blame but yourself, though that doesn’t stop you from pouncing and tackling him to the floor. Two fists grab at the lapels of his yukata, fingers curling around the fabric, while you violently shake him like an unresponsive vending machine, urging him to spit out your eaten cash.

Satoru snorts, and he chuckles, and he laughs, a boisterous symphony of sounds pitted against one another as he, himself, refuses to fight back, merely showcasing the empty contents of his mouth and baring his teeth into a haughty grin that agitates you even more.

“You need to step up your game, munchkin. Or else you’ll never get your prize.”

“And you need to stop tricking me every chance you get!” You hiss, a sigh casting your head backward as you swipe the hair from your forehead. “If you played a fair game, then maybe—just maybe—I would actually win!”

“Aww, baby.” A lofty purr makes you awfully aware of the fact that you’re still straddling him, knees planted on both sides of his hips and thighs squeezing tightly around his crotch. “That’s so cute! Thinking you could ever stand a chance against me.”

“I could!”

“Mm, I don’t think so.” Satoru’s palms glide along your curves, taking full advantage of the position to rub circles that spread over your ass and close around your thighs; slender fingers tantalizing as they ghost over your exposed skin. “I’m quite strong, in case you haven’t noticed.”

He makes you a living example of his words, giddily watching your self-control crumble when he forces you down against his body. A complacent smirk rises on his lips, countering the soft gasp that evades yours.

“See?” He chuckles. “Unmatched.”

“You’re quite annoying too.” You huff, biting your lips into a straight line while you deviate from staring at his face—a grave mistake.

All the wrestling has caused the lapels of his yukata to recede, the fabric so loose it barely counts as hiding a thing. Delicate collarbones pave the path toward his toned chest, rosy claw marks littering his creamy complexion (and it swells you with pride to know you’re the only one to have ever blemished his spotless body) down to the few unruly frosty hairs that span over his sculpted abdomen, and lead lower—much lower than your eyes can currently follow.

Goddamn it, Satoru.

“Is that why you’re grinding against me? Because I’m annoying you?”

His accusation makes your heart sink inside your chest as you are found guilty of a crime you unwittingly committed. Your hips were swaying back and forth against his hardened cock, guided by a firm grasp that failed to emulate the typically lazy manner with which he’d keep you anchored whenever you rode him.

(Aww, bunny. Keep bouncing like that, and you’ll hit your head. Me? Help? Don’t be silly. How you gonna grow stronger if I put in all the work, mm? Better be satisfied with what you have throbbing in ya already. Now, where were we? Right—Ijichi and his…)

Except you were in the middle of a fight, and you’re supposed to be holding a grudge that seems to matter less by the minute.

“Hey, baby?” His thumb harbors softness when he cups your cheek, candied voice flowing from pretty, pink lips that glisten under the pale moonlight. “Think you can be annoyed with your clothes off?”

You almost succumb to his will, the lines between vexation and lust becoming increasingly blurred as you try to get your point across a final time.

“Y’know, I too like sweets!” Your declaration practically melts into his touch. “Just because I let you do the honors doesn’t mean I don’t want to try some. It means I’m a better girlfriend than you.”

“No arguing here.” Satoru beams. “Don’t think I could be a better girlfriend if I tried.”

“Satoru!” You exclaim for the millionth time that day.

“Too early to be screaming my name.”

“I’m serious!”

“And I’m not?” He gasps, hand moving to his chest as if your words actually damaged his impenetrable ego. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. My girlie is such a meanie.”

Your eyes perform a semi-circle, knowing better than to venture beyond his neck. His face is cute, in that boyish way everyone swoons over, but his body is another story. The kind you read with the blinds lowered and the lights dim, colored cheeks, and giddy chuckles muffled by your bedding.

Sigh.

“How can I take you seriously when you say such things?”

“Never said you have to do it seriously. Just takin’ me is good enough.”

“Stop that!”

Swatting his hand from your face, you feel it join its twin behind your ass. You don’t want him to catch on to how affected you are simply by mounting him, but as your hips are forcibly rocked into his crotch, the wet patch your slick paints on his yukata reveals all that your tongue struggled to keep hidden.

“Jerk!”

Satoru grins, holding you tight against his lap as he sits the both of you up. Your noses are suddenly found brushing, and his lips expel a heavy breath your lips eagerly inhale, the proximity dizzying. “Maybe if I gave my girl some sugar, she’d turn sweeter.”

“Ugh, this is exactly what I meant!” You growl in frustration. “Satoru, I swear, if you use one more lame line on me, I’ll—”

Whatever was supposed to come next is drowned out by his tongue as it presses against your mouth, enticing your lips into an all-consuming kiss that threatens to eat you alive. Warm palms hook below your legs, turning scorching as they roll your yukata above your thighs and help secure your knees around his torso, caressing every inch of supple flesh they unveil.

You’re overcome by need in an instant, and judging from how ardently your boyfriend’s cupping your cheeks, as if he’s either trying to breathe life into you or suck it out of your lungs, it’s safe to say it goes both ways.

His cock rubs against your clit through his clothes. He’s so hard, and you are so wet that one thrust would be enough to sheathe him fully into your cunt and meld you into one. But that won’t do. If there’s one thing Satoru doesn’t rush, that’s the way he fucks. He wants to savor everything—every kiss, every touch, every whimper, every moan, every last drop of your essence that dribbles onto his fingers and drenches his tongue like the finest, most delectable nectar meant solely for him—before indulging the twitching sensation in his balls.

There’s no reason for today to be any different.

A string of saliva is cut in the middle as Satoru pulls away, your half drooling down your jaw and his collected by his tongue.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, baby! You were saying?” He coos in an awfully smug tone that barely registers over your incessant panting.

“Hm? Nothing? Thought so.” He deduces after turning his ear to your mouth, and for a second, you’re tempted to bite his earlobe right off.

But somehow you don’t, and in his book, that counts as obedience, which in turn qualifies for a reward.

He plants a kiss on your nose, tender enough to distract you from the no-good smirk plastered on his lips. “How about I do that other thing you asked for?”

Your mind traverses a foggy terrain. You’ve asked him for a lot of things in the recent past. Not overloading Aiko’s bowl with cat food the minute he sees it empty. Not surprise-hugging you when you’re walking alone at night and are unaware of his presence. Not rapping your morning routine to the tune of the hemorrhoid cream commercial. Not calling you munchkin or dwarf when it’s him who’s the long-lost descendant of the legendary tree people.

The list goes on and on with plenty of whimsical examples, and you realize, there are more things you’ve explicitly asked him not to do than do, with your one recurrent request being that he get you a ring made from neither fried dough nor grass blades.

“Close your eyes.” You do as you’re told, thinking you’re oh-so-clever when you try to peer at him through downcast eyelashes, only to be shot down by his technique. “Uh-uh! No peeking!” The last thing your eyes see before they’re covered by his left palm are two fingers that hook under his blindfold and tug it upward.

“Why the secrecy?” You ask impatiently. “Afraid I’ll be blinded by your beauty? Must I remind you I’ve seen you sleeping with your mouth open? The magic is gone.”

“Is it?” His chuckle louder than the elusive sound of his blindfold coming undone. “And here my eyes were thinking you’ve turned even more beautiful than the last time they saw you. How unfortunate.”

There’s a certain humility that comes with someone as ethereal as Gojo Satoru calling you beautiful to your face, but right now, your mind remains fixated on one word and one word only. Eyes. My eyes. His eyes.

“You took it off?” Excitement colors your tone. “Lemme see!”

“Baby, baby, baby.” Satoru playfully chides. “When will you learn to be patient, mm? Don’t you know that good things come to those who wait?”

Seven years is an awful long time to be waiting around.

Eventually, you feel his hand be drawn away, but before light can enter your eyelids, darkness engulfs them again. Cold satin now covers your brow, the kind of silky material you’ve previously only been able to experience via your fingertips as they yanked and hurled it across your bedroom walls.

“Tada!” The unmistakable sound of palms clasping. “You can open them now.”

“Satoru, what—what is this?” You mutter, tight-lipped, as if your ability to speak was also impaired. “I asked to see your eyes, not play suikawari.”

“Aw, shoot. Should I go ask for a watermelon?”

You sigh, fingers withdrawing into fists atop your thighs. You wonder how many years of jail time killing your boyfriend warrants, but then again, you doubt you’d possibly achieve what countless others have failed at.

“You wanted a rematch, didn’t you?” His hands move against your own, soft thumbs rolling reassuring circles around your wrists. He brings them to his lips, printing a kiss on each knuckle set. “Better strike while the iron’s hot. Besides, this game’s so easy, even you got a chance at winning,” he scoffs a laugh at how quick you’re to escape, pulling your hands back as if you were struck by an electric current. “All you hafta do is sit back and answer a few questions. Pretty easy, right?”

His voice rings close to your ear. You realize he’s in fact closer when he takes his affections to your cheeks, shamelessly bribing you with the sweetest kisses he can muster.

It’s working.

“I didn’t agree to this.” You state as his jaw perches on your shoulder, strong biceps caging your body while he reaches around your waist to undo the bow of your yukata.

“Really?” His breath travels south, hot steam depriving you of the opportunity to feel any real cold as you’re slowly stripped of your garments—and yet you still shudder when his lips close below your throat and suck onto your sweet spot. “‘Cause you seemed pretty agreeable when you were all ready to jump my bones a minute ago.”

“Th-that’s because—”

The fabric slides down your shoulders like butter, melting into the soft curves and pebbled peaks of your tits before it pools around your hips. His thighs tense up, blood rushing straight to his swollen cock head while he cradles you, eating you up with the eyes you so fondly reminisce.

“Aw, pumpkin! Won’t you look at that!” Your cheek is captured between his fingers, lightly pinched. “You’re blushing through the blindfold.”

You feel so vulnerable, and you aren’t sure whether that’s because you’re straddling your fully clothed boyfriend while being fully naked yourself or because everything around you is amplified, from the way his finger pads dance around your nipples, to the fruity shampoo remnants lingering in his tousled hair.

“‘Toru, I—”

You cut yourself off. You don’t want to be the kind of woman who has to beg her own boyfriend for dick.

“Will you still be blushing as I fuck your cute face?”

But you’re about to be.

“Hey, I was just joking!” Your hands are seized without accomplishing their goal of removing the blindfold. “Don’t want you losing before the game begins, do we?”

“‘Toru, just—I don’t care about any stupid games, okay?” You whine, voice purposely pathetic in case he feels generous enough to cave in. “I just want you. I need you. Please?”

“And you will have me, baby.” Satoru soothes, shifting both your hands to a single grip while he digs into the pile of clothes at your side. “A promise is a promise. I’ll pamper my precious girl to her heart’s content if that’s what she wants.” A string too thin to be a rope wraps around your wrists, piecing them together. “Love her all night long; teach her all the things she misses when her eyes are wide open. My sweet honeypie, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I’d also like it if you quit it with all those corny nicknames.” You answer, having absolutely no idea as to how the floor is replaced with the futon when you haven’t budged an inch. At least you think you haven’t.

“You love them.” The grin strong in his voice as he lays you down and climbs on top of you, pinning your bound wrists above your head. “Like you love me, my little sugarboo.”

“I’m rolling my eyes.”

“Wow, this early? Have barely touched you.”

“I’m rolling my eyes again!” You repeat at a higher volume.

“Of course you are. This isn’t too tight, is it?” A finger curls between your binds. You shake your head, and he pecks it, gently caressing your hair while situating his knee between your thighs, bouncing it against your pussy. “You’ll see, you’re gonna love every minute of this,” Satoru continues, his hand playful as his fingers toy with yours.

You have little to no agency over your body when Satoru lifts your leg and folds it onto your stomach, his lips held against yours and his tongue slotted in between. He kisses you slowly, like he has all the time to unravel you, and in a way, he does. He could stretch this moment to infinity, savoring your lips until they’re all swollen and coated with spit, his name replacing every word in your vocabulary while he wanders lower, dragging his warm mouth against your skin and smearing wet kisses down your tits.

“The mochi weren’t half as sweet as you,” he murmurs, soft lips clamping over your nipple, the suspicion of sharp teeth grazing the sensitive bud. “I’ll buy you some in the morning.”

“Y-you don’t need to,” you huff, your chest heaving with one heavy breath after another as he takes hold of your other nipple, alternating between pinching and rolling it around with his thumb, repeating the same ritual of licking and sucking as the nipple in his mouth changes.

“Mm, but I want to.” He insists. “I want to spoil my baby and give her everything she wants. I’d give her the world if I could.”

And yet, you won’t marry her.

His smile ghosts over your flesh, gradually fading as he approaches your navel. “But first, I need to fuck her pretty pussy, mm? That’s what my princess wants, doesn’t she?”

Reluctantly, you nod, a lump forming in your throat when his fingers find purchase beneath your thighs and spread them apart. His biceps curl around your calves as he mounts your knees on his shoulders, peppering your inner thighs with more featherlight kisses that continuously inch closer to your entrance.

He is so attentive when he wants to be, but in his core, Satoru is a selfish lover. He gives, and he gives, and he gives more than you can take, his satisfaction lying in your cute little moans and the tiny arch of your back whenever he pushes you to your limits.

“Thank you for the food!” He croons, and you swear to hate yourself for almost chuckling at his distasteful joke.

He was always like that, to the point where suggesting he bewitched you into falling for him isn’t an exaggeration so much as an undeniable reality. Him, who with his cheeky smiles, exaggerated gestures, and mirthful snickering, conquered your thoughts and claimed the mushy land of your brain as if it were the moon. Him, whose dimples crease around his lips every time you kiss and whose bright blue irises bloom behind your shut eyelids. Him, who’d remain the most extraordinarily beautiful person, even if your eyes never opened again.

Him, whose plump lips round around your clit as he finally takes it in his mouth, suckling on the small bundle of nerves as if he expects it to dissolve into liquid sugar.

“F-fuck!”

Your hips buck into his face, lifting from the covers while your hands maintain their position. If it weren’t for his stupid infinity, you’d be threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him as far into you as humanely possible, but for now, you can only chant his name, feeling his shoulders tense up while his hungry tongue runs laps between your slick folds.

“I’m so lucky you aren’t bound to a region. I’d have to stockpile on you every single day.” Satoru hums against your clit, the vibrations from his mellifluous tone translating into pleasurable tingles up your spine. “My favorite specialty,” he chuckles, sounding so lovable that you can’t hold it against him.

He doesn’t kid about you being like a dessert to him, his tongue greedily soaking up all the juices that gush from your hole right down his chin. He moans in pure delight, perhaps more than you do, the uninterrupted flow of compliments making you feel at least worthy of a Michelin star. So pretty. So sweet. So perfect. The same combination of words he’s been repeating since you first got together, as if his fascination never truly ran out.

The sounds get more salacious while he fucks his tongue into your entrance, and you throw your head back, feeling so unbelievably light that if it weren’t for his hold on your thighs, you would be floating straight to the ceiling. His thumbs stretch out your lips for him to reach deeper, pointy nose rubbing deliciously against your swollen clit while he persistently works your body to its high, making out with your nether lips like he’s kissing your actual mouth.

“Feels s-so good, ‘Toru,” you whimper, struggling to keep your legs from closing around his head.

“Yeah? Like that?” Satoru chuckles, and it would’ve pushed you over the edge if his tempo wasn’t disrupted. “I like it too. Love eating your little pussy. I can tell she loves me too, doesn’t she?”

You can’t believe that the man who’s making all the stars of the night sky appear in the confinement of your tied eyes is the very same man who’s addressing your pussy as a she.

“Hm? You’re hurting my feelings here.” He sounds pouty, though you can picture the sadistic glint in his eyes as his teeth sink into your clit, softly enough to not induce any pain, but hard enough to bring your hips to a stutter.

“Y-yes, she does—fuck, my pussy loves you, S-satoru!” You cry out.

“Hah, that’s more like it.”

Your voice shatters into a million broken sobs which only motivate Satoru to keep going. He nibbles on the sensitive nub, darted tongue inflicting short and rapid flicks that cut right through the coiling tension in your guts with precision that’s exclusive to him and the countless times he’s had you fall apart with his mouth alone.

Your fingers clench while your toes curl, thighs trembling as succulent juices spurt all over him, and, God—how you wish you could see his pretty face ruined like that.

“Mm, baby, you always cum so much for me.”

Without letting a drop go to waste, Satoru licks a luscious stripe between your slit, rolling your essence in his mouth to relish the taste.

“Y’know, I could just make time freeze and eat you out for hours. Days,” he lays a kiss on top of your mound. “Weeks,” one for every thigh. “Months,” his lips on your clit making you wince from pleasure. “Years.” He snickers, marveling at how easily you respond to his touch. “You’d want that, sweets? All that pleasure, just for you. Think you could take it?”

Not knowing better, you nod, and he laughs. You aren’t familiar enough with Jujutsu to be horrified by the prospect of reliving the same moment over and over again, literally getting fucked dumb in a way his technique has never achieved on another.

“Alright, time to turn off the cheats.” He announces after you manage to regain your breath, and it isn’t until his question that you’re reminded of the whole “game” ordeal.

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“What?” Your voice scratches its way out of your throat, coarse and laden with desire.

“You asked me the same question earlier, remember?” His fingertips tickle as they drum against your stomach. “At the plateau?”

I’m surprised you can still see my face behind that thing. How many fingers am I holding up?

“The one you didn’t answer?”

“Four, five, two, four, one.” The number of fingers he presses on your skin changes depending on the number he calls. You’d be impressed if you’d actually kept track of the digits you’d shown him, and they weren’t picked at random.

“So, how many?”

You try to pull yourself together, calmly considering your options. He wouldn’t start with five or four. The first three numbers are more likely, and taking a leap of faith—

“One.” You lock in your answer, with an excitable cheer following suit.

“Wow, my girl is so smart!” Satoru praises. “Got it on her first try!”

“Quit treating me like I’m one of your students.”

“Oh, trust me.” He runs his middle finger down your abdomen, emphasizing his point with a tap on your clit. “I’d never treat any of my students the way I treat you. Or anyone else for that matter,” he trails off, gathering some of the slick that’s trickled out of your slit, and brings it into his mouth, finger coated with spit the next time he touches you.

“All of my special treatment is reserved for my special girl.”

His finger prods lazily into your cunt, thick enough for every ridge to be lusciously dragged against your velvety walls, and long enough to delve straight into your pulsing core.

To his disappointment, there isn’t much of a reaction—save for the occasional hitched breath. You can take it. For seven years now, you’ve been trained on his deft fingers and the many tricks they play, but when his thumb begins circling your clit in tandem with his thrusts, your facade cracks.

“Aw, you didn’t think it’d be this easy, did you, bunny?” Satoru coos in fake sympathy, as his thumb zigzags feverishly about your clit, the finger in your cunt curving in a repetitive come-hither motion.

“‘T-toru, please—ngh!” You whine, your lower half squirming on its own accord. “You said you’d let me win!”

“Let you?” A complacent smile takes shape on his face, and although you cannot see it, you can hear it chiming in his tone. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Y-you evil man!”

He giggles at your supposed insult, one moment asking if that’s the best you can do, and the next cheering you on by saying he’s rooting for you.

Asshole.

Heat runs rampant between the lowest pit in your stomach and the apex of your flushed cheeks, the blindfold soaking sweat off your forehead like a headband. You are close; pressure steadily building only to wither away once Satoru retracts his hand.

Asshole!

“Sorry, pretty. Got a little carried away, but no hard feelings, hm?” Your tormentor asks, rubbing your clit at a pace far too slow to be soothing. “Now, how many fingers am I holding up?”

“T-two.” You answer, your sanity chipping the longer your hole remains puckering around nothing.

“Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner!”

You kiss your teeth as Satoru angles his wrist with your pussy and shoves two of his fingers in, curling them against the spongy spot that swells with each pump, and when that isn’t enough to muffle your cries, you bite down onto your lip, choking on every sob you’ve been withholding. Last thing you want is to give your next-room neighbors another reason to fantasize about your boyfriend.

“It’s fine. You can let it all out.” Satoru reads your mind. “Room’s soundproof, though there isn’t much you can say, right?”

Your walls flutter around his fingers in utter bliss. You hate (love) how his words get to your body before your brain can process them; every remark you’d typically deflect, seeping under your skin and igniting as fire in your loins.

“Don’t worry,” he chuckles, maintaining a steady rhythm even with his thumb swiping at your clit. “I’ll be the one doing all the talking from now on.”

“Sh-shut up!” You manage to say before returning to your three-word prayer of little oh-my-god’s and ah-ah-ah’s.

“But you love my mouth.” Satoru argues back. “And now you love my fingers. How long they feel stretching you out, how deep they can go.”

He’s buried to his knuckles, slowing down for the sake of plunging his digits further into your wet cunt, the lewd squelching bouncing across the walls along with the obscene sounds you let out.

“You’re practically fucking yourself on them.”

Your boyfriend’s words cloud your brain, your body acting purely on instinct as you begin to hump his hand. Satoru doesn’t stand in the way; rather, he assists with a sturdy hold that has your hips slamming against his fingers, repeating the motion until your creamy essence comes pouring down warmly over his palm.

You aren’t sure whether the white speckles in your vision stem from the gates of heaven welcoming you to the other side or the light fixtures on the ceiling, becoming certain only after the outline of a halo brushes against your forehead. It’s hard to call the man slumped above you an angel when his one hand is cupping your cunt, the fingers of the other tasked with undoing the knot around your wrists.

You are free to move—or about as free as one can be when every joint in their body begs to drag them down, your limbs strewn over the sheets like those of a tattered rag doll. The blindfold is still on, albeit slightly lowered over your nose. A little more wriggling and you can take it off, yet that too requires effort you lack.

Satoru says something that fails to register in your trance. He’s mocking you. He’s praising you. He’s mocking you while praising you, and praising you while mocking you, because those two go hand in hand in his brain—a proper carrot and stick. You think you should be thanking him or cursing him, but your words turn out a jumbled mess—nothing worth writing home about.

“Ready for the final round?” His voice finally conquers the ambient—heavy, almost as though his own ministrations have worn him out, and distorted by every prolonged inhale and sharp exhale he takes.

“Do I have a choice?” You provoke.

“Sure you do. Just—hah, not when it comes to this.”

A low fuck evades him, and you are oblivious to the way he’s been fisting his cock this entire time, smearing your slick over his length and squeezing the reddened tip in the ring shaped by his thumb and index, biting onto his tongue whenever your name comes remotely close to spilling from his lips. Only he knows the endurance he’s shown keeping himself from busting in his hand at the sight of your fucked-out form, trembling thighs calling to him in a carnal manner your lips could never muster.

You look ravishing, and ravishing you is all he aches to do.

“How many—” Satoru begins, only to be cut off with a croaked three that jumps an octave the moment his fat tip prods into your folds. “Three?” His fingers burrow into the supple flesh of your thighs as he splays your legs over his bare chest. “Could’ve sworn it was at least eight. Guess I need to make it go a bit deeper, huh?”

His lips lay soft against your ankle, trailing honeyed kisses down the expanse of skin that lose finesse once they near the crevice of your knee. An idea blinks in his brain as he grabs your thigh and presses it down against your stomach, repeating the same pattern of tenderness on the other until you are folded in half.

He stares down at you, and for a moment, that’s all he does. His eyes—the prized six eyes that are the very synonym for quintessence—well with adoration over the point where your bodies connect, the tight fit of your cunt prompting him to lose control and fuck an entire generation of sorcerers into you.

All in good time.

A quiet whisper reminds Satoru of his promise, hips drawing back before they snap right into you, the crude sound of his balls slapping against your ass reverberating across the room. You moan in unison, your fists thudding against the floor as his thrusts send you flying past the covers.

It’s too much. It’s too little. You want less. You want more. Your desires bend and twist around one another like indecisive vines, settling on a direction only after he leans forward and fixes the cushions behind your head.

“Congratulations.” The gentle action of his hand combing through your hair contradicts the cock throbbing inside your pussy. “To think my baby would make me eat my own words—well; I can get behind dating a winner. Especially when they’re as beautiful as you.”

“S-satoru!”

You look away—if resting your flushed cheek on the significantly colder pillow and fixing your gaze at whatever lies beyond the blindfold counts as looking—the sincerity in his words moving you more than it should.

“What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you are embarrassed.” Satoru chuckles, punctuating his own question with a sensual roll of his hips that drags against your clit, coaxing the tiniest of moans to slip from your pursed lips.

“Hmm, is it because I called you beautiful?” He leans onto his elbow, relying on the weight of his chest to keep you pinned down. “Nah, can’t be it. I call you beautiful on a daily basis, don’t I? Then—hmm—is it ‘cause I’m so nice to you? Because I’m the best boyfriend you could ask for?”

“Q-quit it with all that self affirm—oh my god!”

Tears prickle your eyelash line at the familiar way his cock glides between your walls. He’s in so deep, relaxed thrusts pushing against your abdomen from the inside, with your cervix serving as the last line of defense for your merge, gallantly bearing every kiss his tip prints on your core.

“C’mooon, you gotta help me out. I’m all outta guesses here.” Satoru whines in your ear, his voice a pitch too high. “Is it because you can’t see me? Because this feels so good? Or because,” his hand sneaks between your bodies to work languid circles around your clit, “you just love me that much?”

“Aw, so that’s what it was?” He interprets the clenching of your pussy as he wills. For once he isn’t off the mark. “Okay, look at me.”

Even when you weren’t embarrassed before, you are about to be as heat pools in your stomach anew, threatening to make your score three to zero. You feel yourself turning liquid, dissolving between ripples of pleasure, drowning in you and drowning in him, and he’s both the riptide pulling you in as he’s the lifeline washing you ashore, the salty tang of the sea clinging to the fingers fumbling about your chin.

“I said, look at me.” His tone serious this time.

Every sense of yours is held captive as Satoru’s lips finally smash into yours, the taste of your essence refusing to die out no matter how many times your tongues swirl around each other. Your breathy moans are traded for his needy grunts, compiling into a broken record that plays sinfully in your ears, the whiff of sex lingering potent in the thick air between you.

He doesn’t fuck into you so much as he grinds against you, allowing you to grab at his biceps when your legs start to shake, the white clouds in your peripheral dispersing behind the sky blue of his eyes, placid orbs electrified by lust.

“Hi,” Satoru greets with an amiable smile, the blindfold dangling from around his forefinger.

“H-hi,” you return, your palms creeping up his face as if to appraise it, soft thumbs pushing the dampened strands away from his forehead, a thirst within you at last quenched.

“It’s-a me.” He says stupidly, basking in the affectionate way you cradle him.

“If you crack a Mario joke I’ll kick you in the nuts.” You warn.

“Oh no! How dare you genocide my children?” He gasps, and you can’t help but chuckle, eliciting a moan from him as your walls tighten around his cock. “M-minus one Gojo junior.”

Another laugh. Another moan. Another kiss.

“Would you put a baby into me if I didn’t?” You trace against his lips, uncertain of the answer you want to hear.

There’s no reason to be discussing having kids when you haven’t even tied the knot, let alone when more qualified candidates exist to continue his clan’s lineage. Maybe Shoko—she and Satoru have always been close, and a healing technique sounds like a valuable inheritance. Utahime—you aren’t sure what her abilities are, but they too go back. Even Mei, her family have a sizable fortune, and their genes combined would—

Mischief sparks in his eyes, tugging at the corners of his mouth and spreading to your lips as he kisses you—not his close friend, not his self-declared nemesis, and certainly not his senior. Just plain old you.

“If that’s what the future Mrs. Gojo wants, then—”

“What do you—”

Before your questions can manifest, Satoru picks up a tempo that knocks the air out of your lungs and the thoughts out of your mind. Big palms wrap your knees around his torso, sculpted pecs smothering your plushy tits while he vigorously drills his cock into your sopping cunt, having the nerve to laugh at your whimpers in between strangled noises of his own.

“You feel so good f’me, baby. S-so fucking good, aren’t you? My good—nah, my perfect girl. Our kids will be perfect too. G-gonna have lots of ‘em, mm? Gonna-fuck, gimme a whole class to teach, right?” He blabs deliriously, broad shoulders flexing as your nails rake them.

You want that. Everything he’s willing to offer, a future where his last name precedes your first, and chubby babies that bear his disposition, his ideals, and his smiles follow on your trail like little disoriented ducklings; one where he’s your husband, and you’re his wife, and you’re tied to each other for life.

Satoru’s lips drift toward your neck, biting sloppy marks that have you writhing below him. And when his cock hits that one spot inside of you, the one he’s been abusing all night long like a kid with a brand new toy on Christmas Eve, “Oh my God—G-god, p-please j-just like that, shit shit f-fuck!”

“Why bring religion into this?” He mumbles, voice inadvertently sultry and cumbered with every bit of self-restraint he showed before entering this frenzy where his climax is the only thing that matters. “Just—hah, say my name. Let the heavens know who helped you ascend them.”

The next time your eyes meet, he’s grinning, pink lips bitten cherry red, and he’s pretty; so pretty; too pretty.

“C-can’t say th-things like that!” You struggle to maintain control over your bobbing head.

“Why not? Your little heart can’t handle it?”

“Sh-shut up, dumbass!”

His eyebrows unite amid his forehead, even his frown attractive.

“That’s not my name.”

“S-stupid!” You yelp, mainly addressing the myriad stupid butterflies that chose to swarm your stupid stomach at his stupid commentary.

“Mmm, I think you’re the one getting fucked stupid here, sugarplum.”

Satoru zooms on into your lips, playfully swiping his tongue in between. You can’t cum any more; it’s physically impossible. You think. But “impossible” isn’t a word in his vocabulary; every snap of his hips causes you to ride on a rollercoaster with no end-destination, only a consistent state of newer highs.

“S-satoru.” His name rolling off your tongue works like a charm, the rhythm of his thrusts slowing down as he presses your foreheads together.

“Again?” He pleads. Quietly. A pin capable of overshadowing his tone.

“‘Toru.” Two smiles turn into one. “My ‘Toru.”

“More.”

There’s not a single gap between your bodies; every piece of him fits into every piece of you like a puzzle, but somehow he seems to get closer, squeezing into your hips a little tighter and kissing your lips a little rougher.

His heart beats wildly against his chest, red leaking onto his cheeks and blue spilling from the ocean in his eyes. He looks at you with love—so much love that it’s seared into your very being and becomes your own identity as the only woman Gojo Satoru ever truly, madly, deeply loved.

“I love you, ‘Toru.”

It’s the combination of those four little words that pushes Satoru over the edge, his hips jerking violently while his cock pumps ropes upon ropes of creamy cum inside your spent pussy, filling you up until you can’t be filled any more.

He collapses on top of you, head reduced into a fluffy snowball that takes refuge in the crook of your neck, and that’s your cue to hold him close, pampering him with all the affection you’re otherwise so frugal about. He’s touch-starved to the point of shaking in your embrace, nearly purring as your arms loop behind his back and your lips touch his shoulders, peppering incomplete kisses across his hot skin.

Your hands relocate to his cheeks as he regains enough composure to face you, an idiotically bright smile stretching from one ear to the other. He nuzzles your palms, pressing kisses at the center of each and then rubbing his nose against them like a content kitten who just received the world’s greatest belly rub.

Aiko should learn from him.

“I love you more, hunny bunny.” Satoru beams, soft rays of sunshine pouring from the cracks in his dimples. “Non-negotiable.”

You bask in the afterglow together, locking toes as if you’re trying to hold hands and making out like two teenagers in heat. Correction: two idiots in love.

Your so-called honeymoon period never ended, probably because you never ran out of things to love about each other. Right now, you’re loving how Satoru’s dick remains plugged inside your pussy despite its painful twitching, for the simple reason you asked him to stay like that a little longer.

You love how Satoru tries to keep his eyes open when you kiss just so you can appreciate them a while longer, and you love the light giggle that tickles your lips as you remind him that only sociopaths kiss with their eyes open.

You love the way Satoru buries his head between your tits and squeezes them against his cheeks, apologizing to his “girls” for not giving them the proper attention and promising expensive lingerie and whipped cream treatments when you get back to Tokyo.

You also love how when Satoru pulls out and sees the mess he made out of your hole, his seed rolling between your thighs in an endless stream, his first reaction is to grin, and his second is to teleport across the room, cleaning you up before you can realize he ever left. You love that the answer to the question “how?” is a cocky “because I’m Gojo Satoru,” which seems to be the answer to most things concerning him.

The list of things you love about your boyfriend grows exponentially after Satoru puts the two of you in bed and pulls you into his arms. You love his hugs. How you drown in them, how he engulfs you better than any dress, shirt, or skirt can. You love the comforting scent his pores exude and the temperature of his naked skin on yours.

You love the narrow hugs that date back to lazy mornings in your student one-bedroom apartment, splayed in a bed that could barely fit his enormous legs, and the wide, almost too comfortable ones you share in his king-sized bed. You love the silly, whiny tone that typically begs you to miss work and try to outlast eternity with him, now declaring it’s “sleepy time.”

You love the Satoru that chased after you until you loved him back, and the Satoru who patiently waits until your eyelids close first so you don’t go a minute without him.

“‘Toru?” You mumble into his chest, seconds before the last semblance of conscience fades away. “Did you turn it off? Your technique, I mean.”

“Did I?” Snowy lashes flutter slowly above his tired eyes. “Hmm, guess we’ll have to see in nine months.” Satoru kisses your forehead. “Goodnight, my little cuddle muffin.”

On second thought, there is one thing you hate about him.

“Goodnight, Gojo.”

“G-Gojo?! Hey, what happened to ‘Toru? Baby? I know you’re not sleeping—hey, wake up, I was just joking! Come on!”

43 Missed Calls—Principal Nanimon

You have 9 new voicemails.

Press play.

“Satoru!” The phone rattles in his grasp, nearly falling into the wooden plate splayed on his lap. “I think I told you to keep your phone on at all times! You are a sorcerer; show some responsib—”

“What is he going on about?” Satoru yawns, scratching the back of his head, and then scrolls to the next voicemail in line.

“Satoru! This is your final chance to answer before I—”

“Final my ass, there’s like—what, seven more of ‘ese?” He comments with a mouth full of fruit that the room service so kindly delivered a few minutes ago. Delicious. Another reason for him to drop a five-star review.

It’s no surprise when the third voicemail starts with the exact same enraged pronunciation of his name and continues with empty threats that want him scrubbing the entire school grounds. Yaga seems to have forgotten their teacher-student relationship ended a decade ago.

Neeeeeext.

“Satoru, I saw what Nanimon is, and I am not happy.”

“Oh? So he outgrew Windows XP?” He chuckles inaudibly.

Licking the sticky nectar off his fingers, Satoru pads toward the window, standing guard between the vicious sun rays and your sleeping form. You appear immune to Yaga’s ear-shattering voice, eyelids shut, and sheets kicked off your nude body, with your hair coiled around your head like a hornet’s nest.

Muffling the speaker with one hand, Satoru leans to untangle the hair from your open mouth. He thinks he might be partial to your charms, because even when he’s holding onto your spit-laced locks, he can only smile at how cute you are drooling in your sleep.

“Satoru? Satoru!” A voice far too guttural to be yours calls out to him, until he realizes Yaga’s voice has broken out of the voicemails.

“Principal Yaga!” Satoru greets once he puts some distance between himself and the bedding. “Good morn—”

“Satoru! What do you think you are doing not answering my calls?” The man fumes.

“Eating persimmons while watching my adorable girlfriend sleep,” he answers earnestly, switching apps and snapping a quick picture of your face. “She’s so pretty—ahhhh, I feel so lucky! Want me to show you? Do you even remember what a real woman looks like?” He taunts.

“She’s still your girlfriend?”

“Huh?” The phone changes ears. “Man, your memory is really failing you. How about I pay for you and Principal Gakuganji to go on a little vacation? I know this amazing resort for senior citizens; their cognitive enhancement therapy did wonders for my great-great-great uncle. Just say my name; they’ll treat you—”

“Satoru, this is important!” Yaga cuts him off. “You’ve been off the map an entire day,” fourteen hours, he corrects, “and haven’t popped the question? What are you waiting for?”

His gaze rakes over your exposed body, trailing the necklace of mauve lovebites around your neck. Smiling, “We’ve been busy.”

“Tell me you didn’t forget the ring.”

“Nah, it’s right here.”

Satoru reaches inside his yukata’s sleeve and examines the small jewelry box, tempted to ruin the surprise by grabbing the blue diamond ring and placing it around your finger—right here, right now. It will look so much prettier on you than it does gathering dust in its confinement.

“What about you?” He stores it away and resumes his call. “Did you do what I asked you to?”

A sigh. “It’s all ready on our side. Are you sure she’ll say yes? You sound confident, but a woman’s heart isn’t the same as jujutsu, Satoru. When it comes to love, the mouth is the source of disaster, and when it comes to you, it’s better to just give her the damn ring and say nothing.”

“And Sugiyama Kiyotaka says it’s fine as long as we understand each other. I get your point. Don’t need love advice from an old man with a doll fetish. I know what I’m doing. Besides, she’s the only one for me. She will say yes.”

A low roar reverberates from the speaker like a faulty engine that’s about to combust, and when it does combust, the entire room shakes. “Satoru! You’re gonna be a married man soon. Better shape up or—”

“Blah blah blah,” Satoru mocks. “Don’t you have anyone else to nag? I think Ijichi forgot to file that—”

“‘Toru?”

The sweet sound of your voice gives him all the reason he needs to hang up the phone after a hasty, “Don’t call me if you don’t need me, and if you do, then don’t.”

“Babyyyyyyyyyy!” He drags out the syllable as much as possible, an invisible cloud of dust appearing around his body when he falls on the empty space beside you, open arms wrapping your shoulders in an excruciatingly tight embrace. Kisses—lots of kisses slobbered all over your face while you are too drowsy to repel him.

“‘T-Toru! S-stop!” You chuckle hoarsely, reciprocating the sentiment however you can. “Who was that on the phone?”

“No one important,” Satoru grins, balancing his chin against your chest. “Ready for today? I got a very fun day planned ahead of us.”

A/N: If you made it this far, then congratulations! You finished reading my first Gojo fic (that made me fall in love with him jsjsjs)

As I mentioned above, chapter 1 is a flashforward to the main storyline that will start kicking chapter 2 onward. Expect laughable misunderstandings, questionable comedic moments, cat rescuings, college tutorings, and the angst behind Gojo's refusal to get married.

Hope you'll stick with! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments, are always appreciated 💙

[delusionisaplace]

can you pls write some banter prompts <33

ofc!! and thanks for the ask :)))

𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙛𝙪𝙡 𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙩𝙨:

have fun with these | tag me if you use any | if yall want more prompts like this, jus drop an ask

“Do you trust me?” “Yeah, but I feel like I shouldn’t?”

“If you were a movie, you would be a comedy.” “Aww, because I make you laugh?” “No, because you’re ridiculously stupid.”

“You’re like a good book: I can’t seem to put you down.” “You know how to read?”

“Did you steal my fries?” “No, I just borrowed them indefinitely.”

“You’re a clown.”

“You’re the most unique person I’ve ever met.” “Unique is just a nice way to say weird.”

"You're like a puzzle I can't solve." "Oh, so I'm a brain teaser now?" "More like a never-ending Sudoku."

“You love my cooking, right?” “It’s like an arduous adventure for the taste buds.”

“I’ll pay you to leave me alone.” “I thought you said I was priceless to you?”

“You’re just like cotton candy—full of hot air.”

“Are you sure you aren’t missing a few brain cells?” “Of course not!”

“When we’re together, it’s like WiFi: a strong connection.” “It’s more like 3G data, but alright.”