#not sure if there's more widely used names for them

[t-a-a-1]

tbh this my first time to ask writer about it but I will do it It's stuck in my head and Idk which writer I should ask so u r lucky...js imagine the reader sitting in her place peacefully and the others with their things and BOOM! op the last knight enter from the ground bridge but nobody knows that the reader his wife in his universe. This is a clear reason why he protects her and looks at her from time to time and he asks about her .sitting next to her ask her about her fav things and tell them the reason in the end!!!! I'm sure he looks like a real gentleman and I'm not sorry for mega if op saw the reader in megs hand HAHA! and fear in his opticss you shouldnt do that in the beginning mega optimus' relationship is strong and full of details about her btw((english not my first language))

Waiting For Rain 

Summary: Optimus from TLK comes to the TFP universe by accident and tries to get Prime Optimus to confess his feelings for you. 

Chapters: 1 out of 2

TW: Idk Optimus down bad, obsessed with you, jealousy, all that good stuff. Angst, Fluff, will have a happy ending. 

……

Ch.1

Becoming friends with the Autobots came with many surprises. You were used to unexpected events. 

But having an Optimus from another dimension suddenly come out of the ground-bridge was not in your to-do-list today.

 He was different. 

He still had that presence of elegance and strength. But unlike your Optimus that radiated kindness, this Optimus appeared to be … more hostile. 

The first thing you noticed was his body frame. The metal parts of his body shaped in a way you hadn't seen before. He looked almost medieval and the sword he carried only enhanced his knightly look. 

Everyone looked at him. Intakes wide open and the silence filled the room. But that silence was broken when Ratchen dropped  his data-pad.

“It seems the ground bridge explosion sent me … here.”

His voice sounded older, wiser, more … tired. 

“Optimus, what– who are you?”

Bulkhead was the only one brave enough to get closer to him, expecting him. 

“Did you call me, Bulkhead?”

Your Optimus finally comes into the hangar. Everyone looks at him then back to the other Optimus. Their optics meet and you are unsure of what to do.  

Although you were on the elevated floor of the hangar, the sofa covered most of your body. Wanting to see how things would unfold, you stand up.

The elevated-floor was closer to the Knight Prime than to yours. He noticed your presence and only then did the Optimus’ break their stares. 

The new Optimus looks at you and his optics softened. He walked towards you as if he didn’t care about the other bots around him. You didn’t move as he raised a servo, wanting to touch you. 

But that never happened as your Optimus pushed him away. Abruptly and aggressively.  He looked fierceless and ready to attack the impostor even when he was meters taller than him. 

“Who are you? State your designation and intentions,” your Optimus stands in front of you as he looks down at the other version of himself. The others just watched everything unfold in front of them. 

“My name is Optimus Prime and I … come from another dimension.”

.

.

.

Things were cleared out. The new Optimus explained that he was caught in the middle of a ground-bridge explosion and probably sent here by accident. Ratchet agreed to help him get back to his dimension. Meanwhile, he will stay here with the rest of the Autobots. 

Having to call two Optimus, Optimus, would be confusing. So you decided to call your Optimus, Prime (as you always have) and the new Optimus, Knight Optimus. 

“I am content to know that your existence is still a vital part of my life, of course, I wouldn’t expect to be otherwise.”

Knight Optimus, was as expected, also eloquent with words. But his words left different. More … intense.

“Really? Then I can imagine the other me must be a very interesting person,” you say as you walk with him through the corridors. Out of everyone, it seems he enjoys your company the most. Especially when he was so open to letting you sit on his shoulder. As if it was an everyday thing. You assumed that these kinds of activities were common between him and you from his dimension. 

“She is but I am afraid she might be worried right now.”

“Well, whenever Prime is out for a mission and I get worried, he always comes back,” you say. “So I am sure that me from another dimension knows that you’ll go back  to her soon.” 

“Yes … I think that’s something you would think.”

“I hope I am not interrupting,” “It is late, Bumblebee will escort (Y/N) to her home. Meanwhile, I’ll show you your hab suit.”

“I see,”

Optimus puts you on the floor. 

Prime could only think about how he was stuck with himself. He already disliked him, he had to watch over him when the only thing he wanted was to be the one to take you home instead of Bumblebee. It was his job, his duty and this version of himself was unabling to do. The few quality times he had with you, he had to spend it with him. 

“Good night, Knight Optimus.”

Knight Optimus bends on one knee and gently touches your hair. 

“Good Knight, (y/n) I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

You can’t help but feel your cheeks heat up. He is a handsome mech, that much you can tell. His frame, the way he stands, his presence. You didn’t want to say much so as to not make yourself look like a high school girl. Dumb and stupid. 

Prime looks at your acts and immediately feels something stuck in his spark. As if he wanted to throw up all the energon in his body. 

“Good night, Prime” 

You speak to him and suddenly, he has no words. His processor begged him to say something. To tell you how much he will miss you during the night, about how he will look at the moon and think of you. Just you. 

Prime simply nods. 

That's the only thing he could muster to do. Pathetic. 

They see you walk away. Their optics glued to you but Prime had more yearning in his eyes compared to his equal. 

And he noticed this.

“May I inquire, why is it that (Reader)  sleeps in a different area than you?”

“She has a home to go to.”

Prime starts to walk, hoping that Knight Optimus would follow him. He does but his steps are cautious just as curious. 

“... Away from you?” Knight Optimus asks.  “I did not detect any sparkling-waves inside of her, do you not bed her enough?”

Prime suddenly stops walking, he turns to look at Knight Optimus. 

“... I beg your pardon?”

“Well, it is strange to not spark your Conjux. My (Reader) and I have four sparklings and expect another soon.”

He could hear his venting fans accelerate, his processor not being able to understand the information. Whether because he was too excited to know that there is a version of him that you loved or because he couldn’t believe that the two of you were compatible enough to create life. 

“...Excuse me?” Prime asks, the only thing he could muster to say.

“Do not tell me … You haven’t spark-bonded yet?”

Suddenly, he goes quiet. Knight Optimus studies his face and the confused look on his face lets him know everything he needs. After all, he used to have the same look once before. 

“... She doesn’t know of your undying feelings for her, does she?”

“My relationship with (Reader) is strictly platonic,” Prime lies, hoping that he is not too bad at doing so. “Nothing of the likes of yours.”

“Deception? I thought we were unfamiliar to the concept but it seems I was wrong,” 

“It’s not a lie.”

“It is,” Knight Optimus looks at his servo, missing the feeling of his (Reader) on it. “Because I know there’s no version of me that does not love her.”

He closes his servo, wishing he could be back with her now. Ever since gifting him with sparklings, this is probably the longest the two of you have been apart. 

“I am sure you can’t even look at the Moon without thinking of her.”

“You must be mad.”

“Are you not?”

There is no way of denying it. Honestly, it doesn’t surprise him that another version of him loves you. He was right, he knew it. That there couldn’t exist a version of him that didn’t love you. His soul was bound to you in this universe and each one of them. For now, he was content to know that another version of you loved him. 

But also, kinda jealous. 

Because Knight Optimus was allowed to love you. To show you his affection.

He wasn’t as lucky. 

“If you are a fraction of what I am, you must be, to an extent, mad,” Knight Optimus was trying to come up with comforting words but failing to do so.  “But I was able to express my feelings and it made all the difference.”

But if comfort doesn’t work, maybe something else would.

“In my case, it drove me insane the thought of not being with her,” he says. “Can you imagine her taking refuge in another man's arms? Carrying someone else’s sparkling?”

He didn’t want to think about it. Because he knew he would go mad the moment he does. 

“If that’s what she wishes, so be it,” Prime, once again feels that pain in his spark. On his entire frame.  “It doesn’t concern me.”

The only thing that Knight Prime could think of, was that this version of himself had yet too much to understand. 

“...Very well then, if that’s what you say. I won’t mention another word.”

.

.

.

Ratchet and Raphael were busy trying to decipher the mathematics for dimensional travel.

Which Prime couldn’t be more anxious for them to finish. 

To say that Knight Optimus had completely taken your attention is an understatement. He was completely all over you and you didn’t seem to mind one bit. 

He asked too many questions. Out of curiosity mostly. Where did you work, your favorite food, color, place, hobby. And you were happy to answer all of his questions. 

“Would you Conjux a Cybertronian?”

This is something he was interested in. Prime immediately concentrated his audial towards the conversation. 

“I don’t even think Cybertronians find humans to be attractive?” you say. “Besides, I don’t think I am good enough to be any Cybertronian’s partner. You guys are just so cool!”

Although you had meant this in a flattering way, Knight Optimus took this personally. He kneeled down and wished he could mass-shift but that act was too intimate and he would only do that if were to be alone with you. 

“It is I, who’s not deserving–”

“Oi! What’s up with that hot Prime?”

Alex shows up at the hangar as he usually does. His eyes solely focused on Knight Prime. He whistles at him, at his mechanical beauty. He looks at him the same way when he looks at a pretty car. 

Knight Optimus wasn’t a big fan of this first interaction and decided to walk away to talk to Prime. 

You took this as your cue to talk to Alex and explain to him the situation. 

Prime continues to work on his computer but using his peripheral vision, he noticed Knight Optimus. He didn’t want to interact with him but he thought that it was better than to watch him talk to you. 

Meanwhile, Knight Optimus saw in Prime, a younger, less experienced version of himself. Still with hope and dreams. Craving, wanting. Wishing that things can finish the way he wanted them to if only he is good enough. 

He had once been like that too. But after many losses, he understood that if you want something, you have to take it. Claim it. 

But then he heard you laugh and all of his attention was driven towards you. This Alex seems to be fond of you and you are so. He gets close to you, more than he would like. 

“I am aware that I mentioned that I won’t speak of the matter again,” Knight Optimus says to Prime.  “But I cannot believe you won’t do anything about this.”

Knight Optimus looks back at you and Alex and Prime follows his vision. He watches the interaction for a few seconds, only for Prime to go back to work on his computer. 

“That male human will take her from you the moment you look away,” he tries for his voice to not be too loud but Prime’s lack of interest was bothering him greatly.  “Does your spark not burn with envy?”

“I do not have such a feeling,” he simply says. He can’t tell the truth. That his sparks begs to come out of his chamber whenever he approaches you and shows some romantic interest. 

Knight Optimus sees Alex get closer to you, he could sense that he wanted to invade your personal space. Tempted to touch you. 

“I would have broken his arm off if he dared to touch my (Reader) without her permission,”  Knight Prime would have already taken you away from the male if only he wasn’t too busy trying to make Prime act on his true feelings.  “Even now, I am tempted to do so.”

“I do not harm humans.” 

“I am sure you have thought about it,” although Prime was pretending to be busy by typing on his massive computer, he was hearing everything Knight Prime had to say.  “Just look at him. Making her laugh … Who does he think he is?”

He doesn’t want to look. Because he will start to analyze every single aspect of your interaction with Agent Alex. The way you put a string of hair behind your ear, smiling and avoiding eye contact. Your blinking patterns, your breathing, your pulse–

“Have you always been this possesive?” Prime asks, feeling like a hypocrite. 

“Only when I feel a threat,” Knight Optimus says. “And he is one.”

Knight Optimus didn’t hesitate to look. And although he paid attention to you, he also paid attention to male next to you. And how he reaches out to you and caresses your hair. 

“Definitely one.” 

He was about to walk towards the two of you but he felt another servo on his shoulder, stopping him. 

“Do not do something foolish.”

“Pardon, but I cannot and will not stand another version of my wife be … flattered by anyone,” Knight Prime pushes Prime’s servo away, looking at him with disgust.  “If you won’t give her the rightful place she deserves in your spark then I’ll do it myself.”

But before Knight Optimus could do something about the situation, Optimus’ computer starts to beep. Loudly. 

It was no other than Megatron. 

.

.

.

.

.

A/N:  Hello anon! Thank you for the beautiful ask, it was so fun to write! I will complete your full request in another chapter. I hope this is somewhat, what you wanted. Can’t wait for knight optimus to go full berserk when you captured by Megatron hehe 

The writing on this wasn’t my favorite but it’s fun to write regardless. Also yes, this Knight Optimus is the same from my other fic “Rain Drops” so he got this happy ending :))

For the rest of my readers … sorry I was so absent, I had to write a movie script for a film festival so that took all of my attention. Now, I’ll concentrate on writing the next chapter of counting stars and/ or The Darkest Hour. 

Thank you for reading! See you soon <3

[warmwiskeyeyes]

NICE TO MEET YOU…? secret bf!chris

you wake to the soft hush of breath against your neck, skin warm beneath the tangled sheets, light leaking through the cheap blinds like it’s trying not to wake you. but it isn’t the sun that does it. it’s the sharp, echoing sound of the doorbell.

once.

twice.

three times.

relentless.

you groan, twisting in the warmth of chris’s arms. “what time is it?” your voice is cracked, sleep-heavy.

chris stirs behind you, chest pressed against your back, bare skin against bare skin. “too early,” he mumbles, nose buried in your hair. he makes no move to get up.

the doorbell rings again, more insistent this time.

“babe,” you whisper, elbowing him gently. “someone’s at the door.”

“they’ll go away,” he says, lips brushing your shoulder. “probably someone trying to sell—”

ding-dong.

you sigh and push the covers off, but chris is faster—reluctantly rolling out of bed, tugging on the nearest pair of shorts from the floor. his hair is a mess, curls wild from sleep, and his back stretches wide and warm as he pads barefoot toward the front door. no shirt. no shame. just 5’8” of sleepy, half-naked boyfriend moving toward the unknown.

“i’ll get it,” he says, yawning.

you sit up, heart thudding for no good reason. except you know there is one. chris is your secret. for five months, he’s been yours—soft hands, warm smiles, quiet humming while he makes breakfast. no one knows. not your friends. not your coworkers. and definitely not your parents.

until now.

you hear the door creak open. a pause. and then—

“oh,” your mom says. not shocked, not horrified. just confused. “hello.”

your heart slams into your ribs.

chris, to his credit, doesn’t flinch. “hi,” he says, voice low and a little husky with sleep. “can i help you?”

“we’re… looking for our daughter,” your dad chimes in, and there’s a beat of silence that stretches too long.

you practically fall out of bed, scrambling for the nearest t-shirt and sweats, heart racing, mouth dry.

meanwhile, chris keeps the door open and just… lets them in.

“you must be mr. and mrs. [last name],” he says, stepping aside. “i’m chris. i’m—uh—your daughter’s boyfriend.”

you rush into the room just in time to see your parents freeze mid-step, eyes flicking from chris’s bare chest to your face, then back to him.

“hi,” you breathe, trying to smile like this isn’t a disaster.

your mom looks like she’s buffering.

your dad squints. “boyfriend?”

you grab chris’s hand on instinct. he gives yours a soft squeeze like he’s saying it’s okay. like he’s saying, i’ve got you.

“yeah,” you say, cheeks burning. “for, um… five months.”

“and this is how we find out?” your mom asks, eyes still wide. “by ringing the doorbell at eight in the morning and being greeted by a shirtless man?”

chris laughs gently, rubbing the back of his neck. “in my defense, we thought you were a package.”

“a package,” your dad repeats, deadpan.

“do you—” chris glances toward the kitchen. “would you like coffee? or tea? maybe we can talk in the kitchen?”

your mom opens her mouth like she’s going to argue, but the smell of freshly brewed coffee hits her from the machine still blinking on the counter, and instead, she just sighs. “coffee would be nice.”

you trail behind as chris leads them to the kitchen, where the island stands like neutral ground. he moves with the easy confidence that’s always been part of him, even when he’s half-naked and under pressure.

you sit on a stool. chris takes the other side of the island, busying himself with mugs and sugar and creamer. your dad eyes the place like it’s foreign territory.

“you live here together?” he asks.

you shake your head. “no. just me. chris sleeps over sometimes.”

chris hands your dad a mug. “i spend a lot of time here, yeah.”

your mom sips slowly. “you could’ve told us.”

you nod, guilty. “i know. i just… wanted to keep it ours for a while. make sure it was real before we let everyone in.”

your dad studies chris now, like he’s finally seeing him. “what do you do, chris?”

“i’m a youtuber,” chris replies, leaning on the counter. “i make videos with my two brothers.”

“we met during a collab,” you add, quiet.

“yes, cooking video,” chris murmurs, smiling to himself as he thinks back of the old memories.

your mom raises a brow.

chris catches himself, smiles sheepishly. “sorry. i just… think she’s pretty incredible.”

your mom softens a little at that. your dad doesn’t, not yet, but he doesn’t frown either. which is something.

“are you serious about her?” he asks.

chris nods, no hesitation. “very.”

there’s a beat of silence where everyone just sips their coffee and watches each other like they’re trying to read the fine print.

you reach under the island, fingers brushing against chris’s knee. he taps twice—his way of saying i’m here.

“we didn’t mean to keep it a secret forever,” you say. “i just liked how quiet it was. how… ours it felt.”

your mom watches you, lips twitching into something like understanding. “you’re happy?”

you glance at chris. he’s watching you like he always does—like there’s no one else in the room, like the world could fall apart and he’d still be holding you.

“yeah,” you say. “really happy.”

your dad clears his throat. “well, if we’re doing this, we should probably start over.”

chris blinks. “start over?”

“yes,” your dad says, standing and holding out a hand. “hi. i’m [dad’s name]. my daughter’s father.”

chris stands too, grip firm. “chris. your daughter’s very lucky boyfriend.”

“we’ll see about that,”

“and you might wanna put on a shirt, young man.”

when chris comes back, hoodie on, curls damp from a quick splash of water, he slips next to you again and brushes his pinky against yours.

your mom takes the wholesome photo. your dad doesn’t protest. and when chris turns to the kitchen again to make eggs, your parents actually sit and stay.

no one leaves in a rush.

no one slams a door.

and when your dad finally says, “he’s not what i expected,” your mom replies, “no. but maybe that’s a good thing.”

and maybe it is.

because five months of love in secret was sweet. but five months and one morning of messy, imperfect honesty?

that might just be something better.

( warmwiskeyeyes. )

i love me a good secret bf fic lols. except this isn’t good, it’s rushed and i had no other ideas to write. glad i finished it tho it thought it’d stay in my drafts for years.

'taglist: @cherryswifeyy @whore4chris @backwardshatnick @bxsturni @wh0remikasas @ariheartsmatt @ruennei @inspiredangel @tezzzzzzzz @leahlcves

[eufezco]

hi, can I request an angst+ smut with joel? after breaking up on bad terms, you met him on a random event and you hook up with him? I love your writing 😍 it’s amazing!

maria convinced you to go to the new year's eve party. you wanted to argue, you had a dozen reasons ready, joel and every memory of what happened between you being there was just the biggest one. the idea of being in the same room, breathing the same air, was enough to make your stomach ache. it would be easier to just stay home, to pretend the party wasn’t happening at all.

but the thought of having a night to have fun with the people you cared about softened something inside you. and who knows, maybe the old man wouldn't even show up.

the place was nicely decorated, the lights were soft, warm, tables were pushed to the sides to make room for dancing, and the laughter of everyone filled the space. and what was best, he was nowhere to be found. you walked further inside, the air smelling of wood and something sweet someone must’ve baked specially for the night. you let yourself breathe, maybe you’d worried for nothing.

you poured yourself a drink and joined a group. you’d been on patrol with them a few times. they welcomed you easily, sliding aside to make space, pulling you into whatever story they were laughing about. across the room, someone caught your eye. ellie with dina and jesse. when she caught you looking, you smiled but she didn't smile back, she just pressed her lips into a thin line and looked away.

you tried to rejoin the conversation with your group but all you could think about was the way ellie looked at you. and then in the worst moment possible he appeared, standing just a few feet away, looking tired in that way he always did. his dark eyes scanned the room, until they found you. you rolled your eyes and he clicked his tongue.

you tipped your glass back, finishing your drink in one long swallow. joel looked for tommy. —you told me she wouldn't be here, —tommy just shrugged his shoulder and added a she's part of the community, you can't keep avoiding each other forever. joel huffed.

you avoided each other for the night, successfully. you caught each other looking a couple of times and each time you pretended it didn’t happen.

after midnight, you decided it was time to go home. you said goodbye to tommy and maria and walked out. but then you heard it, the sound of a pair of boots crunching behind you. it was that man, the one who had been bothering you for days. you told tommy about him a couple of times, trying to make it clear how uncomfortable you were, but it hadn’t stopped him.

you kept walking, your pace just a little faster, trying to make it seem like you were just heading home. you heard him calling your name, telling you to stop and talk to him for a second, and by the sound of his voice, he was also drunk as fuck. you breathed as you told yourself it was fine, that you could just get to your place, and then it’d be over. the sounds of the boots on the snow grew louder, closer to you and you turned around.

—i suggest you back off, —joel’s voice dropped even lower. he stood there between you and the man, his posture wide, blocking any path forward. —you sure don’t want to make this a problem, —he added.

you could tell he wasn’t used to being talked to this way.

—just wanna talk to her for a bit, yeah?

when he tried to step forward, his chest met joel’s. joel pinched the bridge of his nose, like he was holding back, controlling something inside him.

—come on, you're not even together anymore, why you care?

he tried one more time and his chest met joel’s again, but this time, he used his weight, pushing against joel’s body, and for a second, joel stumbled back. joel’s eyes burned with something darker. it wasn't just the push, it was the persistent idea behind it. the idea that this man was still trying to force his way past him, still trying to get to you, trying to force you onto something you clearly didn't want. he clenched his jaw so hard you thought his teeth might crack.

joel shoved him off his shoulders with a force that sent him stumbling back. —i said, back off, —joel grunted, his index finger pointing directly at the man. his eyes moved between you and joel, weighing his options. he mumbled something under his breath, something indistinct, before turning to walk off.

you turned around to continue your way to your house but you still heard boots crouching the snow. this time was joel. you exhaled sharply through your nose, feeling the irritation. without stopping, without even looking back, you said, loud, —are you gonna follow me to my house too?

—just making sure you get there in one piece.

you rolled your eyes, even though he couldn't see it. —i don't need your help, joel. i didn't need it then, and i sure as hell don’t need it now.

for a moment, there was only the sound of your boots and his, the snow crunching underfoot. you expected him to say something back, but he didn’t, he just kept walking behind you, silent.

—i said i don't need your fucking help, —you snapped, turning sharply on your heel to face him.

—what makes you think i wanna be out here playin' your fuckin' babysitter instead of inside the party? —he shot back, his voice angry.

—then go. no one asked you to come after me. you never did anyways, —you turned around before he could say anything else as you walked toward your door, digging into your pocket for your keys with shaking fingers from the cold. but you could still feel joel behind you, not too close, just there.

—yeah, well… you never ask for anything. that’s the problem.

you paused, your hand resting on the door, the lock still closed. you clenched your jaw, the familiar bitterness creeping back in and slowly turned your head to look at him. you didn't say anything, just threw him a glance that easily could've killed him. joel stood there, a few feet away, face unreadable, breath visible in the cold air.

you shook your head and unlocked your door. —if i have to ask, ain't fuckin' worthy.

—that what you think? that we weren't worthy?

you opened the door and before you could take a full step inside, joel was already there right behind you, pushing through the threshold like he belonged there. you turned to look at him, standing inside your house. except for the occasional time maria sent him to fix something, joel hadn't been here, in your new home, the one tommy assigned you when you decided to leave the one you shared with joel and ellie.

—yeah, of course i think we weren't fucking worthy. that's why i left.

joel slammed the door behind him angry, making you turn around, eyes wide, disbelief written all over your face. —no, you left because that's what you do, because it's easier that than dealing with anything real. —you were shocked. the audacity of him barging into your home and throwing accusations around.

—you think i left because it was easy? do you even hear yourself right now? —you took a step toward him, fists clenching by your sides, —i left because it was suffocating being around you, because ellie didn't want to know anything about us 'cause of what we did and you decided to push me away too.

—i didn't know how to deal with it, okay?! i didn't know how to fix us! i know i didn't do enough but damn it, i was trying. i was trying and you just walked away like i meant nothing to you.

you froze, staring at him. you could see it now, maybe for the first time. the pain, the regret, the frustration and there was a finally a quiet understatement. the silence between you both grew heavy.

—leave, —you said, low but clear.

joel blinked, —leave? no, —he stated.

your brows furrowed, what did he mean no? —you don't get to say no. this is my home. you don't get to...

joel stepped forward, his hands came up, rough, cupping your face like he still had some right to touch you, like nothing had happened. and he leaned in fast, pressing his lips against yours. your hands connected with his chest to push him and you palm met his face with a clean slap.

his cheek burned where your hand had landed but he didn't touch it, joel just stood there, breathing hard, jaw clenched. your chest rose and fell, every breath sharper with fury. you just looked at each other for a few seconds in silence. you should've screamed, shoved him out the door, slammed it behind him. but instead, goddamn it, you reached for him. grabbing the collar of his jacket, you yanked him down and kissed him.

it wasn't gentle, it wasn't sweet, it was all teeth and breath and desperation. your hands dug into the hair at the back of his head. your back hit the door, breath catching as joel pressed your body with his against the wood behind you. his big hands slid around your waist.

—you're a fucking asshole, —you muttered against his mouth.

—i know, —he whispered back. his fingers started working on the buttons of your coat and you let him.

—this doesn't fix anything, —you stated, also unbuttoning his coat.

—i know, —he repeated.

you pushed the heavy coats from each others shoulders. joel's hands slid beneath your shirt, lifting it with urgency. you raised your arms and let him pull it over your head, your lips connecting again with him immediately after. your fingers moved to his belt, working on the buckle with impatient hands.

joel knelt in front of you with a grunt, the kind that reminded you of the years between you and him. this old man. he looked up at you as he unzipped your jeans and slid them down your hips. you steadied yourself with a hand on his shoulder as he helped you step out of them and then he stood again. your fingers moved to the buttons of his flannel as joel's hand found the base of your neck, not squeezing, just there, his thumb brushing the line of your jaw as he kissed you.

you undid each button one by one and when you pulled it open, your eyes dropped. you bit your lower lip at the sight of his tummy.

joel turned you around, face against the door of your own house, your back meeting his chest. he pulled his cock out of his underwear, giving himself a few pumps before lining himself up against your aching entrance. shit, it's been months since he was this hard it almost hurt. you parted your legs, ready for him, and gasped when joel finally pushed himself inside you.

his forehead came to rest against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. for a moment, neither of you moved. then, he started rocking his hips back and forth and you closed your eyes, moaning a fuck, joel was so thick and it had been a long time. you squeezed your eyes tighter, feeling his pace grow faster, needier. your body pressed against the door, its surface cold against your skin, a reminder of the winter outside. you tried not to moan too loud because the door wasn't that think and though most of the town was at the new year's party you never really knew.

but oh if joel wasn't fucking you good. he had pushed all your hair to one side to move his mouth to your ear. —i know you've missed me. i can feel it. this pussy is made only for me, —you nodded to every word, even though you were too lost in the pleasure to fully comprehend what joel was saying. with each thrust of his hips, he mumbled something dirtier. —those boys you've been seeing... —his blood boiled only at the thought of another man touching you. —they can't fuck you like this, can they? i bet they can't make your pussy clench like this, —he said through gritted teeth.

you shook your head, too gone to even thought about answering. he grunted, satisfied. you pressed your palms flat against the wood of the door, feeling how your legs started to weaken. you felt joel's hand cover yours, finger threading through yours as his other arm went around your body to help you and stay on you feet.

you threw your head back as the orgasm hit you, resting it on joel's shoulders. your free hand went to the one he had around your body and squeezed it. joel came a few seconds later, spurting heavy loads of his cum inside you. you swallowed, trying to ease your throat that felt dry from all the moaning. joel didn't move, still pressed behind you. the hand he had laid over yours against the door, moved with yours and also wrapped around you body, hugging you tightly now with his both hands.

he kissed your cheek, his mouth close to your ear, —you good?

you nodded, —you?

—yeah, i think.

you stayed like that, joel still inside you, arms around you, like he didn't want to let go and maybe he couldn't. the silence was heavy, only your breathing filled the space. maybe tomorrow you'd go back to hating each other, to cold glances and pretending like once you hadn't known every inch of each other, body and soul. but right now, you didn't complain, just let yourself lean back into his chest.

[youthereader]

Echoes in the Dark part 4.

PAIRING: joel miller (the last of us) x fem!reader

SUMMARY: 1.7k words. Every morning you wake up and remember two things. Firstly, that your son is dead, and secondly, that Joel Miller is your patient. A fix-it fic. Reader is Joel’s carer as he recovers from Abby’s attempt on his life.

RATING: E. blowjob and vaginal fingering. age gap (reader is in their 30s, Joel is in his 60s). heavy angst, grief and loss of a child, graphic violence.

A/N: Sexy interlude. Or, porn with a sprinkle of plot. I didn't intend to write yet another filthy chapter, but it just HAPPENED. Help.

PART 3.

The memories of last night take a couple minutes to come back to you when you wake the next morning. You flush, rolling over in bed, stretching. You remember the gasps, the groans and moans that came from him. You remember the taste of his come on your tongue as you make your first coffee of the day. 

Instead of going indoors the second you reach Joel’s place, you go to the wood chopping spot out the front. Each slam of the axe calms you as you build a small pile. You kick aside another piece when the front door opens wide, revealing Joel fully dressed, hands on his wheels. The front door thunks against the wall and you pause, before reaching for another log to cut.

“Morning,” he says, and you feel his voice go straight through you. 

You take a deep breath, then slam the axe down, splitting the log in two. 

“Morning,” you reply. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” he says, and you smirk, looking away. “Best sleep I’ve had in a while.”

“Wonder why,” you tease. 

Your eyes meet again, and his gaze dips distinctly at your body. As he drinks you in, you kick aside the wood, slamming the axe down on the chopping block a beat later. You scoop up some firewood and walk up the steps. 

He doesn’t move, blocking the doorway. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, and he could be talking about anything, until you realize he means the wood, not the handjob.

“Sure I did,” you murmur. “Can I put these down?”

He wordlessly moves back, watching you as you slip past him and walk to the fireplace inside, kneeling to place the wood next to it. You feed the embers from last night, blowing on them to build a flame. You settle back on your heels, Joel remaining at the doorway.

“I got word the foal came,” he says, and you smile. 

“What’s it’s name?”

“Clover,” he replies. He looks down at his hands for a second, something ticking over. “Do you wanna go see it?”

“Sure,” you say. 

The walk to the stables is quiet, but not awkward. You don’t talk about last night, and you decide you don’t have to. There’s not much to say, you’re not going to ask him what you are now. He’s still a guy you’re looking after, and you’re still more than happy to it, as long as he is. 

He doesn’t give the impression that he has any regrets by how he doesn’t shrink away from you, and openly smiles when he says your name to Tommy.

“Yeah, I remember her,” his brother says. He looks at you. “At least you’ve still got him in the chair. The less he moves the better for your sanity.”

“Of course,” you retort. 

Several people are already visiting the stables that morning, including Tommy and Maria. You wonder how obvious it is to other people that you and Joel are closer than this time yesterday. Maria is quieter than the last time you saw her, distracted. 

“Things are fine,” you add, somewhat pointed. “He’s behaving.”

You, on the other hand, are definitely not. You and Joel have already shared secret glances that morning, and at one point he grabbed the cuff of your jacket, just to hold it between his fingers. This secret, however small, feels tender to you, almost precious. You know wholeheartedly that you don’t ever want to go back to the way things were before.

Clover resembles her mother, a deep mahogany with a white stripe down her nose. You move on, feeling Maria’s eyes on yours. Walking back to Joel’s street, he brings it up in a diplomatic way. 

“She hasn’t always been my biggest fan.”

“I think she’s seen how picking me has kinda backfired,” you add. “She’s nice enough, but…”

“You’re not super friendly with her, though,” he says.

You snort, dropping your face close to his head as you still push him. “Pot, kettle… black…”

When you reach the front door, his hand slips into yours and he hoists himself up with a grunt. 

“I’m the expert when it comes to keeping folks away,” he says. “Or, I used to be. So I know what I’m talking about, is what I’m saying.”

You nod, knowing he’s watching your reactions. You being touch-starved is partly why last night was so thrilling, and being alone has only served you well over the last few years. Joel complicates this, holds a mirror to you. 

“She doesn’t have to worry about my character,” you say, walking him into his living room. 

He settles on the couch and you walk back to get the wheelchair. He doesn’t speak until you’re by his side again, your feet beside his as you stand over him.

“I know she doesn’t,” he murmurs. “You’re loyal, which is rare in this world. And kind.”

“I’m not that-”

You’re about to brush him off but he reaches for your hand again, threading his fingers through yours. He squeezes, brow lifting. 

“You are.”

Ordinarily, when people like Maria or other fellow Jackson residents praise you, it feels inherently false. None of these people knew you before, and so you know their impression of you is shallow at best. Hearing Joel say this feels different. You know he doesn’t appear this way to others that often. 

“Okay,” is all you can say, and he rubs the back of your hand with his thumb.

His touch warms you all over, your skin breaking out in goosebumps. His hand slips up to your arm, and then your elbow. He pulls you in, and you land on your knees between his, your hands settling on his thighs. 

“We never actually kissed,” you whisper. 

“I know,” he says. He takes hold of your face with both hands. “It’s a fucking shame.”

You shuffle forward and he kisses you. He is molten and thorough, lingering and torturous. It’s the best kiss of your life and you moan into his open mouth, his tongue meeting yours. His head tilts and your nails dig into him, while you take everything. You could do this for hours, until you’re dizzy and overwhelmed, until your numb… He pulls back, a wet smack of lips, and kisses your cheek, your eyelid, the tip of your nose. 

There’s that intimacy again, the tenderness that refuses to leave you. You slide your hands further down to meet his hips, and he hisses against the side of your face.

“How hard are you right now for me?” you whisper, and he attacks your throat, hands roaming your back, your waist, down to your ass. 

If he could, he’d put you in his lap, you know this by how he almost bucks into you, kisses landing wherever he can reach skin. Your jacket is shoved away and he pulls down your shirt to your elbows. You shiver, nipples pebbling as his huge palms slip into your bra to cup your breasts. You gasp into his mouth, hips rocking. 

If he’s hard, you’re soaking through your underwear, you swear your life on this. You rock together, a mindlessness to it, tongues tangling. Your hands scramble to his waistband. 

“I want to taste you again,” you whisper to him, and he moans, mouth missing yours for the first time. “Please?”

You pull him out, his hands slipping away from you, and he allows you to dive down, taking him in your mouth. He gasps like you did, hand immediately going to the back of your head, your hair tangling in his grip.

“Fuck me,” he says, a little louder than you expect. “Shitshitshit…”

He tastes of soap, and precome, and you pull off him to the sensitive tip, circling it with your tongue. For an older guy, he’s got no issues getting hard fast. You plunge back down, taking him to the root, coughing at the strain. He’s at the back of your throat and you want him to bruise, to leave you something to remember him by. Another secret thing you can treasure when you’re alone once more.

“God, you’re perfect…”

He sounds drunk. He’s delirious because you’re giving him head. You double your efforts, losing air over him, twisting him on the downstroke. He lasts only a few minutes until he’s trying to pull away, but you shake your head, pulling off. You stroke him with a slick fist, eyes meeting his. 

“Come in my mouth.”

He stares at you, then begins to nod. His fingers tighten on your scalp and you clench on nothing. He starts to come, quietly and then louder, groaning. It’s warm down your throat, like a comfort, like a reward. You lick it away, as he pants, sweat on his hairline. You give a yelp as he pulls you up by your elbows, shoving you into the seat beside him. 

“You’ve given me two now, how is that fair?” he whispers, and you remember your tits still being out when he cups one, nipping at the swell of the other. 

You give a helpless little sound, and though it’s a tricky manouver given he can’t move his lower half that well, he manages to half turn and undo your jeans. 

“Can I fuck you like this?” he whispers, and you nod.

God, yes. Anything. Fucking anything. 

He looks surprised when his hand reaches inside your underwear, his fingers brushing your soaked folds. Then he smiles up at you, and he’s blushing. 

“Jesus.”

He kisses you again, softer, and you rock, wanting more. He slips one finger and then another inside you with ease. Your cunt makes an almost mortifying sucking sound as he begins to move. You’ve never been more turned on in your life. You know you’re not long for this world when his thumb presses against your clit. 

“If it weren’t for my leg, I’d have you bent over this couch,” he whispers. 

“Good motivation for you to get better, then,” you pant, clenching on his fingers. 

His hand speeds up, your toes beginning to curl. Your hand falls down between you and you grip his wrist. 

“Joel,” you pant. You chant his name over and over, until it becomes all you know, your hips lifting–

You come hard, back bowing, Joel’s head bending down for his mouth to latch onto your neck. He claims you then, pinning you to the couch, drenching him down to his wrist. 

The world spins and for a little while, it’s all you know, it’s all there is. 

And you’re at peace.

I truly cannot get enough of this old man. Seriously, I think it's diagnosable at this point. Anyhoooooo, let me know what you think!

tag list: @littledebbieinabigworld

[doomtrooper77]

Mr. Ambrizio - Stepping Up

Nate and I were working out in the weight room at The Gym. This place wasn’t just a meathead haven—it was the muscle-bound heart of a sprawling criminal network. On the surface, it looked like any old hardcore iron paradise. But look a little closer, and you’d see the truth: this was a stronghold for made guys, their hangers-on, and anyone looking to curry favor with the family.

Not everyone was straight out of a mob movie. Sure, some were walking Sopranos stereotypes, but many were just construction foremen, truckers, sanitation guys, business owners, lawyers—you name it. What they had in common was connection. The kind that wasn’t printed on a résumé. The family’s influence reached wide and deep. There wasn’t a corner of this state and the surrounding state they couldn’t touch.

Yeah, a few civilian fanboys came through, but they were always vetted. They knew the rules—shut your mouth and keep your head down. Ninety-five percent of the time, nothing happened here but heavy lifting and grunted reps. But that five percent? That’s what made this place legendary.

I say “big guys” for a reason. Gear wasn’t just available—it was part of the ecosystem. Didn’t matter what kind you were after, it flowed through The Gym like water. Most of the guys tied to the family were monsters in their own right. And the higher up you climbed in the organization, the bigger those monsters got. The boss had a nickname: The Monster Maker. Nobody called him that to his face, but everybody knew what it meant. You didn’t go to war with these people unless you wanted a bloodbath.

Nate and I? We were nobodies. Low-level drivers and gofers. We went where we were told, picked up envelopes or truckloads of God-knows-what, and dropped them off to whoever we were told to. Half the time, we didn’t even know what we were hauling. But it paid better than any 9-to-5. Still, we wanted more. More juice. More respect. Nate especially. There were lines I wasn’t willing to cross. Nate? I wasn’t sure he even saw the lines.

In the scheme of things, neither of us were huge, but I tipped the scales at 260, and Nate was a solid 290. We’d been lifting for about twenty minutes when Fucking Tony Ambrizio walked out of the locker room.

If you asked Google what a mob enforcer looked like, it should spit out his picture. Six-foot-four and tipping damn near 400 pounds of muscle. A thick mane of steel-grey and black hair, matching thick mustache, tanned olive skin covered in ink, and a thick, massive gold chain resting heavy on his chest. He didn’t walk—he loomed.

Tony wasn’t just a made guy. He was a capo, one of the underboss’s inner circle. Even other captains gave him space. Not just out of respect—but out of fear. See, Tony wasn’t crazy, not in the traditional sense. He was cold, sharp, and savage. The kind of guy who didn’t blink while yanking your spine out of your body.

Nate’s eyes locked onto him like a dog on raw meat. I nudged him. “Hey, stop staring.” I knew this was the kind of made man Nate wanted to be.

“Yeah, sorry,” Nate mumbled, but his eyes kept drifting back. So did mine.

Thirty minutes in, Tony was pushing weight that most elite powerlifters would call a personal best—as his warm-up. Every rep, every grunt, made him swell, veins bulging like cables. Between sets, he stretched and flexed, and it was like watching something transform—like his body was getting bigger just from exertion.

I caught Nate openly staring. I discreetly saw Tony through the mirror, his eyes turning in our direction. He was blatantly staring back. I jabbed Nate again, “Quit it.”

Then it happened. One of the family’s other big enforcers walked over—some giant named Jimmy-something—carrying a gallon jug of neon blue liquid. He handed it off to Tony with reverence and respect. Tony cracked it open, chugged the whole thing in one go, and muttered something to Jimmy—while looking straight at us.

Jimmy turned to glance our way, then back at Tony, saying something low. My stomach dropped.

“Shit,” I whispered. I started grabbing our stuff. Nate didn’t move.

I kicked him in the calf. “Let’s go.”

We made it three steps toward the locker room before Jimmy cut us off.

“Hey.” One word. Commanding. Deadly calm.

We froze. Jimmy approached, big as a damn doorframe. His eyes raked over us.

“Mr. Ambrizio is heading into the cage,” he said flatly. “He’d like you to join him.”

I looked over, Tony sat there like a statue, watching us. I turned back. “Uhh, we were just finishing up—”

Jimmy stepped in, and his big hand poked me in the chest hard. I stumbled back.

“I’m not talking to you, kid.” He turned to Nate. “This ain’t a request.”

Nate hesitated for just a breath, then said, “Yeah. Sure.”

“Wait,” I said, stepping between them. “Nate, you don’t have to do this. You know the stories. Just say you’re injured or—”

Jimmy cut me off with a snort. Then, to Nate: “Best way to survive this is to fight. You sandbag, he’ll know. You flop around, try to play soft, he’ll beat you into paste. But you show him you’ve got guts, fire in your belly, you might just walk out under your own power. This is how you prove you’ve got what it takes to move up.”

Nate looked at me and said, “It’ll be alright. Go get some coffee or something. I’ll see you later.” His face was set like stone.

I saw Tony heading our way massive, every step a low rumble. Jimmy turned to me. “Get your shit and get outta here. Don’t let me catch you waiting in the parking lot. Go sip your latte or whatever.”

Nate gave me a small nod as he followed them into one of the private fight rooms.

I walked to the locker room, looked back once and the three of them disappeared behind that reinforced door.

It was a little after 8 p.m. when I got the call from Lutheran General. ER staff said Nate had been brought in. I hauled ass over.

He was sitting up when I got there. One eye swollen shut, the other blackened. Lip split wide open. Nose broken. The entire left side of his face looked like a swollen fist print.  His left arm was in a cast. Dopily smiling from under a haze of painkillers.

“He said I got guts,” he kept saying.

The doctor told me he also had four cracked ribs. He asked what happened.

I just asked back, “What did he say?”

“Fell down some stairs,” the doc said, clearly not buying it.

I shrugged. “No idea.”

They released him the next morning. Paperwork said AMZ Iron Works was covering the bill—one of Tony’s shell corps. That told me everything.

Nate was quieter after that. Wouldn’t talk about the fight. Wouldn’t tell his family either. He healed, slowly. Stayed at his parents’ place for a couple of months. They kept asking me what happened. I kept giving them the same answer: “Ask Nate.”

Five years later, I still think about that night.

Nate got what he wanted. These days, he’s 350 pounds of pure muscle and menace. The only thing he delivers now is beatings to people who are late on their loans, or when he was at The GYM, he delivered that same blue gallon jug to Mr. Ambrizio.

He’s crossed lines I don’t want to know about. We’re still friends, but we live in two different worlds now. He’s never thrown it in my face. Hell, I think he even put in a good word for me.

I don’t drive anymore. I send drivers. I tell them where to go and what to haul. It’s a step up.

And it’s enough.

[multiheadcanons]

MERCS AND NICKNAMES

scout: scout doesn’t go by much outside of his name and scout. and even then, the team isn’t particularly offering him a team wide nickname to use. sometimes snipes calls him roo, but normally if he’s hearing “little fucker” he knows people are talking about him. and frankly, at this point, when people call him jeremy, that’s more the nickname now. or he thinks he owes you money. scout is his job title, sure, but he responds to it. responds more often than to his own name.

soldier: soldier doesn’t respond to anything past his name, soldier, and an insult. despite this, soldier is the one who throws the most nicknames out to the team. very few nicknames actually stick for the team, but it doesn’t stop him from using them! they are normally crass, and marginally hurtful in nature. his teammates are usually able to shrug off the latter (if not give a groan in annoyance if he’s addressing them), and gripe on him for the former. he tells them to suck it the fuck up, and reiterates the nickname. with force, this time.

pyro: pyro prefers to call their teammates by their job titles. it’s easier, it’s simple, and they fall off the tongue. pyro doesn’t think they’re really smart enough to come up with nicknames. they are, however, the best at descriptor terms, if you can understand them. pyro can give a description that would get some of america’s most wanted found in thirty minutes… if you could understand them. the only exceptions to the “job title only” rule is engineer and demo. engineer because they’re comfortable enough to do that and demo because they just love his name. sits well in their mouth.

demo: tavish is on a first name basis with everyone in the base. and a couple of members of the blu team! he only uses job titles in battle, where it is quick and efficient, if he doesn’t just say “you” and “spy”. it works for the team, they normally get his gist. when he’s shitfaced, depending on the way the alcohol hits him, he might used more general nicknames, but he’ll normally just call their name and slur the rest of the sentence. at least they know he was addressing them!

heavy: heavy normally addresses his team by their job titles, aside from the medic, whom he affectionately refers to as “doctor”. and that is what he is, at least to heavy. and most refer to heavy outside of battle as misha. the team has attempted to use his name in battle and was sternly told to stop. it brings him too close to the reality. heavy is fine being heavy on the field. it is a stark line between his job and himself. he needs that distinction to maintain his sanity.

engineer: engineer is a little more open to the giving and receiving of nicknames. he’s got a standard set of twenty or so general nicknames that he uses interchangeably with every teammate. “slick”, “my guy”, “bud” and its variants, things like that. it’s easy enough for him to use with everyone! and the team responds favorably to him. engineer is frankly the only one who’s been able to address the mercenaries outside of their names and job titles and not get a side eye.

medic: medic will side eye most people who don’t refer to him as “medic” or “doctor” or any variant of those. and he has to like you for you to get away with a pet name. he’s shared his real name maybe twice to the team, and if they remember it, fine. if they don’t, that’s even better. frankly, if he doesn’t trust you and you refer to him as anything past his job title he thinks he owes you money. he’s pretty sure he might owe you money. and he will promptly come up missing. it flusters him when soldier refers to him as “doc-teur”. he knows it’s meant to be mocking but he flushes at it anyway. it’s annoying.

sniper: sniper has come to fully love and appreciate ‘snipes’ as a nickname. scout was the first one to say it, offhandedly. it caught on from there. the only one who doesn’t use it is heavy, medic and spy. heavy just hasn’t found it comfortable to speak than saying sniper or mick, medic is not on nickname terms with sniper, and spy prefers “bushman”. and if anyone else were to call him bushman, he might actually beat their ass. but he lets spy use it. and in return he calls him spook.

spy: spook is only allowed by sniper and engineer. anyone else gets shot. and he doesn’t even know how engineer got included into that group. it just sounds better coming from him. sounds smooth. less like an insult. otherwise, you can refer to him as the spy. or spy, to be casual. spy doesn’t have a name he likes to go by, nor a name that he identifies himself with. sometimes he and the doctor will go through different names. it has been unsuccessful. the only nickname he’s ever come up with is bushman. and that’s less of a nickname and more of a descriptor term.

[the-chromawheel]

Good morning Sweden, welcome back to another episode of

-//- Groomberg News -//-

In today's session we'll be covering more about our favorite esteemed gamedev groomer! If you're afraid of monsters, be wary! Todays story might make you cry of fear

So Andreas' TikTok account got deleted

(This is a dead link)

This was likely because of his allegations getting very wide coverage as a result of LeonTalksAlot and Sileskios making videos about him

One of which he ironically tried to take down

This is fascinating since his TikTok is definitely the account he relies on censorship the most - As it allows creators to delete comments on their posts entirely, including ones calling them out for grooming He has done this a lot

It appears he got tired of spending 26 hours a day censoring people, searching his name up all across social media and deleting comments to defend himself - So he just deleted his TikTok entirely. Less work to do I guess?

EDIT: (This was already outdated by the time I decided to post it but he revealed on instagram that the reason was because of a false report! my headcanon is that TikTok's algorithm does not like groomers. But it was probably just that people learnt what he did and reported his old videos)

Anyway in the time since my last post, he became moderator of his subreddit (r/cryoffear) and has banned multiple users for mentioning the allegations (me included lmao)

(Previously he would just command his mods on what to do, now he's there directly to ban people himself! Efficient!)

Just hoping he doesn't make some response like "I am sorry to say but I have deleted my TikTok account... The witch hunting has gone too far, the hate is too much for my mental health" He will likely say something like that IF HE DOES talk about it since he loves to play victim

(Now that he HAS made a response, he did take quite an emotional route with his explanation. Poor guy lost the TikTok account he used to manipulate his audience, very sad sad news)

This is painfully ironic as his victims received far worse hate from obsessed Cry of Fear fans for quite literally getting groomed by him. One of his victims abandoned all their accounts and has no publicly known social media presence anymore I guess he almost knows how it feels now

Be sure to tune back to Groomberg News in probably multiple months when I remember this account exists again. I'm afraiding my monster so hard right now

[fanfictionsweetheart]

Congratulations

Pairing: Dominik Mysterio x Reader

Summary: She said yes and is now engaged and traveling with Dom. They haven’t announced it directly, they’re just waiting to see who notices the ring first.

Trigger/Content Warning(s): none, pure fluff

Word Count: 937

A/N: I don’t feel well so I’m posting this to make me feel better. This is the final bit of this idea and I really enjoyed it. This little three part series truly set me on my path typing WWE fanfic. Don’t worry there will be more Dirty Dom to come.

Previous Part(s):

Crazy

Celebration

It was crazy to think that not even a week ago (Name) had been in the crowd the night that Dominik Mysterio had won the Intercontinental Championship. Cheering on her, at the time, boyfriend. Now he was her fiancé and they had only told their families.

They were waiting to tell any kind of press for now.

He had managed to convince her to just wear the ring and wait for anyone she ran into backstage to notice. (Even outside of his persona he was a little shit.)

She didn’t mind that idea. It wasn’t like they were keeping it a total secret.

Besides (Name) had a lot more to focus on besides running around and telling everyone. She had to get used to the WWE travel schedule and working remotely around it.

She knew that it was hectic, Dominik had described his weeks to her once and she never understood how he could manage that kind of crazy. But here she was subjecting herself to it just to spend more time with the man she loved.

For the first time in her life she had both a passport and a stamp in it. Dominik, who had been traveling the world for a few years with the WWE, found her wide eyed wonder at every moment when they stepped off the plane endearing. He promised he would do his best to find time to do some more touristy things with her.

And he had.

He still had to train and prepare for his first Monday Night Raw since Wrestlemania. But he made sure he had time with her aside from falling into bed dog tired after a full day.

When that Monday came Dominik brought (Name) with him to the stadium they were filming in and showed her where everything she would need was. Including where she would be watching from backstage if she didn’t want to be in the crowd tonight.

She hadn’t decided yet.

Nobody had noticed the rock on her finger yet as the day went on. She was doing as much work as she could on her laptop while Dominik was busy preparing for his match that night.

When lunchtime came around (Name) joined a few friends she had made since she started seeing Dominik. Namely the original Judgement Day roster. Even though on screen they were enemies at the moment, Damien, Rhea, and Finn were still some of Dominik’s closest friends in the business off camera.

(Name) was chatting with Rhea and Damien over her lunch while Dominik was over talking to the current Judgement Day roster about keeping an eye on (Name) for him while he wasn’t in their clubhouse. He wanted to keep her off camera for now, her request as well, until she might be comfortable with it, so he wanted to be sure one of them could warn her and keep her away from the cameras.

Keeping her off screen was also told to the camera operators as well, but accidents happen, so he wanted to cover his bases.

“So how are you enjoying traveling with all of us?” Rhea asked her.

“I’m having fun so far, but then again, this is all so new to me, so the charm hasn’t worn off yet,” (Name) joked.

“Considering how starry eyed you get around Dom, I don’t think it’s gonna wear off anytime soon,” Damien joked.

“Hey it’s not everyday that just getting an artograph leads to a relationship,” Salacia joked right back while taking a sip of her water, with her left hand.

Rhea’s eyes zeroed in on her hand, or rather the ring on the fourth finger of her left hand almost instantly. When Salacia set the bottle back on the table the wrestler who was Dirty Dominik’s ‘ex’ snatched it up to stare at the engagement ring that (Name) hasn’t exactly been hiding or showing off.

“What the fuck is this?” Rhea asked like she wasn’t a married woman herself.

“Exactly what it looks like,” Salacia said, knowing she wouldn’t be getting her hand back for a moment, especially when Damien got a look as well.

“When the fuck did that happen?” He asked as Rhea turned (Name’s) hand a bit so he could get a better look.

“The morning after Wrestlemania...he wanted to ask me that night...but our personal celebration kind of...wore us both out…” (Name) laughed, “Can I have my hand back please, Rhea?”

The Australian woman laughed and let her hand go before standing up from her seat to shout at Dominik who was barely six feet away, “I better be in your wedding asshole.”

(Name’s) face was on fire but she couldn’t fight her grin. Dominik laughed as he saw how dark the blush on his future bride was. Of course Rhea would be the first one to notice the ring on her finger. He couldn’t have planned that near as perfect.

“Hey, that’s up to the bride,” Dominik laughed.

“Of course you’ll be in our wedding Rhea, wouldn’t have it any other way,” (Name) said, swallowing any nerves down, because she was so happy to be engaged to Dominik and so proud of how strong their relationship had grown.

Rhea grinned and sat back down pulling her into a side hug, “You’re stuck in our world now.” She warned her.

Dominik made his way over after being congratulated by those closest to him. He leaned down and quickly captured (Name’s) lips.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” (Name) said again in response to Rhea but also affirming to Dominik that she would always want to be with him.

End.

[dwfriendsforever]

If you do ship anything in dandys world what would be your favorite ones could be more than one?

This doesn't speak to what's canon in the AU! Some ships that don't appear here are, and some of the ships here are not. I just like these ones. -✏️

[tonycries]

We Neva Play!

Synopsis. Turns out, the “r” in rivals stands for “really good séx” when a mission becomes a little too hot to handle.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, rivals-to-lovers, séx pollen, innappropríate use of jujutsu (like a LOT), pússydrunk Gojo, limitless, both are teachers, creampíes, oraI (fem), síxty-nine, banter, breaking the bed, FÉRAL Gojo, pússy-slappíng, BRÉEDING, spítting, reader’s CT mentioned, Yaga’s had enough, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 6.3k (cries)

A/N. Lacked Gojo in the manga so I present to you more Gojo <3

“Gojo, I will kill you before that curse can-”

“Aw, man!‘ Yuji whines over Nobara’s cackles, reluctantly slapping a few thousand yen onto her outstretched palm. He thuds his head frustratedly against the cool vending machine they were crouched behind, “That was rigged!”

The girl scoffs, counting her hard-earned winnings victoriously, “I told you they wouldn’t even make it until the school gates before fighting. It’s not rigged, it’s common sense - not that you’d know anything about it.” Satisfied, she sneaks a look over the side of the machine at the shrinking backs of you and a too-happy Gojo Satoru. “Besides, we’ll get a rematch soon enough. My money’s on her, double or nothin’.” 

“You really think they’ll kill each other before the mission is over?” Yuji muses, eyes locked on Gojo’s infamous smirk - only widening the closer he drives you dangerously towards an aneurysm. “I bet-”

“No.” Megumi’s deadpan interruption startles them both. And as much as he’d like to pretend he wasn’t cramped with the two idiots stalking their squabbling teachers, he unfortunately, very much, was. “I bet ten thousand yen they kill each other before the mission is over. Or worse - end up dating.”

---

“A love hotel.”

“A love hotel~” Gojo echoes, with a hand clutching faintly at his chest. Swooning over you with each word, “Now, usually you’d have to take me out to dinner first, but for you I will make an except- mmpf-”

Now, Gojo knew he could’ve easily blocked your attack - hell, he didn’t even have to bat an eye to activate limitless. But where was the fun in that? Giving into your elbow digging sharply into his side, he’s only cackling at your venomous words, “I could take down both you and those special grades, y’know?”

“Oh yeah?” he hooks a long finger underneath his blindfold, showing off that infuriating wiggle of his snowy brows. “If you’re so great, then why did Yaga have you assigned with me, pretty girl?”

You sigh, rubbing your throbbing temples, “Only because someone-” And oh, if he had the most renowned eyes in all of jujutsu, then you had the most withering glare. “-completely skipped out on his last mission to stuff his face with sweets, n’ now I’m wasting my time babysitting. So this time, I’m in charge.”

Ah, a woman after his heart - in more ways than one, for sure. 

“Yes, ma’am~” 

Dramatically, he mimics the zipping of his lips shut, readily following you towards the flashy building standing out amongst the bustling Tokyo street. Walls painted such a suggestive pink, neon lights flickering special discounts at passersby - it would have almost been scandalous to be caught outside such an obvious love hotel such as this - if it hadn’t been for the mission, that is. 

“Didn’t think our first date would be at a love hotel.” he chuckles as soon as you reach the gaudy, perfumed reception. And that flickering, wide-eyed stare of the woman behind the counter is enough for Gojo to prattle on, “Now, tell me what room you want, honey-” Throwing an arm around your shoulder, you’re pressed helplessly against his toned front. “-they’ve got candy-themed, anime-themed- oh, they’ve even got a train station-”

“Best to keep our train station fantasies to ourselves-” You simper, subtly stepping on his foot with your own, but that only topples you against him. Instantly, another strong arm snakes around your waist to support your weight, as if second nature, “-isn’t that right, dear?”

And you swear, you could spot a tiny dimple when the ends of his mouth curl even wider into a saccharine sweet grin. “If my memory serves me right, you were the one that dragged me here. Isn’t that right, dear?”

Shivers run down your spine - ones he runs the soft, rounded pads of his fingers up and down along. You’re sure you looked like a disgustingly loving couple to the poor lady working at the counter. And to put her out of her misery, if anything, you recite, “A-anyways- apologies. Room 143, please.” Managing to plaster on a weak smile, it only falls flat when the receptionist hands you your key - and two complimentary condoms along with it. “I- uh- thank you?”

And it’s all you can do to not just shove off the 6’3 thorn at your side when he steers the two of you to the elevator with a disbelieving, “Only two?” 

Though, you’re sure it wouldn’t do much against him, anyway. It never has - because ever since you’d stepped foot through Jujutsu High’s towering gates as its newest teacher, Gojo Satoru seemed to make it his mission in life to get on each and every single one of your nerves. The only mission he’d willingly do, mind you. Insisting on interrupting your classes, hiding you little sweets in your office, pushing your buttons in front of-

“Well, that went as inconspicuous as ever.” Gojo hums, reeling you out of your little reverie. “Of course, it did, thanks to me.”

“‘Inconspicuous’ my ass.” you groan, hastily punching in the ground number for your room. Yaga had said that the veil was already completed around the entirety of the curse-infested floor by now, good - the faster you could get away from Gojo, the more intact your sanity would be. “If it wasn’t for me smoothing things over, she’d be filing a complaint against the sleazy man in a bad Kakashi cosplay at this very moment.”

“Hey! I didn’t see you putting on any Oscar-worthy performances. And my Kakashi cosplay is gre-”

DING!

The elevator doors open to a seemingly normal, barren hallway - not a hair or person out of place - though, you knew better. And as much of a fool as Gojo acted, he did, too. 

His steady arm drops from your side when you stretch out your limbs in preparation - shit, you forgot it was still there. “Watch and learn, Gojo.” you hum.

“Hell yeah, I’m watching.” 

A beat of silence. Two. 

With his thick blindfold, Gojo’s expression was almost indescribable - but your skin prickles with the slow, sultry sweep of his eyes down your figure. But before you can snap back at his loaded tone, it happens- “Don’t fall behind, sweetheart.”

Curses burst out of the fourteen heavy, wooden doors along the narrow corridor - some small, some big, all crushed easily under the power of your cursed technique. And neither of you had to utter a word to know you’d both be trying to best the other. 

You’ve got one slobbering mess of a curse trapped underneath your heel, locked in combat when Gojo calls out from somewhere across the hallway. “Still stuck on that grade one?” Your jaw ticks, pressing the curses face deeper into the carpeted floor of the bedroom, “I’ve already located one of two special grades- better keep up.”

Fuck, curse him and his six eyes. 

Not wasting any more time, you easily exorcize the remaining curse, feet carrying you door after door. Most of the infestation had been cleared out by now by the both of you, splatters of red and limbs lining along the hallway - you only felt bad for Ichiji having to organize a clean-up after this. 

The next time you saw Gojo’s flash of cerulean eyes was from outside another bedroom. Goading, “Heh, need a little help, Gojo?” 

“Oh fuck-” he wraps two arms around the special grade’s flowered horns. Powerful legs bowed, cloudy hair mussed, blindfold dangling somewhere around his neck - he was beautiful. And it was fleeting moments like this that you held an ounce of begrudging respect for him. Ripping those offending appendages, “-off. Roughed up the other special grade for ya since you were so slow, sweetheart - consider it a lil’ gift for this date.”

“Oh, fuck you-”

In the midst of it all, Gojo still manages to flutter his long lashes your way, “Well, we are in a love hotel, after all. Just say so if you wanna get those pretty hands on me.”

“I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last person on Earth, Gojo Satoru.”

His loud bout of laughter follows you to the final hotel room - 143, coincidentally. It was decadent, almost-spotless - had it not been for the towering curse hunched over in the middle. You could tell that Gojo had been here, because its pink, scale-like skin was already bruised.

You slam the door shut behind you, better to keep the property damage to a minimum. Hastily getting into action - it wasn’t anything new, after years of exorcizing curses you’d grown used to predicting their pattern of attack. But it was only after a pressurized, finalizing punch of yours lands right on the curse’s thumping neck that you find yourself growing weary. Cautious of the tiny, red flower that’d sprouted out of thin air on its skin. Immediately, you think back to Hanami, because it was blossoming - unnaturally fast - petals unraveling to explode in sparkly pollen-

Shit. Your head whirled, eyes watery at the heady scent, “Wh-what the fuck-”

It takes only that split-second of distraction before more blooms pop! pop! pop! all down the curse’s figure. It just heaves with fatigue when they all burst out the same powdery substance from before.

“Fuck- what is this-” your thighs clench together, teeth clenched so hard it hurt. You stagger back towards your opponent, and it seems this last-ditch Hail Mary caused more damage than good. Because the curse was lethargic, barely even flinching when you’re back to pummelling it with your cursed technique. Again. And again and again-  “-if only you’d taken to making perfumes- instead-”

It falls to the ground with a last ringing screech, the flowers withering away instantly. 

But the damage was done.

And you’d never felt so drained - even after your most difficult of missions. Never sinking down onto your knees this way, skin heated, mouth salivating. The air in the room was just thick with something so delicious - syrupy, with hints of pine and cherry - traitorously, you find yourself inhaling deep, addictive lungfuls of the scent. 

“Smells so-” your brows furrow, digging a hand into the plush bed beside you to clamor back onto your feet. “Smells like-”

Gojo. 

Your entire body jolts with something so dark - visceral, gasping when you feel your underwear just drench. Mind such a melty mess filled with only Gojo Gojo Gojo - and before you know it, you’re stumbling towards the door-

Bang! 

The aroma only grows heavier near the door, blood thunders in your ear at the deafening crash from outside. Shit, had you locked the door- 

Bang! Bang! BANG-

Fuck, neither of you were making it out alive. 

It’s the first clear thought headlining through your mind for the first time in what feels like ages - only several, syrupy-slow seconds later does it follow up with the realization that you’re now standing face-to-face with Gojo. 

Gojo pain-in-your-ass Satoru.

Who looked absolutely crazed right now - teetering unsteadily on his feet, his head was bowed, fingers trembling. The mahogany hotel door in mere splinters under his hands.

“F-forgot you could teleport?” It comes out a yelp - pained, almost - and the very first note of your strained voice is enough to have his entire, powerful body wracking with a gasp. Goosebumps pricking along his milky skin, he finally - finally raises his eyes.

Shit, he’s finally lost it.

Because Gojo’s gaze was burning, lids hooded, dark pupils blown so wide that his eyes looked almost black. He didn’t look at you with that usual teasing glint, no, he looked like he was going to rip you apart. Twitchy, drinking in a shaky, drawn-out gasp of the scented air. You almost had half the mind to wonder whether this was some special grade masked as your coworker. 

But it’s real - it’s so, so real and you can’t deny it when he’s baring you with such a vicious grin. Plump lips pulled back to show off those glinting canines, “You.”

“Satoru.”

His lips are on yours - pressing and pressing so hard you were sure it bruised. But fuck- you’re kissing back - because how could you not? The candied seam of his mouth was addictive, breathing you in like his last breath of fresh air.  

“Kiss me-” he spits into your slack mouth, as if he wasn’t already. Two hands surging forwards to cup your cheeks even deeper, “Kiss me kiss me kiss- fuck-” That last little swear almost comes out as a whimper, and you can only keen when Gojo wraps his pretty lips around your tongue, sucking lewdly. “Y’smell so sweet- taste so sweet-”

“Sa-t-toru-” you’re managing out. It just then hits you how weak your knees have gotten, sinking down to straddle his muscular, jutted-out thigh. It makes him throw his head back when you’re just dragging your hips in a long, languid stripe. “Look what you’ve- what you’ve gotten us into.”

Pulling away to lick lazily up, up, up your neck, his teeth bite just at your thundering pulse. “Me?” he hisses out, voice a few octaves higher than usual. “You think I’m the one fuckin’ responsible for this?” It almost hurt - but it hurt so good. “I’m responsible for this-” And his startling eyes sink down to the darkening wet patch on the middle of his leg, your flimsy panties sticking to his uniform. “-am, I?”

“Yes.” your defiant fingers are trailing down the hem of his shirt, ripping apart those buttons in hasty, urgent tugs until it was off completely. “If only you hadn’t half-assed it with this special grade then-”

Gojo huffs out in humorless laughter into your lips - the same one he’d give a persistent little curse, and it makes your hairs stand on end. Wondering how high the kill count would really be. In the hundreds? Thousands? “I thought you were supposed to be the babysitter, huh?”

Millions. 

“And aren’t you the strongest?” A trembly hand of yours ventures its way down his flexing body - down, past those plush pecs, past his flinching abs, dipping teasingly just above where you could feel the hiking tent in his tight pants. “How did you end up this hah- bad?”

You’re holding back a groan at the long, solid inches straining to break free of his thick fabric, you could feel the rapid thump! thump! thump! of his throbbing length under your palm. Fuck, water was wet - Gojo Satoru, unfortunately, had a big di-

“You.”

It’s low, ragged - so quiet that for a second you think you almost imagine it. 

“You.”

His lips are sagging open once more, greedy gaze widening - and you knew it was glowing now. Tiny flickers of blue lightning flickering at the ends of his eyes with every mindless gyration of your palm down his bulging, clothed shaft.

“It’s all because of you.” 

Yeah, you would be lucky number one on his kill count when he breaks - or maybe he would be on yours

Your back is hitting the mattress, and the buttons of your poor uniform are hitting the velvety floor - absolutely nothing against the strongest, who was now tearing through your clothes the same way he was ripping apart those curses from before.

Shit- did he teleport you two?

“Don’t know-” Gojo pants out feverishly, and at that moment you weren’t sure if you’d simply babbled your thinking out loud or whether he could read your mind. “Don’t- don’t know- fuuck.” Low, feral groans crack at the back of his throat with each inch of your exposed skin, and before you know it, he’s surging forwards into the naked valley of your breasts. Breathing you in so filthily, “Just know that I need you- fuck m’gonna fuckin’ kill someone if I don’t-” 

Each spat out little word is punctuated with an intoxicated push and pull of Gojo’s hips. Angrily rutting in-between your thighs until it was just a clingy, syrupy mess of slick and precum between you two. 

“Oh-” your lips drop into a soft gasp, reaching out your fingers to smear a sinful sheen down them. It glosses all the way to your wrist with each newly beaded wave of his precum. 

It feels so dirty the way you’re pushing the very tips of your fingers into your mouth. Gojo can only look - can barely even breathe when you slur, “You taste so good, too, Toru.”

Oh, that was it.

Gojo Satoru had finally thought he was getting control of his sanity - he finally thought the effects of that cursed technique were wearing off. But now - at that little nickname - he feels something snap. The lamp on your right bedside table shatters.

And usually, Gojo’s taunting was tinted with a little laugh, an inkling of fondness in them - but right now they sounded pained. Wrenching out of his broad chest, “Fuck you. Need you- do you know what you’ve done.”

Your useless skirt - along with your soaked, see-through panties - are ripped off of your squirming body. And for once in his life, he’s speechless - eyes almost bulging out of his skull, nails digging into the plush of your thighs. 

Your clothes end up in a pile of sad tatters on the floor, and you felt a strange inkling that maybe you’d end up much the same. 

Smack!

Two, large fingers slap down harshly right on your drooling cunt, slobbering down a glistening coat of your pretty juices down his wrist. “Pay attention.” He’s pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your neglected nipples, your stomach, down, down, down in a flurry until the very tip of Gojo’s nose was nudging at your pulsing clit. “Because if m’losing control I need you to stop me.”

The dim hotel lights flicker when Gojo meets your cunt in a sultry, self-indulgent kiss. And through it all, one thing burns into your dizzy mind - his eyes. Maddened, gleaming with slight blue cursed energy in-between your legs. 

“Oh.” you’re gasping at the sheer burning stretch of your thighs being pushed to their limits. Gojo didn’t need that much space - he just loved the way you whined. “You’re s-so much better when you shut- hah!”

His tongue shuts you up by flicking harshly over your puffed-up clit, letting your syrupy juices slide their slow way down his eager tongue. “There we go- good girl, good fuckin’ girl. Hah- all it took was some shitty curse to get you hah- honest like this f’me, huh?” 

“Don’t act like- ngh!” you’re barely able to drawl the words out, which makes him grin a dangerously content grin. Sharp teeth clenching teasingly around your angry clit, throbbing and slicked glisteningly with his spit, “Don’t act like I’m the only one- this way- hah-”

It was true - every hollowed-out suck on your needy clit had him grinding onto the mussed-up mattress. Those silken sheets hiking up with every drag of Gojo’s weepy erection down onto the bed - imagining you underneath him. It wasn’t enough - it never will be. 

That realization was enough for him to break out into a drunken grin, hot tongue smearing open your folds over and over- “Yeah? What about it? Does it scare you that I want to fuckin’ break you, sweetheart?”

He was crazed. 

Dangerous. Depraved. 

“N-no-” you give such a harsh pull on his soft strands, he’s leering up at you with a dragged-out groan. Looking for the life of him so used - you just knew there’d be thousands that would kill to see the strongest so fucked-out, ear blearily blinking open, flushed your favorite shade of pink up to his cheekbones, mouth chasing those thin spit strands to your glossy pussy. “Jus’ think s’unfair how I’m the ah- only one havin’ fun right now.”

You’re shutting up his pussydrunk protests about how he is having fun and to “please, please, please don’t stop” by crashing your soft lips against Gojo’s. Wrenching him upwards, he lets himself be so used. 

“Need you-” you’re gasping, biting into his pouty lower lip. Nosing slowly up his bobbing Adam’s apple, you gasp in that heady combination of pine and candied cherry. “Wanna see if you hngh- taste as good as you smell right now.”

“No fuck- fuck you.” he hisses, wrangling you to straddle his angrily fidgeting hips. 

Running a hand down to fumble with his metallic belt - already loosened. But you don’t have the patience - or the sanity - for that right now, because you’re tugging, shredding. The tell-tale buzz of jujutsu fizzing at your fingertips when you tug down the entirety of Gojo’s pants. Kneading the soft peaks of your palm over that sensitive divot on his head, “Who’s fucking who?” 

“Me.” And there’s another smack! to the heated place of your cunt, Gojo’s own fingertips having you see stars with his power. 

He takes the distraction to just drag you upwards like some ragdoll, easily maneuvering you around. “Turn- turn around f’me- thaaat’s right, fuck-” You’re jostled until your shaky thighs straddle either side of his head, puffed-out pants condensing hotly against your cunt. Your own coming face-to-face with the fat head peeking out from the hem of Gojo’s boxers. Head swimming with how angrily pink he looked, already winking with a drenched sheen of precum up at you. “Arch that cute back a lil’ more- lemme see.”

You’re whirling your head over your shoulders to catch the fucked-out grin on his lips, dragging his tongue out to lap up every bead of your sweet sweet juices, he tilts his pliant head back against the pillows to let it slide down his bobbing throat. “Y-you’re really that pussydr- hngh!” 

Another branding smack! leaves you gushing even more down his tongue. “Yeah, s’what I fuckin’ thought.” he spits out a thick wad of spit into your messy cunt. Gliding his wet fingers over the dripping mess that puddles onto the his chest below. “-can’t even run your mouth- so desperate f’me. Taste so good-” Using his inhuman strength to haul you down onto his pretty face.

Before he knows it, he’s slotting the thin tip of his tongue past your quivering hole. Taking him so greedily, the elastic ring of muscle stretches all around his form, clamping down as if to milk something delicious. 

And Gojo knows - he thinks with whatever’s left of his rationality that maybe he should slow down, take a second to fuckin’ breathe. But, no, he’s making out with your ravaged pussy like he’s angry he hasn’t done this before - way back when he first met you.

A slender fingers pushes past your swollen folds to curl deftly into your gummy cunt, molding up into that easy divots at your walls. He’s feeling around so depravedly for your g-spot, aching to make you feel just a drop of the sheer need he does. 

“Fuck!” Your velvety walls come crashing down around his fingers, knuckle-deep inside your ravenously swallowing cunt. Only getting faster - dipping perfectly to press up against your spongy sweet spots. Shit, he really was good at everything, huh? “You’re so…”

“What was that?” Gojo’s tittering, “Can’t hear you over your cute cunt, sweetheart.”

You don’t answer - you don’t need to, because all the breath in his lungs exhale out in a low cascade. Hiccuping around your candied clit when you take Gojo’s thick, weepy tip just past your lips. Wrapping just around the sensitive slit, it makes him gasp, it makes him keen, it makes him spit out some sloppy swears into your cunt.

“What was that? Can’t hear you over my cunt, Toru–” you bat your lashes, humming around his velvety head. Fuck- if you were in any better state of mind you’d have taken longer admiring him.

Because he was so massive, so pretty with prominent veins thumping at the roof of your mouth. Girthy, rotund end a throbbing red, gradiating into a creamy pink that meshed in delicately with those neat tufts of white at Gojo’s toned pelvis. So delicious. Big enough that you were already wondering just how you were going to walk out of this bedroom - if either of you are in a walking state - or even alive - that is. 

“Fuck- fuck you little-” his mouth refuses to part with your puffy pussy lips, even if it was to talk back to you. “Don’t you dare fuckin’ think this is-”

The new angle has his sharp jaw grinding up into you, jostling your body up and down all over his face. He’s whining - heaving - at this point with every sultry swirl of your soft tongue around his twitchy head. Coating down every inch of your silky soft mouth with a hot sheen of precum, he tastes so good on your tastebuds - slightly salty, with a tinge of something so sweetly Gojo. 

Powers acting before him, he doesn’t even realize it before he cheats - just a little. Eyes burning with power when Gojo uses his six eyes to plunge scarily accurately into the plushy bullseye of your g-spot. Greedy fingers hitting it again and again and-

“Satoru!” your scolding tone has his globular tip twitch ferally into the back of your throat. “That’s not- I can feel your jujutsu, y’know. S-so-” 

“What? Good? Heavenly?” Gojo rattles off. You’re fucking your drooling pussy back into him - you can’t stop the mindless, shallow little grinds in an attempt to meet his mean pace. “Never said anythin’ about a jujutsu ban, pretty- you’re sounding like a sore loser to me.” As if on cue, your cunt is gushing out in more silken sweet juices all down the lower half of his face, squelching so obscenely. His droopy eyes admire your glistening cunt, riding his face to his insanity. “Well- not this cunt, of course, in fact- I think she’s gonna cum.”

He didn’t have to tell you - you already knew, with the trembling in your thighs, and the white-hot pleasure stemming from his incessant making out. Without answering, you only swallow up a few more solid, rock-hard inches of his painfully hard cock, lips stretched obscenely. 

“Y-yeah- fuck, now I definitely know you’re close, pretty girl-” he’s lolling out his tongue to let you drag your pussy across harshly. “Don’t be stubborn- cum f’me,” Rough patches of his tastebuds massaging you just right, fingers still pumping recklessly. “Cum f’me- please. Wan’ it on my tongue- want you- want you to use me- please.”

It doesn’t take long before you’re finally cumming, fucking your high over and over Gojo Satoru’s pretty face. He’s wrapping a free hand around the small of your back, just crashing you back into his drunk mouth over and over and–

“F-fuck, Toru–” you whine, toes curling with each crashing wave of pleasure. It was so violent - so dragged-out, like no orgasm you’ve had before. And you didn’t know whether it was because of the technique or the lazy drag of Gojo’s mouth all over every beading inch of your pussy. Your fist tightens around the thick, heated base of his cock, “Need- need you to-”

“No. Fuck-”

In the fleeting millisecond it takes you to blink, your front is being pushed back onto the now-damp sheets again, a grinning Gojo hovering over you. He looked so ruined - smile gleaming with your trickling, dripping precum, eyes crazed. Suddenly, you almost understand why every breathing thing fears him - almost. His eyes were blazing, flushed angrily. “I’m burning- think m’gonna die if I don’t fuck this cunt right now. Fuck-”

“Havin’ to use your powers for everything?” you’re quirking a brow over your shoulder. “Don’t tell me the only reason you brag about being so hah- good in bed is because of that?”

He’s narrowing his glowing eyes, tiny sparks of lightning flying furiously, “Ohhh s’that a challenge, sweetheart?” Gojo’s sharp canines tug on your bottom lip, and you moan into the messy clash of a kiss - all spit and teeth and the taste of you two. “Tell me.”

“So what if it is?” you’re managing to push back against his slender waist. “Without those stupid powers, m’the better…”

Whatever insult was on the tip of our tongue dies down at the glint of the foil in his hand - the condom from before. That tiny square looking so pitiful held between two fingers, “The receptionist gave me an XL, funny, right?” Gojo murmurs, so dark. “Such a shame it won’t fit.”

One daring glance downwards proves him right - because Gojo was sitting so heftily sandwiched between your swollen folds. Painfully beading needy pearls of translucent precum all over your front - fuck, your cockdrunk self from before didn’t recall him being so large. Big enough that you were sure any rubber would be on the verge of shattering into little pieces.

So then go in raw- you think. But before the words can tumble out of your mind, he’s giving a slow, slippery slide on your cunt, “S’alright- with these ah- ‘stupid powers’ m’still gonna get a taste of this pretty cunt.”

And then you can’t breathe - fuck, you can’t even think straight.

You feel like you’re being split-apart, because Gojo’s just barely pushing in the fat, round girth of his head. Managing to pop in his long shaft past that sensitive slit, before his body starts moving in hurried, impatient little grinds. Frantically trying to squeeze himself in deeper- “Fuck- fuck fuck fuck, even with limitless you feel so good, sweetheart.”

Limitless - fuck, that’s what it was. You could feel the slight pinch of the pressure around your body, the way he was reaching in so deep inside your velvety cunt despite not even being halfway inside yet. 

“Satoru-” 

“No-” his flickering eyes bore deep into yours. “Not that- call out f’me properly now, I know that smart mouth of yours can do it.”

Your words are barely a whisper, “Toru–”

The remaining lamp at your left goes out - cracking into tiny shards. And that’s all it takes for him to push and push in, distantly, Gojo knows he should slow down, maybe give you a second to relax - to think. But he could feel his sanity dancing away with every fucking inch fed into your sopping wet pussy, your elastic walls contorting to massage every ridge and vein of his so heavenly. Fuck- he’d fight a thousand more of those special grades just for another taste of this feeling. 

“Oh-” Gojo’s jaw hangs slack when he finally bullies past that feeble resistance of yours. The very top curve of his head nudging deeply in a glissading glide down your spongy cervix, heavy balls kissing against your ass. 

He lets himself be pulled, used like some filthy toy when your hot tongue cranes to lap up the trail of drool down the corner of his drunken mouth. 

“Wanna feel you-” you’re gasping through each thorough, steady ram into your snug channel. “Wanna feel all of you.”

Another memorable slap! resounds through the heady air, sending sparks exploding behind your lids. “Heh- s’this your way of hah- having me stop using my powers?” he chuckles. “I’m onto your dirty, dirty tricks, y’know.”

Truly, he wasn’t. Gojo didn’t think he had enough of his brain unfried to even contemplate that right about now. But it was just so much fun to watch you mewl in protest, your cunt dripping even further down his twitchy balls with each taunt. 

“Please- fuck m’burning up-” you spit. “Scared s’gonna have you c-cumming early?”

As a punishment - or maybe a little reminder about who really was the strongest, Gojo infuses his next sharp smack on your clit with an ounce of his jujutsu. The curve of his thumb gliding over in tiny circles to soothe over the buzz, “Talk to me when you can say “cumming” without hngh- stutterin’-”

“Talk to me when you-” Growling into the crook of your neck, it’s all he can do right now to bow his hulking body even deeper into yours, kneeing apart your stutteringly closing thighs. There’s a sloppy, milky ring forming where your folds kept smacking repeatedly against the sharp lines of his pelvis, “-can fuck me without your limitless going haywire.”

Fuck- fuck, how he wanted to prove you wrong. To have you crying out for mercy.

But Gojo’s throat drags out in what almost sounds like a cry when his limitless flickers on and off - just for a second. The mere touch of your slippery soft walls around his hot cock making him just slam down an arm on the headrest. It breaks - shattering into tiny wooden pieces, though, neither of you notice right now. 

He’s maneuvering the two of you so easily to push you onto your back. Stuffing your gaping entrance back full again, this time throwing your limp legs onto his broad shoulders to pummel you in such a mean mating press. Just the sight of your fucked-out, pretty face has his ragged breath hitching, “S-sweetheart…” 

Whatever answer you give is tangled up in Gojo’s drunken tongue, lapping at your words. His cock feels so heavy, so hot shoving between your legs. And the stretch - fuck, the stretch was something you’d always remember. Stretching out that tight hole into the very girth of his shaft - all the way down from his leaky, flinching head to the thick circumference of his hilt. “I don’t think I can- fuck, can I feel- please, m’dying to know what this cunt feels like-”

Your nails rake down the pale display of his back, those red, red jagged lines making him rut even deeper into you. “Do it then-”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Oh.

Fuck. 

It’s like something shatters - maybe limitless, maybe his restraint. Because Gojo’s eyes just fall shut in pure ecstasy, aching cock growing even larger inside you - as if that was even possible. Expanding tautly at your walls, he’s forming you so sinfully around his shape. 

“Oh-oh– fuck you feel- how the fuck do you feel so good?” His free hand dips down to roll a depraved thumb over the nub of your neglected clit, catching on your bulgingly-stretched folds. “Holy shit- think m’gonna pass out- think m’gonna die.”

“Hah-” your back arches up sluttily into his around the fifth consecutive time his rough cockhead was grazing so perfectly against your g-spot, fingers buzzing with electricity at your clit. “You’re s-so weak-”

But it didn’t matter, did it? Because all you could do was hiss out a few wet gurgles into Gojo’s mouth, blinking in the sinful sight of him with his eyes so hooded, cheeks burning with a scorching blush, mouth dangling so addictively open while he sucked your tongue. Like he didn’t even realize what he was doing - how each pressurized thrust into your gummy pussy had the lights overhead flickering, sparks of blue lightning bolting from the corners of his mouth at the same sloppy staccato as his hips. How it made you cum. 

“Sh-shit, Toru-” you’re gasping at the feeling of your toe-curling high, shots of pure pleasure running through your body. Convulsing up over and over into his weighty body, “Feels so good- m’cumming m’cumming ah-” 

Crack! 

And then it’s dark.

Hell, Gojo barely even realized when he does, too, shooting out creamy white ribbon after ribbon of seed with a soft, shuddering gasp of your name. And it’s the only thing on his usually-sharp tongue - voice cracking pathetically, when he whines it like a little mantra over and over and-

“Oh-” his five, long fingers splay out across your lower stomach - right where he could feel his own cock twitching wildly at the very bottom of your gooey pussy. Pressing down, hard. “Oh shit- just look at how you’re painted white from the inside-”

The lights were gone out - in all the wards of Tokyo, actually - and yet in the light of the slight flickers of electricity surrounding you two, you could spy the slow, syrupy glob of his cum down your thighs. Coating his hilt in a milky gloss, it sticks to the two of you like a sloppy second skin. “And you expect me to- hah- not go insane.”

You manage out a wet chuckle, too tired to notice how the bed was missing a headboard now. How all the furniture in the hotel room was trashed - as if it’d been slammed down from several feet above. “Hah- b-blame it on the sex pollen.”

The technique has him cumming more than usual, every new wave sloshing at your insides is followed by another - and another until Gojo’s cock felt so raw. Twitching sensitively in a way that brought big fat tears pricking at his eyes, and yet, he still fucks you so harshly into the mattress. Sucking out every remaining dredge of seed in those fat, cum-filled balls thwacking! at your skin. Sloppy. Depraved. Oh, he looked so ruined - like a man that crawled back from death, only to drag you down with him. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” Gojo drags his swollen lips down your earlobe. Voice shot, “I don’t think the sex pollen is done yet.”

---

“Trashed all across the floor, trashed furniture - especially in room 143 - Hokkaido still doesn’t even have power.” Yaga’s bellowing voice has you sinking ashamedly further and further into his office seat. 

Gojo, however, only beams, throwing an arm around the edge of your chair, “Damn- we should really try to send out the power in all of Asia next time, huh, my pretty girl?”

“Out!”

Across the hallway, three first-years eagerly (well, two of them and a reluctant Megumi) peer into the tense meeting. Wondering what exactly happened in your last mission that caused a record-level amount of property damage and the power to still flicker on and off throughout the day.

Yuji is the first one to speak up, “Well, no one’s dead but- why does the air seem so-” he gestures towards the almost non-existent space between you and Gojo - not anything out of the usual, sure, but the one thing different was the lack of threats. “-weird.” he finishes. 

“Tell me about it. That Gojo almost seems…” Nobara shudders in disgust. “...happy.”

And of course, at that very moment, the man of the hour himself turns to look straight at the first-years doing a poor job of hiding themselves behind the door. Sighing overly-loudly, “If you say so, Yaga~” Intertwining his fingers with yours to pull you up with him, “We had a date anyway.”

“A date?”

“A date?!”

“I win.” All eyes - including yours and Gojo’s turn towards the usually-quiet Megumi, his lips turned into the beginnings of a smile. Almost. “You both owe me ten thousand yen.”

A/N. Hope you babygirls have a good weekkkk!!!

Plagiarism not authorized.

[muffinlance]

Consider: Post-canon Zuko wakes up in the body of his childhood self, the morning of That War Meeting. Would he still speak against the plans, knowing his fate? What do you think he would do differently the second time around?

"Turned away at the doors, Zuzu?"

"Shut up, Azula," her brother sulked. But sulked weirdly, after staring at her too long and too wide-eyed, not like she'd surprised him but--

But like he hadn't expected her to be there. At all.

He turned away. ...He turned back. "Hey, Lala? Do you think you could help me practice that one set?"

He didn't meet her eyes.

She narrowed hers. "Which set?"

"The one I'm bad at."

She scoffed. Pushed away from the wall she'd been leaning against. "That's all of them, Dum-Dum."

He didn't shout or stomp or yell about the nickname. His lips twitched.

"It's okay," he said. "If you're afraid you won't be a better teacher that my instructor..."

It was the most obvious manipulation ever.

Perhaps if he proved an adequate firebending student, she'd work on his courtly survival skills next. Honestly, it was good that not even Uncle Gets-Cousins-Killed had been fool enough to take Zuko into that war meeting. She could only imagine how terribly that could have gone.

"Keep up," she said, and turned her steps towards the training grounds.

He did. There, and during the katas she ran him through.

Azula kept her eyes narrowed.

"Hey," he asked, "do you know how to bend lightning yet?"

As if he could have missed it, if she'd been able to get more than sparks. "I will soon," she said.

"You will," he agreed, and flowed through his next set. The one she'd only just mastered.

Father didn't notice how weird Zuzu was being. Uncle never noticed anything. Zuko ate dinner and asked a servant for seconds and didn't stutter or flinch or lose his appetite when father asked, coolly, what he'd done with his day. Azula's shoulders tensed, because one mention of how she'd squandered her own training time teaching him--

"Azula hogged the training grounds. For hours," Zuzu scowled, exactly like a petulant thirteen year old.

Exactly like he hadn't been acting all day.

By the time Father was looking her way, Azula had her usual smirk in place. "I'm sure there would be room for both of us," she said, "you're not afraid of a little friendly fire, are you, brother?"

Zuko sulked. And ate his seconds, like he was enjoying each bite. There was something in his eyes, like a joke no one else was getting.

---

Father died that night. A heart attack. There were the faintest of burns to either side of the treacherous organ; the royal physician hypothesized that he'd grabbed at his chest, fingers burning hot in his final moments; so hot they'd only exacerbated the problem.

The royal physician would never have been brought any victims of lighting strikes. Those that occurred in the capital did not generally require a doctor in the aftermath.

Zuzu ate a hearty breakfast.

He didn't order seconds. Azula gave him points, at least, for not being tacky.

---

The sages named Iroh as regent.

They named Zuko as Fire Lord.

"No," the tiny Fire Lord in his perfectly miniaturized Fire Lord robes said, sitting at the head of his war council. "We're not doing that. And I'll be reviewing all recent battle plans, as well. What's this I hear about a division of new recruits being deployed to the front?"

He did not mention how he'd heard of the 41st Division. No one asked.

"Prince Iroh, surely--" one of the generals tried to appeal.

The young Fire Lord's regent was looking as startled as the rest of them, for a moment. Then he sipped his tea, and smiled.

"Your Fire Lord is correct, of course. A change in our leadership--a change the other nations may mistakenly view as weakness--will necessitate a change in our strategy."

"Now," said their lord, "what, exactly, is our overall objective in this war?"

War, the new Fire Lord decreed, was not an end unto itself.

---

The new Fire Lord continued to have time, to pretend to be trained by her. Azula watched him. Adjusted her footwork. Did not tolerate, and was not offered, any commentary on who was teaching who.

"What did you do with my brother?" she asked, as they flowed from one set to the next. As her hands, poised to throw fire, just so happened to be pointed his way.

He missed a step. It didn't look like an act.

"I'm, uh. Right here?"

She didn't bother to dignify that.

He didn't bother to look worried about her hands, one movement off from a true attack.

He looked around, then grabbed her sleeve, and tugged her further from any walls that may hide ears. The royal family's private training grounds were wonderfully large, and wonderfully open.

"It's me," he said. "It's still me. Just. More of me? Longer of me?"

She narrowed her eyes. A familiar expression, by this point. "Explain."

"...I found the Avatar," he said. "And this is definitely his fault, but--but I guess it started at a war meeting, when I was thirteen."

Azula listened. It was a very Dum-Dum story.

[esyra]

After the hospital bombing, I finally heard back from my grandmother and confirmed that several of my relatives were murdered by Israeli bombing. Seven of them, to be precise. Three are still going, including her. We've been talking constantly ever since.

Asked if it was possible to head south, and was told they did but were also bombed there. So they decided to go back home, in Zeitoun. Their home was bombed and they were pulled out of the rumble, then driven by ambulances to the al-Ahli Arab Hospital. There were people in every corner. Gazans sheltering, sleeping on the floor. Gazans dying on the floor, waiting for beds.

Four were declared dead on arrival, three were in need of surgery and other three were just bandaged. Then, a bomb was dropped in the parking lot that made parts of the ceiling collapse, like Dr. Ghassan Abu Sittah reported in that horrific conference/interview. Those in need of surgery died.

By the way, just in case you didn't know: the Church of Saint Porphyrius, the third oldest in history, bombed by Israel a few days back, was located near the hospital.

When looking for new shelter, they saw schools with signs hanging outside, "We can't take any more families." They met families, sympathetic but already sheltering too many people. They're now staying in an apartment building they found empty. Sleeping in the corner of the living room. If the family comes back, they'll apologize and leave.

Told me she was saving her phone battery for when the bombing stopped, and she had to ask for help to rebuilt the neighborhood. But she doesn't think it's gonna stop anymore. The ones still with her are mute most of the time, like they're saving energy, but she feels lonely and wanted to talk. There's no internet and to connect to WhatsApp, people are buying "a card from the supermarket, there's a password and username." Not sure what she meant. Still, the internet is inconsistent and won't load neither videos or images nor pages, so she doesn't know what's happening on the outside world.

Told her there were a lot of people protesting to stop the genocide, she replied, "The bombings are getting worse by the day." The bombing yesterday was the worst she ever witnessed. The entire neighborhood is infested with the smell of death, of decomposing bodies. Bodies are piling up in the streets and she's not sure if it's because they ran out of places to store them, but most of them are in bags. The smoke of the bombings hide the blue sky—she hasn't seen the clouds for a while.

Asked if I could share their pictures, names and dreams with people and was told, of which I partly agree, "they're not entertainment." If anyone genuinely cared, they would be alive—I'd argue there are people who do care, but I'm not gonna lecture her pain. And they don't deserve to be used to fulfill someone's sick fantasy. Told me to remember what some Israelis do with pictures of dead Palestinians. And I do.

For those of you who are not familiar, many times before settlers got together to celebrate the murder of Palestinians. For one, in 2015, Israeli settlers set a house in Duma, West Bank on fire. An 18-month old baby, Ali Dawbsheh, was burnt alive. Both parents later died of wounds and only a 5-year-old, Ahmad, survived, although severely injured.

Two celebrations of their murder are widely known, one at a wedding and others outside the court in which two were indicted for the terrorist attack. In the wedding, guests stabbed a photo of the toddler, Ali, while others waved guns, knives and Molotov cocktails. Israel's Minister of National Security, Itamar Ben-Gvir, was present.

That's what happens in an apartheid. Palestinians are so abused by authorities that their "innocent civilians" come to accept the brutality as necessary or are desensitized by our suffering. After all, it's been 75 years—get used to it!

So I won't risk the image of my loved ones, in fear they are used in these kinds of depravity. I will say, though, the world lost a young footballer. Lost a female writer and an aspiring ballerina. Lost a kind father, who was also a great cook, and a loving mother that enjoyed sewing and other types of handicraft art. Lost a math teacher and a child that wanted to become one.

People think Israel is testing new weapons on them. There's civilians arriving at the hospital with severe burns, which they thought was from white phosphorus, but apparently the pattern is different from the one caused by white phosphorus. It's widely believed Israel tests weapons in Palestinians.

Jeff Halper, author of War Against the People, a book on Israel's arms and surveillance technology industries, said: "Israel has kept the occupation because it's a laboratory for weapons."

They've ran out of drinkable water and the "aid" Biden sent was only for the South of Gaza and no fuel, for hospitals, was allowed in. Many shelves in the supermarket are empty. She said many are convinced that if they don't die from the bombing, they'll die from starvation or dehydration, or whatever disease will develop from the dirty water they're drinking.

Told me all people do now is pray, cry and die. Told me she hopes West Bank is spared. Told her Israel bombed a mosque in West Bank and dozens of Palestinians in West Bank are being murdered by settlers, so she bided me goodbye.

[yerchokito]

PRETTY KITTY TURNS PRETTY HORNY .ᐟ FT SATORU GOJO

synopsis - finally you decided to adopt a new friend at the adoption centre! only, he wants to be more that friends…

warnings - p in v, brief oral sex (fem receiving) unprotected sex, slight manipulation(?) creampie, shitty smut, petname: master used mockingly, not thoroughly proofread, talk of potential children, lowk masochist gojo, ect ect. fem reader

notes - yay I finally got this out! lol it honestly did get a bit sloppy at the end but I wanted to get this out b4 christmas!enjoy! the smut is lowkey short but I don’t want to fix it..

edit - I just realised I posted this on his death date

Phew, you did it.

You finally grew a pair and adopted a newly rescued snow-leopard hybrid! After months of your self-pitying you managed to convince yourself to adopt a friend!

You spent many, many hours contemplating on whether to actually adopt. And many hours more watching sad videos on hybrids, how mistreated they are out of the adoption centre.

That was more than enough to convince you.

Now you have an exotic hybrid of your own! And he’s just the cutest little—er big thing! He’s got fluffy little ears, a handsome face, striking blue eyes, and the fluffiest tail in the world!

You’ve learnt a lot about him. His name is Satoru Gojo, around the same age as you! Unfortunately, he spent a lot of his life in illegal fighting rings. Poor thing almost got killed a while back. Luckily, his caretakers at the agency have had no aggression problems with him! He’s affectionate, friendly, reckless at times, but overall great to have as a first time owner!

He’s really—really big. His head just about reaches the ceiling of your small apartment. It's gonna be hard finding clothes for the man. Let alone a bed.

But that’s all a problem for future you!

Packing him in the car was a hefty thing, his tallness being the main problem, a little cramped (he had to lay half his body on the floor) but it worked in the end!

As soon as you bought the little—uh, big critter home, you pampered him with affections. Petting his head, rubbing his ears, scratching under his chin all that stuff that makes him mushy in the brain!

The only problem would be leaving him alone… he’s fairly clingy. You’ll just have to work on that. He seems capable enough. Hopefully…

Note to self: get a baby cam.

˗ˏˋ — ˎˊ˗

Maybe this was a mistake.

Satoru’s a really good guy, he’s friendly, definitely affectionate and really clingy. All good qualities that you love about him!

But, there are qualities you come to… dislike, so to say.

He’s bratty. defiant against your house rules, a back-talker.

He always wants attention. Pushing things off counters or using his tail to block your eyes whenever he wants to annoy you.

He’s very manipulative. Using his wide eyes to trick you—or anyone—into giving him sweets!

He’s also unbearably horny, probably his worst trait. Always trying to rub against you, heck even mount you! For someone so angelic-looking, he sure ain’t an angel.

And you can name a couple of… embarrassing incidents.

Incident #1

“Hey—Toru! What are you doing, stop that!” You shout, trying to push him back and away from— wait, are those your panties he has in your mouth!

“Satoru! Bad boy, get those out of your mouth!” You splutter, face flushing red.

But, apparently you adopted the devil.

He tilts his head in an innocent way, ears flopping to the side as he deviously munches on your precious—and very expensive—underwear.

You try to wrestle them away from his maw, unlucky for you, you’ve also adopted an abnormally tall hybrid. His innocent act drops as he dangles them above your head, laughing at your embarrassment.

Of course, he gave it back. Not without it slicked in his spit and now turned crotchless.

It was… not a great moment for you or your hopes of being dominant over him.

Incident #2

It’s a nice sunny morning, you got up earlier than your alarm, made a nice breakfast, and finally got that darned work assignment finished.

A peaceful day.

Until your precious kitty takes his biting urges on you.

“Satoru, do-don’t bite meee!” You whine, once again trying to push away the snarky beast. God, why must he be twice your size.

He chuffs, pining you with his weight as he nibbles at your skin. Tail swaying mischievously behind him.

“Mn—be still, lemme jus’…” He whispers. Devious man he is. His nibbling becomes full-blown bites, decorating your neck and collarbone in a bazillion bite marks.

Satoru only giggles at your pathetic attempts of squirming away. Pfft, you think he’ll let you walk away? Nothing gets away from his keen eyes.

Needless to say, the bite marks were not a fashion statement at work. Didn’t really capture as many complements as it did laughter.

Note to self: Invest in a muzzle.

Incident #3

Now, maybe this is your fault. You did notice the change in behaviour, he’s always been clingy— the staff at the agency did say he was… the possessive type. But! You didn’t notice the possessiveness until now! So it’s not entirely your fault.

Okay, maybe his growling at your friend— male, should you note— was a teensy red flag, the constant butting of his head against you was also alerting you. So you maybe-sorta-should’ve predicted this.

Maybe if you realised that Satoru is not entirely human (even though he acts like it), you would’ve remembered he has an amazing sense of smell.

“aaahnn… mornin’ Toru’, how did you sleep hm?” you yawn. The lack of response is unnerving, and rude.

“Hey now, ts’ not nice to ignore me, Satoru.” Again silence, wait—what the-?

“Oof! Satoru—gah!—get off!” You struggle, your overgrown hybrid kitty has decided to pounce on you, his full weight crushing you.

“H-hey—oh!” Did.. did you feel that correctly, is your boy.. oh gosh.

“Mrrow…mn, you smell s’ good.” His breath is hot against your neck, sniffing at your throat, his fuzzy ears rubbing under your chin.

“Mnh—heat, in heat? mrr..” He purrs, big hands encasing yours as the big idiot rocks his hips against your backside— oh my.

“H-huh? No, down Satoru! Bad boy—ooh!—don-don’t!” You try not to moan out as he ruts against you. Licking at the nape of your neck, almost mockingly.

“Heh— shh, I’ll take care of ya. Aw’ you’re so small compared to me..” Satoru breathes, chuckling like he always does.

…

Lets just say, Satoru has become real good friends with the spray bottle.

Note to self: Get him neutered.

˗ˏˋ — ˎˊ˗

And there are way more incidents as… sexual as these ones. You love the big guy, he’s cuddly, got a fuzzy head, really warm, but he seems to really enjoy mounting you. Like, really badly.

He’s become a menace! I mean, you knew he wasn’t neutered, but you didn’t think he’d be interested in you!

It's almost everyday he tries to get in your pants! Gotta hand it to him, he’s really persistent.

Well, you won’t be taking any of his nonsense today!

“Satoru! Breakfast!” You yell out. You hear him scurrying around the corner, jeez food fein.

“Heh, mm waffles..” He purrs at your feet, nuzzling against the back of your knee.

He wraps his tail around your ankle, hands gently kneading at your leg. Nose twitching at the sugary smells.

“You hungry, sweetie?” You coo, petting the big oafs head.

Awh, maybe you’re being too harsh on him. He’s your baby, he doesn’t know any better!

˗ˏˋ — ˎˊ˗

Oh who were you kidding, of course he knows what he’s doing! Why are you so gullible?

What was supposed to be a nice, calm, peaceful, non-sexual breakfast, ends up with your mischievous kitty munching on your pussy instead!

He’s got your legs up, knees having small-talk to your shoulders whilst he —quite literally— devours you.

“Satoruuu!— don’t do thaah! Oh!” You squeak. You weakly push on his head, trying to get him away from your front.

Unfortunately, Satoru is a determined cat.

“Mnn, be still. M’ hungry.” He purrs between your legs, the vibrations of his voice send tingles up your spine.

For Satoru, that delicious nectar leaking out of you is heavenly. Until this thin, pathetic piece of fabric ruins his meal. If only he could just…

rripp!

“H-huh? S’toru! Those were expensiveee— haa!” You scold. well, try to. It’s hard to speak when you’re literally breathless.

He tongues at your now naked pussy, slurping all that gooey goodness you so graciously produce. So sweet.

He pulls back, your cunt and his mouth connected by a sloppy string of spit. He coo’s and presses a kiss hard against your clit, making you twitch and moan.

Out of the corner of your eye you see the devil incarnate smiling so sweetly, his tail curling around your ankle. What was once a sweet gesture is now no longer reassuring.

Your ‘innocent’ kitty now has free rein to your more… primal parts. The stronger scent pulls on Satoru’s will, he whines at the sudden, yet aggressive urge to bury himself inside you.

Hmm maybe he should.

Hoisting himself up, Satoru leans back on his calves, admiring the little mess he’s made of you. Flushed red, panting, drooling, and completely high on the pleasure. His pants tighten.

He’s been blessed with such a cute owner!

˗ˏˋ — ˎˊ˗

Plap! Plap! Plap!

“Haa— d’aww don’t be so shy, master. Heh—fhuck!” Said the devil incarnate, mockingly.

Satoru is a condescending bunch, cute but really full of himself. It’s shows in his way of fucking.

He has you on your back, legs resting on his broad shoulders as he literally folds you in half. Your head is just reeling, your face is covered in his spit, hairline all sweaty, jaw hanging open, and you're burning all over!

His cock is big, too big. It nearly split you in half when he tried to fit it in. He’s never been a patient kitty.

“Awhhh— masterrrr, you’re tightenin’ up sho’ muchhh…” He purrs. Tail swaying mockingly.

Leaning forward, Satoru nuzzles his ears against your cheek, wanting to be pet.

Unfortunately, you’re incoherent to his requests. Too focused on the harsh rutting of his cock into your sticky cunt.

“Heyyy… pet meee,” He whines, “Hm? Heh— tappin’ out already?” His eyes gleam with mischievous-ness as he grins a toothy grin. You’re not gonna make it out alive.

He bites his lip, giggling at your pleasured face. If only he could take a picture, save this moment forever. He cups your face, caressing your sweaty cheeks, then presses a loving kiss to your lips.

“Mwah! Hehe— you’re so cute,” He whispers against your lips.

In midst of this somewhat sweet moment, the pace of Satoru rolling his hips against you increases. Then turning into him full on slamming his hips into yours, huffing as he focuses on pounding you into next week.

All you can do is grip onto him, tugging on his ears. He moans pornographically, drooling as you harshly grip his sensitive ears. The painful yet pleasant sensation sparks something new in Satoru.

With the intent to breed, Satoru turns you over. His chest to your back as he leans his weight on you, arms wrapping tightly around your sweaty skin.

This new position gives Satoru a better chance at giving you some cute mini him’s!

“Oh! Oh!—Toruuu’!” You squeal, tears now brimming in your eyes at the overwhelming feeling that is undoubtedly him.

Without warning, you cum. Hole clenching and spasming and coating his lower body in a translucent liquid.

“Hm—hah— I knew you wan—ahn—wanted me!” He mewls, quickly pounding in and out, creating a wet ‘schlick!’ sound.

Oh you’re so perverted! Letting your precious kitty take you like this!

You’ll never live this down.

Satoru doesn’t seem to care.

“Oooh— m’ cumming, nng— masterrr!” He moans, non-stop humping into your creamy pussy, drooling all over you.

“Not—not insideee! Toru’!” You cry out, pushing your hips back to get him off of you, it does the opposite.

His tail wraps around your thigh as he cums. It splurts frantically inside of you, his cock twitching violently as he whines in pleasure.

It’s hot, sticky and definitely a thick load. It feels endless, liquidy rope after rope. But it feels so refreshing.

He pulls out (you didn’t think he would), nuzzling and purring at the nape of your neck. Innocently licking at your tear-stricken cheeks.

…

It’s been so long since you last experienced this pleasure.

You’ll definitely regret this later.

˗ˏˋ — ˎˊ˗

Oh god, why did you do that!

Having sex with a hybrid is just a different type of low, even for you!

Oh jeez, you're just as perverted as him! Oh whywhywhywhy! He was just supposed to be a companion! Not a—

“Mrr, pet meee..” Satoru whines, pawning at your chest. He’s back to his old self again.

Mostly. He’s become more… confident in his abilities over you. Let’s just say after your regrettable (not in his eyes) playtime with him, he has no restraint on mounting you now. The idiots even started humping you in public!

Which is why you’ve been leaving him at home.

Now more than ever, you two spend a lot of time together. Mostly consisting of naps, him licking you, more naps, eating… recreational activities, blah blah blah. He now sleeps on your bed, he’s more like an overstayed one night stand than an exotic cat.

At Least he’s extra cuddly!

[peter-pumpkin-eater]

Bite

Caleb x gn!reader

summary: Sitting on Caleb's lap while sleepy might be a bad idea (you'll do it again)

warnings: slightly suggestive (nothing mentioned but hinted at), yearning, one (1) gendered pet name (pretty girl), biting

word count: 607

You were curled up in Caleb’s lap. Something was playing on the tv but you weren’t paying attention. Your half lidded eyes weighed heavy with exhaustion. It also didn’t help that Caleb’s fingers were running absentmindedly on the outside of your thigh that was tucked against him. Caleb dropped his head in the crook of your neck and stifled a yawn against your skin - the puff of hot air making the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

You melted further into him, his warmth seeping into your bones. He dragged his lips up your neck before resting behind your ear and taking a deep breath. Your scent flooded his senses and he wasn’t thinking, he was too tired and the feeling of you pressed against him was overwhelming. His lips ghosted back down your neck and the sleepy tilt of your head giving him a little more access was his breaking point.

He opened his mouth slowly and the feel of his teeth grazing across your skin set you on fire. You were suddenly wide awake. Before you could fully process what was happening you felt his teeth sink into your neck. It wasn't a hard bite, but you know that it’ll probably leave a mark.

“Ah~” You gasped before throwing a hand over your mouth. The sound you made not only startled you but also Caleb. He froze against you before you could feel the curl of his lips against your skin.. 

“You like that?” Caleb’s gravely voice chuckled against the shell of your ear. You squeezed your eyes shut tightly, still having a hand over your mouth. Caleb wrapped his arms tighter around your torso, the hand that was on your thigh snaking under it pulling you closer against him. 

Your heart was beating so fast you were sure Caleb could feel it through your back. His lips moved to your shoulder and you shivered. 

“Talk to me, baby.” He purred against your skin before sinking his teeth in again, gentler this time. You think you could feel his tongue run over the bite mark.

“Mm!” you moaned against your hand before dropping them to claw at Caleb's arm around you. You needed to get off his lap before you embarrassed yourself further. Another chuckle puffed against your ear. 

“Does my pretty girl like being bitten? Naughty.” He teased. 

“Caleb. Need t-” you gasped using both hands to try and peel his arm from you.

“Need to, what?” He spoke as he ran his nose against your pulse point. He was taking this too far. He should stop. He doesn't want to scare you away, but the way you're shaking on top of him and those oh so pretty sounds falling past your lips were a drug he will never stop trying to get now that he’s had a taste. 

You wiggle against him trying to break free. “I- I need to get up” You stuttered out.

Caleb had to let you go now. It was getting harder for him to control himself and if anything, this was a perfect test to see how far he could push you. He loosens his arms around you and you bolt from his lap and up the stairs. He sighs heavily with a smile on his lips and leans into the couch. He adjusted his sweats and was sure you had felt his own reaction to this against you. 

Upstairs you had locked yourself in the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face. You looked up at yourself in the mirror and groaned at the very obvious bite mark on your neck. You were fucked.

[kamitv]

Higuruma’s the kinda guy that has no idea how the hell he pulled you so every time your eyes linger on him a little bit too long, he gets nervous as fuck. Sweat will trickle down the back of his neck and he gulps loudly enough for you to hear it, to which you start smiling at him.

Those wide-set eyes of his carefully drag back over to you and he notices the way you’re staring at his nose. You always gush about how much you love that part of his face and ever since then he can’t control the twitch beneath his slacks as he replays exactly why you love his nose so much in his head.

And hey, it’s no help that you’re sitting right on top of him right now. Your manicured nails that he paid for grazing all over his skin, touching his neck, his jawline, and soon his face too. Then you lean in and kiss the bridge of his nose so softly that it makes him grunt.

“You’re so perfect Hiromi,” You’d hush out to him in that tone you know drives him craze.

Higuruma is left slouching further back into the couch and spreading his legs further apart with a not-so-subtle roll of his hips upwards against you. “Please. That’s all you, sweetheart.” He tries to play it off as if he’s not complete putty in your hands but lord knows when you start trailing your touch down his breath his hitching in his throat.

You smile—a sight he can never get enough of, truly. “Take the compliment, Hiro. I’m bein’ serious…” Your fingers are wrapping around his tie now and his eyelids are all low on you.

Still trying to play it off, this time with a chuckle, he hums. “…Thank you, love.” He’s such a gentleman too, all easygoing and relaxed for you.

Which says a lot considering the kind of man he becomes while he’s fucking you.

Higuruma isn’t exactly mean, nor is he much of a talker during sex but… His cock damn sure says a lot as he later fucks up into you just to hear those sweet praises you give him.

You just love complimenting your man and he loves being complimented—honestly the perfect match for each other.

Every moan of his name that leaves your lips only drive him deeper and deeper inside you. He’s so stupidly in love with you and most times it shows through sex instead of words. Despite how he’ll have you bouncing up and down on his left curved cock for hours, this is the most passion you’ll get from the overworked man.

And when he does open his mouth to speak, your cunt is fluttering around his thick head. Whispering a crisply husk utterance of, “Fuck. Ride me, love. Ride me juuus’ like that. Y-Yeahhh. Shit. Love these fuckin’ hips, don’t stop movin’ ‘em.”

Your moaning grows louder by the second and he’s guiding you up and down his dick, eyes rolling to the back of his head with every perfect slam of your ass down onto him. His groans are so deep that they practically bounce off of the walls of your living room, leading you to clamp around him tighter than before.

Higuruma especially loves your nails for some reason. He can’t get enough of how they feel ghosting his skin every time you move your arms or whenever you move to grab ahold of his face and lean down to kiss him. That’s why he’s always paying for them (even though he secretly loves spoiling you too).

Then, when you get a bit more confident and slip your hands down to hold onto his arms, he groans again. His grip on your hips would tighten and there’s just one wet plop after another while you ride him in earnest.

Which is what prompts filthy words to pour out of his mouth like, “Uhuh, fuck yourself on my cock, pretty girl. C’mon, you can do it. Make yourself feel good. Use me baby, use me.”

Again, he’s not much of a talker but sometimes you cause the words to just spill from his lips. While he’s spewing filth out to you, you’re getting closer and closer to a messy release. It’s right as you’re about to cum that he demands you look him in the eyes (no matter the position) so that he can watch them gloss over as you cum all around his girthy cock.

You look so fucking gorgeous when you come undone too—it’s a sight Higuruma simply can’t get enough of. Half the time, he ends up fucking his cum up into you just because of that look alone. You wouldn’t even be able to move or run from his deep thrusts, feeling every inch of his carry against your walls until his cum is fucked all the way in to the point that it’s dribbling out of you.

It’s messy but, he loves it. He loves you. And even after sex, he still doesn’t understand how the hell he’s managed to bag a beautiful woman such as yourself…

[crushmeeren]

omg but imagine secretly giving the mha boys aphrodisiac chocolate and seeing how they react..

No but you’re RIGHT…. ( ੭ ˙ᗜ˙ )੭

𝛏 Master List Link 𝛏

Katsuki would stare at you with narrowed eyes when you hold your hand out and offer the piece of chocolate to him, your gaze wide and innocent until he pops the candy in his mouth.

Katsuki would be in a meeting not too long after, jaw clenched and teeth creaking when his uniform pants get too fucking snug for no reason. His cheeks will flush bubblegum pink, biting the head off of some hero he can’t remember the name of when asked what’s wrong.

Why the fuck can he only picture you face down and ass up in the air?

Why does he have to sink his nails into his thighs to hang onto his last thread of self control and restrain himself from palming his stiff cock when he thinks of your pussy split open for him?

Why the hell is sweat running down his temples and along his jaw like a goddamn river??

He doesn’t know.

What he is certain of, is his plan to tackle you to the bed as soon as he gets home. To cum the second he slides his achy cock inside your tight pussy, and then to fuck you until neither of you can stand to climax one more time.

Eijirou would happily accept the chocolate, humming in delight once he begins chewing.

Eijirou would then be relaxing with you on the couch, using every ounce of willpower to concentrate on the movie you’re watching together. His cheeks would turn as scarlet as his hair and he’d try to hide his face with the loose strands when you glance at him.

He’d squeak out that’s he’s fine when you ask if he’s feeling feverish. He’ll clumsily cover his cock with large hands, knees knocking into one another when he tries to close his legs.

Eijirou would whimper in your ear “fuck, I’m sorry baby, I need your pussy. I can’t stop myself,” as he gives in to the heat churning in his belly and bends you over the armrest of your couch to fuck you like a dog.

You’ll babble and gasp it’s okay, crying out his name when he makes you orgasm for what feels like the hundredth time — only for his dick to remain hot and full after he’s already cum inside you so much that you’re sure you’re going to get pregnant.

Shouto would take a bit more convincing. He doesn’t ordinarily eat chocolate, but he’s willing to try it if you’re the one presenting it to him.

Shouto would be leisurely walking alongside you in the grocery store, occasionally making noises of agreement as you tell him about your day.

Shouto would suddenly freeze mid stride, becoming rigid in the middle of the aisle. He’ll blink owlish eyes at you several times when you turn back to question what he’s doing.

You’ll snap your fingers to get his attention when he starts to stare at the swell of your tits for way too long instead of listening to you, cheeks filling out with a blush when he meets your gaze.

The next thing you know, your half full grocery cart is abandoned in the aisle and you’re yanked by the wrist back to your car in the parking lot.

Shouto would mutter breathlessly “sorry baby, I can’t seem to control myself,” when he gets your pants off, leaving the material to dangle from one ankle before tugging you down to straddle his lap in the backseat.

He’ll unbutton his pants and shove them down far enough to free himself, not bothering with your panties and sliding them to the side as he sits you down on his cock and let’s out a low moan.

Shouto will match your every move, thrusting upwards harshly each time you sit down. He won’t give a single fuck if someone walks past the car, he just knows he needs your pussy to keep swallowing his cock until the insatiable burn in his lower belly subsides.

It takes…awhile.