#like its babies first drawing or something

[nanasrkives]

Navigation : midnight records! the starlight EP! haikyuu EP!

"FOR HER" — Sakusa Kiyoomi

a/n : its official i am entering my baby fever era :) content : GIRL DAD SAKUSA. fluff. post timeskip. headcanon.

Girl dad! Sakusa who doesn’t cry in the delivery room, but when the nurse places her in your arms, you see the change happen in his expression before he even speaks. He stands beside you with one hand resting on the bedrail, still in his zip-up, curls flattened from the long hours, eyes fixed so intently on her tiny face that he barely breathes. You offer her to him, gently, and although he nods and reaches out, it’s with a kind of quiet reverence, like he’s afraid any sudden movement might shatter something fragile. When she’s finally in his arms, wrapped in that standard-issue hospital blanket, he doesn’t look away once. “She’s really ours,” he says after a long silence, voice soft and level like he’s stating a fact that still hasn’t settled in. You’re tired and aching and overwhelmed, but in that moment — watching him fall in love so quietly — you feel steadier than you’ve felt all day.

Girl dad! Sakusa who approaches parenting the way he’s approached everything else that’s ever mattered to him — with focus, with discipline, and with the same determination that made him the top ace in the country. He just does it. He reads every product label, tracks feeding times in his phone, and practices swaddling until the corners lie flat like muscle memory. You find him at night adjusting the baby carrier straps with one of her stuffed animals, narrowing his eyes like it’s something to be mastered. In the nursery, everything has its place: pacifiers in labeled containers, diapers stacked perfectly, bottles washed and sterilized on a rotating schedule that no one asked him to create. He’s not afraid of mess — he’s an athlete, after all — but this kind of order calms him. It’s the only way he knows to make sense of something this overwhelming. When you catch him in the early mornings rearranging the drawer of onesies so the softest fabrics are on top, you don’t interrupt. You just watch because you know that this is how he’s learning to love her.

Girl dad! Sakusa who is the first to notice that post-partum hit you. The way your smile doesn’t quite reach, the way your hands linger over chores but don’t quite start them, the way you keep saying you’re fine even when your voice betrays how deeply tired you are. He doesn’t corner you about it — he just starts making it easier to breathe. He finishes bottles without being asked. He folds laundry without announcing it. He draws a bath and offers you the quiet without implying you owe him anything in return. And when you finally sit down beside him on the bed and admit, barely above a whisper, “I think something’s wrong,” he takes your hand and says, without even flinching. “We’ll take care of it. You don’t have to do it alone.” That night, when the house is quiet, he tucks her in and then tucks you in too, placing your tea on the nightstand and brushing your hair back from your forehead before placing a kiss on your forehead like he’s reminding you that you’re still being held.

Girl dad! Sakusa who keeps her world structured, calm, and clean — not out of fear, but out of habit, and a deep belief that consistency makes kids feel safe. He doesn’t scold when she forgets to wash her hands before dinner. He just walks her to the sink, adjusts the faucet for her, and says, “Let’s try again,” with the same steady tone he uses when coaching a teammate through a play. You can already see how much of him lives in her — not just in her temperament, but in her tiny routines. The way she lines up her shoes by the door. The way she wipes the table with a napkin after dinner. He never told her to do any of that — she just watched him and followed his steps.

Girl dad! Sakusa who always stops what he’s doing when she calls for him. He never rolls his eyes or tells her to wait. Whether she’s holding a drawing she drew or asking him to see the rain outside on the balcony, he gives her his full attention. She brings him stories, toys, questions he doesn’t have answers to yet, and he listens to every single one. Sometimes, she climbs into his lap mid-stretch, legs crossed beneath her, curls sticking to her forehead, and just rests there like she knows there’s nowhere safer. You glance over from the kitchen and watch as he adjusts his posture just slightly to keep her steady, continuing his cooldown stretches like her presence is just part of the routine now.

Girl dad! Sakusa who teaches himself to braid because one morning she tugs at his sleeve and says, "Papa me want hair like Mama” and he doesn’t want to be the kind of father who says i don't know how to something like that. That night, while the house is quiet, you find him on the couch with one of her dolls in his lap, video tutorial paused on his phone, fingers fumbling but determined. He practices until the parts are clean, until the elastics hold. The first few mornings, the braid sits crooked on her head — slipping by lunchtime — but she runs to you saying, “Papa did it !” every single time. When he finally gets it right, she wraps her arms around him like he just won a trophy. And later, when you're brushing your own hair before bed, he watches you for a moment from the doorway, then comes up behind you, fingers gently sweeping your strands aside. “I didn’t realize how much of you she carries,” he says, quiet and sincere. “It makes me want to do everything right.”

Girl dad! Sakusa who brushes through her damp curls with more care than you thought possible. The spirals are his — the same exact texture that still coils around his forehead after a shower — but the color is yours, unmistakable in the morning light. When she’s sitting between his legs and he’s sectioning off her hair into neat parts, you sometimes find him pausing just to look. Not because he’s unsure of the process — he’s got the rhythm down by now — but because every time he sees her, it’s a new reminder that she’s equal parts both of you.

Girl dad! Sakusa who brings her to matches and never says a word about it being a distraction, though you know how seriously he takes preparation. She always sits with you, gripping a wrinkled “Go Papa !” sign in her fists, her legs swinging off the bleachers while she yells his name through a mouthful of fruit snacks. He rarely looks into the crowd — he’s too focused for that — but today, when she screams his name mid-serve, you swear you see the smallest flicker of a smile on his face. After the game, he comes straight to you both, drops to one knee, and listens to her long-winded play-by-play with a patience that makes even the camera crew step back. You take her hand as he packs up his bag, and she says, “Papa did good today !” He doesn’t say anything, but you notice how he walks just a little taller after that.

Girl dad! Sakusa who changes his phone ringtone to a voice memo of her calling for him because he says it’s easier to hear. It plays once during a team meeting and Atsumu nearly falls out of his chair laughing, but Sakusa doesn’t even flinch. “She’s loud,” he says calmly, setting his phone face down on the table, “but she gets my attention.” When you hear it go off at home, it always makes you smile.

Girl dad! Sakusa who never talks about how much he loves being a father — not in words, at least. But you see it in how he shows up. In the way he learns her favorite breakfast, remembers the exact way she likes her blanket tucked in, memorizes the lyrics to a show he pretends to hate. You see it in how he looks at her when she doesn’t notice — like she’s the most surprising, most important thing that’s ever happened to him.

Girl dad! Sakusa who holds her hand tightly on her first day of school, walking her up to the gate with slow, even steps. She’s excited and confident. She lets go of his hand the second she sees her teacher and runs inside without looking back. You expect him to say something — maybe a joke, maybe a quiet sigh — but instead, he just stands there for a long moment. When you brush your fingers against his, he finally speaks. “She didn’t even turn around.” You lean your head on his shoulder and whisper, “She''s growing up.”

2025 © NANASRKIVES. / do not copy, repost, edit, plagiarize, or translate any of my works on any platforms, including ai.

TAGLIST (OPEN). / @ayatakanosstuff @angelkiyo @itsmeaudrieee @laaalaaaloooppppsiiieeeee @dazaisfavgf @virgothesimp @kurooangel @evamame

[crystal-to-bloom]

Chapter 4: Something Like Family

Grayson family x child reader

The house was warm and quiet — almost too quiet. The scent of cinnamon and chamomile tea lingered in the air. Somewhere in the background, the radio played softly, its voice distant and unfocused, as if not wanting to disturb the fragile silence.

Debbie stood by the stove, pouring hot water into a teapot of chamomile. It was her way of trying to feel in control — of the moment, of herself, of whatever was happening in the next room. But her thoughts kept slipping upstairs… to that room where, just a few hours ago, something unknown had hatched.

And now that something was lying in her son’s lap.

Debbie stepped out of the kitchen, cradling her mug in both hands, and peeked carefully into the living room.

Mark was sitting on the floor, legs stretched out, face deeply focused. Curled up in his lap, wrapped in an old blanket printed with faded robots, was a tiny figure. White and turquoise hair spilled like a fan over the fabric. Two little horns peeked from under soft strands. A tail, the same pale color, was wrapped loosely around one of Mark’s legs, twitching gently with each breath.

“…and triceratops had these really big horns, you know?” Mark whispered. “But he wasn’t mean. He ate plants. Like a cow. And cows don’t bite. They just lick.”

The little one didn’t respond. But she listened. Her eyes were half-lidded — not fully asleep, not fully awake. Sometimes she blinked, and every time she did, Mark smiled like it was a gift. Her tail gave a little flick. Her ears twitched ever so slightly. It all seemed to say: I hear you. I’m here.

Debbie stood quietly in the doorway. Her heart tightened with a strange, warm anxiety. She didn’t understand why the sight moved her so deeply. It was… wrong. Strange. Impossible.

But also beautiful.

— “He’s calling her she,” — Debbie whispered to herself. “Like she’s already one of us.”

She walked in slowly and sat down on the couch. The mug warmed her hands, but the warmth inside her came from somewhere else entirely.

— “Mark” she said gently.

— “Yeah?”

— “Aren’t you scared of her?”

He looked at her, almost surprised by the question.

— “No. She’s cute. Like a kitten. Just… weird”

— “Very weird,” Debbie chuckled, leaning back against the sofa.

Mark went quiet for a moment, his eyes still on the little girl. His expression shifted — thoughtful, serious, like he was seeing something deeper in her than just a strange creature.

— “Are you gonna be her mom?”

A simple question. Childlike. No pressure. But something clicked in Debbie’s chest, like a gear that hadn’t turned in years.

— “I… I don’t know, Mark”

— “If you don’t want to… I can”

Debbie laughed. Not nervously — truly laughed, with warmth. It was her first real laugh in days. And it helped.

— “You think you’re up for that?”

— “Sure! I’ll be a great big brother. I’ll teach her how to draw… and tell her everything about dinosaurs. Even ankylosaurs”

Tiya shifted slightly. Her nose scrunched up, a quiet breath escaped her lips, and suddenly a thin line of frost crept across the edge of the blanket. The air cooled for just a moment, but neither of them flinched.

— “She did it again” Mark whispered.

— “Yeah,” Debbie replied softly. “But she doesn’t seem afraid of us.”

Mark sat up straighter, looking down at her.

— “She needs a name”

— “A name?” Debbie raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it a little soon?”

— “No. She’s already here”

He started listing names: Luna, Snowflake, Glazy, Izzy, even Sky. Debbie winced at every second one. Then she paused.

— “Y/n?”

The little one let out a tiny hiccup, her ears twitched, and her tail gave a sleepy sway. Another faint shimmer of cold passed through the air.

Mark froze.

— “Did you hear that? She likes it.”

Debbie whispered it again:

— “Y/n”

And then… the baby opened her eyes. A soft, turquoise glow lit them from within — gentle, not blinding, but unmistakably alive. She looked at them — first at Mark, then at Debbie. And then… she smiled.

It was small, uncertain. And at the corners of her lips, tiny, sharp teeth glinted like ice.

— “Hello, y/n” Debbie murmured. “Welcome home.”

Y/n sneezed — a puff of frost escaped her mouth — and then she giggled. She rubbed her cheek against the blanket, then pressed her forehead gently to Mark’s chest. He wrapped his arms around her, not knowing that in that moment, he was making a choice. He just knew — she didn’t feel like a stranger.

Zubble, the plush dinosaur, lay beside them. Y/n curled up against it and Mark both, nestling into a tight, peaceful ball.

And Debbie, still holding her mug, watched them — her son, and the icy little girl with trembling ears full of joy — and thought that maybe… maybe family doesn’t begin with blood.

Maybe it begins with acceptance.

Nolan touched down softly outside the house, silent as falling snow. The porch light was on, casting a warm glow across the steps. He paused before opening the door, his hand hovering just above the handle.

The meeting with Cecil had left his thoughts tangled. The Global Defense Agency had detected something strange—energy fluctuations, subtle but growing, centered around his home. Cecil hadn’t said it outright, but his expression had been clear: You’re hiding something, Nolan. And I don’t like it.

And maybe, Nolan thought grimly, he was

He opened the door

The house was quiet. Not empty, but filled with a strange, unfamiliar stillness. The air smelled faintly of chamomile and cinnamon. Somewhere in the background, a radio murmured, its voice distant, like it didn’t want to disturb the fragile peace.

Nolan stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

He hung up his coat, his thoughts still spinning from the meeting with Cecil — words, silences, half-hints. Something unsettling in the man’s tone. But now… unease came from somewhere else. From within the house.

He heard Mark’s voice.

“…and if you want, I can show you the pictures. I have a dinosaur book — you’ll like the ankylosaurus!”

Nolan moved down the hallway, slow and careful. Mark’s voice was warmer now, filled with joy — but he was talking to someone. And no neighbors had been over. No guests.

He stepped into the living room — and froze.

Mark sat on the floor, legs stretched out, a look of complete focus on his face. Curled up on his lap was a small figure wrapped in a faded blanket with old robot prints. Wisps of white and turquoise hair spilled over the fabric. Two tiny horns peeked out from the strands. A tail curled around Mark’s leg, gently twitching with each breath.

Nolan stiffened. His breath caught.

He took a step forward — and at that moment, the creature looked up at him.

Her eyes were turquoise. Bright, otherworldly, and yet… aware.

A dragon. A girl. A being.

She stared straight at him.

“You’re back,” Debbie said softly. She was sitting on the couch, strangely calm. As if this sight didn’t surprise her anymore. “We thought you’d be later”

“Who is she?” Nolan’s voice came rough, caught between disbelief and something heavier.

“She’s… her. From the egg.”

He turned to look at Debbie. Then back at the girl. He had expected something — a monster, a threat, something unexplainable. But not this. Not this quiet, almost tender image of his son holding a childlike creature with sleepy eyes and trembling ears.

“She looks like… a child”

“Because she is a child” Debbie said.

The girl blinked once. Then — yawned. A soft puff of frost left her lips.

Something in Nolan's chest tightened.

He knew she wasn’t Viltrumite. But she was different. And he didn’t know whether to fear her — or himself, for the part of him that didn’t want her here.

“You knew?” Debbie asked, not accusing. “That she was alive?”

He looked at her. Long and hard. Then finally nodded.

“I… had a feeling. But I didn’t know it would be this”

Mark looked up at his father and smiled.

“Dad, this is y/n”

The name settled in the room like snow.

Tiya turned her gaze to Nolan again. Not as an enemy. Not as a threat. Just… someone who was supposed to be there.

“Is she yours?” Debbie asked. “You found her. You brought her home. But now… she’s here”

Nolan stood still, like crossing into the room would mean crossing into something bigger. His eyes held something tangled — guilt, fear, confusion. And something else, too. Something quiet. Something warm.

He didn’t answer. Just stepped forward and knelt beside Mark.

Y/n reached out. Her hand landed on his.

It was cold. And small. And real.

Nolan exhaled — and for the first time that day, he stopped thinking

Chapter 5

( I didn't expect to get 100 likes on chapter 2. To be real, I didn't even expect 10 likes at all (^○^)

i'm very glad you like it ( ≧∀≦)ノ

i hope you like this part too :3)

[clairewritesfanfics]

A-Z Fluff Alphabet: Mohawk Mark Grayson

Author's note: The alphabet here is an amalgamation of fluff templates from the following writers: @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy, @snk-warrior, @queervibesmydude and @imagineimagineimagine, and my own personal additions.

Adoration: What does he can’t help but gush about you? 

Your brain. Your intellectual curiosity and passion for discussing various concepts, regardless of which field they originate; be it writing an essay about a random video game’s exploration of identity and the Ship of Theseus, drawing out an outline for the evolution of meme culture across generations, or borderline obsessive studying of his own alien physiology. The way your eyes light up and how confident you sound get him excited.

Baby: Does he want a family? 

No. You are his family, the only one he will ever need. 

Comfort: How does he help you when you’re down or stressed?

He tries to joke, hoping it would help you laugh and release some of the anxiety frying your nerves. But if that doesn’t work, he will seat you on the nearest counter and make you look at him. He’ll ask what’s wrong and when you don’t tell him he will kiss you until you feel better.

Dates: What are his ideal dates?

He likes taking you to concerts, can be anything as long as both of you enjoy it, from rock bands to Opera. Alternatively, he would surprise you with tickets to a museum involving your most recent hyperfixation. You two would hold hands and talk while you pass each display. He also flies you to different parts of the world at a moment's notice; "Oh, you suddenly want to collect volcanic rocks? I got you, babe."

Everything: You are his __________.

You are his inspiration, his muse. Your passions are his passions, not for some shallow reason like getting you to like him (he has his good looks and nice ass for that), but because your sincere drive to know more, to explore the world beyond what it is, encourages him to seek for more, too. 

Fight: How often do you argue? How does he handle the fight itself and its aftermath?

“Me and my girl don’t argue, she tells me to shut up and I do” kind of guy. But in all seriousness, he doesn’t like upsetting you, so unless it’s something serious, like your health, then he just goes along with what you want. 

Gifts: Does he spoil you?

I discussed this before in my husband headcanons for him, but he doesn’t actively seek out to buy you presents as often as one would think. It’s just that, when he sees something in a store window or on his phone that reminds him of you, without thinking, he buys it. 

Honesty: Does he keep a lot of secrets from you? Are they white lies or hide world-shattering truths?

He tends to hide his negative feelings, covering them up because he would rather push down all the bad than bother you with it. Otherwise, he’s an open book. You already know the password to all his accounts and he registered your fingerprint on his phone.

Injury: What’s his reaction when he finds you physically hurt?

Tries to alleviate the gravity of the situation with jokes as a way to keep you calm. Actually, if we’re being honest, the bad jokes are to keep his composure while he assesses your injuries and starts planning a murder. 

Jealousy: Is he a green-eyed monster?

He can be prone to jealous fits, but they’re rarely that deep and never last long enough to warrant violent responses. That being said, the one thing that can really grate him is when someone else manages to have you ramble about your most recent hyperfixation–only he gets the privilege of listening to your spiel.

Kiss: Describe the way he kisses you.

Lifts you up on kitchen counters, stands between your knees and has his hands over your thighs. Kisses you playfully.

Longing: Who fell first? How did you two get together?

He is a natural flirt, so you didn’t take him seriously at first. “That’s just how he is with everyone,” you used to say. Mark didn’t realize it himself, but he stopped hitting on others and unconsciously focused on you every time you were near. When he finally had that "oh shit" moment, he immediately tried to convince you that he wanted you.

Marriage: Does he want to be your husband?

Originally, no. He used to believe that marriages were pointless in that they were “merely labels” and if two individuals truly love each other then a piece of paper was meaningless. You then countered that if it was meaningless then it shouldn’t matter if he agreed to marry you. To this day, it was still his favorite loss.

Nightmare: What is his greatest fear?

That one day you would lose your wide-eyed curiosity.

On Cloud Nine: Is it obvious to tell when he is happy?

He’s already a pretty chill guy, but his underlings know he’s in a really good mood when he isn’t mocking everyone he comes across, and they all know it’s because of you.

PDA: Yes or no? If yes, to what degree?

Yes. He isn’t opposed to giving you a peck or having his arm around your shoulders while you’re out on a date, but he’s not going to make out with you in a park or a family restaurant. 

Quaint: What is his favourite non-modern thing?

Ink and paper books.

Rhythm: What’s his favorite song or genre of music?

Doesn’t have one. His rule is that if he hears a beat that he likes then he likes it. He’s an open-minded guy, so you would be hard-pressed to find him disliking anything. He’s no poser. 

Spa: What helps him relax?

Lying with you, on a bed or a couch or a picnic blanket, while he reads, shutting you up with kisses when you laugh at the stupid lines.

Tea: What do you two often converse about? 

Everything under the sun. The beauty of your relationship is that you two don’t feel restricted about the topics of your conversation, you’re not afraid of sharing your thoughts about the most niche topic and he knows you can keep up with his interests. Each of you has something to offer and nothing is off the table. 

Understanding: How well does he know you?

Enough to know what kinds of books you would definitely fall into obsession with. 

Value: How important is the relationship to him?

So much so that if he ever lost you, he would try to erase every trace of you, because if he didn’t how else was he supposed to breathe? He would turn to violence and parties and meaningless one night stands to forget about you, even if just for a moment. He wouldn’t be able to stand anyone who looks like you, so every single one of his flings would be the opposite of what you looked like. 

Wild Card: Random fluff headcanon

He’s a philosophy nerd. When he was younger he was interested in ethics, but right now, he’s really into existentialism and absurdism. He also dabbles in poetry. 

XOXO: How affectionate is he?

Super affectionate. He is never afraid to tell you and show you how much he adores you. 

Yearning: How does he cope when you two are apart?

Mark always preferred the epicureans, but you’re more of a stoic, and stoics believe that patience is a virtue, so he bites his tongue when you tell him that no, he can’t come with you to girls’ night. He distracts himself by reading so that he can complain to you about the garbage he had to read while you were away.

Zebra: If he wanted a pet, what would he get?

He wouldn’t call them pets, more like decoration, but he would like a whole bloom of Turritopsis dohrnii, a species of jellyfish. One of his favorite dates with you was scuba diving somewhere in the Mediterranean Sea, and that was where you first saw one in person. “It’s functionally immortal,” you said when you two resurfaced. He hopes that, like this jellyfish, your time together will be everlasting. 

I'm thinking of taking requests again (last time I did it was for MHA back during The Plague, LOL), but until I sort out my rules, you guys can ask for Mark Grayson (and his variants) fluff for now. Also, I must say, after seeing that post about semicolons, I found myself using them a in my recent fics. Subliminal messaging at its finest LOLOLOL

[makeitworse]

POOR THING.

sangwoo failed to draw the line when it mattered. now he can’t tell where his paternal love ends and his depraved lust begins.

contains: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. f!reader x sangwoo. age gap (reader 20, sangwoo late 40s). fauxcest. freudian themes. taboo / toxic relationship. grooming. mutual codependency. unreliable narrator. plot heavy w some porn. 18+

notes: i got very carried away. i started writing this a while ago to get shit off my chest, and i’m just now finishing it in a much better headspace lol. hope this finds its target audience

“would i be a good wife?”

sangwoo stirs from a shallow doze at the sound of your voice. he lazily rubs his eyes, turning over in bed to face you.

“where is this coming from?” he groans, voice still heavy with sleep.

“well you christened me. it’s only natural that we get married.” you speak of your first time as if it’s a fond memory— like that night hasn’t haunted sangwoo since.

“i think i’d be good mother.” you smile to yourself. the thought had his throat burning with bile. your head cocks, frowning at his silence. “right?”

“you would be, yes.. it’s..” it’s just that he can’t see it.

he can’t screw his eyes shut and willingly conjure up such an image of you: cradling a baby in your arms, rocking it to sleep. a baby you wanted to have his face. he could retch over that idea. you weren’t more than just a child yourself.

at least, that’s how he saw you.

even though you’re technically a woman now, he just can’t shake how he still sees you as his little girl. that’s not uncommon when you have a daughter.

but, the hesitance in his response has your lips trembling, tears clumping in your lashes. sangwoo’s reaching for you, scrambling for an apology— but you’re recoiling from his touch. you wipe your eyes, face falling deadpan.

“i hope this hurts.”

you don’t spare him a second to react. in his vision there’s a flash of steel— then an icy searing splitting through his stomach. he looks down reluctantly, taking in the sight of a knife lodged into his body.

then he’s sitting up from the couch in a jolt.

sangwoo recollects himself. covered in a sheen of sweat, he pats himself down and observes his surroundings: the lounge room.

there’s bottles of soju littered around the floor, some not even completely empty. cigarette butts mounted on the coffee table ashtray. there were even a few tissues at his feet, crusted with dried.. he gagged.

fuck, that’s right.

he would’ve passed out, during his self-wallowing alcohol binge— evidently featuring a short drunken wank. unfortunate fuel for the fire, or inferno, that had been his dream. he had to breathe, ground himself; remember you didn’t actually just stab him. he wouldn’t doubt it being real for a second.

he exhales out of his mouth, interrupted by a hiccup. he’s still drunk.

sangwoo rubs his eyes, vision coming into focus on the clock as it ticks past 7pm. it’d been a few hours since you stormed out.

his stomach churned thinking back to the last time you were here. he should’ve ripped his tongue out before letting anything come out of his mouth— everything that had. all these years of practically co-parenting and you think he’d known better.

yet, when your phone buzzed on the kitchen counter, sangwoo read the text message that lit up the screen: something vulgar, something he wouldn’t even say to you. and the sender’s name, it wasn’t one sangwoo recognised. a boy’s name.

so sangwoo saw red.

and he didn’t stop seeing red, even when his throat was raw from berating you. even when he got in your face and you shoved him into the wall. even when you stormed off and he followed you through the hallway.

it wasn’t until the front door slammed shut behind you— and only then, in an empty house, was he brought back down to his senses.

not long after he was reaching into the liquor cabinet.

that fight he picked with you? the epitome of hypocrisy. last week he decided to put his foot down, telling you to start seeing other people— that you needed space to grow, to live a real life. he’d said it like a goddamn martyr. like he knew any better.

and obviously didn’t: since he’d lost his temper the second you admitted you had. a date. a kiss. a moment that didn’t belong to him.

he could tell himself that this was just protection, if he truly saw you as a daughter and nothing more. he could’ve blamed it on paternal instinct, wanting to shield you from the cruelty of boys your age. but the truth you both knew— sangwoo was no better.

he didn’t want you like a father should. he hadn’t in a long time.

you weren’t deflowered with grace, in a manner you deserved. you were plucked before full bloom by the very hands that should’ve shielded you from such harm. you had once been a daisy-fresh girl, and sangwoo a man of control. a man above the kind of things he now did with you as if they were routine.

the blood of your wilted petals had stained his hands. no matter how hard he scrubbed, he couldn’t wash it away. but you weren’t some dirty thing he had to cleanse himself of. so that shame lingered— the stench clung to him like smoke. a constant reminder of what he’d done.

sangwoo wasn’t a monster. not some pervert, or a pedophile god forbid. he’s only ever been just… your dad.

atleast that’s what you called him. and you just happened to cross over lines that most others didn’t.

“you’re like family, sweet girl.” he’d tell you.

“so? i don’t see how that changes anything.” you’d always answer.

and he’d have no reply.

sangwoo finds himself wondering where it all went wrong.

there wasn’t a pinpoint moment where everything shifted— no, it happened gradually. a quiet, creeping erosion of boundaries. tiptoeing across the lines so subtly it almost felt innocent. and by the time sangwoo noticed you behaving beyond what was appropriate, it was already too late to turn back.

it all began innocently enough. your mother worked for sangwoo’s family at their small fish shop. as a single parent, when the hours stretched too late, it was sangwoo who’d babysit her young daughter: you.

you spent many evenings curled up in the corner of his home office, watching him work while cartoons played softly in the background. he kept junk food in his pantry for your routine visits. he’d help you with homework, and walk you to school when your mother was too swamped with chores.

the ladies would joke that he was your uncle. but in your eyes, and in time, his too— sangwoo was something closer to a father.

he didn’t object when you started calling him “dad” in private. in fact, he embraced it.

sangwoo framed the first father’s day card you’d given him, handmade and decorated with crooked hearts. he helped your mother out with payments to get you a good education (as much as she refused). he’d buy you gifts when something reminded him of you. he’d take you out for dinner on birthdays.

he was your protector, your provider, your constant. you deserved to know a life with a present father figure, and he’d give it all to you and more.

did the craving take root in your brain from the first time he let you call him “dad” at ten? that was long before he had even touched you.

was it when you asked him to be your valentines at twelve, innocently unaware of the connotations? he had accepted the proposal, just to see the smile on your face and nothing more.

if not before, then it had definitely started in you with puberty.

he recognised when your feelings for him delved into murkier waters. and though he noticed, he didn’t address it in the way one should. that was his first mistake.

you were fourteen when the shy, clumsy attempts to flirt began. he wouldn’t shut you down. instead of explaining how wrong it was, how inappropriate, he’d laugh. ruffle your hair. treat it like a joke.

but then at sixteen, you asked him to be your boyfriend. stunned, he had triple-checked that you weren’t just fucking with him. you were old enough to know what that means, and how it’s not exactly normal to ask your dad that question. but you were serious.

and that’s when he tried to let you down easy, chuckling: “don’t get me locked up, kid. ask me again when you’re older.” 

it was meant to be harmless. he told himself that. but it wasn’t.

it had ruptured the fault lines in you— splitting wide open and tearing through the surface. you erupted, screaming at him for the first time in a way that left him stunned. he hadn’t known how to handle it back then.

you turned your rage to his favourite mug, hurling it against the wall and watching it shatter without remorse.

he’d never actually used it. it sat untouched on a shelf in his study; a clay mug you’d made for him in school years ago. now, the only evidence of it existed as shards in his bin.

you didn’t talk about it afterwards. you never do.

and then, on your eighteen birthday, he’d passed the point of no return.

late that night, after dinner with your family, you’d stayed the night at sangwoo’s to share a drink with your old man. just one— clinking your glasses to celebrate.

but one turned into two, and three into confessions. they spilled out like ink on paper.

“i’ve always wanted you,” you slurred, swaying in your seat. he caught you with a firm hand on your waist.

you look at him through half-lidded eyes. “you could do anything to me, and i’d just take it. you know that?”

he didn’t stop you. he didn’t stop himself. and what followed was far from an accident.

in the quiet of his living room, surrounded by empty bottles of shared liquor— you leaned in first. just burrowing your face into his shoulder. mumbling something with slurred vowels, breathing heavy on his neck.

and then you puckered your lips to the skin. once, twice for good measure. he stared off to the distance, room blurred from his foggy vision— and he just let you.

you trailed your lips over his jaw, and kissed him on the lips.

sangwoo had almost no reaction, save for a placid hand on your back. you pulled away, eyes glossed over and bottom lip trembling— and he sucked your breath in as his mouth came crashing onto yours.

no hesitation. no gentleness.

the kiss was all teeth and tongue, hands brutely grabbing at your curves. clothes were tugged to the side in a hurry. his belt fumbled loose, the buckle knocking your knee. he was on you like he’d been waiting years. maybe he had.

he’d pressed you into the couch cushions and fucked you without romance, without passion. there were no whispered praises, no reassuring touches. it was all heat as he rocked into you— stretching you open with a searing sting.

you didn’t say his name. he didn’t say yours. it was all silence except for the sound of skin on skin, of the couch creaking with the act of something that should’ve never happened.

it was over as quick as it began. a gasp, his body smothering yours. you laid there in the quiet as he twitched inside of you.

when it was over, he pulled off of you, chest rising and falling like he ran a marathon. neither of you moved to clean up. neither of you apologised.

that’s when he should’ve said it: we can’t do this again. but instead, he reached for his pack of cigarettes on the coffee table. he flicked the lighter on with shaking hands, and after a drag, he passed it to you.

that was the beginning.

he was still your old man, of course. that part never changed. you’d still cling to him like a daughter, cry in his arms like a child— and later the same day pull him into bed like a lover.

sangwoo hadn’t outright said you needed to stop. he liked to believe he had implied it— offering soft, redirecting suggestions. the kind of advice that comes from a concerned parent.

none of it would ever land. maybe he wasn’t strict enough in his approach, maybe he should’ve just scolded you to stop it there. but maybe deep down, he didn’t want it to stop anyway. not really.

one night, sangwoo was zoned in on working at his laptop in bed, while you were over during a routine sleepover. you were long past old enough to take care of yourself, but he still never let you spend a night alone while your mother was at the store. in turn though, you often distracted him from his own job.

you had climbed into his lap without a word— legs straddling his thighs, fingers curling into his hair. he should’ve pushed you away— always should’ve. but instead, he found himself shutting the laptop and tossing it to the side, hands finding your hips with a hard grip.

he felt that familiar pull, equal parts dread and desire.

your lips brushed his jaw. “missed you.”

this time, your bodies melted together when you kissed. it’d become second nature; kissing you was like breathing.

sangwoo laid you against the pillow softly, taking you with grace. he kept a hand circling your clit while he drew out the thrusts of his hips. he doted on you, pressing kisses into your hair and mumbling how gorgeous you were.

and when you came around him, you’d moaned a name that made his blood run cold. it wasn’t sangwoo— it was dad.

his orgasm immediately followed. the gentle act was gone as he fucked into you without remorse— cumming with a moan escaping from his throat. afterward, he was too busy catching his breath to say anything about the teasing grin on your face.

the morning after, he awoke to sunlight streaming through the blinds, bleeding rays across your bare skin as you laid curled into his side.

he laid there for what felt like hours. staring at the ceiling, listening to your steady breath at his ear. bathing in the warmth of your flesh on his.

it was an effort to still his racing thoughts— else he might throw up.

he shoved the memory of last night into the deepest pit of his brain. inevitably it’d crawl its way back out, or perhaps you’d be the one to reach for it and bring it back to the surface— but it’s enough to suppress it for the morning. he had to get ready for work.

he’d carefully inched you off of him until he could slip out from under the covers without rousing you. sangwoo sat alone at the dining table, nursing a mug of coffee that had long run cold. he stared blankly through the window while shame burrowed itself into his bones.

he heard your bare feet padding softly down the hallway. and when you rounded the corner, there you were: one of sangwoo’s shirts barely hanging on your frame, a cigarette between your lips, expression unreadable. sangwoo frowned at the sight.

“you need to cover up,” he droned. “and don’t smoke.”

you rolled your eyes. “you’re no better.”

he didn’t answer, just turned his gaze away. you tossed the unlit cigarette to the counter, wandering to the fridge and pulling it open.

he watched you rifle through its sparse contents. sangwoo didn’t live off much, so any groceries he would buy was in preparation for you spending the night. the stock neared empty— you’d been staying over way too much.

“i’m in meetings all morning. do you have a way to work?”

you shrugged. “i’ll just call it off.”

sangwoo stated your name sternly. he sighed, rubbing his eyes and pushing his glasses up his nose.

“i won’t always be here,” he said finally. “you need to start talking to boys your age soon—”

“—i do talk to them. they’re boring.” you replied flatly, shaking a juice cartoon before shoving it back in. “i’m like, legal anyway. so why are you stressing?”

this time, he called your name like a warning. a plea.

“you know why.”

you glanced over your shoulder, unphased. “well, they won’t put you in handcuffs over it. —damn, you’re out of milk again.”

the comment hung in the air, equal parts casual and cruel. as if you had nothing worth mourning. as if the lines crossed had never even mattered.

he’d try time and again to reassert any semblance of a boundary— but even too deep of a frown or too loud of a voice had you falling apart in ways he couldn’t bear to witness.

you had these eyes; this way of looking at him like he was the air you breathe, the only thing in the world that mattered. and it’d suck him right back in.

this was your normal now. complicated. rotten. tethered together in ways that defied reason. and somehow, devastatingly inevitable.

sangwoo was the only father you’d ever known, and you— the closest thing he’d ever had to something of his own. you were meant to be his, bound to him in ways deeper than blood. he would do anything in the name of loving you. that was the kind of man he was. so if it meant crossing lines that dirtied your blood tie— then so be it.

but he never stopped resenting himself for what he’d done to you. for tainting you so early. he’d talk about your future with a practiced smile: college boys, a husband in the suburbs. a romance that existed outside of shadows.

you deserved that. you deserved everything he couldn’t give you without sullying it. a lover you could name without your chest aching.

still, he couldn’t understand why it gutted him every time you listened. why he’d rather be shot dead than watch you leave him for someone else.

when had he grown so attached to you? when had this sick, coiled thing between you become something he couldn’t survive without? the thought of you not coming home to him made his heart ache in a way he didn’t want to name.

sangwoo rubbed at his eyes, recollecting his thoughts. he hated himself for this. hated you a little too.

the clock’s hand creeped past 8, and you still weren’t here.

would you trust him if he said he was sorry? would you forgive him if he meant it?

he didn’t mean for any of this. but how could you ever believe him when he didn’t believe himself?

there’s a pang in the middle of his legs. before he can even register how it had come to this, his hand was already between his thighs.

flashes of you crept into his mind. how your lips would part when you teased him, that little noise you’d make when he’d slide into you. you. always you.

he pictured you coming home, crossing the room to climb into his lap. wordlessly kissing him, and letting him use his mouth to convince you to stay.

he hadn’t even registered the front door opening before he heard your voice.

“got alot on your hands?”

sangwoo practically jolted, pulling his hand from his crotch and snapping his head to look at you. in his thoughts just a second ago, now you were real: standing across the lounge room with your arms folded over your chest.

he said your name breathlessly, as if checking you were real. “where were you?”

you shrugged, approaching the coffee table. he watched your eyes scan over the litter of bottles, raising a brow at the crumpled tissues. you stole a cigarette from the pack on the table.

“wanna go out tonight? you pay,” you piped, sticking the cigarette between your lips and reaching for his lighter.

sangwoo massaged his temple as you flicked the lighter on, struggling to keep up. “can we just—”

“you could meet him,” you cut in. “he said he’d be up for it.”

he stood from the couch then. “him?”

“yeah, my boyfriend.” you rolled your eyes, taking another drag.

sangwoo closed the gap between you. he reached out, hands finding your waist with a firm grip— like maybe it would keep you in place. like maybe you’d stay.

you spoke before he could.

“i haven’t told him about us.” your voice was still, careful. “i thought i could introduce you as my dad.”

he wanted to scream till his voice gave out, or cry till his eyes ran dry. or maybe throw you to the couch and remind you where home is.

but the silence was louder than anything.

sangwoo nodded once. you smile, and for a second, he thinks you might kiss him for it. but you just walk to the kitchen without glancing back.

just distance. just cold.

“go for a shower and we’ll leave soon, yeah?”

sangwoo stared at the ceiling.

he’s loved you in all the right and wrong ways. raised you like a father, fucked you like a sinner. and soon, he’d shake hands with your boyfriend— who’d be blissfully unaware those very hands were stained with the first blood his daughter ever shed.

tags: @lightinbug @sherrayyyyy @ferrarifinnick @namsgyu @riddlerloveb0t @avsarchivez @frontwomann @emmiesoverthemoon @6pomseeds @hajunz @mengjenpei

[feelfreetopleasemexo]

You’re away on a mission and he’s home this time waiting for you

He’s cleaned every surface within an inch of its life,

He wanted to come but you needed to prove to the higher ups you were more than capable, almost on his level if not there already.

“Okay okay, last one…would you love me if I was a worm?

“Yes.”

“A girl?”

“Mhmm.”

“Okay…what about a girl worm?”

“No.”

“WHAT?!”

“Of course I would, now can we please go to sleep. I’ve gotta be up in….eugh! 3 hours Turo!”

The early morning rays peak through your blinds as saturo cuddles into your back, his head over your shoulder, softly kissing your earlobes. A twang of anxiety pings through his body as he hears your alarm ring, praying you didn’t hear it, he daren’t move a muscle, savouring every last second he has with you before you have to get up. Lazily you flop your arm over and hit snooze on it, rolling over to snuggle into his chest. He hear him inhale deeply as he soaks in your scent, kissing the top of your head and running his fingers lightly up and down your spine. The feather soft tickles send goosebumps covering every inch of your body, as you let out an enjoyable, sleepy moan.

“I don’t wanna goooooo” you mumble, barely audible as your face smushes into his chest, almost completely encapsulating you.

“Then dont, fuck the higher ups!”

“Maybe later, im too tired right now. “ You mumble out through a massive grin on your face, he usually giggles at your witty remarks, impressed his sarcastic charm has rubbed off on you, but this time he’s silent, stewing in his own mind.

“Baby? That was a good one, did you hear i….” He interrupts you with a powerful kiss. He holds your face like you’re about to slip through his fingers at any second, about to melt away and be lost forever.

“Please don’t go.” He begins to beg, usually when you two have to get up he begs to stay in bed a little longer, but this time he’s didn’t have a playfulness about his tone, only a worried one.

“Baby,” you kiss his nose and flash a sweet smile at him, knowing how it makes him melt, “you know I have to. This’ll be the last one, I get to finally show off and prove to them that I really am strong. Strong like you, like how you taught me to be. I’ve got this don’t worry, if it gets really bad I’ll just ping you my location and you can warp to me, right? Or use megumis bird again right” you try to laugh, hoping it would ease his mind, but only worried furrowed brows meet you. He grabs your hands, holding them in his, and kisses them gently, every single soft kiss felt like he was pouring his heart and soul into them. He whimpers slightly as he kisses, and as you pull away to get up, he lets out a quiet whimpering.

“Gonna at least join me in the shower before I go? I know me bending over infront of the mirror never fails to make you smile.” As you try to flirtily entice him, he throws his head back onto the pillow and stares up at the ceiling, you’ve never seen him more depressed in his life.

“It’s only three days, and if I can get it done sooner you know I will baby! Now get that sweet ass in the shower with me.” You begin to walk into the bathroom, hesitating slightly before turning the shower on, in hopes he’ll sleepily join you, but he doesn’t. You hear him sigh and roll over, typing something on his phone.

After your shower, you wrap yourself in a towel and walk back into your bedroom, to find him down on one knee outside of the bathroom door.

“Marry me.” He’s not holding a ring box, only a picture of a ring drawn on a scrap of paper in your lipstick. You raise your eyebrows and smirk at him,

“Turo…”

“Fine, have a baby with me then.” He again, pulls out a picture of a baby also draw with your red lipstick.

“Stop. I won’t be gone long.” You lean down and kiss the top of his forehead, as you walk around him and start to get changed.

“Fine. But who’s going to tell the kids that their mother won’t be home to cook them dinner then?!” Once again, pulls out a crappily drawn photo of the three first years crying, with a tiny him laying on the floor in the background in a puddle of tears.

“You better not have used up all of my favourite….” You find the lipstick snapped in half barely under the bed, “TURO!” You snap at him, picking it up and throwing it forcefully at him.

“What?! Im all weird up in here okay, i, I don’t know what to do….is this what it’s like every time I leave for missions?! Goddammit woman, I’ll never leave again, I swear it! How do you even cope….” You plant a soft kiss on his lips, interrupting his anxious ramblings.

“I know how it feels, I promise you, it goes quicker than you think. And wait til you feel your heart flutter when I ring you as soon as I land. You’ll never know anything quite like it.”

As you start to get dressed and dry your hair, he lays on the bed defeated, staring at you with those puppy dog eyes that usually get him what he wants. Sighing you look away and continue to get ready. When you’re almost done, and applying the last bit of lipstick, he flings open the door,

“Tell them. Tell them you’re leaving me. Tell them, go on.”

Yuji, Nobara and Megumi all stand in the doorway, looking incredibly confused at gojo, then back at you.

“Oh right, it’s your kick ass mission today right?! Have fun! You’ll kick those curses ass I just know it!” Yuji excitedly exclaims, as Gojo clings onto him around his waist, almost dragging him down with him to the floor.

“Yeah, you’ll do great, not as good as I would but Yano…show them higher ups that they better not fuck with you!” Nobara says smiling sweetly, head tilted, then darting her eyes at Gojo and threatening to punch him if he touches her.

“Mm. Dont be long, I don’t think I can deal with Gojo acting like this for more than 10minutes, let alone a few days. Get it done, get back, pick his sorry ass up, and yeah, dont die.” Megumi says through his pierced lips, although he never showed you, you knew him well enough now to see through his act. Gojo drapes himself over Megumi, laying his back on top of his, nearly crushing him under his weight.

“See! They’re all so devastated, maybe even more than I am! How could you leave this beautiful family?!” Megumi pushes him to the floor and he wiggles his way to your feet on his back, looking up at you, as you see a slight smile and head tilt come across him, as he realises he can see straight up your skirt from this angle.

You bend down, kiss his forehead and thank everyone for seeing you off, whilst also offering an apology on Gojos behalf.

“Yano they say about better half’s? They’re definitely gojos. If anything, they’re the better EVERYTHING” Nobara smirks to Yuji as they turn to leave the room.

After standing him up, you squeeze him tightly as he lets his body fall over you, almost knocking you over.

“Can’t leave if I crush you, right? Would they let you go if we just told them I broke your hips from a particularly lustrous night together?”

“I love you, goodbye Turo,” you push him back upright and kiss the end of his nose, then cheeks then his lips. “I’ll call you when I land okay? Im not fighting straightaway, I’ll FaceTime you if you want and show you around the hotel!” You squeeze him tightly as you feel tears well in your eyes, you can’t dare let him see this as if his efforts weren’t bad before, he definitely wouldn’t let you out of his sights if he saw you crying. You pull away from the embrace as his fingers squeeze your skin, begging for you not to let go just yet. As you bury your head down slightly, letting your hair cover your eyes, and grab your bags, you quickly use your shoulder to wipe your eyes and flash him a sweet grin.

“I love you more than you could ever imagine. And I promise you, when you get back, I’ll have an actual ring in my hands.”

As you leave, you runs to the window waiting to see you leave the gates and get into the car waiting for you. You look back and he looks like a kid listening to sad music in the car, with the windows stained from the rain, pretending to be in a sad music video. You blow him a kiss as you climb into the car, and see him grab it, forcing it to his chest and falling down.

After arriving at your hotel, you turn your phone back on and see 15 messages from Gojo, 3 voicemails and 7 missed FaceTimes. Before opening them all, you see you have a message from Yuji too, you decide to open that one first. It reads,

‘Please come home soon, we miss you! P.s. gojos already crying in my room. Send help. XD’

His yearning and pining for you was actually very sweet, and surprisingly not that annoying either. You open his messages and most of them are just rambles of how much he misses you, a few memes, and then a worried messaging asking if you died on the plane over there as he calculated you should’ve been at your hotel e minutes ago. You ring him and he answers immediately, the FaceTime notification immediately pings up too.

“Hey sexy, missing me terribly already are you? Yeah….i thought you would.” He pretends to scoff, “well, I didn’t even realise you’d gone to be honest, me and the boys have been living it large in Yuji’s room, Yano , drinking, chicks round, all that cool stuff…..” he pretends to not even look at the tiny window to you on the FaceTime, whilst darting his eyes at you every now and again.

“Ah yeah yeah, all that cool guy stuff, definitely not sulking on yujis bed whilst Nobara scolds you for crying, and definitely not Megumi letting you cry into the divine dogs or anything, no?” You smirk, pretending to be just as aloof as him.

“HOW DID YOU KNOW ABOUT THE DIVINE…No no, definitely not. So anyway, up to anything nice, wherever you are….?”

You flop onto your king sized bed and unbutton your top, letting your chest bounce as you throw yourself back, in the pretty pink bra you brought and hid from him for this exact reason.

“No, no, nothing really, just came back from a lovely dinner with the most handsome man I’ve ever met, Yano, typical stuff.” You glance at him and see his eyes widen, entranced by the momentum of your breasts bouncing slightly still, then dart back up to your face with a worried look.

“Wait what?! Dinner? HANDSOME MAN? Ever seen? Babe….” You giggle loudly as his excitement turns to fluster in an instant, his worried tone tickling you to your core.

“I’ve just got in, wanna see the room?” You giggle, your cheeks flushing a slight pink as your smile widens at his worry.

“Um yeah, the room, lemme see, lemme see how it bounce, I mean….yeah show me the room babe.” He can’t decide between staring at your face or your chest, darting between them both.

“Easy now Turo, I’ve only been gone for what,” you look at the time on the pull down menu of your screen, “4 hours or so? And as I recall, you said no to joining me in the shower this morning so….this one’s all on you…big boy.” His face flushes a delicate shade of pink as you utter that pet name to him, rarely used as you know the power it holds over him.

“Yeah, um, how about you come back quickly and I reevaluate that answer. Super quick. 10 minutes yeah. Definitely.” You see him readjust his trousers slightly and sit more upright.

“Wait, are you, STILL IN YUJIS ROOM?!” You scan the background as he moves and a glimpse of Yujis poster girl appears from behind Gojos head,

“I am NOT in Yujis room still…” he shuffles down the bed slightly so you can only see him and a pale white pillowcase and bedsheet behind him now, then suddenly Megumis black dog jumps on his chest and smothers his face. The screen gets engulfed in the black fur as you hear him wrestling with the hound, cursing at it to get off so he can see his beautiful wife on screen. Panting and spitting black fir out of his mouth, he picks the phone back up and giggles slightly, heading out of yujis room.

“Sorry about that, damn mutt wanted my attention and Yano what they get like….”

“Hmm yeah, I wonder what it’s like to be bombarded and pushed to the floor when a big beast wants your attention….i bet it’s”

“Annoying yeah, im sure you can’t imagine it, but I’ll show you when you get back.” He rolls his eyes and smirks at you, he then flops onto your shared bed and cuddles into the pillow on your side, cradling it like he’s spooning it. His eyes looking down, he starts to pout.

“Yano, you don’t HAVE to smell so good all the time. You’re damn stink is all over these pillows…” he breaths it in, in a deep inhale and exhales as if he’s a widow mourning their fallen husband from war.

“It’s okay to miss me Yano, i miss you too. I know you’d never in a million years ever show me that you missed me but, might be nice to open up to me now and again….” You tease, pretending to be hurt, “Here, this might cheer you up.” You lay the phone on the bed and rummage through your suitcase, pulling on his T-shirt you packed that he wore this morning. You appear back on screen and surprise him “ SEE! Dont i look cute!” You bring the collar of the t shirt up to smell it, your eyes flutter slightly at the intoxicating aroma that still linger on it; his cologne and a slight salty sweat all mixed together.

“That’s not fair, I should be in that T-shirt you’re smelling right now! Well…” he throws the phone on the bed and you see your t shirts flying across the room, “two…can….play…at…..AHA…” you hear him struggling to squeeze into one of your crop tops, “that….GAME!” He appears back on screen, a slight reddening around his forehead from where he’s tried to force your top over his head, a slight pant to his voice.

“See, now dont I just look so cute too…Yano, it actually kinda suits me.” He pretends to pose like you do in your selfies, camera at a high angle pointing down, a peace sign down by his hips. You try not to focus too long on the way his abs perfectly peak out from the tiny top, at how his trousers, unbuttoned, hang low enough for you to see his V deliciously teasing you.

“Baby, you’re drooling..earth to dickhead….” You snap out of your gaze, flushed cheeks growing ever redder.

“Err yeah, super cute babe. Now just move the phone slightly lowerrrrrr..” you tilt your head as if this movement would move the lens, showing you more of his body and how it perfectly entices you in. He giggles and takes your top off with one hand, he definitely stretched one of your favourite tops doing this, but right now that’s the furthest thing from your mind.

“Oh yeah? This better for you then babe?” He smirks, his diamond eyes fluttering at you, as you feel your pants steadily becoming more damp,

“Turo, it’s only been, what…”

“An eternity already baby?” He stares at you through the camera, you swear you could feel the heat coming off his body through the phone. You see his arm moving slowly up and down as he strokes his length, unsure of if it’s under his trousers or not. Feeling the electricity rising in you, you lower your hand to your skirt and lift it slightly, tracing the outline of your folds, moaning slightly at the thought of him touching himself over you.

“Hmm, I’ve missed your moans so much, what’s it’s been, two days since i last broke you? Feels like it’s been weeks, why did I ever say no to joining you this morning..” he bites his lower lip slightly as he throws his head back slightly, arm moving faster., letting a moan escape his lips, when suddenly a loud bang interrupts you.

“Fuuuuck off pleeeease.” He says, apparently unphased by the banging at his door, still stroking, peaking an eye at you.

“It’s Yaga. Please get dressed and stop watching whatever you’re watching and meet me in my office…now Gojo.” Urgency, as usual, filled Yagas tone, you swore it was the only infliction his voice knew how to come out.

Gojo lets out a long sigh as he pulls his pant from out of his pants; you just KNEW it was actually down them, and rolls his eyes.

“I love you, I’ve gotta go see what this grumpy bastard wants. We’ll continue this later. Feel free to send pictures my way.” He kisses the screen then flashes you a quick look at his dick, hard, throbbing with his hand clasping at the base, then pulls the camera back up, winks at you and ends the call. You giggle and hold the phone to your chest, like a school girl you kick your legs in excitement and let out an excited sigh. Even after a year of dating, he still knows how to make you crazy, even miles away from each other.

After a shower and fresh clothes, you go downstairs to meet your partner and journey together on your adventure. After nearly an hours drive, you realise not a single road you went down seemed shady, usually on missions the area tended to look less and less managed, and more and more derelict to closer you got to your destination. The roads here paved with beautiful buildings, amazing architecture and breathtaking sights, you suddenly stop outside of an old cottage. You and the young lady with jet black hair, a nose piercing and an all black outfit you were partnered with get out of the car. You both go inside of the building and are greeted with the worst smelling sewage you’d never smelt. The sticky black tar flooded your shoes as the door slammed shut behind you. The inside of this house had been turning into a domaine, because the outside definitely didn’t match this grotesque sight, and the smell, if it hadn’t been turning into one, you could’ve smelt it down the street, even in the car. After wading through it, you’re met with the biggest, stupidest looking wolf/spider hybrid curse youd ever seen, not that you’d seen a lot of this particular type of curse but still, you’d seen enough weird shit in your time being a sorcerer. After battling with it, and it nearly killing both you and your partner multiple times, you finally landed the final blow and the domaine disappeared. You hoist your partner over your shoulder and thank the lords that shes even tinier than you, because if she wasn’t, there would be no way in hell you’d be dragged her out of here. As you approach the door, a tall man stands in your way. Slender, as taller Gojo, but more muscular with a wider frame, the man almost completely fills out the doorframe.

“Um, hi, can you move please? Kinda need to get her some help….” You pant, blood dripping into your left eye, and your arms aching from carrying your partner. He slams you against the wall as both you and the woman fall to the floor. He pushes past you with such ease, then grabs your partners leg, throws her over his shoulder and tries to turn around and leave. You flick your finger and a gust of wind nearly knocks him down, he drops the woman and you hear her back slap against the floor. He turns to you, smiling, and grabs your leg, forcefully flinging you across the room, he walks slowly towards where you land. Your head hits the wall as you collide with it, and your hearing completely goes. Dazed, you try to clamber to your feet, shaking hands you try to force your fingers into a flick again, only to find each index finger on both hands has broken, now managed into disgusting forms. You rip your shirt and try to bandage them against your middle fingers for support, as you try to run and find a place to shelter from this man. As you rip a bit of your shirt off, he grabs you by the collar and flings you over his shoulder. He walks towards the door as you frantically kick your legs into him, trying to claw at his back, anything to get him to drop you, but as you feel his body under yours, you feel like you’re attacking a concrete wall. He throws you into the back of his blacked out car and slams the door on your legs, breaking your left one, and almost breaking the right too. As screams erupt from your mouth, he laughs and shoves your legs in, digging his fingers into your knees where he knows the bones have cracked and slams the door shut on you. You try to clamber up, reaching over to lock the doors from the inside when you hear the back windshield smash, glass now covering you. You turn back and see your partner standing there, limping, with bricks in her hands. You knew she was a tough one, but after the curse knocking her out and the strong man dropping her, you couldnt believe she’d regaining consciousness so quickly. You reach over to use the phone that resided at the front of the car as the strong man walked towards your partner, and your mind goes blank. Who do you call? Yeah you could call Gojo and he’d try his best to get to you, but you didn’t even the location you were in, let alone if he’d get here fast enough. You could call the hotel, tell them to call Nanami who came to the hotel with you, but he said he was getting the next flight home after dropping you off, as he promised Gojo he’d get you here safely. You decide to ring the hotel and ask if the tall man you arrived with had left yet. He had. Shit. You hang up and ring Gojo, and for the first time ever he didn’t answer straight away. You hit his voicemail, and as you heard the footsteps approaching the car, you desperately leave a message for him.

“Baby, I love you, and of COURSE you don’t answer when I need you, but I just wanted to say….” The door handles rattle as the man tries to open the door you’d locked before reaching the phone. “Im in a bit of a shit situation right now, and if you could send some help that would be amazing….” The window shatters as the man punches them out, grabbed at you as you kick his hand away, forcing his arm into the shards of glass at the window frame. “ I love you, I’ll be okay, I just, I just wanted to tell you that okay? You better be looking at rings for m…..” The man smashes the phone with his fist and tears the door off its hinges. He grabs at the foot on your broken leg, as you try to kick him off with your other, but he grabs that one too snd forces you out of the car. He slams you on top of it and you swear you hear your lung audible pop from inside your ribcage. You feel your vision start to darken, but try to muster up the ability to stay awake. If you pass out, you die, Gojo always taught you that. You grab a large shard of glass from out of your side snd stab it into the man’s neck. Suddenly he stops, he drops to his knees and as he falls to the ground he evaporates.

“A fucking CURSE?!” You slam your head back down against the top of the car where you lay, and as your eyes start to close, you can hear Nanami’s voice screaming for you. You close your eyes snd are met with a memory of the first time Gojo held your hand.

He’d bumped into you at the training field after your first couple of weeks at ju-jitsu, he pretended not to see you as he held his phone infront of his face, pretending to be lost in texting, and as you collided he grabbed your waist snd pulled you into him.

“This is the….third time I’ve saved you from falling over now, little one, anyone would think you like the way I hold you like this.” He peers over the top of his glasses at you, his eyes glinting in the sun nearly blinding you. You push him off and he grabs your hand, interlocking your fingers together. “Shut up, just hold my hand, we both know neither of us have the guts to ask to do it so, im being a gentleman and snd grabbing yours anyway.”

When you regain consciousness your in the back of a car with your partner sat up next to you, both slumped over but buckled into your seats, with Nanami driving crazily through the streets. Towels had been bundled up and placed like pillows on the windows and your heads had been rested on them, as you look around and try to speak, blood fills your mouth as you vomit it all up over yourself. Nanami frantically looks around and reaches his hand back to you, holding your head up so you don’t pass out in the vomit now pooling in your lap. You try to stay conscious, but as you try to look up at him, you see his mouth moving but no words coming out. Did he always have such nice brown eyes? Didn’t he wear weird glasses most of the time. Your head slumps as you pass out again.

You startle awake as a strange woman is preforming CPR on you, her lips left a small thin trail of saliva connecting yours to hers, as she bucks back at your bolting upright.

“You’re alive then?!” Nanami exclaims, he was always so calm and collected, even in the face of the death of his comrades, so it kind of felt nice that his voice had somewhat of worry laced in it. You fall back as he catches your head, slowly lowering it so you don’t smack it on the hard surface below you. You look around and notice you’re on an aeroplane, it’s moving, and you see a body bag on the table across from you.

“Hijitchi, is she…”

“Dead. Yes.” He states, his voice calm and collected this time. No emotion on his face, he pushes the glasses up his nose slightly, unfolding his shirt sleeves back down his arm.

“You got lucky this time. That curse wasn’t meant to be there for your mission. No one knew where it came from, it even got past your partners vail. “ The strange woman, who you now could tell was a stewardess from her outfit, pointed out. You sat up, head feeling light as you swung your legs around, dangling them as you tried to sit to the edge of the table. Your broken leg was bandaged up, a strong splint restricted your movements, and your right arm in a sling. You looked like a crappy knock off mummy Halloween costume with the amount of bandages covering almost 90% of your body. Nanami helps you as you try to get off the table, and he helps you sit down in a chair on the private jet. He hands you some medication to take and you swollen all of them before he even brings the drink to your hand.

“Gojo is on his way to us. He’s meeting us half way as we refuel. I doubt you’ll even see him before he jets off to find whoever sent that extra curse your way.”

“GOJO! I left him a message before that curse smashed the phone, i take it he got it then and…”

Nanami interrupts you,

“Yes. He got it. He then rang me asking me to turn around to find you, luckily I was just about to board the plane as he rang. Yano, you really should take your phone with you on missions, if that car hadn’t had a phone in it you’d of been dead.” His judgemental stare cuts right through you, as even thought he’s wearing his glasses, you can still feel his it cutting you down.

“I did have it on me, I wanted to recreate the selfie Gojo took when he kicked that guys…”Nanami again interrupts you.

“Childish.”

You look down and trail off your sentence, you knew it was childish, but you also knew Gojo would’ve thought it was funny.

“We’re about to land. I’ve got your things, just focus on trying to walk when we do, if you don’t need the fresh air just sit tight.” Looking out of the window as you land, you see Gojo standing by a car, in his black uniform, with his blindfold covering his face. His arms crossed against his chest, a disgustingly angry look covers his usually beautiful face. He try to stand, wanting to go and embrace him, but as you do a painful electric shock runs through your body, forcing you to gasp loudly snd sit back down. Nanami touches your shoulder as he stands behind you, you look up at him and nod, staying seated, as he then walks out of the doors and greets Gojo. As you look out the window again, you see them exchanging words, and see Gojo getting into the car as it speeds off. Tears start to fill your eyes as you watch him speed away, you reach a hand to the window as you sigh, watching the man you love chase after someone who tried to kill you. You could only imagine his anger, his frustration, as his previous attempts to keep you home, probably filled his mind. You knew he’d somehow blame himself for this happening because he wasn’t there to protect you, and you wanted so badly to just hear his voice, reassure him that you were okay, and that none of this was any of his fault.

After a long phone call, Nanami comes back onto the plane, and before you can even open your mouth, he walks past you, grabs the body bag, bridal carries it out of the plane and places it into the back of another car that just arrived. Eventually he comes back onto the plane, answering his phone as he sits opposite you.

“Yes. It’s done? Thank you.”

The brief phone call ends.

“Gojo found the curse user responsible for your attack, and killed him. We asked him to bring him in for questioning, but we all knew this was a request that fell on deaf ears. Apparently it was someone sent from the higher ups. They apparently tried to say it was part of the test, that they needed to see how you reacted under ‘a real threat�� but well, you know how Gojo feels about them. There’s not a man alive that could convince him this wasn’t a cruel plan to exterminate you.” Nanamis voice, stern and forward as always.

“So, is Gojo okay? Where is he now? Can we get him to come back so I can at least see him…?”

“He’s fine. Hes meeting us back at jujitsu.”

Nanami cleaned his glasses and loosened his tie slightly.

“I think you should get some rest, shoko needs to check you over when we get in, you’ll be with her for a few hours i imagine, and then you’ll need to recall the whole incident with me and yaga, and a few others, before you can see Gojo again .”

You sigh but know he’s right, the drowsiness from the pain medication you took started to take affect as your eyes slowly started to drop. He stood up and helped lower the back of your chair, reclining it so you could at least lay your head back and rest as comfortably as the chairs allowed. After what felt like a blink, you awoke to Nanami gently putting his hand on your shoulder again,

“We’ve arrived. I’ve got your bags, please wait for me to put them into the car and return before you try to stand.” You sleepily nod and watch him take your bags, as you turn your head away from the window you see Gojo stood next to you. Before you could even smile, he whisks you up in a bridal carry, and starts walking you towards the car.

“Gojo… i….” You look up at him and see a tear rolling down his cheek, from underneath his blindfold. He doesn’t look at you, he keeps his head looking forward and doesn’t speak to you. As you arrive at the car, he gently put you in, buckles your seatbelt over you, and kisses the top of your head. After closing your door, he walks around and gets into the front seat. Silence fills the car on the journey home to jujitsu. An array of emotions fill your head, you almost felt like a kid in the back seat who had just been found stealing, as your parents drove you home in silent disappointment. When you arrived at the gates to the school, Gojo got out and carried you in again, as you lay in his arms you felt ashamed, like he was angry at you for going, angry at you for getting so hurt, disappointed in you for not using more of his training to protect yourself? As he walked towards the main building, he started to walk towards your shared room instead of where a shoko was waiting for you. You went to open your mouth and question it, but fought against your better judgment and kept your mouth shut. As he opened the door and laid you on the bed, he turned back and as he closed the door to your room, he started to sob.

“I fucking knew it. I knew this would happen. After my meeting with Yaga I knew those bastards were up to something, he tried to warn me….and when you didn’t answer I knew I had to call Nanami to check in on you, and then I got your voicemail. Oh god your voicemail.” His sobs turned into uncontrollably crying as he fell to his knees after walking back towards the bed. He fell in between your knees and gently cuddled into your outstretched leg, careful not to hurt you, but crying into the bandages. He lifts his head up and holds your face in his hands, pressing his forehead to yours. He cries into your face, as you reach up and pull his blindfold down. He kisses your face and the force of these kisses pushes you backwards, as your back hits the bed you flinch, gasping at the pain. He recoils and a look of pure terror fills his face, as if he was the cause of your pain.

“It’s, it’s fine don’t worry. Nanami gave me some stroooong ass meds, you’ve just gotta be a little more careful with me for a few days baby.” You mutter, trying to muster a smile on your face as you reach out for him. He sits back on his knees and hangs his head low. You push yourself up and see him staring at you, with his hands outstretched snd a beautiful crimson ring box filling his palm.

“Marry me.” He says, stifling back the tears, staring at you with puffy eyes, his glistening blue hues almost too pale because of all the crying.

“Turo….I….of course! Of course I will! Cm’ere you idiot!” He jumps up to embrace you, as he does, he tries to hold back his excitement and tries to contain himself, but you pull him into you, and kiss his lips with such a force that your teeth nearly clank into each other. You both fall back onto the bed, and as he lays on top of you, you feel him slip the ring onto your finger, carefully. He holds your face and lightly strokes it as you both fully submerge into your joy. A knock at the door startles you, as it slowly opens and you suddenly see Yuji grinning from ear to ear, peaking his head through the crack.

“Did you ask her yet?” He glances at Gojo engulfing you on the bed, almost completely covering you from anyone’s view, but he sees your head perk up, smiling your ass off, as he jumps in the air and cheers!

“YES! I knew it! I told you she wouldn’t say no you idiot! Congrats guys!” He jumps on Gojos back with excitement, before Gojo forces his shoulders forward, protecting you from even the slightest gust of wind from Yuji. As Yuji opens his eyes, a terrified look dawns his face.

“What the fuck happened to you?! Did Gojo do that when you said yes because he got too excited…did blue go off….no no , he couldnt bandage you up so quickly, did….something happen on your mission?!” His puzzled look continues to furrow his brow. Gojo stands back upright and helps Yuji to his feet.

“Don’t worry itidori, I got the bastards that hurt her. I mean, she did technically win after all, but I still hunted those bastards down and made them pay….anyway, “ he shook the dark look from off his face, “maybe dont send the dogs in…” and with that, both hounds hurled through the doorway, nearly knocking the door from off its hinges as they pounced on your chest.

“Totally. Worth. It.” You say, gritting your teeth through the pain, as they furiously licked at your face. Megumi dismissed them back into the shadows as he stood in the doorway.

“Shit, i, didn’t realise you were so banged up. I wouldn’t have summoned them and riled them up if I knew….”

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I missed them too.” You say, panting from the pain, but still throwing a smile megumis way.

Gojo lets out a concerned laugh, then leads the boys out of the room.

“Mummy and daddy need some grown up time now. You might end you with another little sister running round soon.” He smirks, letting a giggle out as Megumi groans and Yuji makes a puking sound, sticking his finger in his mouth, imitating making himself sick. He closes the door behind them and turns to face you.

“Now, I assume we have about 8 or 9 minutes before shoko comes banging on the door looking for you. That enough time to make you cum once or twice, you think?” He starts to undo his shirt as he says this, slowly walking up to the bed, then dropping to his knees snd putting his hands on your thighs, parting them ever so gently.

“How about instead of your mouth, you show me where your hand was when we face timed hey…” you look at him and see the glimmer in his eye return, his aquatic eyes regaining their vibrancy.

He reaches down and undoes his belt with one hand, in a fluid motion. He throws it to the floor snd starts to crawl up your fragile body, careful not to put too much pressure on you.

Part 2 coming soon!

I could only fit so much in before it became a damn novel in one post. Next part is going to be full kinky smut, so yeah, you’ve been warned. 😅

[honeyncherry]

after party - joe burrow

summary while celebrities chase invites to exclusive after parties, joe slips away knowing the only invitation that matters is waiting in his hotel suite

content 18+, porn with little plot pls beware

"C'mon," he murmurs low at your ear, voice half-drunk on desire, fingers unforgiving where they work between your thighs. "Show me how much you missed me."

The California King sprawls beneath you, a cloud of soft white sheets and plush pillows that envelop you as he hooks his arm under your knee, spreading you wider. His slacks remain on, belt undone, white shirt hanging open, sleeves pushed to his elbows. There's something devastatingly intimate about him being partially dressed while you're completely bare before him, vulnerable in ways that transcend the physical.

Your breath stutters, fingers twisting into the sheets. The room is too warm, air heavy with the scent of him—spice and sweat and whatever that cologne is, the one he always wears back home. The one that clung to you for days after he left. New York, Miami, back to New York again. Each night, only his voice on the phone.

After the third night of nothing but texts and blurry FaceTime calls, longing overwhelmed reason. You booked a last-minute flight, landed at sunset, and convinced his security to let you in without telling him.

You got part of your wish. The suite waited empty, lights low, city glow seeping through the curtains like liquid gold. You indulged in the spa shower, steam embracing you, water hot enough to bring blood to the surface of your skin. Though when you emerged, towel wrapped around your body, your phone illuminated the counter.

Couldn't wait?

Now you're cradled against him, your back pressed to his chest, thighs resting over his. His hand moves with practiced precision between your legs, your body responding with an honesty that leaves you breathless. You've surrendered all sense of time to his touch—fingers working methodically, drawing precise circles over sensitive flesh until your legs quiver with the effort to remain open for him. Sweat sticks your back to his chest, skin damp and catching every time you try to slump further down.

The first time he made you come, it hit hard, your body arching and limbs shaking as he pressed you back against him. You gasped his name, nails biting into his forearm, and he huffed a breath against your neck, kissed the curve of your jaw, murmured, "Yeah. Like that."

His mouth traces across your shoulder now, more adorning than demanding. His hand quickens its mesmerizing rhythm, pulling moans from you with each move across oversensitized nerves.

​​"Can't get enough of you," he confesses, voice edged with something raw and unfiltered as his lips wander the landscape of your jaw, pausing to explore your ear. "God, you feel perfect, baby."

You're panting, sweat-slick and trembling as he holds you spread open, his chest a solid wall of heat against your back. His fingers don't stop—if anything, they press deeper, curling inside you with a ruthless, unrelenting rhythm that sends shivers through you. The sheets are damp beneath you, twisted between your clenched fists, and the only thing anchoring you is the heavy, solid warmth of his arm braced around your middle, securing you against him.

"Fuck, that's it," he breathes, his mouth brushing over the curve of your jaw, teeth grazing the soft skin just beneath your ear. "Give me one more. C'mon, baby. I know you can."

You're drowning in the feel of him—all smothering heat, his mouth drags over your skin, teeth grazing your earlobe before he soothes the sting with a wet kiss. The air is thick, laden with the scent of sweat and sex, and the rasp of his breathing against your ear is enough to make your toes curl.

"You can take it," he mutters, his voice low, dark, a gravelly rasp against the curve of your ear. "Come on, baby. Let me feel you."

Your head falls back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as your hips move in time with the measured thrusts of his fingers. You can hear how wet you are, the slick, obscene sounds filling the room as his fingers work you open, more and more as the tension builds, every muscle tightening, your composure breaking apart as that tight, aching coil in your belly winds and winds and—

"No, J—"

"I know," he breathes, thumb pressing down against your clit in rough circles that make your body quiver, make you choke on his name. "I know, baby. Let go for me."

"Joey," you whisper, voice cracking as another wave hits you, so intense it pulls a sob from your throat. Your thighs clamp down around his wrist, your body locking up as you come again, the orgasm cresting through you like a fever, forcing your spine to arch against him, body rippling with every pulse.

But he doesn't stop. Doesn't even slow.

His hand continues working you, his fingers pumping deep and dragging through your slick with that same fierce, devastating rhythm, coaxing out every aftershock, every twitch, until it's too much. Until you're panting, hands scrabbling at his arm, hips bucking, trying to twist away.

"Joe, no, I can't—"

His fingers finally still, buried to the knuckle inside you, the sudden stillness almost more jarring than before. You're trembling, chest heaving as you recover, and his mouth moves to your jaw, lips brushing over your damp skin in soft, open-mouthed kisses.

"Okay," he murmurs, voice a gravelly tone against your skin. "Okay, baby. You're okay."

His kisses are gentle, deceptively so, soft presses of his mouth against your neck, over the curve of your shoulder, the scrape of his skin against yours becomes a torturous caress. Each kiss lingers a second too long, almost like he's plotting, like he's letting you recover before taking your breath away again.

Then he's shifting behind you, one arm sliding under your knees, the other around your back as he lifts you effortlessly, setting you off his lap and onto the mattress. You're still reeling, and you watch through half-lidded eyes as he leans back against the headboard, his chest heaving beneath the open white dress shirt.

His hands drop to the waistband of his slacks, fingers hooking under the belt loops, and he shoves them down his hips, the muscles of his thighs flexing beneath the tight, blue fabric as he pushes them lower, exposing inch after inch of tanned, sweat-damp skin.

The second his pants are low enough, he grabs you by the hips, hauling you effortlessly back into his lap. Your back is flush against his chest again, thighs spread over his, and he settles you right where he wants you—your hips aligned perfectly over the firm width of him, the heat of him pressing against your folds, the blunt tip sliding through the slick mess he made of you.

You shiver, nails scraping down his skin as he adjusts you, his hands moving to your thighs, pulling them apart, positioning you as he hooks his chin over your shoulder.

"God, look at you," he rasps, his voice a rumble against the sensitive skin of your ear. "So fucking pretty like this. All spread out and shaking for me."

You whimper, pelvis shifting as he drags his cock through your folds again, the engorged head catching against your clit, the slick heat of him rubbing right where you're still throbbing. Opening your mouth to speak, you shake your head silently in protest.

"Shh," he soothes, one hand traveling up your side, his palm smoothing over your belly, his mouth trailing unhurried kisses along the curve of your shoulder. "I know, baby. I know. Just relax. Let me take care of you."

You can sense him sliding through your folds, stroking against every aching nerve as he grinds up against you, his tip nudging right where you're still sensitive. You shudder, body quivering in his lap as he continues moving, every roll of his hips sending another jolt of heat spiraling through you.

"Feel that?" he mutters, his jaw resting against your shoulder. "Feel how wet you are? How perfectly you fit against me?"

You nod, body trembling as he slides over your clit again, drawing a broken moan from your throat. He's so substantial, the weight of him pressing right into you, his movements triggering shivers through you, forcing your breath to catch as you struggle to keep still.

But then he moves, angling his hips just so, the tip of his cock pressing against your entrance, slipping through your folds again. The sensation is a relentless force that makes your hips arch, chasing the friction despite yourself.

"See?" he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. "Told you it was okay."

Your chest rises and falls in rapid, shallow pants, your body quivering as he maintains the rhythm of his hips, teasing his cock through the tender heat of you sending another rush of fire down your spine. The head of him catches against your entrance again, pressing enough to elicit sounds from you, to make your hips roll, trying to get more, trying to take him inside.

But he doesn't let you.

He persists in rubbing, continues teasing, the hard length of him sliding over your clit and through your folds, over and over, until your legs are shaking and your voice breaks into choked little gasps. Your body arches, trying to follow him, trying to get more, the ache building, burning, your whole body taut and strung tight with the need to be filled.

"Look at you," he rasps, his voice rough, his jaw clenching as he watches you squirm against him. "So fucking needy. Can't get enough, can you?"

You don't answer. You can't. Your jaw is slack, eyes hazy, lungs working in broken, shuddering gasps as he continues, the tension mounting until you're almost crying with it.

"Gonna let me fuck you?" he rasps. His hand travels up your body, palm pressing down to pin you against his chest. "Gonna let me ruin you, baby?"

You cry out, head tipping back against his shoulder, nails digging into his forearm as your hips twitch, the movement involuntary, instinctive, the ache between your legs so punishing you can barely breathe through it. You can feel him nudging against your entrance but never pushing inside, every calculated motion a tease, a promise, a temptation.

"Yes," you whimper, a fragile sound that makes him huff out a low, satisfied breath against your ear. "Yes, Joe, please. Need it. Need you."

"Fuck," he breathes, his cock dragging over your clit one last time. "That's what I wanted to hear."

And then he's moving, his hands descending to your thighs, fingers wrapping around the soft skin as he lifts you, flipping around from under and lowering you flat onto the bed.

He settles on his knees between your legs, eyes dark and intent as he drinks you in, the way you're sprawled out beneath him, legs spread wide, skin flushed and glistening, chest heaving with every shallow breath.

​​His hands grip you, dragging you down the mattress until your hips align with his, the firm, blunt tip of him pressing against your entrance. The air between you is electric, the tension a taut current that pulses through every inch of your skin.

Joe pushes forward, the sheer size of him forcing you open. It’s a gradual burn, every inch grazing against your walls, filling you completely and pushing you closer to that edge you're already teetering over. Your hands fly to his biceps, fingers digging into solid muscle as he presses forward, his hips press flush against yours in one long, unbroken glide that leaves you breathless.

A primal sound escapes your throat, back arching as he bottoms out, his cock buried to the hilt, making it feel like he's everywhere. The sensation is so intense it steals the air from your lungs, your mouth falling open, vision going in and out as he stays there, letting you experience every inch of him. The stretch of him so complete, it borders between pleasure and pain.

Joe's chest rises and falls in labored breaths, his jaw tight, blown pupils fixed on your face as he watches you struggle to take him. "Fucking hell," he mutters, a rough rasp that vibrates through your chest. His hands move up, fingers splaying over your hips, restraining you as he pulls back just a fraction, the withdrawal an aching pull that leaves you clenching around nothing. And then he thrusts forward, filling you again in one forceful stroke, the head of him nudging so deep against your cervix it steals your breath.

Your head falls back and he leans over you, the heat of his chest pressing down against yours, the silky fabric of his shirt brushing against your skin. The muscles in his arms flex beneath your hands as he starts to move, every roll of his hips pressing against that spot that makes your body quake, that makes you cry out, that makes your nails scrape down his skin as the pleasure builds, the heat coiling tight in your stomach.

The bed creaks beneath you, the sound of skin against skin mingling with the noises that spill from your mouth, with the guttural grunts that tear from his throat whenever he thrusts forward, through your oversensitive heat.

He leans down, forehead pressed to yours, his warmth against your mouth as he thrusts deeper, his hips snapping forward. The force rocks you up the mattress, stealing your breath and causing your legs to tremble while he pins you beneath him. He continues fucking you, his strokes controlled, each motion a slow, inexorable press that keeps you on that edge.

You're panting, every inch of you is on fire—your skin flushed and damp, limbs trembling against his hips, spine arching beneath him, pelvis rolling up to meet his. The ache builds and builds, each thrust pushing you higher, the sensation so intense it's almost unbearable.

His mouth finds the side of your neck, teeth scraping over your skin, a hungry sound rumbling from his chest as he pulls back, hips driving forward. The impact rocks you up the mattress, drawing a cry that breaks into a sob as the pleasure crests and finally crashes over you.

Your body locks up, every muscle pulling tight, back arching as the orgasm tears through you, a shockwave of heat and white-hot bliss that leaves you breathless, moaning his name. Your thighs shake around his waist, your nails raking down his arms while aftershocks ripple through you. His powerful thrusts maintain you on that edge, leaving you acutely aware of every inch of him pulsing inside you

Joe's jaw clenches, his brow furrowed, muscles taut as he chases his own release, hips snapping forward. Each thrust grows more forceful with need, his chest rising with uneven pants against your neck. His fingers dig into your hips, anchoring you beneath him as he grinds deep, his jaw dropping open, his eyes falling shut, a wrecked groan tearing from his lips as he finally comes, hips stuttering as he pulses inside you.

His body sinks down, the weight of him pressing you down into the mattress, his exhalations warming your neck, chest heaving, sweat-soaked and shuddering as he slowly comes back to himself.

For a moment, there's nothing but the sound of your breathing and the deep, sated silence while aftershocks ripple through you. You tremble beneath him as he holds you close.

And then his hand moves upward, fingers tracing lazy patterns over the curve of your hip, his mouth brushing a soft, open-mouthed kiss against your neck. The tenderness in the aftermath is almost too much—his lips dragging over your jaw, his hand splaying over your belly, his hips shifting, grinding into you once more, reminding you he's still there.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 242

   He looks the same as he had that fateful day, a storm raging around him and risking sending the ship down into the abyss. Hair whipping in the wind as the sky roars its deadly challenge echoed by the beasts they all sought to bring down those centuries ago. 

   It looks just as human as they- that is to say not at all, not anymore. A body twisted, sand and lightning melding into a molten sea ever-expanding. Its eyes as gold as the treasure it guards, brilliant blues and greens dancing across bodies in sigils unknown. 

   It looks exactly as it did that time ago, smile dancing on its lips as the sky opened up in torrents, like blood gushing from a wound. “You’re free to go,” it says, in words they understand and words they don’t. “You don’t have to stay here any longer.” 

   “Where will we go?” They ask, so very tired of this eternal battle, of being trapped in crashing waves and storms of water and sand. Being tossed one way and the other, never able to go home, for home was gone long ago. 

   It looks up, their own gaze following, the ship crashing through the dredges of a storm they had thought eternal. And for the first time in eternities, they see them. The stars. Dancing and dripping from a serpentine form that cradles the Sun and Moon, smiling down to the beast and them alike. 

   And so, they take from the seas, and take to the stars instead. 

[lokh]

(ch 40 spoilers) au where qifrey erases olruggios memories one too many times and he forgets qifrey and ONLY qifrey

sometimes using forbidden magic that no one really knows how to wield anymore comes with unintended consequences!

eventually qifrey comes upon a solution, but it will return ALL his memories to him. will he risk it...?

[just-null]

PET AU?????!!!! Oh mighty cult leader please give us, your greatful pitful annons, your divine words and opinions (I would cuddle the heck out of all of themm!!!)

As you wish, my beloved cult member!!

this is more of an explanation of the universe than headcanons. Those will be next, but I hope it's still interesting!! This will be tagged under "null kny pet au" to not be confused with anyone else's version

Long story short— reincarnation is a thing here! Bad people turn into animals and go through an endless cycle over and over until they've truly repented for their misdeeds.

To make things interesting, I bent the rules of how things usually work! This is my version of a pet au, and of course, is still yandere because your cult leader is an addict. I'M SORRY IF YOU WERE EXPECTING FLUFF.... THATS LATER. TRUST!!!!!!!!!

[CW! dark themes, alluding to past trauma and "self exit," self destructive behaviors(?), sedation and drugs, dehumanization(?), yandere obsessive goodness]

The pet aspect of this au!

Demons are hybrids who're likely to restart their cycle, giving them their nickname of lost souls. Human characters are hybrids at the pinnacle of rehabilitation, referred to as guiding souls. And you, who's nearby their hybrid shelter. Either working in it or being in its vicinity.

Guiding souls are allowed to be housed by responsible candidates, but it's unlikely for lost souls. Either way the problem is they turn everyone away except you.

Both guiding souls and lost souls have a deep rooted affection towards you. You definitely don't remember it, but they've been with you for many, many, MANY life times, always restarting and eagerly awaiting for stage three and four of the cycle to find you again.

Lower and Upper moons + Muzan have reincarnated more times than you can fathom, yet they can remember most of them. Their psyche is fragile and incredibly hostile towards almost anybody. Not recommended for new staff or housing candidates.

Slayers + Ubuyashiki reincarnated more than average. They committed sins they're ashamed of and show great promise for change. They're practically regular model citizens, except for the occasional outburst. Very well liked by staff and potential housing candidates!!

Guiding souls and lost souls are separated in the shelter but are occasionally allowed to roam and interact with each other. They bicker at best and get into full fist fights at worst. It's highly recommended to be gentle but firm with both. Only guiding and lost souls have both seen and experienced the worst of what life can offer, and staff don't want to cause a frenzy by startling them.

———

They're not always transparent with their thoughts. It's more than likely that they don't tell you about their experiences as most would rather focus on their life now rather than how it used to be or what's coming next. Some will tell you if asked, others will dance around it, and others initially refuse.

Still, they'll go through the agony and pain of life after miserable life again and again if it meant being blessed by your light in one of them.

If they're able to have feelings this intense for one being, lost souls refuse to see themselves in the wrong. Feelings like this should be praised. They should be considered good in the eyes of the divine, shouldn't it? What if the universe is wrong for once, huh?! They've lied, cheated, stole, hurt, even killed all to be able to get to you sooner. To feel you again! Their feelings for you are so pure, there's no way it could possibly be another reason to restart!! Even if it was, does it really matter?! What the universe dictates is irrelevant anyway, you're their choice and always will be. So long as you have a soul that continues to shine brightly, they'll find their way towards you when the cycle restarts. Guiding souls are.. anxious. They want to do good by you, want to be seen with love like they've achieved before, want to get to know every version of you and fall in love with every iteration. The finish line is RIGHT there, they know this, it's always been so close, and they'll be able to live by your side as equals.. But they know if they complete the cycle, complete stage four, become fully reborn, they won't remember you. After so many horrible lives lived, they finally understood what it meant to be remorseful about what led them into this mess. Saying that, they can't bring themselves to let go of you. What's the point in living a peaceful existence when there will always be a part of them missing? That's why they "personally restart" their cycle, uncaring that they're so close to forgiveness.

Not every life was kind on them. Silver lining, at least they know they have a new body without the physical scars of their experiences anymore, and of course, you! Though.. even you were harsh sometimes, but they'd rather pull all their teeth out than leave your side. Preferably, they hope you'll throw them a bone and be cordial at least, but if you want to beat, scream, or drive them away, they'll always come back. No matter what you do, they'll forever be loyal to you and you only.

If this is what it takes, they'll love you over and over in this never ending torturous loop until time ends, so until then, spare them a glance, yeah? You don't know how much they've missed you..

—————

Unnecessarily detailed lore:

SHORT STORY LONG, reincarnation is real here, and it's commonly known that when bad people die, their soul is reborn into an animal. Bad meaning murder, assault, ruining someone's life, intense crimes like that. It can be avoided if the soul had no other choice or feels deep remorse prior to their human life ending.

Failure to meet those requirements begins "the cycle." Each lifetime is a show of dedication to turn back into a full human. A step towards forgiveness from the world they wronged. Souls will retain the excruciating memory of their lives before, only given the mercy of forgetting and keeping the wisdom they earned once they're reborn into a full blooded human.

Animals who're just animals exist, but it's extremely difficult to tell who's a soul under trial and who's not.

It starts off simple, an insect. Depending on how bad the soul was, they'll be something that has a difficult life, like those moths that starve to death upon entering adulthood. Souls will always progress to the next stage after this one, temporarily forgetting about their previous lives.

The next life is exactly the same, but souls regain the ability to remember all their past lives again.

Next is a land mammal or aquatic creature, something easier than before, but still not strong enough to cause havoc. They have a little more intelligence than before.

Then souls become half human, half animal, or more commonly known, hybrids. They might as well be human with animal characteristics, but due to societal interference and their history, they're regarded as subhuman. Like pets.

Lastly, they are fully human, where they get to keep their appreciation for life and forget the past.

The real test is during stage four. If the soul proves to have learned nothing from their previous lives, they'll restart the cycle from the beginning and try again. Ending their life will not count and only restart the cycle. They must die of natural causes.

Extra notes:

There are souls who've restarted numerous times that when they reach stage four again, they're very fragile or aggressive. Due to this, humans adapted to shelter them and help give them another chance at life. It's not uncommon for these souls to try and use their memories to give themselves an upper hand in their next life, forcing humans to give them less autonomy. The more aggressive a soul the more humans will have to use force to keep them down such as sedation, muzzling, restraints. It's often used for lost and guiding souls out of any other type of hybrid but used as a last resort. Risks like these are one of the main reason why hybrids aren't allowed on the streets without supervision or an owner. Souls under trial can get attached to one another, familial wise, platonically, or romantically. As a twisted sense of both mercy and punishment, the world allows them to be reborn together. The cruel part comes when the older of the pair is the first to be reborn, leaving the younger to follow when it's their time. At least they know that the world will allow them to find each other once again in the next life. Sometimes, souls under trial try finding the human soul they've grown attached to in stages three and four, in this case, you. Because of the never ending cycle of punishment, they crave your hold, your care, your love. You. They want to get back to you as soon as possible, and if that means coming to you as a small animal first, then so be it. Some have probably done that numerous times before.

Truly, reincarnated souls who've grown attached to someone are dangerous both to others and themselves. They'll do anything for their human and let their human do anything them.

The current life cycle where this au takes place is one of the best life times they've all had. So yes, cuddling them is like winning the jackpot!

[givemedamage]

ultimately!

[lorillee]

im really normal about them <- lie

[tennessoui]

new wip wednesday

i wanted to get the first chapter of this done as an early bday present to me because ive been talking about this fic for foreverrrrr but its not gonna happen because im bad at measuring time and effort 😮‍💨 but look! hunger games au fic!

Anakin pushes his face into his neck, letting his lips press against his pulse for a moment. 

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmurs, recognition and warning rolled into one tone. 

But Anakin wouldn’t be who he is if he allowed the man in his arms to so easily twist away. He wouldn’t even be here now, pressed up against him with the scent of saltwater and lilacs and leather filling his nose, if he let one warning word distract him from his goal.

So instead he pushes further, wraps his hands around Obi-Wan’s hips and takes the skin beneath his lips between his teeth. The soft fabric of their pants brush together, so loud in the stillness of the kitchen that it’s deafening—that it’s almost loud enough to drown out the catch in Obi-Wan’s breathing.

But Anakin has trained himself over the past five years to listen for all the small ways that Obi-Wan Kenobi capitulates, so he hears his sigh, feels the slump of his shoulders against his own as his head sways forward and then back.

Anakin takes his time worrying a bitemark into his neck, just at the edge of his beard. On the holos that will film Obi-Wan’s face today, it’ll look like a shadow. 

But Anakin will know. Obi-Wan will know. 

“Anakin,” his lover murmurs, and Anakin’s hand moves from his waist up to stroke down his arm, corded with tense muscle. Fisherman’s muscle. Victor’s muscle too.

Not today, he means. It’s obvious in every line of his body. It’s obvious in the fact that he left the bed so early in the morning when neither of them must work. It’s obvious in the distance in his eyes, the frown across his lips.

Today is not a day where Obi-Wan will accept pleasure from anyone’s lips or hands, undeserving as he feels to be on the receiving end of such a kindness.

Anakin’s left hand falls to cover Obi-Wan’s, tangling their fingers together. His are rougher than Obi-Wan’s, working man’s hands now that he is twenty-one and a man of the sea like most are on Stewjon. The rough drag of his calluses over the hairy knuckles of Obi-Wan’s hand makes Anakin swallow a smile. Victors of the Hunger Games are forbidden from working laborious jobs. They’re meant to languish away in their Coruscanti-funded manors, with idle minds and idle hands, picking at paints or design stencils or any number of different government approved hobbies

Obi-Wan Kenobi is not made to be idle. He has no patience for painting or sewing, for cooking or jewelry design. Luckily for him, Stewjon is the fourth planet from Coruscant, on the edge of the inner rim, and it’s rather small, rather ordinary. In the colder months, during the few months of the star year where the galaxy is not forced to care about the Hunger Games and its Victors, he can slip away to the ocean. Fish and sail like he was born to do, Stewjoni through and through.

But Anakin is out on those choppy seas year-round now that he’s four years finished with his compulsory education. His hands are rougher than Obi-Wan’s and they always will be.

Anakin likes it. Likes the way Obi-Wan’s softness contrasts against his own rougher places. Likes that he can sneak away from Obi-Wan’s manor in the blue of the pre-dawn light, first to the sea and then to the market, and Obi-Wan will be there when he gets back. Likes that when he leaves, his lover is curled up asleep in their bed. And when he returns with the fattest fish from his haul, Anakin can cook it for him too. 

He likes that he is the only thing Obi-Wan needs. He provides. He cooks for him. He feeds him. He touches him with his rough hands, to dirty him and then to clean him up. Everything that Obi-Wan needs, Anakin is the person to give it to him.

He supposes he has Coruscant to thank for that.

He’s not stupid enough to say that—ever, but especially today. Especially on the day of the Reaping. 

[thetangibleghost]

I've always wanted to wake up from a dream laughing and I just did but I realized after I woke up that I have missed a million social cues :((((((((((((((((( it wasn't even funny idk why I couldn't stop giggling. I dont even giggle irl.

[fala-alfredo-pasta]

Have you thought that. The sdr2 characters gave up their talent bc they use it for despair while they were brainwashed? Kaz gave up his love of machines

*ending theme of digital circus starts playing*

bruh that would be so sad

Like imagine Teruteru gave up cooking because he also lost his biggest driving force that made him want to to cook in the first place (his mom).

Or Mikan starts to doubt any and all of her medical knowledge because she doesn't trust herself as she did before in treating other peoples wounds and is afraid she'll only hurt them further.

Or Fuyu giving up being a yakuza.

Wait well....actually no that might be a good thing for him. That might be an improvement actually.

[whoviandoodler]

[Image description: a digital drawing of Thomas from Transatlantic holding Varian's hand and kissing his fingers while crying. We only see Thomas's face and their two hands covered in dripping blood. Behind them are black shards with designery red eyes on them. The pieces is coloured in desaturated blues with red accents. End description.]

We all have blood on our hands.

[todayisafridaynight]

see the sawashiro fight is SLIGHTLY worse than the tendo fight in my humble opinion and my basis for this opinion is that i stayed up twenty minutes after saying i was going to sleep staring at my ceiling and debating this with myself