#its ok i caught myself in time

[eebie]

little nightmares is scary strong… two little guys all alone in a big world … They speak not a word 2 each other besides like. little whimpers yet they love!!!!. an inhospitable and desolate forest of hostility set ablaze with a single spark of companionship ^_^ a beating heart in the chest of a corpse, a lively daffodil growing from the rot of roadkill . their bond rends heads from shoulders, tha sky from the earth And in between they kindle their own glowing salvation out of the warmth that they find in each other!!!!!

[hinamie]

theyre soft your honour

[esshades]

What a day huh

(It's not even 8AM)

[soft-pine]

people have said a lot of funny things to me while trying to critique my spreadsheet of notes. but none of them have come close to matching the freak of this. the claim that supernatural season 1 episode 7 "hookman" frames sam as a damsel in distress.

and not only that. but that somehow somehow i didn't include this in my notes document...

my brother in christ, i don't have a sheet for insane sam meta.

[lem-argentum]

i’ve been so focused on art n life stuff that time keeps going by ridiculously fast hfkdnfh <33 hello world today was good yesterday was good :D <3

[nomaishuttle]

writing my reading list and its becoming obvious that my brain is truly throwing every special interest ive ever had trying to make one stick again so i have a thing to be a person about

[xamaxenta]

My gf is like im struggling with this pose im drawing and im like oh yeah lemme see

And she deflects like its bad and then fuckigng shows me an absolute banger of a sketch and im just 💀 bitch this is so good

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | oneshot smut [18+]

title. around the clock

Hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision.

ᰔ pairing. babysitter/boxing au - underground boxer & babysitter!gojo x college student!reader (f)

ᰔ summary. when underground boxer gojo satoru becomes a little strapped for cash, he gets a day job as a babysitter for a five-year-old kid named yuuji who most definitely has adhd (but that’s besides the point). the kid’s mom gave gojo two rules, and two rules only: don’t accidentally kill my son, and do not flirt with my daughter. he’s pretty sure he’s got a good hold on the former, but he’s got no self control over the latter.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, smut, casual sex, lil bit of fluff, lil bit of crack, slight age gap (reader’s 22 & gojo’s 27), cum play, creampie, unprotected sex, praise kink, slight degradation, gojo is a sleazebag that cares?, sort of porn-coded smut except there’s a lil bit of lore so it’s kinda porn w plot, uhh having sex with risk of getting caught, gojo beats people up at night & then plays father figure to a 5 y/o during the day, mentions of violence/alcohol/drugs/blood/cigarettes

ᰔ word count. 12.6k

a/n. hiiii friends jeez it feels like FOREVER since i've posted some good ol' smut (still has plot tho xd)...hopefully you enjoy n see ya at the bottom! lmk if i missed any warnings! if you asked to be tagged but didn’t get tagged it’s bc you have your tags off aaa :( even when some ppl tried to fix it i still couldn’t tag them i’m sorry!!

alsoooooo so very much love to @starmapz for beta reading this for me :”) really helped me w my posting nerves haha. she is also a wonderful jjk author pls go check out her works!! 💕 ART CREDITS: @/3-aem

➸ masterlist

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): heyy um i’m sorry if this comes off kinda rude i just am kinda bad with this but i was wondering if you could text my mom for questions about yuuji’s care instead of me?

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Oh 2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Yeah, sure

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sorry i know my mom doesn’t know much ab how to take care of him bc i was the one that took care of him for a while but i just really want to separate myself from that guardian role now that i’ve transferred to NYU yknow? :/ i think it’s not my place anymore. i just wanna be big sis now haha

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: I get it. Sorry if I was making you uncomfortable with my texts

2:48pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): no no not uncomfy by it, thanks for looking after him. it’s just i’m kind of busy n stuff so it can be distracting 

2:49pm Gojo Satoru: Ok, got it

2:52pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): and it was kind of an issue with his last babysitter

2:53pm Gojo Satoru: Oh?

2:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeahhh like he would keep textinf me n stuff uhh kinda weird things… i told my mom about it and she was super pissed so she fired him

2:55pm Gojo Satoru: Weird things?

2:56pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah he was always “accidentally sexting me” n like he sent me a dick pic once sooooo yeah

2:56pm Gojo Satoru: Who tf 2:56pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll go beat him up

2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): oh no no its fine lol 2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): please dont beat anyone up 2:58pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i’m not saying you’re like him tho i just think maybe less texting unless its an emergency okay?

3:00pm Gojo Satoru: Are you sure because I will totally go beat him up for you

3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO I DONT WANT YOU TO BEAT ANYONE UP FOR ME 3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): also no offense but you dont look like you could beat someone up

3:01pm Gojo Satoru: WHAT 3:02pm Gojo Satoru: Tf you mean “no offense” that’s literally the most offensive thing you could say to a guy

3:04pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeaa i mean you have muscles ofc but in the ‘ohhh i wanna look good for instagram’ way and not like real man muscles yknow

3:06pm Gojo Satoru: Ok princess next time you visit home and go on one of your stupidly large grocery hauls I’ll make sure you carry all those groceries in by yourself 

3:06pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): I WAS JUST JOKING 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): YOURE SO STRONG TY FOR ALWAYS CARRYING THE GROCERIES INSIDE 3:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): PLEASE KEEP CARRYING MY GROCERIES INSIDE

3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Nah 3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Should we be texting right now? I’m not sensing any emergencies here

3:11pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): pls. my groceries :(

3:16pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll let the kiddo know you say hi 👋🏼 

The irony of it all was that, if Gojo really wanted to, he absolutely could beat the shit out of someone. And he has, hundreds of times, pseudo professionally. Although that isn’t something he’d admit to you, out of fear that you might relay that info back to your mom who would then become mortified that she’s entrusted her five-year-old son’s life to the hands of an underground boxer. 

But he needed the money. A night-time job didn’t really make daytime money, not when they could easily replace him with the next dude the second he gets knocked out of the ring more than twice, let alone if he let it happen once. And although he sometimes made large sums, it wasn’t stable income. He needed a back-up plan, and so babysitting it was. 

The babysitter working nights at unsanctioned dojos and gyms located in the back of cartel blocks, knocking teeth out of men twice his size, would put any decent mother into a coma or induce some episode of syncope, hence why it wasn’t something he put on his resume before he got hired. Not that he even needed to provide a resume; your mom seemed desperate to cover the position as fast as possible, that promotion at work was moving faster than she wanted to, and Gojo’s beneficial attribute that he possessed as a candidate to look after her son, compared to all the other potential hires, was that he had a penis.

He likes the kid. Yuuji. He’s got kind of a short attention span, and makes Gojo weary of his age. Hold up, that makes him sound like he’s geriatric, he’s really only the ripe old age of twenty-seven, but the immortality and infinite stamina that a five-year-old boy has on him is enough to have him huffing and puffing at the end of every single evening shift he takes on with the rascal. 

Fighting is all sprint, and no stamina. Sure, there might be some more seasoned boxers that might disagree with him, but for someone as young as him in the field, it’s the tactic he’s been forced to gain. If he draws a fight on for too long, he'll get killed by a forty-two year old man with steroids clogging up his adipose tissue and enough  testosterone to grow a full-body beard by the time the sun starts to set. No, his strategy is to knock them out within the first fifteen seconds. Use their weight against them, and whatnot. A tactic he’s found has worked, since he’s been undefeated thus far. 

He can never wrap his head around it. The drug lords that run the rings who’ve gained millions the night before from selling crystal meth only to lose it all the night following in the second Gojo hooklines a solid punch to their betting boxer’s chin, making them see God & their Momma before they tap out (if they’re even able).

He doesn’t pocket much money from it, not anything compared to what the men who bet on him end up making at least, but it’s a decently solid sum. How lucrative it really is depends solely on what he thinks the value of his life is.

It’s not unheard of, boxers dying in the ring. Turns out, rich drug dealers care very little about the sheep they’ve captured to perform their entertaining little stunts. But Gojo wasn’t doing all of this to feel some sense of work-life pride, no, it was just sustenance. When basic needs are not met, humans resort to the most animalistic of all behaviors, and while he’s not proud of what he does, he can’t deny the fact that it’s turned him into an adrenaline junkie that gets a rush in his veins every time he knocks a jaw loose.

But balance was key. And hence why he’s a boxer by night, babysitter by day. For at least four days a week, he gets to pretend he’s the king’s most trusted appointed knight, or he’s the radioactive tyrannosaurus rex that wants to tyrannize all the other dinosaurs, or maybe he’s the evil power ranger (he always forgets which color that one was) that is determined to make the world a living hell by smashing mr. potatohead against the bunk bed post a billion times for all the other toys to see. Or whatever other imaginative hyperfixations Yuuji imposes on him in the later afternoon once he’s had his bowl of spaghetti-O’s and is ready to play. Lately, the kid’s been really into space. They’ve got all sorts of space toys these days. Back in Gojo’s day, he just had a good ol’ Buzz Lightyear.

“One rule, that’s it: don’t accidentally kill my son. Actually, one more rule. Don’t flirt with my daughter.” 

There’s a part of Gojo that believes your mom kind of knows he’s up to shady shit at night, otherwise why else would she clause for him to not flirt with you if she didn’t read the slight swell to his eye and the healing gash across his cheek as anything other than this boy is trouble and I want him nowhere near my too-good-for-him daughter of reproductive capacity since that’s the exact tale of how I became a single mother in the first place. Or maybe he inherently looks like he’s up to no good? He’s not sure which angle is more offensive, and which one was more flattering. Well in any case, she entrusted Yuuji’s life to him, despite acknowledging the plausibility of harm, and that means she overall thinks positively of him, right? ……right?

The first night he met you, it was awkward to say the least. Gojo spends most of his nights performing deadly stunts for middle aged men with potbellies, and most of his days hanging out with a five-year-old (one who he’d argue is his only friend at this point). Sure, he’s got some people he sees occasionally back in his high school hometown when he can brave hearing about how everyone’s in college now or doing a masters or they’re working respectable nine-to-five day jobs meanwhile he has to lie to his Pops that he’s been working in insurance for the past two years. Listen, in fairness, he probably makes the same amount of money as an insurance broker would anyways, but he can’t exactly own up to the identity of his craft. 

Anyways, the point is, he’s not used to seeing other people his age anymore. There’s the occasional hook-up with girls he hasn’t seen since Mrs. Tracy’s homeroom period back in sweet two-thousand-sixteen, or his twice-a-year hangout with Suguru where he only learns the day of where he's visiting from since the guy moves around more than Gojo can keep up with. But save for that, he mostly just sees your mom and then Yuuji. 

So seeing you standing in the kitchen for the first time when he went to put Yuuji’s half-finished GoGurt back in the fridge was startling to say the least. When the sight of a woman startled him, he knew he needed to start getting out again.

You were on your tiptoes, reaching up to grab at something over the fridge, and wearing these ridiculously short shorts to where he could see the curve of your ass, his line of sight trailing down the skin of your bare legs. He couldn’t see anything of your form above your shorts, given you were wearing an extremely baggy t-shirt with NYU on it in big bolded university letters. As far as he knew, you were a senior at NYU, studying psychology, made dean’s list consecutively for the past three years given the way your mother posted all your stellar transcripts up on the fridge (he gets that she’s proud of her daughter, but doesn’t that kind of stuff usually end in grade school?) But other than that, it was all the information he had on you.

“Here,” he said, pressing his front to your back, maybe just to get a feel, as he reached over to you to finally grab the box of cereal you were swatting for, the one that he purposefully placed at the back because Yuuji learned how to climb counters recently. “Is this what you want?”

He had heard you gasp, spinning around on your heel fast, staring up at him with wide eyes like you weren’t expecting some random man to be in the house right now, and your first instinct ended up being to grab the knife out of the kitchen knife block and lunge it straight at his torso.

If it wasn’t for his boxer reflexes, he’d have ended up at the ER that evening. Or dead. All depending on the strength you could pack into a stab. But instead, he deflected it, though not without a gash to his torso through the fabric of his shirt, one that you spent the rest of the evening profusely apologizing for and eventually mending to with cotton balls and neosporin. 

“I didn’t know you were my little brother’s babysitter,” you mumbled with a small wince on your face as you dabbed ointment on the wound while he pulled the hem of his shirt up to his shoulder. He’s never had an injury tended to before. It was nice.

“It’s fine, I get it, totally acceptable response to seeing a random dude in your house.”

He remembers the curl of your eyelashes while you stared down at his bare upper half, something he imprinted on his memory rather than the concern in your face as your fingertips traced the scars across his chest. He hoped they made you feel better about the one you just slashed into him, because after all, what was one more? 

He knows he shouldn’t have, but he kissed you that night. Two minutes before your mom came home, and right after you bid him goodnight with one more apology, he backed you up against the door of your bedroom, his hands on your hips pulling you towards him, and his lips pressed against yours. Something seamless, from candid conversation that was heading towards an end, to full fledged making out against white-painted wood, his teeth nipping at your lip and he wondered just how touch-starved those university boys were leaving you given the desperate way you’d clinged to his shirt for dear life as he deepened the kiss.

The moment only lasted one minute and fifty-seven seconds, and in the remaining three, your mother’s key pushed into the front door and he had to pull away. Always, on the dot, 10PM, she was home. It was how he knew he had two minutes left to make a move in the first place.

So much for no flirting.

6:57pm Gojo Satoru: Bahahah I accidentally forgot where yuuji’s epipen is 6:58pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 6:59pm Gojo Satoru: Turns out this can-o-soup was just covering it in the cabinet

7:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): ??? why did you need to find his epipen

7:08pm Gojo Satoru: Oh he accidentally took a bite of my pad thai 7:09pm Gojo Satoru: I freaked cuz I thought it had peanuts in it but I remember I asked for it without any  7:09pm Gojo Satoru: shit’s crazy

7:10pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY THE FUCK DIDNT YOU TEXT ME????????

7:12pm Gojo Satoru: YOU SAID YOU DIDNT WANT ME TEXTING YOU UNLESS IT WAS AN EMERGENCY ?

7:13pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): SATORU YOU THOGHT HE ATE SOMETHING W PEANUTS IN IT AND YOU FORGOT WHERE HIS EPIPEN WAS THATSS A FUCKIGN EMERGENCY

7:15pm Gojo Satoru: THE KID IS DOING FINE HES ALIVE JESUS LEAVE ME ALONE 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: See. he’s chill 7:17pm Gojo Satoru: with intact airways might I add 7:18pm Gojo Satoru: Also isn’t he a little too old to still be watching baby sensory videos?

7:20pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah my mom thinks he has adhd :(

7:22pm Gojo Satoru: oh

He tried to keep his word though (although he doesn’t recall ever giving it) out of the respect he had for your mom. She was a hard-working lady, single mom of two who went from working three jobs to now being a major administrator at a big law firm near the outskirts of town. It was an underdog story if he’d ever heard one, and he loved an underdog story. 

But a little texting here and there wouldn’t hurt, right? Or so he thought, until you told him to cut it out with the contact. Maybe you were just trying to be the good one in this situation. After all, hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision. Still, he’ll eventually get your replies to his which shirt should Yuuji wear to the park? and look, the toothfairy gave him the butt of a joint and a couple thumbtacks for his front tooth. he’s ecstatic texts, although in a less timely manner than before when you weren’t trying to preserve propriety. And when you’d occasionally visit every other weekend, he’d do his best to keep his hands in his pockets, and you’d fill up your nights with hangouts with your hometown friends to avoid spending too much time with him at the house. A silent agreement to not fuck each other, it was. 

4:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): send pic of yuuji pls i miss him :(

5:04pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo]

5:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): IS THAT BLOOD?!?!?!?!

5:09pm Gojo Satoru: chillllllll it’s fake. We’re working on his halloween costume

5:09pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY DOES IT HAVE BLOOD?!?!?!?!?!?

5:10pm Gojo Satoru: He wants to be a baby xenomorph and I'm his parasitic host. You know that iconic chestburster scene from the old school alien movies? yeah

5:12pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): satoru please for the love of god just dress him up as a dinosaur or something

5:13pm Gojo Satoru: I’m not the one that came up with the idea, okay? It was him

5:14pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): because you let him watch adult swim with you before putting him to bed. you’ve deranged his brain.

5:14pm Gojo Satoru: He needs it. Builds character.

Gojo was living a double life, and if someone asked him, he’d say it was less of a Clark Kent way and more of a Bruce Wayne way, although in reality, he knows it’s close to neither. He’s no superhero with a concealed identity fighting crime, he’s a con artist that’s tricked a hard-working woman into hiring him just because he’s trying to save up enough money to get the fuck out of this godforsaken town, given he’s not knocked dead before then for the crime’s amusement.

But Yuuji looks up to him now. And Gojo’s grown attached to him too. He taught the kid how to tie his own shoes and piss inside the actual toilet like a real man. And that kid’s the only thing that’s made him question any of this. Maybe that’s what dads feel, suddenly held to all this impossible responsibility and the pressure to stop doing stupid shit so that you’ll stick around to see your kids get older. The thought that there are eyes on you now, eyes that are innocent and hopeful and learning, and because they know nothing at all, you feel the responsibility to protect them from everything. For fucks sake, remind him to never become a dad. 

“Do you like my sister?” Yuuji had asked him out of nowhere one afternoon after he just got home from preschool, stacking a blue cube over a yellow one at the dining table.

“Uhh,” Gojo starts. He wondered if your mom had put a wire on the kid, so his answer was as diplomatic as he could manage. “Yeah, she’s cool. You’ve got a cool sister.”

“But. But.” Yuuji stutters, trying to find his big boy words. He stretches up higher to reach the top of his stack of blocks, but he only has so much arm real estate at the age of five. “Do you like her like you wanna kiss her?”

Gojo grabs the block from the kid’s hand, for a moment questioning Yuuji’s decision to want to put a blue block over another blue block, but he figures aesthetics are the least of a kid’s concern, and so he places the block where Yuuji wanted it. 

Why does the kid know what kissing is anyway? Do kids know that kind of stuff at that age? Isn’t a kiss to a five-year-old just something their mom gives to them before they head off to preschool for the day? And not something that happens between adult men and women? Maybe he should stop watching that adult swim in front of him.

“No. I don’t want to kiss your sister,” he says, again, because he is suspicious of a wire. It was a lie and then some, because he wants to do a lot more than just kiss you.

Gojo lifts the RedBull he was nursing up to his lips and watches Yuuji in the corner of his eye as the kid stares at his growing stack of blocks with a concentrated expression on his face, his chubby fingers squeezing tightly into little round dimpled balls, like he’s putting together all his tiny brain cells together to form another coherent thought before turning to face Gojo on the chair.

“It’s ok. You can kiss her if you wan’ed to. You can marry her too,” Yuuji says.

Gojo almost spits out his RedBull. He barely manages to swallow it, a broken cough immediately leaving his throat when some of the liquid goes down the wrong pipe and he’s smacking a fist against his chest to knock the sanity back into himself.

“Where the fu—…where the flip did that come from?” he asks, blinking back tears from the rasp in his throat.

Yuuji’s small shoulders sulk as he sits back on his heels. “I want a papa.”

Oh fuck that hurt. Jesus christ, there was nothing more sad than that. Yuuji has literally never known what it’s like to have a dad, since his had left before he was even born. Gojo’s not really close to his old man by any means, but he had still been a fatherly figure in some pivotal moments when he had needed it growing up. Kids need their dads. And he’s seen enough people lose their way without one to know that the value of them is really underestimated.

He’s also kind of shocked that Yuuji really did think of you as his motherly figure. Maybe since it had always just been him and his dad, Gojo learned how to self sustain from a young age, and he and his dad became accustomed to just looking after their own interests to avoid the headache of tending to one another. My land is my land, and your land is yours, and there was the occasional Saturday night spent together with his dad’s millions of beer bottles emptied dry on the carpet in front of the 1992 box TV as the two shared a greasy pizza from the place down the street. That was the extent of family solidarity that he knew.

But he can’t imagine being barely eighteen and having to take care of your little brother all by yourself because your mom was too busy trying to put food on the table and was too poor to hire a babysitter. Your mom tried so damn hard to keep you away from the single teenage mother life, but somehow ended up giving it to you by proxy in the end anyway. It was no wonder you wanted space now that Yuuji’s a little older and your mom can afford a babysitter. No matter how much you might love your sibling, being their effective guardian out of pure necessity had to have taken a toll.

Gojo clears his throat before he speaks. “Buddy. If I married your sister, we’d be brothers. I wouldn’t be your dad.” 

Yuuji’s eyes light up at the word brother. “Brothers? Me and you?”

“Yeah. Bros.”

The kid giggles, all bubbly with cheeks rounding fully and eyes sparkling. Gojo reaches out to ruffle at his hair before Yuuji gets down onto one stubby leg at a time from the chair then bolts towards the kitchen.

“Juice!!” he yells somewhere around the corner out of sight.

Gojo sighs, staring at all the toys he pulled out for Yuuji to play with, all left in a scattered mess across the table. He gets up out of his chair and heads towards the fridge. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get you your juice, you little demon.”

The conclusion he comes to, and it might read like an obvious one, is that kids don’t really know the reality of life, hence why adults hide so much from them. 

This is what he thinks of tonight when he wraps his worn out boxing tape around his hands and his wrist, tightening it with his teeth, and he can smell the sweat and grime from them. The back of the underground gym had an old dated locker room, and as Gojo stretches his neck side to side while sitting on the stiff metal bench, he eyes the peeling red paint of the locker in front of him, blurring vision making it look like spilt blood. 

His phone pings with a text. He shuffles inside his duffle bag to look for it while his other hand scratches at his bare chest.

1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): hhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): omgomgomg sor y i’m 

He blinks at the screen, confusion flashing across his face. He types one letter, but then he sees three dots and a speech text bubble in the bottom left, so he waits for you.

1:09am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i drunk :(

The corner of his mouth ticks up slightly. 

1:09am Gojo Satoru: Yeah I can tell

1:10am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): at a apartyyyy

His eyebrows raise slightly, the thought of you tipsy on some frat party couch flashing through his mind, yet of all things you could be doing at that frat party, you’re texting him? Must be a really boring party.

1:11am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): whyyy are you aawake?

1:12am Gojo Satoru: Couldn’t sleep 1:12am Gojo Satoru: Don’t you have a midterm in the morning?

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): wtf hwo do you knwo that

1:15am Gojo Satoru: Your mom keeps your schedule posted on the fridge

1:15am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): im so fucked;’;(((

He snorts. He’s got a bit more life experience than you, five-ish years to be exact, more than enough time to master the no-hangover hangout, but just before he can offer you some advice, he sees another text from you. 

1:16am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): can i tell u smething 

His gaze flits up to the ceiling briefly, and he hears commotion outside the thick walls of the locker room. The previous fight was over, and fast. The guy must’ve been knocked out in under twenty seconds tops, which means that Gojo was next up against whatever superbeast just beat him up. 

1:17am Gojo Satoru: Sure

He stands up, placing his phone down on the bench before he flexes the muscles in his arms a couple times to get the blood flowing into them. And there’s the noise of another ping. Actually, four.

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sonetimes 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i thikn of  1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): when u kisse me 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): *kissed me

His eyes widen slightly, irises dry to the ashy cigarette smoke from outside lingering in the air, and his heart rate picks up a bit. An adrenaline junkie with close to no fear in his veins due to the way his amygdala’s been fried to a crisp from years of boxing, yet he’s got his breath hitched from the memory of your soft lips against his. It makes the blood rushing through the muscles of his arms rush somewhere down south instead.

Loud banging on the door of the locker room jolts him out of his trance, and he’s stiff around the edges once more.

“Satoru! You’re up, man,” he hears Danny, the fight coordinator, yell at him from the other side of the heavy & poorly-installed steel door.

Gojo sighs, glancing down at the texts on his phone. To respond, or not to respond. You’re off your face, clearly chatty from the alcohol, and he knows for certain you’ll regret every life decision you’ve ever made once you wake up in the morning and see the self sabotaging behaviors you’ve engaged in tonight. He knows that responding to you might put you at ease rather than straight up ignoring you, but the feeling will pass, and he has a match to win with no more room left to stall.

He makes his way out the locker room, pushing past the crowded halls of people underneath dim flashing club lighting, some dudes angrily jerking to face him when he pushes past them with a stiff shoulder, only for their eyes to widen when they see just exactly who pushed them. 

There’s strippers in the ring, doing some routine for pre-match, and Gojo narrows his eyes at the man he sees laying back over the rubber boundary rope, head tipped back up to the ceiling with a wicked grin on his face. So that was his opponent? He’s never seen the guy before. Was he from a different district? Different district talent was tough, you had no background info on them, while they’ve been preparing to be here for weeks. Hence why boxers tend to do better when they visit a different district than they do in their own. There have been rules made to limit these types of fights, mostly over outrage that it was unfair to bid on them, but they were also usually more entertaining to watch. Gojo’s got a sick feeling to his stomach as the strippers clear the ring.

“Hey,” Gojo calls out, grabbing Danny by the back of his collar and dragging him towards him and away from the girls stepping down onto the floor, “what’s in for this fight?”

Danny glances up at the ceiling. “Tarp’s bettin’ tonight, so it can’t be anything less than ten grand for you. I’d say tops fifteen?”

Gojo narrows his eyes further, then glances off into the ring again. The man stands up, and Gojo gets a better look on his face. He’s got short hair, neon green in color with a dark fade underneath and tattoos all over his face. But those eyes. They were freakishingly red, and it made him uneasy. He knows the type. The type of boxers that do this to genuinely hurt people for thrill. Make no mistake, Gojo understands he’s made himself out to be like that too, gaining some kind of rush out of this profession, but this type of fighter was different. The type to literally continue smashing a dude’s face into the floor until they’re a bloody mess even minutes after the winning call, and no referee to stop it because that’s the kind of action the spectators wanted.

Danny reads his line of sight. “That’s Gale. Newton’s new boxing toy. Came outta nowhere about a month ago. He’s undefeated so far in his district, and Newton specifically wanted to see you up against him tonight,” Danny tells Gojo, resting his elbow up on his bare shoulder. “Chances are he’ll compete with Tarp for final bid if you win this one. I’m talking twenty-five grand in the next if you can knock him out in this.”

“Uh-huh,” Gojo acknowledges, rolling his shoulder so Danny’s elbow falls from it. Forget the money, he just wants to make it out of this alive.

He sets his foot up on the square, ducking through the dividing boundary straps and the tacky caution construction tape that the gym thinks creates an exciting ambience. He hears the static of the speakers as the announcers call out Gojo’s name, then this other guy, loud bass club music booming through Gojo’s chest as he tries to take a few deep breaths through the thick air of this low-ceiling arena. 

The dim overhead lights flickered, casting shadows over the makeshift ring, and the crowd pressed tight around at every perimeter area, yelling and pushing, one even tosses a beer bottle on the square and it shatters, spreading glass all across, a few shards reaching Gojo’s feet and he looks down at them with a shudder. A fight immediately breaks out in the crowd over something related or possibly entirely unrelated, and he’d have no way of knowing as he swipes the shards away with his heel.

The influential men always sat up on higher seating, off towards the back in their own VIP section where they suck in the smoke of fat cigarettes and peer through 100% tinted sunglasses to assess the boxers they’ve bid thousands on. The light reflects off the golden grills of their teeth with every snarl at any passerby that gets too close, like a lion in its den. That’s what the sanction was called. Lion’s den.

Gojo sighed, eyeing the twisted grin of this Gale guy across from him. Was that his real name? Usually, foreign district guys get nicknames. Gojo’s always thought the nicknames were tacky, and he’s accumulated some of his own over the years, but to his ears, none of them ever really landed, although The White Fox admittedly was kinda nice. Reminded him of throwback shooting games. 

He sucked a breath in through his teeth, holding his hands up in front of his chest in weak fists, storing energy in them in the form of pure anticipation alone, and then the bell rang.

His opponent lunged towards him immediately, fists flying in a barrage of reckless strikes, and Gojo’s eyes momentarily widened in the briefest moments of hesitation he had been allowed before ducking and dodging every one of this guy's shots, then jumping a step back to create distance.

Fuck. He was fast. Not just boxer fast, athlete fast. There was a difference. And it wasn’t a good one to be up against.

Gojo picked up light on his feet. He couldn’t win this one fast, that much was certain. One single careless or reckless move, and he’ll get tackled. He knows that by the malicious look he sees on that guy’s face, grin wide like he’s some cannibalistic beast. 

Stepping back towards the center, Gojo purposefully set himself up for Gale to swipe a vicious hook towards his head, before Gojo last minute ducked down, crouched to the floor, and swung his leg out to knock the guy off balance by his ankles, and he falls onto his back with a loud thud!

There’s a moment of momentary silence from the crowd, right before Gojo put the man in a torso-lock, twisting him in a way a human body should absolutely not be twisted, hearing the grunts of pain and the crack of spine even through the shouts of the crowd.

He can hear it. Kill him! Knock his fucking teeth out! Snap his neck like a goose, man! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM!

He feels like throwing up. 

Gojo looks up at the referee, who wasn’t really a referee, just there to run the clock when there was action and only barely stop it before near death. “This is enough, right?” he asks.

The referee nods. “1-0, next round.”

Gojo lets go of his opponent, leaving him there to heave for a moment before he gets up onto his feet again. Just needs one more, and he’s a winner. Ten grand in his pocket, and he won’t have to come back here for a couple weeks.

Gale gets up, swiping at the spit that had trickled out the corner of his mouth down to his chin, and he had an enraged look on his face. The second the bell rang for the second round, he exploded forward towards Gojo with even more fervor than before, gritted expression with a thirst for violence fueling the storm of punches he was throwing towards Gojo but he tried to remain calm, light on his feet, swiftly duck and avoid before he can find another opportunity to clear a sharp, clean jab right to the ribs—

sometimes, i think of when you kissed me

Gojo misses his strike, leaving his guard wide open, and Gale takes the opportunity to land a solid punch straight to his jaw, sending his mouth guard flying straight out of his mouth into the air, and knocking him backwards onto the ground with a thud and then he finds himself staring up at the rusting metal ceiling and a ringing in his ears that almost matches the roar of the crowd.

His head is in a haze, dizzy like where one second could feel like a millennia. He feels a soreness underneath his chin, a pain that radiates to his mouth, and he briefly swipes his tongue over his front teeth to make sure he still has all of them. 

What the fuck was that? That intrusive thought. There’s no intrusive thoughts allowed in life or death situations, not when he was always just one smash to the head away from a permanent concussion. But, fuck, he can’t help it. Can’t help thinking of you. Even when his vision has gone blurry and he should really be weary about what happens next in this ring, his mind’s just thinking about you, at some frat party, tipping back shots of tequila and waiting for a text-back in response to your tipsy ones. Were you even waiting up on him? Have you already passed out on the couch, or were your friends dragging you back to your dorm? Or are you fucking some other dude right now? Has he got his hand up your top, squeezing at you, sleazily feeling you up before spilling beer all down your shirt, and are you kissing him back with the same enthusiasm, your phone now somewhere long slipped between the cushions of the couch and out of sight?

Even though it’s still sore, he tenses his jaw. Grinds his teeth, even. Tasting blood somewhere along the line of his gums, he realizes his lip is split. He licks at it, the flavor of copper more rich on his tongue, and he clenches his fists tightly. Why’s he thinking of that right now? It just pisses him off, the thought of you with some other dude. Maybe that’s what he needs to win this fight. Spite. Although he’s not sure why the guy across from him at the ring has to pay for it.

He lifts his head up off the ground, and while it felt like years he had been down, a glance at the timer tells him it’s only been a solid four seconds. A solid four seconds that his opponent had to fully charge a lunge towards him with the look of death in his face, raising his elbow up into the air in time with his leap, ready to come straight down, and Gojo’s eyes widen at the sight above him from where he’s still lying on the wood.

“Shit—” he cusses, rolling his body over to the side so that the dude falls straight down onto the floor rather than elbow Gojo in the fucking ribs, and then he gets back up on his feet. 

Stakes were high, he has to end this, he has to end this now, and he flexes the muscle in his right bicep, channeling everything he has into this one blow, and before Gale even really has a chance to turn around and face him again, Gojo’s already three-fourths set up a knockout undercut that he drives straight up the guy’s chin, with so much force it has him lifting up off the floor, a vertebrate stretch to his spine before he’s sent flying backwards and slammed against the tight rubber lining of the ring to where he was half hanging over it.

The room fell silent for a split second, then erupted in a roar as the referee fell to one knee beside Gale, checking him for any semblance of consciousness, and when he found none, he waves the match off. 

Gojo’s eyes flit up towards the lion’s den, the only opinions that he really needed to care about were sitting in those mahogany chairs with glasses of scotch swirling around in their hands, and he sees some of them looking straight at Gojo before leaning towards one another and discretely talking about something he can’t make out because he doesn’t know how to read lips.

He feels someone tug at his arms from behind, pulling him to crouch down and he balances back on the balls of his feet. He glances down through the ring at the floor. Danny was leaning against the wooden surface of it. “Dude. Go.” He jerks his head towards Gale, who still laid there sprawled across the now stretched out rubber perimeter bands. “Go fuck him up. Knock a few more teeth out, I don’t know, get some more blood out of him.”

“What?” Gojo huffs, yanking his arm away from Danny’s grip. “The fuck are you saying?”

“I told you, man, Newton’s here and he’s got his eye on you. Go give him a show,” Danny says, “do it.” And when he sees clear frustration on Gojo’s face he sighs. “Twenty-five grand, consider that, will you?”

Gojo sneers at the man, an awful taste in his mouth as he spits blood towards Danny’s feet. “Go fuck yourself on his cock if he wants a show that bad.” And then he ducks underneath the bands and hops back down onto the floor, pushing past people who were trying to grab at him and pull at him and lift him up and even throw him down until he made it through flashing hallways and back to the locker room.

He shuts the door behind him, sliding the bolt lock into the frame so no one can follow him inside, and then he leans his weight back against the chilling steel before tipping his head back until it hits the surface too.

He lets out of a few deep breaths, then stares down at the sting he finds over his knuckles. Red and blistering from the last punch he delivered, and he’s almost certain he broke a bone in his hand. Fuck. It was bleeding across the cuts, too. He had to figure out a way to get it all healed by tomorrow, as if that was humanly possible, just because he doesn’t want Yuuji questioning him about it.

Yuuji. For fucks sake, when has he ever thought about the kid this much? When has he ever thought about much of anything when he’s out here or in the ring? He’s a babysitter by day. He’s a “part” of your family when the sun is up and normal functioning society is breathing their lives into the clean air. That’s it. He’s no five-year-old’s caretaker in front of all these primetime drug lords, and he certainly shouldn’t be thinking of you when facing big, burly men he’s aiming to rough up, all within the dead hours of night. So then how come these thoughts are on his mind at all times, twenty-four-seven, around the clock?

He heads further into the locker room, glancing down at the bench where he’d left his phone, then picks it up, neck craned all the way down to glance at the screen as he holds his phone by his hip because he doesn’t have any energy to pick it up any further towards his eyesight. 

He sees your messages. You never sent any follow-up ones, just your horrendously typed out sonetimes, i thikn of when u kisse me *kissed me across the span of four texts, and Gojo runs a tired hand down his face.

He tips his head back to groan at the ceiling, guttural with no basis other than a release of all the pent up frustration of every sort, then he types in a couple messages to you,

3:23am Gojo Satoru: That’s nice 3:24am Gojo Satoru: I think about fucking you all the time 

—and then tosses his phone into his duffel bag to call it a night.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You’re awoken to your alarm blaring heavily, and you whack your arm across your nightstand table beside your tiny twin-size bed to hit the snooze button, then rub your eye with a loose fist while smacking at the residual taste of alcohol you have on your tongue. 

“Mm…” you mumble to yourself. And then the thirst hits you. The overwhelming, intense, unquenchable thirst that leaves your mouth feeling like the Sahara desert before you grab your twice-dented Hydroflask from the nightstand, twist the cap off and chug about twenty ounces of water in one breath. 

You let out a deep exhale and fall back into bed, your hand resting on top of your water-filled tummy, and you stare up at the ceiling of your dorm. 

Last night was horrible. You knew you shouldn’t have gone to that frat party, especially given you have an exam in—you checked the time on your phone—about an hour, and an hour was not enough time to recover from the raging hangover headache that’s pounding through your head. But your roommates insisted you went, and so go you did. You never knew what to expect, always torn between shaving your pussy before you go or throwing on a stained pair of sweatpants to keep the guys away instead. Sometimes, it was a combination of both. But last night, you ended up drinking more than you usually do, and that always led to poor, poor, poor decisions, in which all the sense of pride you had in yourself was washed down with the puke that you hurled into the upstairs toilet. 

You grab at your phone again, briefly seeing that your friends had sent you some photos from the night. You immediately swiped off to the side to dismiss the notifications, because as far as you were concerned, you never wanted to see those photos in your life.

And then, in the briefest of moments, you saw a familiar name in your notifications that made you heart skip a beat.

Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter)

With an immediate gasp, you pulled your phone to your chest and held it there, blinking up at the pale yellow ceiling, your heart picking up in rhythm.

Oh fuck.

That was right.

You drunk texted him last night.

You drunk texted your little brother’s hot babysitter.

Fuck.

Mortified was an understatement, possibly because you don’t even remember what you said, and so you don’t even want to see what he replied with.

You groan, rubbing both your hands across your face then kick your sheets back with your feet like a child having a temper tantrum because you were so embarrassed you had even texted him at all last night. I mean, he was hot. A little older than you, really gorgeous eyes, tall, and, yeah, you gave him shit for the Instagram muscles thing, but that’s only because you thought he’d find it cheeky that you were trying to humble him despite the fact that he’s more toned and ruggedly sculpted than any other man you’ve ever met. You didn’t want to have a flustered schoolgirl attitude because it would just seep through to his ego.

In any case, he was hot, there was no denying it, so can you really blame yourself? But still. There was collateral with this. You had to see him every other weekend. He knows your family, even your extended since they invited him to Thanksgiving dinner a couple weeks ago. A high-risque drunk text recipient if he ever was one (of course he has been, look at that face). Why couldn’t you have just drunk texted ECON160 guy from last semester who Clit DJ’d you underneath your desk at the back of the lecture hall instead?

The thing that made you nervous about Gojo Satoru was that he was just so…confident? Like, in that I was raised to be this way confident and not that I fought inner demons my whole life to barely end up this way confident, y’know? Never had to fake it ‘til he made it, he just was. At least that was the kind of energy you got from him, and unfortunately for you, it was nerve wracking but enticing all at the same time.

You sigh. “Stupid. Stupid. Stuuuuuupiiiiidddddddddddd. You. Are. So. Stuuuuuupiiiiddddddd,” you sigh, running your hands through your hair to grip at the strands.

You pull your phone away from your chest, and finally brave yourself to read the texts from your notifications screen, but not without blurring your vision a little to further stall. And then you finally refocus it to read them. The first one you see has you gasping—

3:24am Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter): I think about fucking you all the time 

It has heat spreading across your cheeks, and you blink at your screen, then quickly swipe up to read the previous messages with rushed glides of your index finger on the screen to see that he had sent it to you in response to your barely coherent texts about how you still so often think about that time he randomly pressed you up against the door of your bedroom to kiss you that night you first met him.

I think about fucking you all the time

At 3 in the morning? He decided to send that text at 3 in the fucking morning? That was the devil’s hour. What’s he trying to tell you? 

Oh come on, you’re not stupid. And you know he isn’t either. The sexual tension was palpable, it was there since the day you two met and you almost stabbed him, and also everytime you were visiting the house, and his shoulder brushes against yours when he’s trying to get past you in the kitchen, or when you’ve got Yuuji in your arms and the kid is clinging to Gojo’s sleeve because he wants him near him at all times. There’s even sexual tension over the phone, in those stupid texts he sends you all the time about meaningless child care stuff, and honestly, those little updates made your day.

But… you don’t know much about him, and your mom would kill you if she ever found out you wanted him. And she’d probably pulverize him if she found out he ever made a move on you. Cremated without leaving a trace behind would be an understatement. She thinks he’s no good and she thinks you’re too good. You know she’s warned him before to not get close to you, as if she was pre-emptively expecting him to try to get in your pants like it was some canon force of the universe, hence why he’s probably so fucking awkward around you whenever she’s there too. Like if he accidentally got caught staring at your ankles, your mom would light him on fire, so he’d rather not risk it by just avoiding looking at you at all.

Your mom has always been protective of you. Your father was a deadbeat, one she thought she loved, only to watch him leave. And she had to raise a baby all by herself. He re-entered your lives right before you graduated high school, knocked up your mom again with Yuuji, and guess what? Left again without a trace. To be doubly humiliated by a man is a fate you wouldn’t wish on any woman, but that’s exactly what your mom went through. It was a wake-up call for her, though. No more living paycheck to paycheck like you had been your whole lives up until Yuuji was born. The kid doesn’t even know how lucky he is with everything he has right now. Your mom worked her way up the corporate ladder and made something of herself and now you guys were comfortable, so it was safe to say she had some sort of right to look after her daughter, of whom she simply doesn’t want to follow in the same naive footsteps of her youth.

You get it. She wants to break the generational cycle. But it made being with men tough on all fronts, let alone dating. You could never bring a guy home because he’d never be enough, even if he cured cancer or could make you orgasm while doing a sixty-nine handstand. And while her overbearing paranoia over what you do or where you are or who you’re with has since dimmed slightly since you officially moved out to finish your last year of higher education at NYU, you can still feel her disappointment from a hundred miles away when you’re making out with some random frat guy on his beer-stained couch at eleven AM on a Tuesday.

But you got to college. You’ve already made it this far. You’re on dean’s list. You graduated high school as salutatorian. You’re the most highly decorated cello player in the state. You won Miss County pageant when you were sixteen for your philanthropic efforts towards feline leukemia. You did online community college for three years so you could stick back after high school and help your mom raise Yuuji, which meant that you had to forfeit your scholarship to Cornell. You’ve spent your whole life being good, you just wanna be bad for a little bit.

And if bad meant fucking the hot and mysterious babysitter, then so be it. 

You pick your phone up, begin blasting what the hell by Avril Lavigne on your dorm room bluetooth speaker, then type a message to him that says—

10:34am you: do it then

—then shove your phone under the sheets and belt out the lyrics aaaall my life i’ve been good, but now, ahhhh i’m thinkin’ what the hell!!! while kicking your feet and clutching your pillow.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Gojo has no clue what divine entity has overcast their gratuitous spirit over him on this blessed Monday afternoon, but he’ll thank them for it later once his balls are empty. 

He’s got you on your back, sprawled across the couch in the living room, the first fuck being a rushed one that you offered him with before he has to go pick Yuuji up from circle time at preschool, which wasn’t ideal, but he’s delirious at the sight of you underneath him right now. Your little NYU shirt, a tighter one this time, bunched up over your bare breasts, otherwise entirely naked other than the flimsy panties dangling at your ankle, and the view of the tip of his cock looking hot and heavy against the velvet of your cunt, slowly pushing in, feeling the warmth of your walls squeeze around him paired with the sweet moan that leaves your lips, makes him fall forward with a bracing hand dug into the cushion by the side of your head because the sensation feels so fucking good he can hardly keep himself upright.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunts, pushing himself in further to try and bottom out but he’s still got a couple inches he needs you to take, and so you curl your hips upwards towards the cieling to make more room for him, practically putting yourself into a mating press and soon enough he’s balls deep, “you on any birth control?”

“Uh-huh,” you moan, eyes closed and head tipped back with one hand squeezing your own tit.

“I can cum inside then, yeah?” he asks you, pushing your knees to your chest, slowly drawing his hips back and you squirm underneath him.

“Let’s get there first, and then we’ll discuss,” you breathe out.

“I’ve been there for the past ten minutes, baby. I could cum at any second with the way you look and feel,” he informs you flatly, because it was just the truth and you had to know it, then he feels himself twitch inside, slowly working up to a languid rhythm, almost fearfully like your mom’s going to pop out somewhere around the corner with a camera crew ready like one of those retro TV shows just to humiliate him on national television for not keeping it in his pants like she’d told him to. 

“Harder,” he hears you whisper, and he rolls his eyes shut to just focus on the feeling. The feeling of your nails grazing down the skin of his chest and his abs, tracing the scars he’s collected over the years, and he feels you tightening around him. He leans down to kiss you, fucking you properly now with the squeak of the couch springs echoing across the room, your hums of moans seeping through his lips until he’s fully taking them on with an open-mouthed kiss of sloppy tongue. 

The fact that it was wrong felt right to him, and he realizes in this moment he’s lost all sense of control. He wasn’t just an adrenaline junkie that liked to rough up dudes, he was an adrenaline junkie that wanted to fuck you against all better judgement or moral compass. The way your tits were bouncing, the slap of skin on skin, his balls slapping against your ass while you wrap your legs around him tighter, all convincing him that any consequence made it worth it.

“Good,” he groans the praise, pinning your hands above your head as he rams his hips against yours, your cute moans and squeals sounding like literal music to his ears and he feels heat spread all the way up his neck, “goooood, keep squeezin’ me like that, fuck.” He slows down momentarily, just to take a moment and watch, really look and see the way his length disappears inside of your pretty self with every push forward, and then he works back up to a relentless pace that has you tipping your head back with a slack jaw and eyes closed tightly shut, sprained expression of pleasure spread across.

“Oh, oh my god, Satoru—” you mewled and he felt dizzy from the sound of his name from your softly parted lips.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” His hand finds it’s way between your legs, calloused pads of his fingers brushing against your clit and you jolt underneath him, gasping as your hand shoots out to dig your nails into his bicep for purchase. “I’m gonna cum, better tell me where you want it.”

“In me,” you moan, “nowhere else.”

He presses his mouth against your cheek in a lazy smile, “Atta girl,” he drawls before pushing your ankles down as far as they’d go near your ears, folding you in half and then reigns all hell into your cunt. He should really care a bit more about your pleasure, but testing your flexibility like this with both his hands holding you down was doing sinful things to his brain, and besides, you had yourself covered with the messy circles you were rubbing over your clit. It was hot to see that too, your nimble pretty fingers so close to the place where he was pounding into you. 

“Oh shit, shit, shit—” he grunts when starts to see blistering white in his vision, balls straining with a pleasure that was almost painful. The moment he finishes feels like hot flashes in his brain, a heat like the cum he begins to paint inside your walls in time with your release, thrusting over and over and over, each one more staggered as he lets off a long, drawn out groan that comes from deep within his chest with the feeling of you milking him dry and the sound of you enjoying every second of it. He can’t remember the last time he came this much or this hard and even after coming down from the high, he feels the remnant pulse of your orgasm around his now half-flaccid dick.

He leisurely pulls out, hearing you let out a soft whimper as he marvels at the sight of his cum slowly dripping out of you and down towards the couch, before he scoops it up with a couple fingers and pushes it back inside. You grip his wrist tightly, but you weren’t stopping it, that motion of him plunging it all back into you.

“Want a taste?” he asks, casually.

“Mhm,” you nod, face looking flush.

He pulls his fingers out of you, coated with sex, then plugs your pussy with the fingers of his other hand because he kinda likes the idea of you walking around all day with him inside of you, so he doesn’t want it getting out. He’s then pushing his other fingers past your lips, pleased to find he’s met with not even so much as a grazing of teeth, and he grins, “bet you take a dick in your mouth as good as you take it down here.”

Your furrow your brows at him, the pout of your lips seen in the way they were puckered to lick his fingers off clean, and when you release the suction with a smack of your tongue and his fingers were wet from your saliva now, his eyes narrow with desire. You push his face away with the heel of your palm to his forehead. “Flattery won’t make me suck your dick.”

“Alright. So? How is it?” he jerks his chin towards your face, pushing against your hand with his forehead until he’s hovering over you again, “taste good?”

“It’s cum, Satoru.”

He shrugs. “Bad?”

“No,” you say, and you can’t make eye contact, “good.” You sigh. “Hot. I don’t know. Salty, sweet. I’m the sweet. You’re the salty. And this conversation is obscene.”

He kisses you, capturing your lips softly, tongue darting out to taste what’s on yours. “I like it that way. Dirty. Nasty. Obscene, whatever.”

There’s the slam of a car door heard from the driveway, and the two of you instantly make eye contact with round eyes.

“Sa—” you stutter, “Satoru.”

He gets up off the couch in a panic, and heads to the window of the living room fully butt-ass naked, then peers through the blinds to see—

Your mom was making it up towards the front door, rustling with her keys in her purse. And the last thing he sees before he turns around to face you is her pushing the keys through the lock.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” he cusses, finding his boxers off of the floor, hopping on one foot with his cum & slick coated dick flapping around and slapping against his thighs unceremoniously as he tries to get one leg in through them and then the other. You’re trembling as you hook your panties back into place, pull your shirt back down your torso, and even in his extremely panicked state, he’s still sad he can’t freely stare at your tits anymore. You’re rummaging for your skirt in a haste, looking everywhere for it, and he finds it underneath the coffee table before tossing it to you and then he side-to-side hops towards the coat closet while he pulls his sweatpants up over his ass, in time for you to quickly run and shut the door of the closet closed just before the front door of the house swings open.

The inside of the coat closet is dark, barely enough space in there for a six-foot-four two-hundred-and-twenty pound man, but it’s better than being balls deep inside his boss’s daughter on the couch when said boss just came home from work.

He hears conversation on the other side of the door, albeit muffled, and he presses his ear to it to hear better while he tucks his dick into his boxers from where it was hanging over the waistline.

“Mom! You…you’re home so early,” he hears you squeak out.

“Yes,” your mom says, “The rest of my meetings today are online, so I figured I’d come home when there’s less traffic.”

Gojo feels you lean against the coat closet door.

“I see, I see, how was your day at work?” you ask with a tremble in your voice.

“Fine.” And then nothing. The silence could mean that was all she had to say, since your mom wasn’t really a woman of many words, or it could be a silence that means she’s suspicious about something. “Darling, why is your skirt flipped up and tucked into your panties? Your whole butt is showing.”

Through the wood of the door, he hears you softly gasp. “Oh, um, I just went to pee. Must’ve—…must’ve got caught when I pulled it back up.” 

“I see,” your mother says, and Gojo can hear her dropping her heels down near the shoe rack at the entrance. “You know, I really don’t like those short skirts you wear often. Maybe it’s just your generation, but I think it looks tacky and cheap.”

“Mom,” you say, in as stern of a voice as you can manage without sounding embarrassed.

Your mother sighs. “In any case, where is Satoru? I still would like him to go pick up Yuuji. I don’t have the patience to sit in preschool & daycare traffic right now.”

“Oh gosh, I don’t know,” you chirp, and then he hears you let out a small oh no before you lean even more weight against the door, this time somewhere lower, and he realizes you’re pressing your ass against it. His eyes narrow with a small frown, and then he realizes— his cum must still be trickling down your thighs. You couldn’t put your panties on fast enough. 

Shit. That’s hot. A little fucked up, but hot. He feels his dick harden against the fabric of his boxers, and he rests his forehead against the door, fringe stuck to his forehead with sweat as he slips his hands down his sweatpants and then gives his cock a firm squeeze. The thought of you discretely swiping his cum up your inner thigh and smearing it against your thin panties so your mom doesn’t catch sight of it dripping down your legs has him slowly working up to a rock-solid erection, and he almost lets out a broken grunt from the feeling.

“What?” your mother says, “what do you mean you don’t know?”

“I’ve just been watching TV this whole time,” you say, “last time I saw him…he was…um, in the backyard pulling weeds?”

He lets out a small scoff through his nose at your cover-up. Cute. And not bad. 

Your mother sighs loudly, and he glances down at the strained veins on his dick as he tugs it through his hand, the tip rearing and appearing flushed and dripping with precum. God, you were just on the other side of this door. Less than a few inches away, and he’d be inside of you. 

“I’m going to take a shower. Go find him and tell him to pick up Yuuji soon. But before then, change into something less revealing,” your mother says in a more or less detached tone, and he can hear the stomps of her footsteps up the stairs from above him in the coat closet.

The two of you wait at least a solid minute, and just when the coast is clear, he hears you turn the knob of the coat closet and slowly crack it open.

“Okay, I think she’s in the shower, I hear the water running,” you whisper at him, “you can go now—” You glance down towards his groin, your jaw dropping. “What—…Satoru, why the fuck is your dick staring at me right now?!” you whisper-hiss at him.

He pulls you into the coat closet, pushing your front against the door to where it clicks shut, and you gasp when his hands pin your wrists crossed behind your back and his dick presses into the plush of your ass.

“You talkin’ to your mom while your pussy’s stuffed full of my cum was the single hottest thing that’s ever grazed my lizard brain,” he tells you, flipping your skirt up and hooking your panties to the side, his index finger briefly brushing against your entrance to find it still leaking from the way your walls were pulsating from his words. And then he aligns his tip to your entrance. “Now keep quiet while I do this, ‘kay?”

“Oh—” you gasp, your cheek pressed against the door as you arch your back and push your ass out for him, “okay—” you say, barely vocalizing the first syllable before he’s already stuffing himself inside of you with one solid glide of a push, making you yelp loudly and he has to instantly cup a hand over your mouth.

“Shhhhhh,” he hisses at you, immediately starting to pound you from behind, “told you to— fuuuck,” he catches sight of his length covered with a mix of your glassy arousal and his white cum, now starting to cream at the base of his cock, “jesus christ—” he breathes out, squeezing the flesh of your ass harshly with his other hand and you let out another yelp, “I told you to fuckin’ keep quiet.”

“I’m—mff,” you muffle against his palm, “I’m trying but,” your hips move back in time with his, “feels good, feels too good,” you mewl, and his hand desperately yanks up the fabric of your shirt so he can squeeze at your breast.

“Yeah?” he grunts, hypocritical for telling you to keep it down when he was slamming his hips against your ass with so much fervor he wouldn’t be surprised if the sound was reverberating across the entire house, “you like it when I fuck you while your mom’s all clueless just up the stairs?” His rhythm falters, feeling his release building, and his hand reaches in front of you to rub your clit, making you drop your head against the door with tightly closed eyes. “Gets— you—wet, doesn’t it?” he torments you, his lips near your ear as he slams his hips against you harshly with every enunciated syllable. 

“Mhm, mhm,” you easily agree, or maybe that’s because it’s all you can really articulate, and he angles his hips up so his balls slap more fervently against your clit, making you scream into his palm while he picks up the pace of the circles he draws on your clit and in one, two, three— beats of his pounding heart, he feels you come undone around his cock, gushing wetness leaking out of you, he can feel the mess of fluids splattering on the skin of his thighs due to each of his heaving thrusts as he cusses out a fuuuuuuckkk before spilling his cum inside of you, a short-lived and thicker release this time that has you mewling from overstimulation, and in a few following thrusts, he’s given you everything he had to give.

His eyes open, he wasn’t even aware he had shut them in the first place, and he glances down at where the two of you were joined. Rings of arousal coat the length of his half-pulled-out dick, and the second he retreats all of it, a bulging push of his cum seeps out of you, dripping and pooling all over the hardwood floors.

“Holy shit, I wish I could take a picture of this,” he says, taking a step away to commit the sight to memory, your legs trembling and still slightly spread, ass pushed out and when you wiggle it a little, he lets out a huff of an exhale because he just can’t believe how sexy you are. Are all college girls like this? He’s never been to college, his old man’s been trying to get him to go for years, but maybe this is what finally convinces him.

“No pics,” you breathe out once you catch your breath, standing up straight slowly, “that’s my one sex rule.”

He takes a step closer to you, flipping your skirt back over your ass while you shimmy your shirt down to cover your chest. “That’s the only rule you have? Anything else goes?” he asks.

You spin around to face him, his eyes briefly flitting down to the still exposed skin of your midriff. “I have a feeling I’d be making up more specific rules if it was with you.”

He smiles, his hands grabbing your hips before pressing you up against the door again. “I also had a rule. It was to not fuck you. Wait, no, to not flirt with you. Which, technically, I didn’t do.”

You blink your eyes at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“What?” he asks, genuinely confused, “I didn’t.”

“Huh—” you scoff, “how do you think we got into this situation in the first place?? You didn’t just say wanna fuck? You were insufferably flirty with me.”

“Nahhh nah nah nah nah, baby, that’s not flirting,” he tells you, thumb running circles over your hips, “that’s, like—…I don’t even fuckin’ know how it worked on you to be honest, I was just being stupid.”

“Oh okay so I’m stupid.”

“I never said you were stupid?”

“Well you said you were being stupid so me falling for it must mean I’m stupid.”

“Pshhh. You’re cute. Pulling weeds, by the way? Adorable.”

Your hand slowly roams up the front of his shirt, the fabric bunching at your wrists until you uncovered up to his collar bone, and you stare at his skin. He tries to not let the way his heart’s beating faster show through the heave of his chest. 

“Why do you have all these scars, anyway?” you whisper to him.   

“Too many girls tryna stab me,” he tells you.

You roll your eyes. “Seriously.” Your thumb traces the one you had left on him. 

“I—” He stops himself.

Does he tell you? Should he tell you? What, just because he’s seen you naked and you took his dick like a queen he’s supposed to open up to you about these things now? He doesn’t know. Maybe he could? Maybe you already suspect what he does at night. And if not, at the very least, I’m an underground boxer might make you think he’s hot? At the very worst, you’ll report him to the cops and he’d get fired as your little brother’s babysitter then thrown into jail, but not before the busted cartel gets him first.

“Maybe I’ll tell you some other time,” he says, his hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling it from his chest, “no hyper personal details until you’ve had my dick in your mouth at least once or twice. That’s my one rule.”

You snort. “I could’ve guessed that rule from a mile away.”

He hums. And then there’s the sound of steps creaking down the stairs above the two of you.

You both make eye contact, eyes widening, internally yelling at each other: how the fuck did we get into this situation twice?!

This time, Gojo opens the door and stumbles out of the closet, leaving you inside of it, just in time for your mom to come down the stairs.

“Satoru. I was looking for you,” she says as she rounds the post. “Have you picked up Yuuji? He has to go for his swimming lessons soon.”

“Ah, nope, was just about to head out,” he says, letting out a cough to diffuse tension, “sorry, I was—” he points his thumb over his shoulder to behind him, “…pulling out some gnarly weeds.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “I see. Well, thanks. If you want, I can add a gardening stipend to your paycheck. Let me know.” And he’s not sure how to respond because he’s not sure if she’s joking. 

He heads out the door, the keys to your mom’s minivan in his palm as he throws them up into the air and catches them a couple times. And just before he gets inside the car, he turns on his heel to face the house and pulls his phone out of his pocket to type in a message for you.

3:22pm Gojo Satoru: Send over those me-specific sex rules soon

.

.

.

[the end]

a/n. hope u enjoyed im shitting bricks posting this bc i haven't posted a oneshot smut since february but thanks so much for reading i appreciate u!! i got way too invested in the whole underground boxer thing 😂😂 but the fact i managed to keep everything under 12k is an accomplishment to me bc if u read my other fics you know i’m a yapper LOL i have another kind of a similarly written smut oneshot n it’s a lil angsty (totally different au tho) i’ll probs post that one next but yea i really like, hmm, i really like exploring entire characters within a short amount of time i enjoy writing the obscure lore drops xd it’s been kinda fun so far anywho much loveee hope to see u around! <3

➸ masterlist

taglist:

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@beabadobeee @air3922 @timetoletmyimaginationfly @chiyokoemilia @jotarohat

@sirencholia @sorcerersseestars @horisdope @to-dabi @staoru

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@milkm4nz @athinasaurus @sashisuslover @welldamnsatoru @aeriiixhh

@crystalymin @dcvilxswish @miakxn @satxoru

[tgcg]

an open fly walking

i didnt like this one but i thought id finally air it out since its been sat in my folders for months now

TG: hey karkat

CG: YEAH?

===

TG: you ever noticed you like

TG: walk weird

CG: WOW, OKAY.

CG: HAVE *YOU* EVER NOTICED THAT I DON'T GIVE A SHIT?

TG: pff

===

TG: no listen because i got my ears scoping that shit im like a scouter for dude activity

TG: ok maybe me mentioning it to you is gonna fuck up your ecosystem or something but

TG: you have the heaviest feet of the century man

CG: I DO???

TG: just thrust them straight down into the ground like youre trying to homebrew a san andreas fault

TG: viciously tamping on tectonic plates hoping for top score on the richter scale

TG: waging war against solid particles and the basic flow of gravity

TG: i could ID those footfalls out of a million i mean it

CG: SERIOUSLY?

===

TG: i mean theres nothing wrong with it but

TG: yeah

CG: I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU'RE FUCKING WITH ME RIGHT NOW.

TG: im not fucking with you striders honor

TG: when have i ever lied to anybody about anything

CG: NOT UNPACKING THAT QUESTION WITH YOU TODAY.

CG: BUT SHIT, HOLD ON. LET ME SEE.

TG: yeah take the umbrella go over there and just walk to me

CG: ON IT.

===

===

TG: see you just kinda slam em straight down dude

CG: THIS IS THE WORST DAY OF MY RIOTOUS FUCKING JOKE OF A LIFE.

TG: dont your feet ache

===

CG: MOOT POINT. THIS MIGHT SOUND INSANE BUT I'VE ACTUALLY HAD MY STRUT PODS FOR A WHILE. ANY KIND OF PAIN THIS WOULD'VE BEEN CAUSING WOULD BE TOTALLY FILTERED OUT OF MY SPONGE BY NOW AS BACKGROUND NOISE.

TG: damn i didnt think that through

TG: my shades

CG: ALRIGHT, GET BACK UNDER THE SHITTING UMBRELLA AND THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO ME.

TG: look ive fucked myself over here too i dont have shit to clean these with

TG: ugh

===

TG: guess its karma

CG: HOLY FUCK. HOW DID I NEVER NOTICE THIS BEFORE?

TG: i dunno but im gonna assume having a dad thats a literal crab monster is probably a contributing factor

TG: im guessing thats not a great role model for this kinda thing

TG: just conjecture i mean

CG: YOUR ENVY IS OVERWHELMINGLY OBVIOUS DAVE. AS A DISCLAIMER, HE WOULD'VE ABSOLUTELY KICKED YOUR ASS.

TG: yeah probably

CG: THAT'S PRETTY MUCH ALL THERE IS TO SAY ON THE MATTER.

===

TG: but see bro had me stringent on feather feets

TG: i bet i could slip across a bike horn warehouse with nary a fucking toot

CG: HAHA. ASSUMING YOU DON'T MAKE A TOTAL ASS OF YOURSELF, AS PER USUAL.

CG: IF YOU WEREN'T CONSTANTLY RUNNING YOUR GASH ABOUT EVERYTHING AND BEING AN INIMITABLE CLOWN I SERIOUSLY THINK YOU COULD BE ON PAR WITH YOUR CUSTODIAN.

CG: THAT IS A MONUMENTAL "IF".

TG: well look at it this way

TG: im basically doing you all a favor by being a dumbass

TG: never gonna get caught off guard by the bozo patrol

CG: WOW. GOOD POINT.

===

TG: also screw this can i use your shirt

TG: this stupid hoodie is just smudging my lenses up

TG: i cant see dick

CG: UH

CG: SURE, I GUESS.

TG: cool

===

TG: so yeah i could be prowling around like a goddamn verbal assassin sniping convos left and right

TG: but no ive got the decency to go bunp in the night

CG: YEAH.

CG: IT'S DEFINITELY COMPOUNDED BY THE CONSTANT INANE RAMBLINGS.

CG: BUT

CG: IT'S ACTUALLY PRETTY RELAXING, Y'KNOW? IT HAS ITS OWN RHYTHM.

TG: see yeah i sound it off and

===

TG: wait really?

CG: YEAH

CG: I DON'T KNOW

CG: FUCK. HOW DO I EXPLAIN THIS WITHOUT WANTING TO CRAM MY FROND DOWN MY PROTEIN CHUTE.

===

CG: IT'S LIKE

CG: A SALVE FOR MY AGGRAVATION SPONGE.

CG: YOUR VOICE IS THE HUMAN EQUIVALENT OF ASPIRIN.

TG: uh damn karkat hold your hoofbeasts i was talking about the rhythm thing

CG: ALRIGHT, THAT'S IT. I'M TAKING US BOTH THE FUCK OUT RIGHT NOW. YOU HAVE REACHED THE BAD END OF THIS CONVERSATION.

TG: you think thatd be heroic or just

CG: IF I WAS STILL GHOSTING AROUND THE RUINS OF SGRUB'S ARCANE FRIGGIN GAME SYSTEMS, THE COMPLETE LACK OF SHIT AFOOT NOWADAYS WOULD BORE ME TO DEATH.

CG: LIKE. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME OUR THERMAL HULL LEVELLED UP, DAVE?

TG: hah

===

TG: but uh

TG: i mean we had aspirin on earth

CG: NO, NUMBNUBS.

CG: I'M SAYING YOU ARE MY ASPIRIN.

TG: oh

CG: YEAH, TAKE THAT TO THE BANK AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR 20-KARAT ASS.

===

TG: heh

TG: well get this

TG: i will literally talk at you forever for free

TG: you got lifetime priority seating for the davealogues

TG: never gotta go to the drugstore again you can just get doped up on my dulcet tones for the rest of time

TG: take that and some of this

TG: im packin punches

CG: OW, FUCK! NO! MY MIGRAINES!

CG: SWEEPS OF VEINCLOTTING AND NERVEFRAYING DOWN THE FUCKING GAPER. BECAUSE OF YOU.

CG: YOU ASSHOLE, THIS IS THE WORST THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED TO ME.

CG: AND YOU'RE LAUGHING.

TG: chuckle up it only gets worse from here

===

CG: BE HONEST WITH ME. DID FONDLING MY SHIRT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET EVEN DO ANYTHING?

TG: barely but yknow sometimes you just gotta deal the cards youre given

TG: ill just be astigmatic for a while its cool

CG: PFF… OKAY MAN.

[littlestpersimmon]

Am caught in a death spiral my lieges. I don't feel entitled to anyone's time, effort or resources but I feel so beat down. I am disabled, I am working so much I genuinely developed a hunched back. I am alone responsible for my autistic sister, her parentified sibling, and my two parents who are disabled with extremely limited movement. I have three jobs. I can't ask for help on twitter because people I work for follow me there. My work requires me to draw every day, without a day off, ever. I have a "morality clause" which means if I or the author I work with are deemed to be acting in any way the company thinks inappropriate, we are immediately fired and would have to return every single cent we have made. I feel at my wits end. My employers are american- but I am not. I live in the global south- government assistance in the Philippines is *nonexistent*

Last week I asked for help to pay for electricity. The other week I asked for help with my sister who had to be rushed to the ER.

I doxxed myself and posted medical info to this blog, so many strangers know my address, my legal name, everything just for me to be able to seek mutual aid- Wallah I do not want to be this person, but if anyone could please, pick up a print from my inprnt, or subscribe to my patreon, I already have 300+ drawings up there and I upload thrice to four times a month, or if you could send direct tips it would make a world's difference. I will try to open commissions next week but as the world is being plunged into wherever it is we are headed, it's getting harder and harder to get clients.

Currently myself dealing with housing insecurity- we only have a year or two to fix our traditional filipino house as it is falling apart due to the philippine storms and termites- *please* help me and my disabled family of three. I feel I am rambling now bc there's so much on my mind, on my plate, I've asked friends and my partner for help, my sister and my cousins and my friends are all I have. My mom's side of the family cannot help as they are all extremely poor themselves, and my paternal side of the family have emotionally abused me and have members that committed routine csa on me. I do not take any of the help I receive here for granted, and I'm sorry. Reblogs are off as I am asking for help from followers as I feel very ashamed / embarrassed/ humiliated to still be stuck in this dark place . Sorry and thank you again

Inprnt is having a sale rn, everything is like at 40% off!

And my tipping jars:

Sorry and thank you again. If you can't donate or purchase its OK, just please please please include me in your prayers, make mi shebeirach for my health so I csn continue to work, or any prayers at all for me. Thank you

[rafecameronssl4t]

ok hear me out........

dcc!reader watching Rafe get hurt during a game. Maybe they get into a small fight before the game and it gets into Rafe's head a little too much and throws off his game mindset

Feel free to totally ignore this if you're not vibing with the idea! Anyways I love all of you're writings, keep up the amazing work queen!!!!!!

Duties to whom? || Nfl Player!Rafe Cameron x dcc!reader

A/n: thank u for the request i love it!!!

Warnings: angst,

Word counts: 1,795

MASTERLIST (nfl!rafe x dcc!reader au masterlist)

The locker room felt stifling, the tension between you and Rafe thick enough to choke on. You stood in front of the mirror, carefully fixing your lipstick with steady hands despite the storm brewing inside you. “Just get out,” you said bitterly, dabbing at the corner of your mouth before tossing the tissue onto the counter.

Rafe, still in his uniform, stared at you in disbelief. His hands were on his hips, his chest rising and falling as though he’d just come off the field. “What?” he snapped, his tone laced with frustration. You turned your head slightly, catching his reflection in the mirror. “Have you forgotten that we have jobs to do, Rafe?”

“Jobs?” he repeated, his voice rising as he took a step closer. “We haven’t even finished—” “Well, I’m finished!” you cut him off, spinning around to face him fully. Your eyes burned with the remnants of the argument that had spiralled out of control. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore, so just go.”

Rafe’s scoff echoed in the small room, his head tilting back in exasperation. “Unbelievable.” You turned back to the mirror, refusing to meet his gaze. The silence stretched out, broken only by the faint hum of the stadium crowd filtering through the walls. “You always do this,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, but the accusation hit its mark.

“Do what?” you shot back, spinning on your heel. “Stand up for myself? Refuse to sit here while you act like you’re the only one who’s stressed? God forbid, right?” Rafe ran a hand through his damp hair, his frustration palpable. “That’s not what this is about, and you know it.” “Then what is it about, Rafe?” you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Because I’m tired of having this same fight over and over again. It’s exhausting.” For a moment, he didn’t respond. His jaw tightened, and he looked at you as though searching for the right words, something to break the cycle you were both caught in. “You think this is easy for me?” he finally said, his voice quieter but no less intense.

“Balancing all of this? The games, the media, us? I’m trying, okay? But every time I slip up, you act like I’m the bad guy.” You blinked, his words catching you off guard. “Just please,” you said, voice cracking as you turned to face him. “Get out, Rafe. I can’t perform like this!”

Your words hung in the air, and for a second, his expression flickered with something softer—regret, maybe—but it was quickly replaced by a storm of his own. “And you think I can?” he roared, throwing his arms up in exasperation, “you think it’s any easier for me?” “Well, you’re going to have to, aren’t you?” you snapped, your voice sharp as a whip.

The anger in your tone startled even you, but you didn’t care. You were too far gone, too wound up from his relentless push and pull. You turned back to the counter, furiously zipping up your makeup bag with enough force that the sound echoed in the quiet room. The air between you was suffocating, charged with unspoken feelings and unresolved tension.

“I don’t even know what you want from me anymore,” Rafe muttered, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “I want you to stop!” you said, turning around to face him, your boots clicking loudly on the concrete floor as you moved. “Stop acting like everything’s about you! Like your stress is the only thing that matters. I have a job too, Rafe, and you—” Your voice faltered for a moment, but you pushed through.

“You’re making it impossible for me to do it right now.” He stared at you, his jaw tight, hands resting on his hips as if he was holding himself back from saying something he’d regret. You didn’t wait for a response. You couldn’t. Grabbing your pom poms, you stormed past him, your boots echoing with each step. “Good luck out there,” you threw over your shoulder, the words biting and sarcastic.

“Yeah, thanks for the support,” he called after you, but there was no real venom in his voice. Just frustration, layered with something that sounded an awful lot like defeat. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t afford to. Not with the performance waiting for you just outside the tunnel and the man who could unravel you with a single glance standing behind you.

~

From the moment Rafe walked out onto the field, you could tell his head wasn’t screwed on properly. Even as you called out formations and checked on the other cheerleaders, your eyes kept drifting toward Rafe. Something about his movements was off—less sharp, less calculated. The usual precision that made him one of the best in the league wasn’t there, and you knew exactly why.

The argument in the locker room had been raw, cutting deeper than either of you realised at the time. You thought you’d tucked your emotions away, but the nagging guilt wouldn’t let up. And now, watching Rafe stumble through a game he’d normally dominate, it was clear he was still carrying the weight of your words.

This wasn’t how you wanted him to play—frustrated and reckless. By the second quarter, it was painfully obvious to everyone that Rafe wasn’t himself. His passes were less precise, his footwork shaky, and his frustration was evident in every misstep. The crowd, normally electric in their cheers for him, began to murmur uneasily.

“C’mon, Cameron,” one of the announcers said over the loudspeakers. “What’s going on with him tonight?” You swallowed hard, your chest tightening as you watched him try to shake it off, slapping his helmet and pacing on the sidelines. You could see it in his body language—he was spiraling.

And then it happened. Midway through the third quarter, the Cowboys’ defensive line broke through, faster than Rafe had anticipated. He dropped back, eyes scanning the field for an open receiver, but his timing was off. His hesitation cost him. A linebacker barreled into him with full force, slamming him to the ground.

It happened to close to you, the impact was deafening, the sound of bodies colliding and helmets crashing together making your stomach lurch. The crowd gasped, the air heavy with tension as the trainers and medics rushed onto the field. You froze on the sidelines, your routine momentarily forgotten as Rafe crumpled to the ground.

You watched as he tried to sit up, his hand clutching his shoulder, pain etched into his features. The trainers helped him to his feet, and he waved off their attempts to cart him out, insisting he could walk. But the stiffness in his movements, the way he cradled his arm, told you it wasn’t minor. You didn’t even think about it.

The moment halftime hit, you were running toward the tunnel, ignoring the whispers of the staff your and the curious looks of the crowd. When you found him in the medical room, he was sitting on the edge of a table, his shoulder iced and his jersey pulled halfway off. He looked up when you entered, his expression darkening for a moment before softening as he took in your worried face.

“You’re supposed to be with your team,” he said flatly, though his tone lacked its usual bite. “And you’re supposed to be on the field,” you shot back, stepping closer. “Are you okay?” He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Took a hit. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” “Rafe…” Your voice broke slightly, and you stepped closer, your eyes scanning him for signs of serious injury.

Rafe looked away, jaw tightening. “I wasn’t focused,” he admitted, his tone low and bitter. “That hit? It’s on me. I let our fight get to me.” Your stomach churned. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I didn’t think—” “That’s the problem, isn’t it?” he cut in, his eyes finally meeting yours. “You didn’t think. You just threw all that at me and expected me to shake it off like it didn’t matter.”

You flinched but held his gaze. Your guilt surged, and you bit your lip, unsure of what to say. Finally, you reached out, your hand brushing against his uninjured arm. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to throw you off. I was just… angry, and I took it out on you.” For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, Rafe let out a heavy sigh, running his uninjured hand through his hair.

“Look, I know I wasn’t perfect out there tonight. But I can’t play when my head’s a mess. And you…” He trailed off, his voice softening. “You’re always in my head, and maybe that’s not always a good thing, but it’s the truth," A soft chuckle escaped his lips, breaking the tension, and despite yourself, a small smile cracked across your face. You stepped closer, hesitating before resting your hand on his good shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “For making it harder. For not realising how much you care.” Rafe glanced up at you, his eyes searching yours. “We’re both under a lot of pressure, but we can’t keep doing this." You nodded, your throat tight with emotion. “I’ll try harder. I promise.” He gave you a small, tired smile, the tension between you easing just slightly. “Me too.”

The sounds of the stadium filtered in from the hallway, a steady hum of cheers and announcements. It was a stark reminder that both of you had jobs waiting, responsibilities to uphold no matter what had just unfolded between you. “I gotta head back before Kelli and Judy ask for my head,” you sighed, the weight of your position tugging at you. But before you turned away, you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

It was brief, but it held everything you couldn’t yet put into words—an apology, a reassurance, a promise. Rafe’s lips quirked into a lazy grin as you pulled back, his usual cockiness tempered by the warmth in his eyes. “I’ll survive,” he teased, his voice rough but lighter than before. “You know me—tough as nails.” “You’ll be okay,” you murmured, your hand lingering on his uninjured shoulder for a moment longer.

It was a gentle touch, meant to steady him, to remind him that no matter what had happened earlier, you were still here. He nodded, his grin softening into something almost boyish. “I always am.” With a reluctant sigh, you turned and made your way back toward the tunnel, the click of your boots echoing in the corridor. You could feel his eyes on you, watching as you straightened your shoulders and stepped back into the bright lights of the stadium.

[hpnerd18]

A Vampires Treat~

ok guys, here is the fic I made from the poll that ended the other day. I hope you guys like it , any comments are appreciated. :D

male vampire x chubby female reader.

A Vampire's Treat

Your relationship with your vampire boyfriend, Adrian, has so far been a dream. He was everything your previous boyfriends weren't: kind, supportive, loving, and absolutely in awe of your curvy body. Tonight, however, you would discover just how much he adored you… and couldn't stand how self deprecating you could be sometimes.

You wake slowly in the middle of the night to your boyfriend grinding against your ass as he trails kisses down your neck, and a sticky warmth between your legs. “Mmm..? Adrian..?” you murmur, half awake as he grips your hips and grinds his dick against you desperately. 

“ I’m sorry, its just… fuck, you smell so good. I can't help myself, baby.” he groans, sucking lightly at your neck. 

You moan softly, quickly becoming aware of the ache between your thighs as you wake up fully. “ fuck… Adrian..” Your eyes open and you gasp at the blood coating your inner thighs and shoot up in the bed as you realize your time of the month is here. “Fucking shit! Sorry Adrian.” you gasp as you blush and quickly get out of the bed, self conscious of the mess on the sheets and on your thighs. 

Adrian just looks at you in confusion, leaning back on his elbows as he gazes at you. 

“ What in the world are you sorry for, baby?” he asks, looking at you in bewilderment. 

You blush darker and gesture at the bloody mess between your thighs. “ This! It's… it's messy and embarrassing.” you say self consciously. 

Adrian frowns at your self consciousness and holds out a hand to you. “ come back here, love. Why would you be embarrassed by this? I think you look sexy as hell and you smell even better.”

You scoff at his words, not believing him. “ Sure I do..” you drawl sarcastically. “ I’m real sexy when I’m all gross like this. Look, I'll be back in a few minutes, I need to clean this up.” you sigh slightly, and turn to leave the bedroom. 

Adrien’s eyes narrow at you, a low growl building in his chest. He shoots out of bed before you can even reach the doorway, his hands gripping your hips as he plasters himself against your back and presses you against the wall. 

“ Adrian?! What the hell?” you gasp in surprise as you are suddenly pressed against the wall, not even seeing him move. 

Adrian grinds his hardness against your ass and nips your neck lightly. “ You feel that? Does it feel like I'm grossed out by you starting your period?”he growls. 

You shudder as your arousal skyrockets at his sexy growl, trying to speak despite the aching need fogging your brain. “ I… I mean… uh… what?” 

He sucks a mark just below your ear, one hand leaving your hips to pull your hair away from your neck. “ You look sexy as fuck like this, baby. And you smell better than the most exquisite dessert. I want you, i need to taste you.” 

he murmurs into your ear, his breath tickling your skin making you shiver in pleasure. 

Your eyes widen at his words, your aching pussy clenching needily. “ A-Adrian.. You.. you want to taste me?” you stutter slightly; caught between arousal and your self consciousness. 

Adrian growls, tugging your head back gently by your hair, making you look at him. “ Look at me, y/n. I don't simply want to taste your pretty pussy. I fucking need it, need to taste how delicious i just know you are. I’m fucking desperate to make you cum again and again, make you soak my face.”he say huskily, his eyes near feral with need as you look up at him. 

Your jaw drops at the sight of him, your eyes darkening to near black with lust. “ Youre… youre sure? I can just clean myself up like I always do.” You say, desperate for his mouth on you but too self conscious to give in fully.

“ You have no idea how desperate I’ve been to taste you, baby. Tell me you don't want me to taste you and I’ll stop. But if this is just you being self conscious again because of the little boys you dated before…”

You blush, slightly embarrassed as he hits the nail on the head. “ Dont stop..” you whisper, your face a deep crimson as your blush darkens. 

Adrian grins wickedly and pulls you away from the wall only to toss you onto the bed, making you bounce for a moment. “ I’m going to make you feel so good, love. I’ll make you cum again and again until you wont even remember what you were self conscious about.” he purrs as he prowls towards the bed, his fangs glinting in the dim light. 

You blush as he crawls onto the bed with you, slowly sliding his hands up your thick thighs until he reaches the waistband of your bloodsoaked panties. “Lift your hips, love.” he says softly as he starts pulling them down. His eyes meet yours, so filled with lust and love that your heart skips a beat. You lift your hips so he can slide your ruined panties off, blushing as he inhales the smell of your blood soaking your panties before he tosses them away. “ Relax , love.’  Adrian murmurs as he spreads your legs, his hands gripping the backs of your thighs to pin you in place. He slowly licks at your bloody folds, both of you moaning lowly as he does. “ Fuck… you taste so good. Just like I knew you would.” He purrs, his hungry grin your only warning before he buries his face in your folds, licking and sucking hungrily at your core. 

“ Oh! Oh fuck! Adrian! Mmm.. oooooo… oh fucking hells!” you gasp and moan as he eats your pussy like it's his only mission in life, your hands buried in his dark, soft hair and tugging lightly as you lose yourself in your pleasure. 

“That's it love, give it all to me… be a good girl for me and cum all over my face.” He growls against your pussy as his tongue flicks your clit before sucking hard on the swollen nub. 

You whine , your eyes damn near rolling in your head from the pleasure building in your gut. “ fuck. Fuck. FUCK! Yesyesyesyes.. ADRIAN!” you scream as your orgasm crashes over you, your hands tugging on his hair as you grind against his face as you cum. 

Adrian moans and drinks down your release, his tongue cleaning up every drop of cum and blood from your folds before he pulls his mouth away. He licks his lips clean, grinning as you moan at the sight. He slides up your body to kiss you softly before he nuzzles your neck as your orgasm dies down. “ You alright, baby?” he asks softly, gently stroking your hair as you calm down. 

“ I’m better than alright… I feel fucking fantastic.” you say with a silly grin on your face. 

Adrian smirks at that. “ Good… because I'm just getting started.” he says as he slides down your body and spreads your legs wide and nuzzles his face against your pussy. 

Your eyes widen at his words, your need just as insatiable as his hunger for you. “ H-huh?”

He grins up at you before he flicks your clit with his tongue, making you gasp. “ I told you… I’m going to make you cum again and again, until you don't even remember what you were self conscious about.” he purrs before he buries his face in your pussy, his tongue swirling around your clit before sliding into you.

You moan loudly as your hands clutch at his hair desperately; unable to do anything but hold on for the ride as one thought echoes in your mind. 

‘ It's going to be a long night…’

[frances-baby-houseman]

I would have bled out in the parking lot

Amber Nicole Thurman's death is on Trump's hands

Bess Kalb

Sep 17

In 2019, about six weeks after my first child was born, I found myself on the bathroom floor in a small, but nonetheless unsettling puddle of blood.

“Oh no,” I remember thinking. “I just did the laundry.”

I called out my husband’s name, but the sound caught in my throat. The pain I felt inhaling to get enough air out of my lungs to yell the two syllables in “Char-lie” jabbed my guts like a bicycle spoke to the abdomen.

So I was quiet, trying to keep breathing in a way that didn’t move anything inside me, and the pain pulsed a bit, then steadied, then dulled, then evaporated into whatever hell ether it came from.

Because there is no G-d (unless there is, in which case I abbreviated His name so as not to desecrate it, and also thank you, King of the Universe, for subscribing to this newsletter) this was the one time in my life I hadn’t brought my phone with me to the bathroom.

I decided to sort of slither-lumber to the door like a lame harbor seal, because I didn’t want to stand and loosen the spoke that had just stabbed me. I reached for the knob and let the door creak open.

The cat was there, looking at me right at eye level, keenly aware what was happening, and completely unmoved by it.

“You are dying,” he blinked, “Pity. Have a nice time.” He sashayed away.

Fortunately, our house in Los Angeles was small enough that from the bathroom door one could see everything. My husband was sitting on the couch with our infant, and I knocked on the open door to summon him. Within one one thousandth of a second, he set the baby on the (since-recalled) donut pillow and was holding my head.

I sat up. I breathed. No pain. I took a picture of the bloody mess on my husband’s phone, texted it to myself, he found my phone, then I texted the picture to my OBGYN.

Apologies for being graphic, but within the puddle there was something roughly the size and shape and color of a fig.

“Is this ok?” I said to my doctor, the bicycle spoke scraping lightly at my insides again from all the lumbering.

“Come in,” she replied.

Within two hours, I was in the waiting room of her office, accompanied by my terrified but SMILING mother, who was still, as is the Jewish custom, in town for “a few days or so” after the birth.

An ultrasound which felt like the finger of Satan himself revealed there was retained placenta in my uterus. If I hadn’t come in, there would have been more hemorrhaging, then sepsis, then whatever the cat foretold.

The next day, I was in surgery getting a Dilation and Curettage.

I went home, pumped the anesthesia milk, then fell asleep perfectly fine, my sweet newborn cooing merrily in the bassinet next to his alive mother.

Amber Nicole Thurman’s story was the same as mine, but it happened to her in Georgia in 2024, not California in 2019. She was a Black woman in a healthcare system that disproportionately kills Black women, especially postpartum. In 2021, the Black maternal mortality rate was nearly three times the rate it is for white women. Post-Roe, the toll is and will continue to be staggering.

Because post-Roe, the procedure that saved my life, the D&C, is something doctors cannot perform in states where matters of life and death have been left up to non-medical Christian-supremacist superstitions.

I know the pain Amber Thurman felt when that placenta dislodged and carved its tiny, treacherous hole in her uterine wall. I know the terror she felt when she saw the blood, and the rush of dread when she thought of what her child would do without her.

And when I vote in November for Kamala Harris and every progressive down-ballot candidate, I will do it because she can’t. And I will do it so that women in Georgia and Idaho and Texas and North Dakota and South Dakota and Utah, Arizona, Nebraska Iowa, Missouri, Arkansas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Tennessee, Kentucky, Indiana, Florida, South Carolina, and West Virginia won’t have to meet the same completely preventable doom.

This election isn’t just about Amber Thurman. Every day of my lucky, breathing life is about Amber Thurman. Because the only thing that separates us, is one of us bled out under the right Supreme Court.

Let’s raise absolute federal hell about it.

-- From Bess Kalb's newsletter The Grudge Report. I pay for this substack -- though it's free-- and think this is a message worth sharing far beyond her newsletter.

[emsgwenstan]

Why not me?

Larissa Weems x fem reader {angst}

words: idk 2.5k?

warnings: language.

note: ok idek what this is, i haven't written anything in months because of burnout, so really just something i pulled from drafts.

“Don’t.” It was to the point; it was sharp and clear. I picked up my handbag, coat and gloves and evacuated the room as swiftly as possible.

Slamming the door behind me, I could feel its vibration, the loud noise echoing through the halls and corridors, just like every one of my steps down the marble stairs. Frustratedly, I rummage through my bag to find my car keys, desperately needing something to just go my way, I plucked them out and balled the abundance of jagged metal in my fist while storming across the cobblestone to reach my car.

The second I sat in the driver's seat, tears started to roll down my cheeks and my nose started tingling, I shove the keys into the ignition and reverse out of the staff lot before practically doing a burnout when setting off. Where to go now is the question. Where to go indeed. The only home I’ve ever known is nevermore, the safe place I retreat to when the outside world is far too cruel, when normies are unkind and when life gets too much.

Every possible place I think to go isn’t an option, they are all riddled with memories of her, there’s nowhere in the whole of Jericho that I haven’t been with her, the park benches and weathervane after getting hot chocolates on a sunny winters day, the local bookstore on a windy spring morning, the clearing just off the road in the woods on a gloomy autumn afternoon, or the empty fair ground on a cool summers night.

“Oh, you would love her y/n, she very pretty and quite the catch, she flatters me all the time and is very sweet-.” “Don’t.” The conversation plays on a loop, God why? Why wasn’t I enough? The trees reflections whipping across the windscreen seemed to become faster. “Goodness, can you believe she asked me? I haven’t been on a date in years.” She had said. “Help me find something to wear dear?” She asked, and, without question I did.

My grip on the wheel becomes tighter until my knuckles turn white and crescent shapes are imbedded into my palms. Did she not know? Didn’t she realize? Has she not seen the way I look at her? Before I drive myself out of the town ship I stop on the side of the road. I just sit there, I sit and cry for a long time, even as dusk falls and night comes, I sit and cry.

Many cars have passed my own, however none caught my attention until I heard one ripping down the road sounding like it’s going a million miles an hour, when it passed the brake lights almost immediately illuminated my skin and the tires screeched as it stopped, my brows crease in confusion until it reversed back alongside me. Quickly I came to realize who it was. Larissa.

Without second thought I tried turning my car on though it wouldn’t turn over, how bloody convenient. I looked to my side to see her get out and run to my door. “Shit.” I breathed. She reached for the handle and was stunned when she couldn’t open it a dumbfounded expression overtook her pale features. “Open the door.” She pleaded I didn’t look at her, I kept my eyes in front of me still trying to start the engine. “Darling open the door.” She begged, her voice cracking and muffled by the glass.

“Y/n so help me god I will smash this window if you don’t open the damn door.” Her accent became thicker as she yelled. I just wanted her to go away, I rest my temple on the headrest in defeat. For a moment it was quiet- too quiet, that was until I heard her door slam close. I peeled my eyes open and saw her wrapping a cashmere scarf around her wrist, immediately in rage I unlocked my door and stepped out. “What the hell are you doing!?” I seethed. “What am I doing!?” She asked incredulously unwinding the material. “What the hell are you doing!? Where have you been? I called you close to forty times with no answer, I thought you were hurt! I thought something bad happened!”

“Why do you care?” I spat, the bitterness rearing its ugly head. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re my friend, of course I’d care!” There it was friend. Somehow that made it worse- another kick to the guts. “Yeah, ok.” I murmured, twisting around and pulling out my bag, closing the door and storming down the tar road. “Where are you going!?” She shouted. “Away, far away from you!” I bit back.

“Stop!” She growled frustrated and confused. I ignored her request and continued walking. “Y/n!… oh, for fuck's sake.” Her voice died in her throat as she came to the conclusion that I in fact didn’t care for what she had to say. Larissa threw down the scarf and started power walking towards me, her heals clacking hard against the ground, her stride quick and harsh. “Hey-… hey! Christ just stop.” She said exasperatedly reaching my shoulder.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” I shrugged her off ripping out of her grasp. “Take the hint! Larissa, I’ve made it clear enough that I don’t want to be near you!” I yelled whipping around to face her. “What have I done? What is going on? You don’t do this- you don’t pull this kind of childish behavior; I expect this from a student not you of all people.” She reacted. “Thanks, truly.” I sarcastically remarked and resumed walking.

“Fine I’ll just follow you then.” She said as if she was one upping me. “Piss off.” I said starting to walk faster. “Tell me what is going on! Please.” She asked her voice a little calmer and more desperate. I once again ignored her. “Y/n. I’m not going to stop until you tell me what has gotten into you.” She said starting to slightly limp from the ache in her feet. “What has gotten into me?… what has gotten into me?” I stopped abruptly.

I spin on the spot facing her again throwing down my bag in the middle of the road. “You.” I said creeping towards her with my finger pointed towards her chest. “You have gotten into me!” I yelled. “Me?” She asked, her brows furrowing and voice shaking. “Yes you! Day in day out, I’m sick of it!” Larissa’s posture straitened and head slightly dropped to the side in question. “Can you elaborate?” She said her eyes flicking about showing her confusion.

“It would be my pleasure. Let’s start shall we. “I’m not sure where I’m going wrong, I just wish someone would want me.” Or “I’m not good enough.” Or “y/n, why doesn’t anyone fancy me? Is it because of this or that'…or some bullshit reason.” I started, quoting just a few things from her. “What? Are you annoyed now that I actually have someone who could potentially be interested In me?” She asked furiously.

“No, I’m annoyed because of how ridiculous it is.” I retorted. “Ridiculous?” She growled through clenched teeth. “Yes. Ridiculous. How many times was I there to say those things aren’t true? How many times have I reassured and helped you? How many nights did I spend being by your side trying to make you happy!?” I asked. “What are you getting at!?” She asked, her eyes wide and lips twisted. “Months… years actually! Listening to you talk absolute garbage about yourself and continuing to do so after me telling you I’m here! - and, and now… you’re settling? for some waitress who thinks you’re pretty?” I explained looking directly in her eyes.

Larissa recoiled and looked as if she had been slapped. “Tell me how you really feel.” She murmured crossing her arms over her chest. “Jesus Christ, get a grip! Are you that thick!? I’ve been tryi-” I began. “Don’t even start, what about you! As far as I’m concerned you don’t have a great track record in relationships!” She yelled, her anger taking over once again. “Just fucking listen!” I screamed, rendering her completely silent.

When I realized she had bit her tongue and no longer wanted to argue, I started to speak again in a more relaxed tone. “I haven’t spoken, been with or even looked at anyone else. I’ve said nothing, but I’ve tried in many ways to show you, to tell you… every single time you have had a problem, a bad day, needed help, needed comfort, who’s been there? Me. I have. I know you better than anyone and I’m telling you that, that woman isn’t for you.” I stated.

“Right. So, your jealous that you're not the one who’s getting the chance with her, is that what you're saying? Because I thought you would be happy for me, out of all people y/n.” She said quickly and bitterly. “No that’s not-” I try. “I’ve heard enough, you want to be left alone fine, go ahead.” She said rolling her eyes and turning around to walk back to her car. “Larissa.” It’s her turn to ignore me. Before she got too far, I reached for her wrist without thinking and stopped her.

“I am.” I said quietly, pulling her to turn back toward me. “Your what?” She asked back. “Jealous.” I express timidly, looking away from her but keeping the firm grip. “But not of you… of her… I’m jealous of her.” I said just above a whisper. I look back up, my gaze trailing from her shins to the hem of her dress, to the waist belt of her grey coat, to her neck, lips and face, her very confused face.

“I’ve tried to tell you… I’ve tried everything apart from actually saying it.” I said loosening the grip on her wrist. “Do you have any idea how hard it was? How hard it is to listen to you talk about someone else making you happy? Someone else who can see the side of you I’ve only ever wished to be privileged to see?” Larissa’s face dropped; her angered expression melted away as I continued.

“What?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.” I said in the same level of tone, goosebumps forming over my body as a shiver made its way down my spine, right there I knew I ruined everything. I close my eyes and let go of her wrist, I could hear her take a step, but it wasn’t back towards her car, it was to me, my eyes snap open as I feel her entire body engulf mine, in all the years of our friendship we’ve never hugged like that. Not once.

Together we stood planted in the middle of the road not daring to move an inch, it felt like it lasted a lifetime but in reality, it was only a few moments. My head and my heart were reeling, so many emotions, so many feelings, so many memories, so many 'what ifs'. “Larissa.” I said into her chest. “I know.” Was the reply. “Let me say it.” I murmured, Larissa’s chest heaved and contracted deeply, she guided one of her hands to rest on my temple and forehead moving the fallen hair in front of my eyes. “Look at me… please.” She asked pulling back just a little.

I lifted my gaze to her eyes and held the lapels of her coat, smoothing them and giving myself time to breathe. “I…” I swallowed. “I, love you.” I said quietly, tears threatening to spill from my eyes. “I have for so long.” I breathed, finally after God knows how long I finally said it, although my relief was short lived when I saw Larissa face slowly revert back to one of distain.

“This isn’t fair.” She said pulling away and taking a step back her brows furrowing and unable to look me in the eye. “What?” I asked in disbelief. “I-… I liked you for a long while y/n, but now you choose to tell me?” It took every inch of me to not cry immediately. "What are you saying?" I asked dumbfounded, feeling bile build up in my throat. Completely taken aback, I recoiled and was in such a state of disbelief that I turned around in utter shock, plucked my bag from the ground and resumed trekking down the road.

The whole world felt like water filled the atmosphere and I was drowning, my limbs felt heavy and the cold seeped into my bones, I heard her muffled voice call out to me, but it was far too late, the second I looked up a pair of headlights were set right towards me...

[puck-luck]

Ok, my ideia of a request it's a smut (of course) piece where Nico H and girlfriend are in Swiss for the summer and they are on a road trip, and while driving in the middle of a forest they HAVE to pull onto the side of the road to have sex 😉

I hope you can understand, English not my first language!

warnings: brat!reader (she's so me), car sex, oral (f receiving), begging/teasing (manipulation?) pairing: nico hischier x fem!reader summary: not quite following the request, but the one where fem!reader rides nh's face in the back of the car during a scenic drive. wc: 1111

“I like the mustache, Neeks.”

Nico turns to face you, offering up a small smile. “I know, schatz. You told me this morning.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think I got to appreciate it this morning,” You grin, sliding Nico’s hand from its spot on your knee to the inside of your thigh. He’s always touching you somehow when he’s driving and today is no different, and today it’s giving you the perfect leverage to tease him.

“You just don’t want me to shave.”

You toss your head back, groaning. “I don’t think it’s fair that you’re lucky enough to be sexy with a mustache and you still decide to shave it.”

“Fair to whom, baby?”

“No fucking shot you know how to use whom instead of who, Nico.”

Nico laughs, squeezing your thigh before patting it and returning it to rest on your knee. “I had to learn English. You’ve been fluent since you were a baby. I’m sure once I’m done teaching you how to speak my language, you’ll know more about the grammar rules than I do.”

“Can we get back to the topic at hand?” You reply, moving Nico’s hand up again. “Your mustache?”

“I’m shaving it tomorrow. You can’t convince me to keep it.”

“I want to ride your face.”

Nico blinks in surprise, mouth slightly ajar. He nods a few times, eyes wide. “Yeah. Yeah, we should do that.”

“Now,” You tell him, hatting your eyelashes innocently. “We should do it now. There’s no time to waste, since you’re so set on shaving tomorrow.” 

With that, you unbuckle your seatbelt and crawl into the backseat. In the backseat, able to make eye contact with Nico through the rearview mirror, you shed your shorts and your skimpy panties. You’d been planning this all day, ever since Nico rejected your advances this morning and opted to plan a drive through the mountains surrounding his hometown. You spread your legs and tilt your head, waiting for Nico to look back at you again.

He does, but looks away a split second later, adjusting both of his hands on the steering wheel. You don’t miss the way he swallows, just short of an audible gulp. 

“Come on, Ni. You know you want to join me.”

You swipe your fingers through your folds, bringing it up to your lips. You wrap your lips around your finger, licking up the digit in clear view of your boyfriend. 

“Y/N,” Nico complains.

You moan around your finger.

“We’re supposed to be on a nice, scenic drive.”

“There’s a different view I’d like to see, baby,” You tease. “I think there’s a view that you’d like to see, too.”

Nico falls silent, seeming caught off guard by your boldness. 

“You know the one I’m referring to, right, Neeks?” You ask, voice light and airy as you continue to touch yourself. “I know how much you love to see me above you.”

“Schatzi,” Nico murmurs, indicating that you have to proceed with caution if you want to continue at all.

“I thought you loved it when I take what I need from you, Nico.  I need to fuck myself with your mouth, why won’t you join me?” You pout, using all of his weaknesses against him. “Don’t you want to get a taste of me?”

Nico curses under his breath. He steers to the side of the road and shifts the car into park, getting out of the vehicle and rounding the car to push the passenger seat all the way forward before he joins you in the back. You watch his arm muscles flex as the seat moves. You slip a finger into your wet cunt, letting out a soft moan at the feeling. 

“Take it out,” Nico commands, slamming the passenger door and taking two steps to open the door to the back. “Don’t touch what’s mine.”

You pump your fingers in and out of yourself one more time for good measure, then shift over to make room for Nico.

“Nope,” He says, voice sharp. He manages to fit himself into the space on the floor between the backseat and the passenger seat. His body faces the passenger seat and he tilts his head back to lean against the seat behind him. “Come on. Gonna fuck you with my tongue.”

Nico opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out, flat for you to lower yourself onto. You smile, nice and wide and very toothy, before swinging one leg over Nico and bracketing his head with your knees. You lower yourself down, Nico’s big hands meeting you halfway and pulling you down to meet his waiting tongue. 

He’s relentless from the get-go, his tongue flexing against you in short licks that offer plenty of stimulation but no real relief. 

You grind down on his tongue in mostly-aborted motions, the angle much more awkward than it is in your bed at home. Your head is mere inches from the roof of the car, causing you to hunch over in a way that can’t be sexy, but Nico seems to enjoy anyway. You’ve got a view of his eyes, the ones that are following every sway and bounce of your tits as you continue to grind down.

“Nico,” You groan. “More.”

Nico lifts you off his tongue just long enough to berate you. “The thing that you begged for so impatiently wasn’t enough? Poor girl. Maybe you shouldn’t get to come at all.”

You cry out in denial, but it turns into something more drawn out and longing when Nico reattaches himself to your clit and sucks hard, shameless slurping noises coming from below you. His mustache feels heavenly against your skin, scratchy and itchy and beautiful as your juices begin to coat it. 

When Nico shifts down to fuck his tongue into your hole, the hair above his lip rubs against your folds and his nose nudges your clit. He’s fast and desperate with his movements, pulling you into him so close that you can feel his breaths as he inhales and exhales. The soft sensation of his breath is what pulls you over the edge, in the end. It’s like a string, keeping you attached to him and to the world, whereas everything else fades away.

Nico licks you through the orgasm, then presses a kiss to the side of your thigh. He playfully bites you, then tosses you to the side, your back hitting the backseat with an “oof.” 

He gets stuck for a moment in the spot where he’s sitting, shifting this way and that before he manages to free himself. You giggle as he does so and he side-eyes you.

“Menace.”

note: RIP Nico's Mustache. I miss you already. I wish we had had more than one day with you.

[holdinbacksecrets]

svt finds out you were married before you met them

anon… this request is golden. thank you so much for sending it! i had the best time writing these 🤍

seventeen find out you were married before being with them

seungcheol: he’s at the bodega around the corner because you’re out of… he forgot the excuse. luckily, it was mumbled and difficult to make out, so he’ll bring back coffee. his palms are sweating and he looks up at the ceiling as if the answer’s in between the popcorn. now, you’re his. he’s yours. you’re one. but you were someone else’s, and that idea isn’t new to him, but knowing that someone was your husband makes it feel different. he looks up again. “please give me something here.” a light flickers. he leaves without the coffee

jeonghan: he stops to watch you spoon strawberry jam onto slices of toast. they’re golden brown triangles beside scrambled eggs, and you’re making sure the bright red covers the golden brown surface perfectly, just like you always do. the only red he can think about is the blood his heart is pumping, and the fact that his heart stopped pumping for a moment or two

joshua: “now everything makes sense.” “what do you mean?” “sometimes you’re just too good at being my partner.” “that has nothing to do with being married before. i’m literally just in love and obsessed with you. actually, being married did make me strict about the dishes. i’ll never go to bed with a pile in the sink.” “baby, you won’t go to bed if there’s a spoon in the sink or a crumb on the countertop.” “and how good does it feel to wake up and see a clean kitchen, hmm?”

jun: he’s confused. he’s wearing it, swallowing it, holding it in his gaze, and suddenly wondering how well he knows you— why it took you so long to tell him

soonyoung: “i knew it was a mistake by the next morning. i woke up craving my mom’s pancakes.” “have her send us the recipe.” you squeeze his hand and bow your head so your lips can brush its palm. “don’t worry, history won’t repeat itself.”

wonwoo: the photo album’s on his lap. it feels like a fever dream to look at you. you watch the sky through the window, craving color after too much black and white. “i’m mad at myself.” “why?” “i should’ve waited for you.”

jihoon: the ring came rolling out of its hiding spot and stopped in the middle of your bedroom floor. the sunlight caught it. he blinked a million times, felt his lips part too. you let it be. you exhaled, feeling relieved to part with the secret. finally

seokmin: “look at me. do i look upset?” “no… you eyes are all shiny” like he might cry. “it means a lot that you told me.” “i shouldn’t have waited so long.” “you really didn’t wait that long.” “are you sure you’re ok? do you… am i…” “yes.”

mingyu: the words come out on a sunday morning in the park near your place. your head’s on his shoulder. his hand’s on your thigh; it’s warm and the slightest bit rough—different from the cool, soft breeze on your cheek, on the back of your neck. he asks about your happiness and when it left the space you created with your ex. he wants to know what he can do to make sure that never happens again. he wants to make sure he’s not missing anything

minghao: he’s watching you. there’s gentle love in his eyes. he’s hoping you’ll look up and away from the sudsy dishes for just a moment long enough to realize he’s not mad. to realize it doesn’t change anything

seungkwan: he wonders about your wedding dress and if you still have it. he wonders about pictures and videos and the expression on your face at the altar. moments he’s dreamed about are already existing in memories, have already been seen by your loved ones, might be sour in your head. would you do it all again? do you even want to?

vernon: “i can’t help but wonder how many people make the same mistake as me… think something’s love when it’s not.” “do you really think of it as a mistake?” “pretty sure that’s just a fact.” “i’m not so sure… aren’t you the same person who’s told me for years that everything happens for a reason?” “maybe i just tell myself that to lessen the blow.” “possibly, but maybe it’s true. maybe that step that you think was in the wrong direction was crucial. i wouldn’t have found you any other way.”

chan: “i feel like i shouldn’t be looking at this… it’s like i’m seeing your dress before i’m supposed to. i shouldn’t know what you’ll look like walking down the aisle.” “this isn’t who i am anymore. think of how much time has passed. i have brand new skin now.” “…i thought you were going to say something romantic.”