#now i just gotta go to clinicals and take the

[tofics]

Umh??

This was so incredibly good?!

First of all - I love your writing style. It's right on the spot.

Joel blinked once. Twice. His mouth opened, then shut again, then opened just enough for a noise—somewhere between a scoff and an incredulous laugh—to escape. He shifted in his chair, pushing back just slightly, like he needed to physically distance himself from what he was hearing.

Played out like a movie scene right in my head. I live for that shit! Gobbled all of it right up!

Secondly - the way you write Joel.

I heard game!Joel in my head through all of it. Perfectly capturing how a character talks is one of the main things that makes fanfiction work for me - and you pulled it off without a hitch.

“This ain’t a normal conversation to be havin’ over dinner, Tommy.” “Do you?” Joel snapped, finally looking at his brother again, his voice sharper now. “Because I gotta tell ya, it really don’t seem like you do.” “Are you outta your goddamn mind?!”

Just some of my favorite examples. Especially for the last one I heard Troy Baker's voice ringing through my head. Hnnng. I can't express how much I love that.

And then the whole idea on its own. So wrong, so filthy, but oh my, so so very delicious. Of course Joel would agree to it. He's a family man at his core, right? How could he be the one that's standing in the way of his baby brother getting what he already has? He can't have that weighing on his conscience, no sir.

It's a good plan, a solid plan, sure, but Joel's not quite the guy to just... get down and dirty on a clinical level, is he now. It's just not how he operates. Joel's a giving guy through and through, so much that the idea of his baby brother not "taking care of his wife" doesn't just shock him, but upsets him too. Fuuuck did I love that detail about him!

“I, uh…” You cleared your throat, suddenly shy. “It’s said that women are more likely to get pregnant if, um… if they orgasm during or… or before, I think.” Joel stilled for half a second before a slow smirk pulled at his lips. “You doubt me so much?” The teasing edge in his voice—the cockiness—made some of the tension in your chest loosen. You let out a breathless laugh, your body unwinding slightly from the tension earlier. “I just… I’ve never…” Something shifted in his face. The smirk faltered just a little. “You’re sayin’ my baby brother doesn’t take care of his own wife?” “No!” you said quickly, your hand flexing against his chest defensively. “He does, it’s just… I can’t finish just from penetration. Most women can’t, actually.” “I know, darlin’.”

Giggling and kicking my feet!!! Hehehe.

“You’re tellin’ me,” he rasped, voice dripping in absolute filth and sin, “my pissy little brother never made you come on his cock before?” The shame of it—the filthy, shameless truth of it—slammed into you just as hard as the pleasure. Your breath came in short, stilted gasps, your thighs twitching, heat curling low and tight, twisting like a wire pulled too taut. You gripped his biceps hard where they caged you in, your nails digging into his skin. “I–” “Never felt the way you’re squeezin’ the life outta me right now, baby?” His voice dipped lower, rougher, as his thumb pressed, rubbing slow and tight. “Never had you like this? Drippin’ and desperate? Makin’ the prettiest fuckin’ sounds I’ve ever heard?”

🥲🫠😩 How are we supposed to root for Tommy when all of THIS is going on. Poor poor reader!

Christ almighty. This was so fucking hot. Amazing. 10/10.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.5 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 6.5

Summary: You and Tommy had been trying for a baby for years. When a trip to the gyno answers questions you didn’t even know to ask, your husband enlists the help of his one and only brother.

|| smut MDNI 18+, pinv, no outbreak, talk of infertility, not cheating but def not exactly kosher, baby makin', breeding kink, dirty talk, size kink, boundaries being crossed || notes: forgive me father for I have sinned. this is filthy. but also thinking about a part 2. kinda sorta maybe inspired by some crazy reddit stories. you'd be surprised how many there are like this LOL

You knew this was a crazy idea. Batshit crazy, actually. You were aware. But maybe, just maybe, if you spun it the right way, if you framed it with enough love and logic, it wouldn’t seem so absurd.

See, the thing is, you and Tommy had been trying for a baby for years. Trying and, well, failing. It wasn’t until your last visit to the OB-GYN that a simple question—"Has Tommy ever been tested?"—sent everything spiraling. A few weeks of waiting. A single piece of paper. An answer you never expected. It wasn’t you. It was him.

Not that you’d ever blame him. You loved him too much. But no matter how many old wives’ tricks you tried—holding your legs up after he emptied himself into you, orgasms before and after, cinnamon and honey in your morning tea—nothing could change the fact that no amount of effort would make it stick.

Which brings you to now. Sat at the kitchen table in your quaint, cozy home with Joel across from you, a few glasses of wine deep. His expression was somewhere between exhausted and mildly entertained from whatever dumb story Tommy had been telling. You’d needed a glass yourself, just to steady your nerves.

And then Tommy popped the question.

Joel blinked once. Twice. His mouth opened, then shut again, then opened just enough for a noise—somewhere between a scoff and an incredulous laugh—to escape. He shifted in his chair, pushing back just slightly, like he needed to physically distance himself from what he was hearing.

“You…” he started, then stopped. Shook his head. “You want me to—?”

He didn’t even finish the sentence. Just motioned vaguely, like the words were so ridiculous they refused to come out of his mouth.

Tommy sighed, his grip firm around your hand while the other wrapped around your shoulders. “Yeah.”

Joel exhaled sharply, eyes darting between the two of you, like maybe, just maybe, this was a joke. That you'd all start laughing and point at him with a big 'got ya!'. His lips parted slightly, his forehead creased.

“You’re serious.”

“We wouldn’t ask anyone else,” Tommy said, voice steady.

Joel let out a breathy laugh, hollow and disbelieving. He dragged a hand down his face before pressing his palms against the table, fingers splaying out like he needed to brace himself.

“This ain’t a normal conversation to be havin’ over dinner, Tommy.”

“We know.”

“Do you?” Joel snapped, finally looking at his brother again, his voice sharper now. “Because I gotta tell ya, it really don’t seem like you do.”

“This ain’t easy for either of us,” Tommy said, his voice steady despite the tension winding between the three of you. “But we wouldn’t ask anyone else. We want to keep it in the family, so…the baby would still be related to me.”

Joel’s jaw tensed. His fingers gripped the stem of his wine glass like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. 

He looked over in your direction, but not directly at you, just at the table. At your hand in Tommy’s.

“And you’re…okay with this?” His voice was different now. Lower. Measured, like he was afraid of the answer.

You nodded. “We’ve talked about it. A lot. Ever since the results came back, we’ve been weighing options, and this—” You hesitated, swallowing, trying to gauge if he was even absorbing a single word. “It makes the most sense. More than adopting. More than a stranger. It keeps things in the family.”

Joel’s jaw clenched, his ears tinged pink. He still wasn’t looking at you.

Not until you said his name. Soft. Careful.

His eyes flicked to yours, just for a second. Just long enough for you to see everything—the disbelief, the sheer what the fuck of it all—before he dropped his gaze again, shaking his head.

“You don’t have to decide now,” you said gently, exhaling softly. “Just… take some time to think about it.”

Joel didn’t respond.

A few minutes later, he left—no joke, no small talk of the next Sunday night football game could cut through the weight pressing down on the room. Just a stiff nod, a muttered see ya, and the quiet sound of the door closing behind him.

The following Sunday, it almost felt like the conversation had never happened.

The three of you sat at the sports bar, watching the Cowboys play on the massive screens, the air thick with the scent of beer and fried food. Tommy was his usual self, shouting at the refs, leaning into Joel’s shoulder every time the score tipped in their favor. Joel, on the other hand, was harder to read. He was relaxed enough, beer in hand, his usual dry remarks slipping out here and there, but there was something quieter beneath it all—something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Not one mention of a baby. Not a single word about what you’d asked of him.

And maybe that was his answer.

When your husband got up, throwing out the excuse of takin’ a leak, the energy between you and Joel shifted. Not in a way you could name—just… thicker. More noticeable.

He sat a seat away, the empty barstool between you like a buffer neither of you had the nerve to close.

You tried to let it roll off your shoulders, but as you sat there, your mind wandered. What if Joel had said yes? What if it worked? Would the baby have his dark eyes, that heavy, thoughtful brow? Would they get that serious little crease between their eyes when they were thinking? His thick hair, his strong hands?

Tommy would still be their father. That was what mattered. That was the whole point. But the idea of seeing traces of Joel—subtle things, the shape of a nose, the curve of a smile…

The thought sent a strange, unfamiliar feeling curling in your chest.

It hurt, his lack of an answer, of course it did. But how could you blame him? You were asking for too much. Asking him to do something unnatural, something messy, something that could never be as clean and logical as you and Tommy had tried to convince yourselves it was.

You swallowed, setting your drink down as the silence stretched. “Listen, Joel—”

“I’ll do it.”

It was quiet. Like he wasn’t sure if he meant to say it out loud.

Your breath caught, as you stared at him, mouth agape. The side of his face gave nothing away as he kept his eyes on the TV as you waited for some kind of smirk, some sign that he was messing with you.

But he wasn’t.

Joel kept his eyes averted, like this was the kind of thing a person could say without looking someone in the eye. He took a long drink from his bottle, then set it down with a dull thud.

“You and Tommy deserve this,” he murmured, rolling the glass between his palms as he stared down at it. “To have a kid.”

Your heart constricted at the sincerity in his voice.

He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “My life is better ‘cause of Sarah. Don’t think I ever told Tommy that outright, but… it is. I’d love to see him get to have that too.”

You blinked. “Are you…” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “You serious?”

Joel turned to you finally, his eyes meeting yours for the first time since last week before you dropped the bomb on him, “Yeah.” he said finally, “Yeah, I’m serious.”

He was clearly uncomfortable, clearly still working through it—but the fact that he said it at all, that he meant it... that was more than you expected.

To be honest, you knew the baster idea wouldn’t work.

Not that you’d ever say it out loud. Not to your very loving, very kind, very hopeful husband. But deep down, you were pretty sure that by the time Joel had taken care of himself, transferred it into a container, driven it over, and you’d sat back on the bed with your legs up, whatever needed to be alive in there was long dead.

You didn’t bring it up. Couldn’t. Not when Tommy was trying so hard to make this work.

Across from you in the kitchen one morning, another negative pregnancy test sitting between you, your husband sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw before reaching for his mug, “If I ask you somethin’,” he murmured, voice low, hesitant, “will you tell me the truth?”

Your eyes flicked up to his. “Of course, baby.”

His hand rested on the granite, fingers close enough that you reached out, tracing them lightly with your own. His eyes drifted down to your delicate touch against him.

Then, he exhaled slowly and cleared his throat.

“Do you think we should try…” His fingers twitched under yours. “Ya know. The old-fashioned way?”

For a second, the words didn’t land.

Not until you saw the way his eyes found yours and he was looking at you—serious, thoughtful, like he’d been turning it over in his head for longer than he wanted to admit.

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

Tommy sighed, pressing his lips together before setting his coffee down. “I just think… for it to stick properly, we might need to try somethin’ more… natural.”

Your mind reeled. Heat crept up your neck, flushing your skin before you could stop it.

The idea of being with another man…

Tommy saw it. The way your lips parted, the way your breath caught just slightly.

He stepped closer, smoothing his hands over your cheeks, tilting your face up toward his.

“Only if you were comfortable with it,” he assured, voice gentle, steady. “I’d never ask you to do somethin’ you didn’t wanna do.”

You swallowed hard, still trying to process. “I—I don’t know, Tommy.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “And Joel would flip out if we asked that of him.”

Tommy hummed, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. “Yeah, he might.”

Might was an understatement.

Joel was over the following day to help with your bathroom remodel, a project the brothers had taken on during the slow season. You were busy finishing whatever odds and ends you needed to get done upstairs when you heard his voice traveling through the house.

Not just his voice—but the volume of it.

“Are you outta your goddamn mind?!”

The sound rattled through the house, shaking the walls as you hovered at the top of the stairs, heart pounding.

“Joel—” Tommy’s voice, calm but firm.

“No. No, you don’t get to ‘Joel’ me right now, Tommy, because what you just said—what you just— Christ.” There was the distinct sound of something slamming—a fist on the table? A chair shoved back? You weren’t sure, but it made you wince.

“Look, man, I knew you’d be pissed,” Tommy started, only to be cut off immediately.

“Oh, did you?” Joel’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “You knew I’d be pissed, but you went ahead and asked anyway? Jesus fuckin’ Christ. I’m already crossin’ so many lines with what we’re doin’, and now you’re askin’ me to…to—!?”

You could picture it perfectly—Joel pacing the length of the room, one hand on his hip, the other raking through his hair, winding up, because when Joel was really mad, he didn’t just stand there.

“You’re makin’ it a bigger deal than it is,” Tommy tried, tone even.

Joel let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I misunderstand the part where you just asked me to fuck your wife?”

Heat crawled up your neck.

“We ain’t askin’ that, Jesus, Joel, don’t talk about her like—”

“You are absolutely askin’ that.”

“It’s not like that.”

“The hell it ain’t!”

Silence. Heavy, tense.

You swallowed hard, gripping the banister, unsure whether to go down there or stay put.

Then—Joel’s voice, lower now, but still laced with disbelief.

“Tell me you didn’t really think I’d say yes to this.”

And Tommy, just as steady as ever:

“I think you wanna say no.” A pause, and you could almost feel the shift in the air between them. “But deep down? I think you’re already considerin’ it.”

Joel let out a slow, sharp exhale, but he didn’t argue.

And a week later, he was back at your doorstep.

There were three rules.

1. No kissing.

That was the hard line, the non-negotiable. Kissing was too intimate— too personal, too close to something else entirely. You could rationalize everything else, strip it down to the mechanics of what needed to happen, but kissing blurred the lines. That made it mean something. And this couldn’t mean anything.

2. No talking about it outside the bedroom. 

No slipping up over dinner, no awkward mentions in passing, no weird jokes over a few beers. It had to stay contained. A thing that only existed in a room with the door closed and the world shut out. Because once it bled into the rest of your life—once it became something you acknowledged beyond those four walls—it would become real.

3. No names

No whispered Joel in the dark, he couldn’t say yours while he was inside you. Names had weight. Names had meaning. And the second you said them, it stopped being about a baby.

So when your ovulation window came within the next few days, you found yourself in your bedroom with the two brothers. When Tommy excused himself from the room—pressing a kiss to your forehead before heading out to meet his buddies at the bar like this wasn’t the weirdest fucking thing in the world— you turned to Joel

Over the years, you’d come to know him, grown comfortable with him. That familiarity should’ve helped, should’ve made this easier. But sitting here now, alone in the bedroom with him, awkward was an understatement.

Joel sighed, rubbing his forefinger and thumb along his brows as he stood at the edge of the bed. “Guess we better get to it, then.”

You nodded numbly, tucking your legs beneath you on the bedspread, looking up at him.

He was already tense, broad shoulders squared, avoiding your gaze like you weren’t even in the damn room. He exhaled sharply, then—without ceremony—unbuckled his belt. The clink of metal sent a strange ripple through your stomach, but you forced yourself to focus, watching as he shucked his jeans down to his thighs, taking his boxers with them.

Your breath caught.

Even soft as he was at the moment, he was bigger than Tommy. Thicker.

Joel cleared his throat, shifting his stance, one hand bracing against the bedpost while the other wrapped around himself. He wasn’t looking at you. Not even close. His gaze stayed fixed somewhere off to the side, jaw locked, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he started moving his hand.

It wasn’t working.

Minutes passed, the air between you thick and suffocating, but he remained… soft. The tension in his face deepened, brows knitting, his motions growing stilted.

You chewed your lip, watching as his frustration mounted.

“You don’t gotta sit there starin’ at me,” he muttered, voice gruff, like this was somehow your fault.

You exhaled through your nose. “I’m just… tryin’ to think how I can help.”

His hand stilled. “You’re fine. Just–just give me a minute,”

Then suddenly as the idea struck, you reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it up.

Joel’s head snapped toward you, eyes going wide. “What’re you doin’?” His voice was sharp, edged in something that sounded suspiciously close to panic.

You hesitated. “Just… thought maybe it’d help.”

“Well, don’t.” His ears were red. “Keep your damn clothes on.”

You huffed. “Jesus, it’s just a shirt.”

He grumbled something under his breath, but let it go, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe any of this was happening.

Another beat of silence, only the sound of skin on skin filling the air as he fisted himself.

“Can I help?”

His gaze flicked to yours, skeptical. “Help how?”

You shrugged. “I dunno. What do you like?”

Joel tensed. “…The hell kinda question is that?”

“A valid one,” you shot back, tilting your head. “C’mon, there’s gotta be somethin’. What do you like?”

He hesitated, shifting where he stood, uncomfortable. You rattled off a few suggestions, some kinks you’d heard of. He barely reacted.

Then finally, one seemed to slap him upside the head, “Do you like dirty talk?”

His entire body stilled.

His eyes finally, finally found yours.

Bingo.

A slow pulse of heat curled low in your stomach.

You leaned forward slightly, voice softer now. “What kind of things do you say?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at you, the tension in his jaw loosening, his pupils starting to widen.

“Come on, Joel,” you said, then immediately pressed your lips together, realizing you’d already broken one of your own rules—not even five minutes in.

“Sorry—” You exhaled, shaking your head. “But c’mon, do you want me to talk to you? Or what do you usually say to women?”

Joel’s eyes were suddenly burning into you, his chest rising and falling just a little heavier now. He exhaled sharply, remembering himself as his gaze flickered around the room like he wasn’t sure where to land it, like maybe if he didn’t look at you, this would stay clinical—mechanical.

“I uh…” He wet his lips, voice rough. “Usually will tell ‘em they’re bein’ real good for me,” he said, exhaling through his teeth. “Bein’ a good girl.”

The temperature of the room shifted, the air growing heavy, pressing down on you. A slow, pooling ache pulsed low in your belly. His nostrils flared as his eyes found yours again, like maybe he could see exactly what that did to you.

You swallowed, “What else?”

Joel’s hips twitched. He hesitated, his grip flexing around himself, fingers curling just slightly. You caught the bob of his throat, the faint shift of his stance. He was getting there.

His gaze dropped to your mouth. “Tell ‘em how pretty they look on their knees.” His voice had taken on a new weight—thicker, heavier, his drawl rolling low in his throat. “How sweet they sound when they moan for me. How bad I wanna feel ‘em wrapped around me, drippin’ and ready, beggin’ for more.”

The room contracted, the air impossibly tight, each breath harder to pull in. Your skin felt hot, your lips parting as you fought to keep your breathing steady. And you knew—knew—your pupils were wide, knew your face was flushed.

Because his was too.

His eyes had darkened, locked on yours, heat simmering beneath the surface. You inhaled deeply, the air between you charged, electric. You reached out, fingers grazing along his forearm. He tensed, muscles flexing beneath your touch, but he didn’t pull away.

“You wanna take this off?” you murmured, voice quiet but sure, fingers tracing up toward the sleeve of his shirt.

Joel let out a slow breath, something flickering behind his eyes—hesitation, uncertainty—but then, after a beat, he reached down and pulled his shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor.

Your gaze raked over him.

Christ. He was the epitome of masculinity—broad and solid, built like something carved from rough earth, from long years of labor and hardship. His chest was strong, lined with thick, dark hair that tapered down his stomach in a steady trail, leading lower—disappearing into the patch just above where he was hardening in his hand. 

Your mouth was dry, your pulse a slow, deliberate thrum in your veins.

You lifted your hands to the hem of your own shirt, pausing just slightly. He hadn’t looked away.

“Okay?” you asked softly.

His jaw flexed, gaze dark, unreadable—but after a second, he nodded.

You pulled it over your head, the fabric slipping away, baring more skin than you’d ever thought he’d see.

Joel exhaled sharply, his eyes dragging down your body, heavy and slow, his pupils swallowing the color of his eyes. Your nipples pebbled in the open air, a shiver running through you as his gaze settled there, his breath hitching just slightly.

You reached for him again, fingers trailing along the hard lines of his chest, dipping over the planes of his stomach. He was warm beneath your touch and he smelled like pine and musk and something richer, something leathered and sun-baked—something distinctly Joel.

He sucked in a sharp breath. “O—okay,” he exhaled, voice rough. “I think I’m… good,” he added shakily, and you could see his body finally catching up to the filth rolling off his tongue, the thick weight of him fully hard now. You swallowed dryly at the sheer size of him in his palm.

Standing slowly, your hands dropped from his body, but your eyes never left his as you slid your pants down your hips and let them pool at your feet.

Bare. You were both bare.

Your gaze dragged over him, from the broad stretch of his shoulders down to his stomach, the solid cut of his thighs, his cock standing thick and heavy between you. It was the most you’d ever seen of him. The most he’d ever seen of you.

And he was beautiful.

Joel swallowed hard, his jaw tight as his gaze traveled over every inch of you. Then, wordlessly, you laid back down on the bedspread, opening your legs for him.

He cursed under his breath.

You caught the way his throat bobbed, the way his fingers twitched at his sides before he climbed onto the bed after you, settling between your legs. His eyes darted down, locked onto the wetness pooling between your thighs, and his nostrils flared.

“All this from just a few sweet words, huh?” His voice was lower now, edged with something amused but dark, something he hadn’t meant to let slip through.

He shifted forward, but you stopped him with a hand to his chest.

“I, uh…” You cleared your throat, suddenly shy. “It’s said that women are more likely to get pregnant if, um… if they orgasm during or… or before, I think.”

Joel stilled for half a second before a slow smirk pulled at his lips. “You doubt me so much?”

The teasing edge in his voice—the cockiness—made some of the tension in your chest loosen. You let out a breathless laugh, your body unwinding slightly from the tension earlier. “I just… I’ve never…”

Something shifted in his face. The smirk faltered just a little. “You’re sayin’ my baby brother doesn’t take care of his own wife?”

“No!” you said quickly, your hand flexing against his chest defensively. “He does, it’s just… I can’t finish just from penetration. Most women can’t, actually.”

“I know, darlin’.”

You gasped as the thick head of his cock suddenly swiped through your slick arousal, and he hissed, pressing his other hand into the pillow beside your head as he leaned over you.

“Fuck—”

His voice was rough, gravelly, wrecked, and something about it made your thighs squeeze around his waist, made the heat coil even tighter in your belly.

Joel lingered there, his cock sliding through your slick, slow and deliberate, teasing against your swollen clit with every pass. The thick head caught at your entrance, nudging just slightly, and a gasp broke from your lips before you could swallow it down.

His jaw ticked, fingers flexing in the pillow beside your head, his body wound tight like a spring.

“This okay?” he asked, voice rough, strained.

You nodded quickly. “Yeah. Yes.”

He pressed forward, just an inch, just enough for you to feel the blunt stretch of him, and your breath hitched.

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath. “So damn wet.”

Heat flooded your face, but you couldn’t think—couldn’t focus on anything other than how thick he was, how different he was from Tommy. You felt like you were being split in two, but you wanted more. Every inch only made that need, that hunger, grow.

His hand lifted from his cock, skimming over your hip before settling on your thigh, holding you open.

“Gotta take it slow,” he murmured, mostly to himself. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

You swallowed hard, fingers curling into the sheets beside you. “I can take it.”

His head dropped for a second, a quiet curse slipping past his lips. “Don’t say shit like that, sweetheart.”

Something about that word, the way it left his mouth—low and full of something dangerous—made your stomach clench.

The stretch was slow, unbearable in the best way as he pushed forward even more, your body giving inch by inch, and you let out a sharp exhale as he filled you.

Joel groaned, deep and low, his fingers tightening on your thigh as he finally buried himself to the hilt.

Jesus Christ.

The weight of him inside you, the way he fit—it was overwhelming, taking up every inch of space, leaving you panting beneath him.

“Fuck,” he gritted out, his hips flush with yours now, his jaw tight. “You’re—shit, you’re squeezin’ me so damn tight.”

Your thighs trembled around his waist, your body working to adjust to the fullness, to the sheer size of him, and then—oh god—then he moved.

A slow pull out, a deep thrust back in.

You moaned, head falling back against the pillows, fingers flexing against the sheets.

Joel’s breath was ragged, his grip tightening. “That’s it.”

As he began to set a steady pace, a deep thrust in, a gentle pull out, the tingling sensation you knew all too well was rising fast—too fast. It climbed up your spine, coiling tight, and your breath hitched in your throat. The sensation was familiar, so familiar, but not like this. Not from this.

Joel moved with deep, deliberate thrusts, each one stretching you full, dragging against every oversensitive nerve inside you with agonizing precision. His cock was thick, heavy, unrelenting—pressing deep, pressing right, pleasure licking up your spine like fire.

His hand moved between you, thumb finding your clit with ease, the calloused pad brushing over the swollen bundle of nerves, a touch just firm enough to make you jolt. Your whole body reacted, thighs trembling, an involuntary gasp ripping from your lips.

His breath hitched as he felt it too, and he let out a dark, pleased hum.

“Feel that?” he murmured, his voice a slow, deliberate drag against your skin. His thumb moved again, slick and sure, working tight little circles against you. “Now, what was it you said again?”

Your chest heaved, your fingers gripping at the sheets, at him, anything to keep yourself tethered, because the pleasure was coming in hot, hard waves now—building, climbing, making your skin flush and prickle with heat.

“I—I never—” You gasped, voice breaking, lips parting as your back arched into the feeling, as you felt your muscles tighten and clench under him.

Joel leaned in, lips brushing against your ear. “C’mon, sweet girl. Use your words.”

Your hips met every thrust, dragging a moan from deep in your chest.

“I’ve never—ah!—never come like this before,” you choked out, breathless and desperate.

Joel swore under his breath.

“You’re tellin’ me,” he rasped, voice dripping in absolute filth and sin, “my pissy little brother never made you come on his cock before?”

The shame of it—the filthy, shameless truth of it—slammed into you just as hard as the pleasure. Your breath came in short, stilted gasps, your thighs twitching, heat curling low and tight, twisting like a wire pulled too taut. You gripped his biceps hard where they caged you in, your nails digging into his skin.

“I–”

“Never felt the way you’re squeezin’ the life outta me right now, baby?” His voice dipped lower, rougher, as his thumb pressed, rubbing slow and tight. “Never had you like this? Drippin’ and desperate? Makin’ the prettiest fuckin’ sounds I’ve ever heard?”

Heat flared in your belly, your legs shaking around him, pleasure tearing through you.

Joel felt it, the way you clenched down around him, and he grinned, breath hot against your mouth as he groaned through his teeth.

“Fuck—that’s it. Let me feel you.”

And you did.

Your body suddenly snapped. The orgasm slammed into you, white-hot and merciless, every nerve in your body firing at once, blinding you with pleasure so intense it was nearly unbearable. Your breath punched from your lungs as your back arched clean off the bed, thighs trembling, a cry tearing from your lips as waves of heat crashed through you.

Joel swore under his breath, hips stuttering as you clenched tight around him, and his mouth hovered just above yours, his breath mixing with yours, the air between you thick and electric.

He felt the way your body fluttered around him, still pulsing with the comedown of your orgasm, dragging him deeper, tighter—trapping him. His breath was heavy, coming in sharp, ragged exhales as he dropped his head, his forehead resting against yours.

His hips kept moving quick and uneven, dragging his cock in and out of your still-clenching walls. He was throbbing, thick and hot inside you, every roll of his hips sending sharp little sparks of overstimulation through your system.

That was when, after coming back to earth, you saw the way his lips parted slightly, his breath hitching whenever you squeezed around him just right. The tension in his face, the way his muscles coiled and flexed with every deliberate movement.

He was close.

You wondered…

Your breath was still shaky, voice unsteady, but you let it slip out, slow and sultry, testing the waters, “You feel so good,” you whispered.

Joel froze for a split second, a sharp breath punching from his lungs as he reeled his head back to look down at you.

"Does it feel good for you?” you whispered, your fingers trailing up the nape of his neck. “Filling me up? Making me feel so full? So good?”

Joel let out a ragged, wrecked sound, his fingers digging into your skin, gripping you like a lifeline.

And in that moment—fuck the rules.

Because this was anything but clinical now.

You pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, letting your breath fan against his ear as you whispered, gentle, teasing.

“You gonna give me a baby, Joel?”

Joel let out a wrecked groan, his grip on your hips tightening, his pace faltering. His thrusts turned rougher, sharper, his body moving on pure instinct now—chasing it.

And then he snapped.

A strangled moan ripped from his throat as he slammed deep, burying himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing inside you as heat flooded you. His whole body shook, a ragged, guttural sound tearing from his chest as he came, thick and hot, spilling deep, his fingers flexing against your hips like he was trying to ground himself.

You gasped at the feeling, at the warmth spreading inside you, at the way his body shook above you.

Joel was panting, forehead pressed to yours, sweat damp at his hairline, his breath fanning against your lips, warm and unsteady.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Joel was still inside you, still filling you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, grounding you. His breath was heavy, warm against your cheek as he turned his head, his chest rising and falling against yours in slow, uneven waves.

“I should, uh…” His voice was hoarse, thick with something he wasn’t naming. He swallowed, clearing his throat as he sat up. “I should probably—”

You shifted slightly beneath him, still sensitive, still pulsing with the warmth of him inside you. Your thighs trembled, the ache delicious, spreading through you like slow heat.

“You can go,” you murmured, voice soft, a little sleepy. “I’m gonna stay here for a while.”

He hesitated as he looked down at you, your bodies still connected. 

You blinked up at him, lips curving in a lazy, satisfied smile.

“It’s said that if a woman stays lying down after, it increases the chances of conception.” You hummed, stretching slightly, body still warm and loose. “Just want to give it time to stick.”

You felt him twitch inside you, like his body had just caught up to the meaning of your words, and then he was pulling out, hissing under his breath as he eased away from you.

His heat vanished instantly, and a shiver ran through you at the sudden emptiness, the cool air replacing where he’d been pressed so solidly against you. You exhaled, tugging the covers up over yourself, shifting deeper into the mattress, letting your body sink into the afterglow.

Joel, on the other hand, was already moving, and fast.

He turned away from the bed, running a hand through his hair, reaching for his jeans like he needed them back on, needed the barrier, needed to be done with this.

“Hey,” you called softly as he stepped toward the door, one leg shoved into his pants.

He paused, turning slightly, just enough to look at you over his shoulder.

You blinked up at him sleepily, the blankets pulled up to your bare shoulders, your voice softer now. “You okay?”

Joel hesitated. Just for a second.

His hands hovered at his belt, his fingers twitching. His lips pressed together, like he was weighing his answer, like he didn’t trust whatever was sitting heavy on his tongue.

Then, he gave you a short, stiff nod. “Yeah. ‘M good.”

You hummed, unconvinced, watching the way his chest still rose and fell in uneven breaths, the lingering flush at his throat, the tension in his hands as he buckled his belt like he was fighting something.

“Okay,” you murmured, turning your head into the pillow, eyes half-lidded, “And, Joel?”

His gaze flickered back to you, hovering, like he was bracing himself.

You swallowed, shifting slightly under the blankets, warmth settling deep in your bones. “Thank you.”

Joel’s fingers twitched where they grabbed for his shirt, his throat working around something thick, something stuck. His eyes dragged over you one last time, heavy, unreadable, before he gave a single, curt nod.

“I’ll see you,” he muttered, voice rough, almost hesitant.

Then he turned, and with the sound of the door clicking shut behind him, he was gone.

[aleclerc14]

i did the damn thing yall

[naamahdarling]

.

[savage-rhi]

Magenta 🤬

[phagodyke]

was brave and talked to my doctor abt my period bs + she said it might be endometriosis without me even having to bring it up... 💀

[nanamiskentos]

(JUST MEET ME AT THE) APT! — gojo satoru minors dni. art by chitrartum on twt.

welcome to the christmas tour ! take a seat in section (a) and let the show begin !

prologue. → your ex, that sleazy and no-good scumbag won't stop posting tacky mirror selfies on instagram, arm around his fellow cheater-in-crime. so, christmas eve finds you morose in a dodgy dive bar. why not tumble back into bed with that random, gorgeous stranger you just met?

want to try sitting somewhere else ? take a look at the ticket chart again !

pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader

warnings+. never drive, no matter how little alcohol is in you folks!!! never!!! making out, creampiè, hooking up with a stranger, ovèrstimulation, mildly rough sèx, gojo won't tell you what his job is

word count. 9.4k! song inspiration. apt — rosé & bruno mars

a/n. reader lowkey a hater, i love vanilla vodka eggnog </3 i said i was gonna post on 02/12 and i kept my word, literally rushed to finished this before my clinical exams in the cardiac ward 😭😭😭😭😭😭 hope y'all stay healthy. your future surgeons are writing gojo smut on tumblr.com

mp3. don't you want me like i want you, baby? don't you need me like i need you now? sleep tomorrow, but tonight, go crazy. all you gotta do is meet me at the apartment (아파트) !

you think your friends would kill you if they knew this was how you were spending christmas eve. not at some glittering holiday party, nor tucked away in a snow-dusted cabin. but here, holed up in a dimly lit bar with an atmosphere so questionable it should come with a warning label alongside a health and safety audit.

the place had charm, if your definition of charm included scuffed floors, a jukebox stuck on 'last christmas' and a string of blinking lights that looked like they'd been thrown at the walls rather than hung. still, you'd swiped a couple of minty candy canes from a jar near the door, which felt like a win.

your phone sat resolutely off in your bag. self-preservation. no instagram, and no tacky mirror selfies from your scumbag ex with the same smirk he'd worn a month ago when you caught him cheating. with someone who had always been 'just a friend, babe!' you weren't keen to let that ruin the rest of the night, though if you were being honest, you had already let it ruin a good chunk of the month.

"another christmas vodka...sour, please," you squint at the messy chalkboard above the bar, where the christmas specials were scrawled in what would barely pass for handwriting.

the bartender gave a single, surly nod. he looked as though he'd rather be anywhere but here, preferably somewhere free of customers nursing post-breakup bitterness like a fine wine.

and so, you found yourself staring at the tall glass now sitting in front of you, studying the rosemary sprig that swayed lazily in the translucent red liquid. a few cranberries bobbed among the ice cubes like they were on some tiny festive raft.

"woah, that one's way too strong for me."

the voice interrupts your private session of wallowing. you turn your head, slowly, to take in the culprit. he-who-hath-disturbed-the-peace. a man sitting close enough to be annoying, but not close enough to invade your personal space.

it takes you a moment to process the stranger, mostly because of the brain freeze from your ill-timed gulp.

"i mean, it's not bad," you shrug, hoping to sound neutral enough that he leaves you be. but then because you just can't leave well enough alone, you gesture at the specials board, "better than...that, at least."

you jab a finger at the chalk-scrawled abomination: vanilla & peppermint vodka eggnog.

the man frowns, a sharp but somehow charming movement that's overshadowed by the dim lights, "hey, i ordered that one."

you blink like a startled bovine, before breaking into a laugh, "my bad. i'm sure it's really fuckin' delicious."

the stranger chuckles too, a soft and low sound that seems more genuine that it has any right to be, "i hope so. otherwise, this is gonna be a long night."

the man finally shifts, casting aside the dim shadows that lay over him, into the blinking string lights. broad shoulders framed by a dark, tailored jacket that hugs him like a second skin. his hair, startlingly white, was pushed back by — wait, was that a blindfold?

you stare longer than you should have, trying to piece the odd sight together. a cosplay? a k-pop idol wannabe, hoping to get recruited for the next bts tour? perhaps, he was blind, hard of sight? you start to open your mouth, wondering how to phrase the intrusive and awkward questions, but he beats you to it.

"i can see you just fine, y'know," he says, his tone laced with amusement.

your cheeks burn at the realisation that he's caught you gawking shamelessly. so you quickly turn back to your drink, suddenly very interested in the cranberries floating in the glass.

the bartender returns, sliding the stranger's drink onto the counter with an audible clink. it was the most obnoxious cocktail that you'd ever seen. a martini glass filled with frothy, pale liquid and crowned with a cinnamon stick that jutted out like the mast of some ridiculous holiday ship.

you watch, mildly horrified, as the man picks up the glass and downs half of it in one confident gulp. he sets it down a satisfied sigh, and a smack of his glossy lips, and you wrinkle your nose involuntarily at the sight.

"i swear it's good," he says with a laugh, catching your expression. his grin is wide, playful. and you find yourself smiling back despite your sour, gloomy mood.

he has a nice smile, you note. not forced nor smug, but genuine. framed by pale pink lips that curl up in an easy, natural way. it was strange though, to look at someone without seeing their eyes.

"i'm gojo, by the way," he offers, his voice smooth and lightly amused once more, as if he'd caught you studying him again.

your gaze drops to his hands, long and slender, tracing the rim of the martini glass. something about the way they move — elegant and deliberate, hold your attention a moment too long for propriety. you quickly snap your focus back to his face, "what brings you here, gojo?"

gojo shrugs, and you can almost imagine him rolling his eyes beneath the blindfold, though you doubt his ire is directed at you, "work, i guess. or maybe i just got bored of going to work."

"they're working you hard, yeah?" you ask, trying for sympathy. employers loved squeezing their workers dry during the holidays. your own boss was proof enough of that, running the office like a sweatshop for santa's unpaid elf labour.

"something like that," gojo says with a scoff, the corners of his mouth quirking up again, "what about you? what brings you here? it's christmas eve, isn't it?"

you sigh, the weight of gauche embarrassment suddenly pressing down as the words spill out before you can stop them, "my ex-boyfriend cheated on me."

gojo's lip curls, the kind of expression that balances perfectly between pity and disgust, "that sucks," he offers. profound and wise, you have to agree as he continues, "you jus' find out or something?"

the question makes you cheeks heat, and you fiddle with the edge of your drink, "no, i've known all month." you gesture vaguely towards your purse, where your phone sat like an unsealed pandora's box, "but he posted...on instagram. and stuff. i'm still, y'know, getting over it."

gojo makes a thoughtful clicking noise with his tongue, "ah, see, i don't do social media. but that sounds rough."

you let out a weak huff, "yeah, well...now i just feel like a loser. my friends told me to go out and have fun, and here i am..." you trail off, downing the rest of your cranberry vodka in a single, decisive gulp. the sting hits your throat, sharp and sour, and you grimace at the burn.

gojo frowns slightly, leaning in just enough that you can hear how his voice softens, "i don't think you're a loser." the sincerity in his tone catches you off guard, pulling your gaze back to him, "it's fair to wallow."

his words hang in the air, and you find yourself smiling, albeit thinly, "that's...really nice of you to say."

gojo hums thoughtfully, "i meant it, i promise. but i can't exactly say i've been there, never really dated anyone."

you blink, openly gaping at the man, "really? you're joking."

it was hard to wrap your head around that. even with the odd blindfold, everything about him screamed 'pounce-worthy'. the broad frame, the charming smile, the striking white hair that looked like it belonged in a kérastase commercial.

gojo laughs at your incredulous expression, "same old work and stuff," he explains with a casual shrug. then his grin fades, tone shifting just enough for you wonder why that feels as though the clouds have covered the light of the moon outside, "always got in the way."

"at least you never had to deal with a breakup," you offer, trying to find some weak, silver lining.

gojo frowns, his pale complexion now tinged with a faint red flush that even the dim bar lights couldn't disguise. was he really that much of a lightweight, or was the eggnog's amaretto content deceptively boozy?

he sighs dramatically, "a friend once left me outside a kfc in shinjuku. then he became a murderer and a cult leader. that felt like a breakup."

"huh," you murmur, staring at the man with a mixture of amusement and faint alarm, wondering if you'd seen any cult leaders on the evening news lately. no, nothing save for the occasional incorrect weather report, a friendly good-looking priest running some scam association, and news reports about an octopus that could predict the lottery, "that's - well, okay..."

you couldn't quite tell if he was joking or not, but gojo seems to shake himself free of the odd reverie. he's running his hand through his shock of white hair, and his grin has returned, slower and a touch softer, "still, your ex must've been crazy. letting go of a pretty girl like you?"

the words land with surprising weight, considering they come from a stranger in a sleazy bar, but it leaves you momentarily stunned. you can feel a blush rising to your cheeks, your heart doing an embarrassing little flip before you manage to get a grip on yourself.

"wow," you laugh, feigning composure as you sip the last remnants of your drink, "smooth."

gojo's smile is wider now, "hah, i call it like i see it," and his lips now curl upwards as he leans in, "and i'm serious. if i had someone like you..."

you laugh again, but this time it's far more unsteady. you wonder if the cranberry vodka is playing with your head, "big words for someone who's never dated. should i be impressed, gojo?"

gojo's chuckle is a deep sound that vibrates in his chest, "i know a good thing when i see it. you don' need to date to know what you want. and i think i want you."

your stomach does a little flip, and you feel all rationality being pounded out of you just from staring at his unfairly gorgeous hands rest on sturdy thighs, "you do flattery well, i'll give you that."

"oh, i don't know about that," gojo says, fiddling with the stem of his glass, "but what'dya say we get out of here? how about my place?"

you blink slowly, and you're aware that your heart (and...nether regions) have already composed an answer before your mind has, "what if you're a serial killer? you're not about to silent night, deadly night me, are you? you haven't killed someone have you?"

for a moment, the man stills but then gojo leans back, "smart girl. asking the right questions. but no, i can at least promise that i'm not a criminal."

you hesitate just for a beat, the words lingering on your tongue, before you let out a breath and shrug, "fine. where's your place?"

"azabu," gojo replies without missing a beat, his tone smooth, like it's the most natural thing in the world.

you gape once more, blinking as you try to process the information. azabu? as in tokyo's ritziest neighbourhood, where a one-bedroom apartment could cost you more than most people's yearly salary? the kind of place where the floors are made of marble, and everyone's shoes are more expensive than your entire wardrobe?

gojo, ridiculously handsome despite looking like a circus runaway, too charming for his own good, and not the type you'd expect to find in a cheap downtown dive bar. definitely not on a christmas eve, at least.

for a split second, you wonder how a man like him even ended up in a place like this. maybe it's some kind of self-imposed penance. or he likes to keep things low-key when he's pretending not to be rich? maybe he's looking to cosplay a succession character?

whatever it is, it's working. not only does gojo have a face carved from marble, now you've got a solid ticket into seeing what a neighbourhood for the top one percent really looks like beyond it's wealthy exterior. maybe, you'll bring back a souvenir.

you wonder whether there's a group of small emotions standing around inside your head, inside-out style. glaring at you as if you're incapable of making good and rational decisions.

well fuck that, you gather yourself and shrug off the small wave of nerves, and loop your purse strap around your finger, "alright," you say, "let's get out of here then."

you don't miss at how the adam apple of gojo's throat bobs for a second, before he downs the rest of his drink in one go, "let's get outta here then."

you follow him out into the cold, your breath fogging in front of you as you try to focus, but the man is tall, like ridiculously so. but when you reach the curb, he turns to face you again, a frown marring his face.

"so, i have a small confession."

i changed my mind and i find you repulsive.

i was paid by your ex to do this, and now i've done enough to get my money.

i'm a serial killer.

you don't know which possibility is worse, "huh, a confession? what is it now?"

gojo chuckles, lifting a hand to the back of his neck, as though he's about to spill a dark secret into the night air, "i don't have a car."

"you've got to me kidding me. how'd you even get down here?"

gojo shrugs, a casual and almost lazy movement. and you feel your gaze lingering on his shoulders. broad, impossibly wide, the dark jacket hugging him in all the right places, like it was tailor-made to showcase just how much he filled it out.

"someone dropped me off. ages ago," like it was the most normal and rational explanation in the world.

your own laugh is short, a little disbelieving, but you pull your silver keys from your purse, "well, i guess i'll have to drive then. but what would you have done if i hadn't been here to save the day?"

gojo steps to the side, opening your own car door for you with a small flourish and exaggerated bow that makes your heart jolt again, "probably teleport back home. maybe fly, since the skies look clear."

what a weird guy. hot, but weird. he seems like the type to dress up with a fake beard and show up as gandalf at the next lord of the rings fan convention.

in the driver's seat beside him, you catch yourself staring too long. your gaze slipping over a model's jawline, the white of his hair being held up by the blindfold. even his vaguely expensive scent is disorienting, pleasant like pine and blackcurrant. but it's also hard not to be amused when he's furrowing teeth into plush pink lips out of concentration, pressing an address into your cracked gps screen.

well, merry christmas to you.

gojo's place is well...how do you say this? gorgeous doesn't quite begin to cover it. he leads you into the building with the ease of someone who knows every inch of it, tossing a casual smile over his shoulder as he swipes a key card to unlock the private elevator, "i tend to move around a bit. or stay in different places. keeps life exciting, don't you think?"

you step into the elevator alongside him, the polished mirrors reflecting the soft glow of gold accents and sleek, modern lines. his hand hovers over the control panel before he presses the button for the top floor. of course, it's the penthouse.

"you move around a lot?" you ask, arching an eyebrow, "what, like a restless billionaire or something?"

gojo smiles, leaning casually against the steel as the elevator begins its smooth ascent, "now you're exaggerating."

the elevator finally dings, and gojo steps aside, offering an exaggerated bow as he gestures for you to exit, "after you, my fair maiden."

you almost scoff at the ridiculousness of it, but there's something so endearing and charming about how he pulls it off, especially when paired with the unfair symmetry of his face.

floor to ceiling windows dominate the far wall, revealing a jaw dropping panorama of tokyo's skyline. the city stretches out in a glittering sea of lights, with the tokyo tower glowing a golden exclamation point against the velvet night sky. the interior is just as impressive, with polished wood floors that gleam in the warm light and a glass dining table that sits beneath a sculptural chandelier. that same faint scent of blackberry and pine lingers in the air, heady almost.

behind you, gojo strolls with an easy and languid grace, tossing his jacket onto an artisan leather armchair. beneath it, his sky blue dress shirt clings just right and rolled up to reveal forearms faintly dusted with pale hair. you think you've momentarily forgotten how words work, and you avert your gaze quickly. though not before catching the faint smile on his lips.

"not bad, huh?" gojo says, heading to the open kitchen as though he's unaware of the effect he's having on a rational and sensible mind such as yourself, "it's no dive bar, but i'll do."

you shake your head, bewildered. trying to process how someone you met in a dingy bar could live somewhere that looks like it belongs in architectural digest. even down to the odd, ancient looking pieces that scatter the wide living room. weird looking artifacts of some sort. maybe he's also a collector? go figure.

"not bad?" you repeat, incredulous, "gojo, this place is incredible."

the man laughs, opening a sleek fridge to grab a bottle of water, "i have good taste," he says with mock modesty, his tone teasing as long fingers twist off the cap, "and a thing for gorgeous views. though, between you and me, i'm not great with heights. ironic, i suppose. paying a fortune for a view i'd rather not get too close to."

he waves a hand vaguely towards the windows, the blindfold still firmly in place.

"so, what's the deal? did you win the lottery, or inherit a fortune. or are you some kinda secret agent who moonlights as a barfly?"

gojo lifts the bottle in mock toast, "let's just say i'm very good at what i do."

you arch a brow, crossing your arms and ignoring the warm flush creeping up your neck, "and what exactly is that?"

"oh, you know. standard stuff. international intrigue, thwarting evil creatures. i even saved a kitten from a tree the other day."

"right, because nothing screams the next member of the avengers like eggnog in a seedy bar."

gojo leans casually against the counter, "even the avengers need a holiday drink now and then. don't knock it." but then he gestures towards the sleek couch, "wait, you can make yourself comfortable, y'know. i'd hate for my guest to think i'm a terrible host."

"terrible host? no, but a mystery man —"

before you can finish, your foot catches on something hard, and you stumble forward with an undignified yelp. gojo reacts instantly, how does he move that fast, and his arm is shooting out to steady you. but glorious gravity and magnificent momentum has other plans.

both of you crash onto the couch, and you find yourself sprawled unceremoniously across his lap. gojo's laugh rumbles low in his chest, and you can feel the warmth of it underneath your palms as you steady yourself, "well, that's one way to get comfortable," he murmurs, voice teasing as his large hand lingers lightly on the curve of your waist.

you prop yourself up slightly, cheeks burning, and glance back at the offending object. your brows knit together when you spot what looks suspiciously like a katana gleaming under the soft light.

"did i just trip on a — hey, what the hell is that?"

gojo interrupts, smoothly extending a long leg to nudge that suspicious object under the nearby coffee table before you can finish, "nothing important," he says breezily, the motion so quick you almost think you imagined it.

his focus shifts back to you, almost guilty, but his fingers are pressing divots into the fabric of your top, "now, where were we? hi."

you blink, caught off guard by how strange it is to feel the searing heat of someone's gaze underneath a blindfold, impossibly intent, "hi yourself," you manage.

for a moment, neither you nor the gorgeous man under you move, and the world feels strangely airless.

but your fingers twitch against the fine linen of his shirt. and before you can second-guess yourself, you reach your hand up to the edge of the silk fabric over his face and you ask, "can i take this off?"

gojo tilts his head, like it's a genuine consideration and you catch the faintest flicker of hesitation. it's fleeting, replaced by a crooked smile as he nods, "go ahead, sweetheart."

your hand rests lightly on the silk, hesitant for only a second before tracing its way to the back of his head. your fingers brush through impossibly soft strands of white hair, and his breath hitches when you find the knot tied neatly to the base of his skull.

you wonder what manner of man gojo is, letting himself be stitched undone by a stranger. but with care, you undo the knot, working deftly and clutching the fabric as you pull the blindfold away.

the blindfold slips free, and for a moment, you're certain you've forgotten how to breathe. bright, piercing blue eyes. framed by thick white lashes blink up at you. the intensity of such an unearthly gaze is softened by something more vulnerable, almost shy. nervous even.

"wow," you murmur without thinking, the word spilling out as gojo's expression shifts, an unguarded openness replacing the playful smirk that you've seen all evening.

your earlier assessment echoes in your mind: k-pop reject wannabe. the recent memory now feels like quite the injustice, a careless slight against a face that defies easy description. each detail of his face is striking, as if some divine hand had taken special care to sculpt him from the fabric of time and space itself.

gojo seems to sense your analysis, and you're sure that he's parted his lips to speak, but whatever he was about to say falters. that faint flush, pale-red like vermillion watercolour bleeding across a canvas, blooms across his cheeks. gojo's hazy gaze flickers for a second, and it sends a thrill through you. he's affected by this, by you.

it's hard to resist the slow smile that curves your lips, light and playful if only to mask the way your own heart is racing, "are you seriously shy now, gojo?"

gojo's expression shifts again almost immediately, as if that subtle invulnerability has been replaced by something sharper, almost indignant. he sits up a little straighter, the movement making you acutely aware of how the hard planes of his body feel beneath you.

"shy? no," gojo says, his voice steady but edged with some need to defend his honour, "i just...don't usually do this. that's all."

there's a sincerity in his words, an almost begrudging honesty that takes you by surprise. you tilt your head, as your murmur, "i don't either."

before you can second-guess yourself, you tilt your head down. pressing your lips to gojo's in a featherlight kiss. his taste is intoxicating, honey and sweet grapes mingling with a hint of that ridiculous vanilla drink from earlier. you pull back almost as quickly as you leaned in, testing the waters.

but your breath catches when you see that the blue of his eyes has deepened, darkened. and his lips, pink-blush and slightly parted, form a quiet and stunned oh!

"cool," gojo manages, his voice rougher than you expected, and you bite back a laugh as you watch him swallow hard.

"huh, cool?" you echo, your amusement bubbling over, "that's it? that's all you've got?"

gojo's grip on your waist tightens, and his hands are now splayed over your spine. anchoring you to him, as his mouth curves into something sly, though his flushed cheeks betray his composure, "compliments to the chef?"

you shift slightly, pressing more of your weight firmly into his lap. though not yet close enough to situate yourself over his groin, delighting in the way gojo's blush spreads down his neck, staining his skin a shade reminiscent of ripe berries swirling in cream.

you can feel gojo's attention as much as you can see it, how his own gaze lingers, deliberate and unhurried. taking you like a masterpiece that deserves more than a cursory glance. the hand that had been steady on your back shifts, his fingers threading through your hair. he watches as the strands slip and fall beneath his touch.

"thought you said you wanted me, gojo," you tease, though you're certain your voice is betraying the way your pulse is doing its best impression of the macarena in your jugular, "are y'gonna do something or not?"

gojo's gaze snaps back to you, a flicker of something far more intense passing through those impossibly blue eyes. full of hunger, need even. the hand in your hair slides away, only to settle at your jaw. it's warm and steady, his thumb brushing slightly over the plush of your bottom lip.

"i do want you," gojo says, his voice low and steady and maddeningly genuine, "want you to kiss me again. and again. as many times as you want until i forget my own name."

"gojo —"

"satoru," he interrupts, his voice cracking slightly, stripped of any previous swagger. it's unsteady and raw, affected in a way that excites you. sends a dark heat curling low between your thighs, "you can call me that."

"satoru," you repeat softly, letting the syllables fall from your lips, unfurling in the most hazy way.

something within the man shifts. his hand tightens on your waist, dragging you closer in a way that punches the air from your lungs. right over -

oh. the thick, curve of his erection straining against slacks that probably cost more than your monthly salary. it's deliberate, almost desparate at how the invisible thread snapped inside him. unravelled the careful composure he's been clinging to until now.

"go on," gojo murmurs, his voice dark with need, "kiss me again, please."

you lean closer, eyes flickering to his lips, and your pulse roaring in your ears, "who would i be to deny you any wish, satoru?" the words come out more reverent that you'd expected, as if your entire world has been tilted off its axis.

and then you kiss him, hard. desparate. as if his lips are your birthright, a homeland to claim. and gojo's kissing you back, carrying a sweetness that seems both foreign and familiar. in an instant, the weight of another man, a dreary haze in your past, vanishes. gojo is suddenly everything you didn't know you needed, vibrant and electrifying.

"let me know if it's too much," gojo breathes against your lips, his voice shaky as if he's trying to tether himself to the earth. but your kiss deepens, frantic and unrestrained. his mouth moves against yours with a hunger that sends sparks down your spine, and you suddenly realise you quite like the taste of vanilla when it's dripping from his open kisses.

you pull away, for every human needs air. but the sight before you has you clenching your thighs desperately around the bulge where you sit atop. gojo's gaze is heavy, full of that desparate longing that makes your chest ache. his lips are swollen, a soft cherry hue from your kisses. and strands of white hair fall over his blue eyes.

"look what you've done to me, fuck. miss you already," gojo murmurs, and before you can respond, he surges forward, hands pressing against your face with the intensity of a storm. one hand reaches to find the nape of your neck, letting you surrender to the heat of this touch.

you crave more, so much more from gojo, who's taking you in like you're his last breath, his final indulgance. it's as if he's found a new devotion in you, ready to worship you at the alter of your false godhood. but before you can part your mouth to tell him exactly what you and where, gojo's hands are already sneaking under your top, brushing against the trembling skin of your torso.

his teeth are biting down on your lip, leaving you dizzy. and gasping, and so damp in your panties as the fabric of your top is peeled away, and you're left shivering, fighting against the cold of the december air. you find yourself pressing harder into the warmth of his chest, letting the swell of your chest press flat against him.

"shoulda' turned the heat on before we came in," gojo murmurs, breathless as his lips hover a mere centimetre away from yours, "got nothin' to worry about, sweetheart. i'll keep you warm."

"didn't t-think i'd spend christmas eve like this," you gasp, your head lolling to the side as gojo presses open-mouthed kisses to the soft arc of your neck, sensitive even to the cool air.

"no?" gojo's reply is breathy, almost frantic as if he's fumbling in the heat of the moment and has little grasp over the words tumbling out of his mouth, "neither did i. but this? b-better than any fuckin' mission they could've sent me on."

you cock your head, feeling the heat of his clothed cock underneath your thighs, "m-mission, huh? what are you talking about - mmph!" but the rest of the question never escapes your lips for it's swallowed up by another one of gojo's candied kisses.

his rough hands work deftly, finding the clasp of your bra with ease. a pretty crimson thing, almost sheer as it caught the light. and in the centre, a tiny satin bow sat like the final touch on a perfectly wrapped gift. you had only worn it half-heartedly earlier in the morning, some forced christmas cheer for your dreary day ahead.

the look on gojo's face was anything but composed, staring at your cupped tits like you'd knocked the air out of him and his chest rose and fall as though he were remembering how to breathe. in a single fluid motion, your bra is unhooked. the faint metallic click barely audible over the pounding in your chest and he's tossing it aside with a casual flick, his focus entirely on you.

you find yourself mesmerised by his eyes, those swirling pools of blue that seem to have stolen fragments of the sky itself, clouds brushed into cerulean depths with strokes of syrupy smoothness. they're breathtaking, but the thought shatters as gojo's canines graze the flesh of your breasts, a sharp and teasing nip that pulls a gasp from your lips. leaves you rocking sharply against his erection, making him throw his head back, ragged.

the playful string blooms into a flush of heat, and gojo's at it again, his mouth working to leave faint red marks in its wake. you squeal, half in surprise and half in helpless laughter (and entirely in a lusty haze) but gojo only pulls back enough to murmur, "what? can't help myself."

but then he peers at you abruptly, his lips parted as he catches his breath, "wait. do you wanna —?" and gojo tilts his snowy hair towards the shadowy doorway that leads out of the living room, the implication clear even through his panting.

you nod, breathless, "yeah, jus' help me up."

without hesitation, a strong arm slides around your waist, and before you know it, you're being swept into a semi-bridal carry, and your head is resting against the fabric of his dress shirt. not a bad feeling, one you could get used to.

at the doorway, gojo lets out a low 'shit!', nudging the door open with his foot. the faint sound of clattering follows as he kicks something out of the way. you glance down from your entirely too comfortable vantage point, spotting a smattering of cheap tinsel, all glittering in metallic silver and gold, tangled with round baubles that glisten faintly under the dim light.

some have little smears of glue, and uneven glitter patches, as if crafted by unsteady hands, but with earnest effort.

"you big on christmas or something?" you tease, delighting in how the tips of his ears light up like nose of a famous reindeer.

gojo freezes for a moment, almost sheepish as he clears a path, clearly trying to look as macho as possible as he gingerly pushes aside a string of green lights, "made those for my students," he mutters, "thought they'd like them in the classroom tomorrow."

your laugh grows louder, and gojo's brows furrow, his tone growing defensive, "it's a nice surprise for the classroom!"

"i'm not making fun of you!" you insist, leaning up to press a gentle, soothing kiss to the hollow of his collarbone, "it's sweet. i think it's really nice, actually. wait, you're a teacher?"

gojo's mouth quirks up in a faint smile, "something like that," he says cryptically, finally clearing a decent and hazard-free path into a sleek, and clean bedroom. it's all modern space, all clean lines in shades of cream and white, and navy.

gojo sets you down gently, and the plush fabric cradles you as your back lands on fresh linen. and for a quiet, tender moment, you're both caught in the stillness. gojo kneels at the edge of the bed, his hands resting lightly on each of your thighs as if he's anchoring himself there.

his gaze is steady, content, maybe even adoring in a way that feels too intimate for someone who you barely know. there's a warmth in his expression, like he's savouring the sight of you, searching for something — and he's found exactly what he's hoped for.

almost without thinking, you lift a hand, cupping the sides of his face. his skin is warm beneath your palm, soft with the faintest hint of pale stubble that seems to fade into his skin. the moment your hands makes contact, gojo leans into your touch instinctively, his white lashes fluttering closed.

"hey, 'toru," you murmur softly, "y'still with me?"

gojo's eyes snap open at the sound of that, sharp and bright, as if the nickname itself has sparked a challenge in him. a low and almost frustrated sound escapes from the back of his throat, and he presses a feather-light kiss to the inside of your knee.

you don't miss at how his teeth sink into his bottom lip again, worrying and working the plush flesh like he's trying to steady himself. spreading your weeping thighs aside, as his gaze is fixed on something. intense, unwavering. the sheer focus of it making heat creep up your neck.

at how he must be staring hungrily at damp, sheer red fabric that clings to the outline of your cunt. at how it must shimmer almost translucently now, the sticky slick of your arousal enhancing the gloss, making your panties glisten under the light.

you're feeling an unfamiliar kind of shy under the weight of his attention, at how he must see how the fabric clings closely to your puffy, swollen folds — the delicate weave exposing the shape of your taut pussy, practically weeping for his touch.

you needn't have asked, for gojo was already diving into deliver.

he's gliding his index finger over your dripping pussy, letting the tangy syrup sink onto his fingers, leaning in to press a sweet, almost innocent kiss to your clothed cunt, "she seems desperate for me, don'tcha think, heh?"

the sound of the fabric ripping is sharp and wet, a squelching and almost fleshy tone, a sound that's both soft and sharp to the blood rushing between your ears. a strained tear of your beautiful panties, leaving cool air to gently leave a kiss of its own upon your cunt.

you gape at him, a bit too stunned to find coherent words, "hey, what the f-fuck! those were like super expensive!"

gojo rolls his eyes, the kind of look that has a bit too much attitude for someone who's practically begging on his knees for a taste of you, "don't get all huffy on me, sweetheart. 'm gonna buy you more, is tha' alright?"

"i'll r-remember that, satoru," you murmur, giving a sharp tug at his white strands, "you gon' have to give me your number now."

gojo shudders, the muscles in his back rippling underneath his tight shirt, "was already gonna," and he's back to pressing soft, kitten licks to your now exposed folds, small circles over your throbbing clit.

you buck your canting hips closer to the heat of his mouth, to where the pink tip of his teasing tongue peeks out of a pretty mouth, "satoru, c'mon. can't you just, fuck—"

you sharply cry out as he presses his mouth forward, a sudden surge of heat jolting through you. burying himself deep, his nose brushing against the sweet, syrup that coats your pussy, and the rhythmic, wet movements of his tongue send shivers through your entire being.

"mhm, jus' as sweet as you look, baby," gojo gasps, swirling and flicking his tongue, teasing you with every deliberate patter of the muscle near your winking entrance. so messy, slick and you're not sure where he ends and you begin as it all glides together carnally.

gojo seems languidly tipsy, just from munching through the gloss of your cunt, far more intoxicated from your taste than any cheap christmas liquor. he alternates between pushing his tongue past the ring of your tight walls, and then wrapping his lips around the searing pulse of your clit, leaving your hips shaking and dragging over his mouth, smearing yourself over his chin.

you're fisting delicate white locks with fierce urgency, and he hisses and then chuckles into your pussy, "tch! ease up there for me, yeah? jus' move your hips like you were doin' before," and you comply, angling yourself better so he can flatten his tongue against your folds, jaw grinding deeper into you "hah, yeah, just like that."

"taking good care of you though, aren't i? wait, say it. say that 'm making you feel good," and he's bullying a long finger into your gummy walls, clingy and sopping, "say 'm making you feel better than a-anyone ever has," and you just mewl as your arousal must surely be dripping down his forearms, staining the cuffed sleeve of his shirt as he takes your sweet juices down his throat.

there's stars beginning to twinkle at the edge of your vision, and you know you must be close, for your heart is practically dancing a heavy beat against your ribcage, and you suddenly push his mouth away, watching as a clear strand of spit or your slick forms a taut bridge between his mouth and your folds.

"w-wait, satoru, s-stop."

gojo's head lifts, eyes blinking as if coming out of a faze. but then, like a switch, something sharp flickers behind his gaze and concern floods in. his thin brows furrow slightly, glossy lips parting as he reaches out, as if to steady your hips, "you okay, sweetheart? what's wrong?"

your heart stutters, pounding so loudly you're sure he can hear it. you try to steady your breathing, but the tremour in your fingertips betray you as they gently slide through your hair, the silky strands tangling around your hand.

"nothin' wrong, 'toru. but i was gonna cum," and gojo's face, still flushed and soft with arousal, splits into a shy, amused grin.

"hah, i know. that's what i wanted," he's close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath hitting your aching cunt, but you shake your head again.

"feels unfair, wanna see you too. wan' you to cum in me,"

you watch, almost in awe, as a low and guttural sound escapes gojo satoru, raw and unfiltered. gojo runs his tongue over his lips, his eyes dark with something dangerously close to hunger.

"you sure?" and his voice is hoarse, unsure despite his roaming gaze. you nod, your hands digging into his shoulder, tugging at the crisp fabric of his dress shirt, desparate to feel the warmth of his skin underneath.

his shaky laugh of disbelief only makes you more aroused, whining for him to hurry up, and before you know it, he's standing up, towering over your boneless form on the sheets.

"how could i deny you anything?" he murmurs, echoing your earlier words. gojo's hands reach for the hem, the fabric shifting as he pulls it over his head, revealing a milky expanse of toned skin, smooth and taut over a set of abs that should easily land him on a gq list.

his waist is slender, defined in all the right places, and the soft taper of muscles make your breath catch. but the soft white trail of hair that reaches under his waistband makes your cunt clench.

"y'seem happy with the view, don'tcha?" gojo's voice is teasing, the cocky smirk tugging at his lips, but you can hear the impatience threading his tone now too. he's not as in control as he lets on, his hands now making quick work of his belt, leaving your mouth dry when he finally pushes his black boxers down.

you should have known that his cock would be as pretty and unfairly gorgeous as the rest of him. he's circling the strawberry-red tip, glowering and throbbing, right over your gathered slick, coating it and smacking the mushroom head in a thwack! over your poor clit, leaving you jolting as he laughs and leans down to kiss you sweetly once more.

"jus' look at me, yeah?" his drawl is slow, lazy and so ruined. at the first inch of his throbbing cock that slips through your walls, he looks utterly undone. a mess of sharp edges softened by something far more primal and raw.

gojo's head tips back, exposing the elegant line of his neck as the moonlight cascades over you, "hey, sweetheart, 's not too much, yeah?"

hazy blue eyes bore into you, and for a brief moment, in the time it takes for the lightning to strike the earth, you swear that his eyes glow. almost radiant and jewel-like, with cerulean fractals shimmering as if they're emitting life of their own. perhaps its simply the electrifying stretch of inches that's rendering you to hallucinate, whining as your nails find purchase in milky skin and rippling shoulders.

"i-it's big, 'toru," you pant, feeling him almost shudder at the clipped name again, as he grips the base of his cock to bully the final inch in, sighing in contentment as he finally bottoms out, with a wet pop!

gojo looks feral like this, heaving a breath through his mouth as though the air is being taken from him from every second he spends stretching you out on his fat shaft, "hah, 'm glad, i'm so glad i met you tonight, sweetheart. fuck, fuck, y'feel i-incredible."

he's pushing your thighs further back, running his hands over the plush skin, leaving bruising red prints that won't disappear tomorrow as you moan, wanton into his open mouth, letting gojo run his lips down your jaw and into the curve of your neck.

you're practically now folded in half under the bulk of his weight, feeling stars collide in absolutely astrophysical ways, impaled further on the long and thick length of his cock, "in so deep, s-satoru."

seems that gojo is a man of little mercy, for he seems only all the more invigorated by your squeals, drawing his torso back to watch the hypnotic smack of skin on skin, of your slick and creamy froth creating fresh rings over his pistoning cock.

he's entirely out of control, as you feel your body go limp from the pleasure shooting through every nerve and pore.

depraved.

you don't realise you might have let that slip out loud, so dizzy in your cockdrunk haze because gojo's suddenly ramming himself roughly in you, as though he was desperate to have his cock kiss your cervix, to feel for every divot and nook of your cunt's walls.

"d-depraved, hah. people call me, fuck, p-people call me a lotta things, sweetheart," and gojo's so good with it, letting your pussy have not even one moment to take reprieve, having you feel each vein and bulge of his cock, "but depraved is n-new."

the hand that was dancing over your thighs flies to your swollen, aching clit. practically glistening for his attention, and his attention you did receive, "right, t-there! 'toru, mmph!" you're trying to splay your legs wider, giving his quick hand more room to swirl tight circles where you needed him most.

your double-vision gaze lingers on the ripple of his muscles, the way his arms flex and shift as he seems intent on angling you just right for him to drill his cock over and over, at some freakish and feverish pace, "y'so good, gojo," you purr, and your nails curl against his arms, pressing just enough to leave tiny crescents in his skin, the faint dampness of his exertion clinging to him, "s-so strong!"

something shifts. the glow is back, electric blue flooding his eyes like crackling storm clouds. it's almost unnerving, this unearthly brightness, as if he's some ancient god wrapped up in human skin, and you've just stumbled into a divine revelation.

gojo stills for the briefest moment, the thick head of his cock snagging on your puffy folds as he draws himself almost entirely out. the absence of motion makes you whine, an airy and impatient sound escaping your throat. that hesitation feels like a tease, like a string that's been pulled so taut, before he finally dives forward, capturing your mouth in a messy, heated kiss. sloppy in its disregard.

"s-so strong, huh?" gojo's voice is rough, shaky, as though he's trying to centre himself but your tight pussy holds him in hypnotic sway, "y-you think so? think i'm the strongest?" his lips brush yours as he speaks, and there's something almost boyish and charming in the way that he seems to be fishing for a compliment, despite the low heat in his voice.

you pull back from his wet, spit-stringed lips. just enough to wrap your hands around his neck and push him closer, deeper into you as he gutturally groans, "if i s-say yes, are y'gonna keep showing off?"

gojo's laugh is short, breathless, "y-yeah, wanna see?"

he makes quick work of pushing himself back into you, pumping himself so far in that your slick must be painting and sopping the white hairs at the base of his cock almost translucent, "o-oh my god, 'toru, fuck, oh my god!" the stretch has your head spinning, as if the skies are parting above you, and you're melodramatically left to see the light of divinity as gojo bucks his hips harshly into you. as if he's too far gone, needs to prove himself to you with a good fuck.

"you h-have to say it," gojo stutters, his words tumbling out so quickly, like rough gravel, "say it, fuck, c'mon. say i'm — say i'm the s-strongest. you have to, hnghh, god. please, jus' agree, okay?" his voice is cracking, that cocky veneer entirely shattered under the weight of his rambling desperation as he practically rummages through your sopping insides, "y-you feel it right, i mean, you can feel me — i mean."

a high whine escapes your throat as his pace becomes almost olympian, and you wonder faintly how you haven't managed to sprain a muscle or break a bone yet, how he hasn't managed to shatter something with the sheer pace and force of how gojo satoru fucks, "hah, 'toru. i'm —"

"close? g-god, i hope so. 's what i want. nothing, like n-nothing feels better than this right?" his words are falling out of him in a messy, pussydrunk rush, his eyes flickering between your face and down to where your pussy lips are bulged around his shaft, "so good, right? the b-best thing you've ever —"

you truthfully don't even hear the rest of his words, blood absolutely roaring and rearing in your ears, your ribcage as you feel the tight coil snap, letting out short, slurred snaps of his name when you cum. as he doesn't quite let up on smacking his hips right against your ass, "s-satoru, 's getting s-sensitive, oh, fuck. fuck!"

he's suddenly whining, with pleading and erratic blue eyes chasing after you, sloppily pushing down so he can gasp and pant into your open mouth, before capturing you in a heart-stopping kiss as he finally gets milked dry by your pulsing and fluttering walls. in awe of how creamy white is practically leaking out of you, dripping a stringy trail over the flesh of your thighs.

you're agape at how utterly fucked he looks right now, though you're certain you do not look much better as fat tears prick at your eyes, streaming past your ears from the overstimulation, "s-still fillin' me up, 'toru. god, do ya always cum this much?"

at first, you don't even get a response from gojo who just sinks his teeth into the juncture of your neck, almost as if he's trying not to cry out, but then he's back to circling your clit with a rough hand, "makin' me sound like some kinda whore, s-sweetheart. 'n and i told you. don't do this m-much."

and now he's slowing down, pleasurably painful bucks of his hips keeping glossy, white seed in you. ensuring that it coats your entire entrance, "an' it's not my fault that she," and here, he gives your clit a small smack! grinning like a madman, "n-not my fault that she's so, hah, addictive."

each tight circle of his hand on your clit sends you hurtling into yet another orgasm, one that has you begging gojo for mercy, repreive, for more. an orgasm that has him whispering the sweetest nothings into your ear, "d-don't worry, gotcha like this. gonna let you rest n-now, jus' gotta relax for me."

by the time he's slipping his still somehow hard cock out of your creamed cunt, you can feel exhaustions heavy and caring hands caress you, rendering your body limp and boneless. your eyes heavy and hazy, but you can feel a soft ghost of gojo's kiss over the shell of your ear, "h-hope y'still here in the morning, sweetheart. don't leave, yeah?"

the morning sunlight filters through the blinds, and despite the ache in your limbs that cricks your bones, you drag yourself out of bed. christmas day, after all. you've thrown on gojo's dress shirt from last night, snug enough to flutter around your hips, but oversized enough around the shoulders to let you drown in it.

it's cozy though, and even the chilly air feels refreshing against the warmth clinging to you. gojo is still sound asleep, and you had smiled at how he took little puffs of air as he was passed flat out in bed. but you always like to be up early on christmas, and there's something about the holiday that makes you feel like you need to earn the right to nap later.

you wander around the bedroom for a bit, stretching your legs as your muscle protest in earnest. eventually, you decide to make your way to that kitchen. breakfast, right.

it seems like a good idea, especially considering the last thing in your stomach was a questionably sour vodka. so you pull open the fridge, expecting something befitting of this apartment. perhaps a slab of wagyu beef, a tin of caviar, a thick block of pistachio-cream dubai chocolate. you'd even settle for sushi.

instead, you're left staring back at a stack of candy canes, some strawberry yoghurt, a carton of milk and some fast food wrappers. despite your protesting stomach, a deep amusement washes over you. it doesn't surprise you that gojo would have a fridge stocked with food you'd find at a child's birthday party and a greasy diner.

still, breakfast is in order and because you can't help it, you pull out a candy cane and start unwrapping it. you're just about take a bite when you hear the unmistakable pad of footsteps. you turn, face to face with someone who would clearly not be out of place on a vogue covershoot.

gojo hasn't tossed on a shirt, and the sunlight filters over his chiselled physique before your sight is stolen by the loose sheet wrapped around his waist. delicious. you try to snap your gaze back to his face, but it's hard to not track your gaze down his torso, like a cat eyeing a particularly irresistible sunbeam.

"good morning to you too," gojo says, a grin curling his lips, "what are you doing?" his voice is still thick with interrupted sleep, laced with a morning rasp that forces you to ground yourself and stop falling prey to the god, eros and his machinations.

"breakfast, 'm starving."

"don't bother," gojo says, shaking his head, "we can go somewhere nice for breakfast. like real, actual food. don't think you want half-eaten yoghurt."

you nod enthusiastically, mind turning back to the peeling seal of the strawberry yoghurt with a spoon sticking out of it. but then, something else catches your mind's attention. a little curiosity piques, one that you cannot help but ask him.

"wait," you begin, snapping your teeth around the saccharine mint of the candy cane, "y'know what's crazy. like, i swear your eyes glowed last night. not even in a silly compliment way, but like electricity. i thought i was like, losing it.'

you expect gojo to brush it off with a wink, or maybe laugh it off like you're just teasing him. but instead, the man's face shifts, that cocky smile faltering for the briefest moment. it's gone so fast that you think you almost imagined it. but why does he look...almost guilty?

before you can process that, you realised you've leaned yourself over the counter, and in your absent-mindedness, your elbow presses a button on the answering machine. a small beep, and suddenly, a voice blares through the room,

"hey, gojo-sensei!" comes a high-pitched, distinctly teenage voice, an excited boy who sounds a little crackly over the speaker, "so, we found this grade one curse yesterday...and uh, we totally got rid of it. we were gon' call you, but you didn't pick up. but i almost got my arm torn off. wait, no! that sounds dramatic, i got shoko to look at it anyway. so what we're all wondering right is that we don't have to hand in any homework now right? as like reparations?"

the voice crackles off, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. you stand there, absolutely dumbstruck, staring at the answering machine like it's about to burst into flames or start singing christmas carols.

gojo, meanwhile, has the most awkward look on his face, clearly caught between embarrassment...and what? panic, amusement?

"satoru, what the fuck?"

he looks at you for a moment, but instead of speaking, he lets out a long and exasperated sigh before pulling out one of the counter chairs, "you're gonna want to sit down for this one, sweetheart."

[katstratfordfanclub]

baby's first run-in with emergency contraception has her thinking that maybe the pain of iud placement and associated side effects wouldn't be so bad

[shotmrmiller]

I'm your only situationship.

A/N : yall i stayed up til 324 am writing this. I felt like if i went to bed still only having it as a thought and not on 'paper' thats unacceptable. If i gotta think about this then so do yall! it was also supposed to be a small one shot but it got wildly out of hand im not sorry.

18+ MDNI

TW: typical smut, EXPLICIT mmkay im talkin clutch ur pearls explicit.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Simon had finally come home from a grueling 6-month mission. All he wanted was some Kentucky bourbon with you at your favorite seedy bar. 

Once he was home, Simon cleaned up, put on a black clinical mask, and sent a text to you to meet him there. As he finished his first glass of the night, a rather attractive young woman approached him, asking if she could buy him a drink. 

“Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around, lovie?”

“Not at all. This is after all the 21st century. I’m simply asking— wouldn’t want any missus at home getting upset.”

“There’s no one at home for me, lass.”

“Well then, how about you get yourself another glass, my treat, and we’ll see where this night takes us?” 

He slightly nodded —he’d never say no to a free drink— and as she left to order a drink, he took his phone out to text you again.

“C’mon, pet. I’ll cover the tab. Too good f’me, now?”

His phone vibrated a minute later.

“I can’t today, Si.”

“Why not? I know you don’t go out on Sundays.”

As the young woman came back, drinks in hand, he lifted the screen to read your response.

“I’ve got a dick appointment~ It’s been a year and then some and I’m gonna claw at my walls if I don’t get a fix ASAP.”

Simon goes tense— soft blues hardening to a silver and he’s gripping his phone so hard it might crack. He pulls up your contact and calls you within seconds.

“Hiya, Si!” 

“What the fuck is a dick appointment?”

“Oh,” you giggle. “I forget you older folk don’t know ‘bout that. It’s just a one-night fling. No commitments or nothin'.’ Exactly what I need right now.” You don’t tell him that the reason you’ve practically regrown your hymen is that when you’re best friends with Simon, every other male in existence pales in comparison. 

“Anyway Si-, he’s getting here in like an hour-”

“No.” And hangs up. 

The young woman who’s casually rubbing his bicep and shoulder gets practically flung off of him, as he gets up off the bar stool so fast it’s falling back with a loud clang, and he’s yanking his leather jacket on and pulling on his leather gloves so hard they’re about to become fingerless—

“Hey! I thought you didn’t have a girlfriend?!”

One gloved hand gripping the front door, he turns his head slightly to her and says, “Pet, with how good I’m gonna fuck her, she won’t even have to ask to know she’s mine.”

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You’re standing in the bathroom with your liquid eyeliner in one hand and phone in the other, staring at the ended call screen. ‘Weird,’ you think, then shrug and put the phone down. ‘Maybe the call got dropped.’

You finally complete the look with your false lashes when there’s a very hard knock on your door. You frown as you look at your phone screen. ‘7:14 pm’. You know the guy said at 8 and you’re in one of Simon’s big shirts he always forgets and your hair is still tied up in an oversized pink and white polka dot scrunchie— The pink leopard print booty shorts you’ve got on will suffice. 

The second time there’s a knock it’s even louder. 

“Jesus Christ, I’m coming!” 

You open the door and say, “I’m sorry I took so long, I—”

Simon flies past you, with a rough shoulder bump and you turn to look at him and he’s almost sprinting to the bedroom, slamming the door open—

“Simon, what the fuck? What’re you doin—”

“Where is he?”, he snarls.

“Who?! Are you talking about my date? He’s not getting here til 8! And why’re you slamming doors in my apartment like you pay my rent?!”

You see Simon deflate immediately at the important part of your answer and chooses to ignore the rest as he takes off his jacket and walks to your hall closet to hang it. Closing your door and locking it, you growl out,

“You need to leave. I haven’t even finished getting ready. I promise I’ll—”

“No, pet.”

“Will you quit interrupting me! Simon, I swear—”

“Pet.” 

You’re holding a scream behind your teeth, about to rip the hair out of your scalp when you see Simon take one loop of his mask off from around his ear and then the other. You gape. You’ve seen Simon without his mask— that isn’t the reason you can no longer find your voice. It’s the way he put his gloved middle finger in between his teeth and pulled it off so sensually. You can feel your cheeks and ears radiate heat from just seeing the tip of his pink tongue. Christ, you’re down horrendously.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, to distract yourself from the fact that you’re getting wet over an interaction so chaste when Simon is touching your ass, giving it a hard squeeze, before moving down to the back of your thighs and lifting you up. You startle at the movement and throw your arms around his neck out of habit, hoping he won’t drop you in the move to your bedroom.

He presses you against the wall with his hips, then grabs both of your ankles from behind his lower back and hooks the back of your knees over his forearms. Simon noses your jaw and starts grinding his clothed erection deliciously hard over the definitely wet spot on your shorts and growls out, 

“If you think,” grind “that I’m gonna allow My,” grind “Girl,”  grind—and you whimper in his ear,  “get fucked by some little cock two pump chump,” he gives a forced chuckle, “you must be daft, pet. Or maybe you’re doing it on purpose, eh? Trying to get my attention? Well, you’ve got it now. “ 

He moves his face to hover his lips over yours— you can lightly smell the bourbon he drank earlier— and he whispers, “You ever like this and I’m around, you come to me. And if I’m away, you wait for me like a good girl and when I come back I’ll give this,” he taps your pussy over your shorts, “greedy little cunt all the cock it can take.”

With a shaky breath, you nod before he kisses you, his bourbon-flavored tongue curling against yours, and you’re moaning into it because you’ve wanted this for too long and he’s finally touching you. Curling your fingers into his ash-brown hair, you move your mouth to his neck, to the right of his adam’s apple, took a bit of skin between your teeth and sucked. 

Simon hisses, dips his fingertips into your flesh hard enough to bruise, and all but yanks you off the wall to toss you onto your bed. 

You yelp as you bounce from the force of his throw— you’re still bouncing on the bed when Simon grabs the waistband of your shorts and knickers to pull right off, which you’re grateful for because the grey knickers you got on aren’t what anyone would wear for a first, second nor third impression.

Simon grabs both of the back of your knees with one hand,  goddamn bear paws, you think, before you feel his tongue in between your lips— so warm and wet and fuck, you needed this, needed him— and he flicks his tongue up and down on your clit. He sticks his long middle finger into you and it goes in without resistance, you’re slippery, drooling over his wrist and finger that’s curled up into the rough patch of nerves against your gummy walls, that he’s pressing into, over and over. God you’re about to come, your legs shake in his one-handed hold and you’ve got a white knuckle grip on the forearm you’re sinking your nails into—

Simon pulls away. You were so close, your eyes start watering because he can’t possibly be this mean to you but then you see him shove his tongue in between his middle and ring finger, eating up your nectar when he says, “The first time I’m gonna make you come, it’ll be on my cock. I want to see the frothy white cream you're gonna leave at the base.” 

You’re nodding hysterically at this point, anything for him to make you come, anything for him.  With a twirl of his index, he’s telling you to get on all fours. Scrambling, you turn over and arch your back— resting your head on your forearms— and you feel his calloused palms run down from your spine to your ass cheeks before he gives it a spank. 

“You have a condom?” 

You shake your head and you mewl out, “No, but I’m clean.”

“Good. I don’t want anything between us.”

You arch your back further, pressing your ass further into his hips when you hear his belt buckle clank and zipper open. Simon brings his palm to your other cheek, reddening it. 

“Fuckin’ hell, pet. Look at you spread out for me.” 

You feel warm velvet over steel over your slit before he slowly pushes inside, not all the way but about a little over half of his length, remembering that your g-spot is a little closer to the front. Fast, relatively shallow thrusts hitting your spot with almost clinical precision have you reeling, your orgasm about to break you, mind and body. Hands tightening painfully, you shatter— loud, high-pitched whines, ringing in your ears and pussy pulsing around Simon’s thick girth— and god, Simon doesn’t stop thrusting. He keeps the same smooth rhythm and you’d think he’s unaffected by the tight vice your pussy has him in— but you hear him, low, deep groans and a tighter grip on your hips telling you otherwise. 

He pulls out to bend over your back, completely covering it, and he murmurs in your ear, “I hope you didn’t think we were done. My girl wanted a fuckin’, now she’s gonna get it.” 

He takes off your pink, silly scrunchy and you see it around his tattooed wrist before he grabs your hair into a makeshift ponytail and is leaning back up and forcing your back to arch under his pull. You feel his leg at the height of your hips— propped up, foot flat on the bed and knee bent and the other straight on the floor and all you can think of is how this man is gonna kill you with his cock. 

Simon snaps his hips forward, fist full of hair pulling back,  stretching and filling in one strong thrust, bottoming out. He gives you no reprieve, no time to get used to how fucking deep he is, and sets an intense, firm pace that has you feeling a pinch below the navel every time his hip bones slap against your ass, balls to the clit and you love it. Every pinch in your lower belly has your pussy making a squelching sound and you can’t help yourself— you reach underneath your body to feel how split open you are with two fingers, encasing his cock and feeling the skin drag with them as he pulls out.

That has him hissing air between his teeth, he’s about to come but doesn't want it to be over so he pulls out, and opens your cheeks to spit in your furled hole, before pressing in with the pad of his thumb, and you’re almost screaming. He moves back a bit further to spit in your pussy, not that you need it— you’re drenching the sheets underneath you— and now he’s spearing you with his tongue before curling it, getting your juices pooled on it before coming back up, lips smacking, and he grabs your hair in his ponytail and now he uses his other hand to curls his fingers and palm over the front of your throat and that's all it takes for your vision to darken and arms go limp but he’s again, fucking you through your orgasm and this time you leave a creamy white ring at the base of his length. 

“Oh, fuckin hell.” He groans out and it sounds desperate and you know he’s close.

“Come in me, Simon. Please fill me up, I promise I’ll keep it all in.”

He gives a strained chuckle and says, “Pet, I can barely pull out of a driveway much less this tight little cunt.” He squeezes your throat hard, strands of hair popping out of your scalp and his cock feels massive, the pinch in your stomach feels like a cramp from how deep he is and he lets out a low drawn out moan that lasts 3 thrusts— and then there’s warmth filling you up, so much so it leaks from the sides of where you two are connected. Simon lets go of your hair and you fall face-first onto the bed, exhausted. Defeated. Back properly broken. You officially know what it’s like to get fucked within an inch of your life and you love it. 

He pulls out slowly, with a hiss from both of you and with one hand on your left cheek, he spreads you to look at your stuffed hole.

“Fuck. I love seeing me drip out of you.” 

You’re about to tell him to sod off when the doorbell rings and the both of you stiffen and lock eyes. With a mean snarl, Simon grabs a towel from your bathroom and his mask before stomping his way to answer the door, pink obnoxious scrunchy still on his wrist.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

[babachira]

an assassin and his healer

nagumo yoichi x doctor!reader

── ⟢

+ having graduated with an assassination-medical major, a very small sub-department in the JCC where only the skilled in human science are found, you're technically a licensed doctor for any regular citizen who wants a simple check-up. you have a job in the clinic near sakamoto's store during the day, but during your assassination hours, you deal with injuries ranging from critical to a scratch. you took four years of apprenticeship under granny miya, so you tend to follow her ideology of 'the patient can be healed as long as they're not dead'.

+ your graduation was a special case. the JCC considered scrapping your department due to the lack of applications, but you excelled in combining the assets of poisons and weapons, making equipment like a portable bandaid or even discovering the smallest of pressure points that could enhance someone's strength, which floored their views. after witnessing a presentation of your projects, they decided to keep it up and running just to see what you were capable of, and thank god they did, otherwise, you would've had nowhere to go.

+ you met the famous trio during their prime when you were all 16, and you were fully aware of the fact that if they had no interest in someone, it would be drastically clear. you thought this was the case for you too since no one really appreciated your work because it wasn't 'strong' like the assassination majors, but when you received a personal congrats from them, it took you by surprse.

+ hell, when you saw them enter your lab without a word, you quirked your brows, pausing from pulling the trigger of your flamethrower. upon request from your weapons department friends, you were in the middle of melting a large batch of energy-fuelling pills. you slowly put the flamethrower down on your desk. "if i knew i was having such esteemed guests, i would've cleaned the place up a bit. to what do i owe the pleasure?"

+ but before they could answer, the three of them were hovering over your pile of books, empty beakers and box of surgical equipment. rion plucked a grey glass bottle from your top shelf, which you reserved for your most expensive creations, before popping the lid off.

+ she sniffed the top of it and gave a "hm!" of approval before taking a swig. "wow, this is actually pretty good," rion said, smacking her lips together and offering some to sakamoto, who only took the bottle from her hands, "what's this one for? my stomach feels like it's doing backflips."

+ you folded your arms. "that's because it's for serious internal bleeding. you're only really meant to take it when, you know, you're only puking an alarming amount of blood." rion nodded in acknowledgement and dangled the empty bottle with a grin. "ah, gotcha. no internal bleeding for me now!"

+ "mmm, i prefer this flavour." your eyes flit over to nagumo yoichi, the insufferable student that had all the girls swooning in seconds, swiping four potions from your shelf and stuffing them in his pocket. "i'll come back again to try more!"

+ "wait, you just came here to take my stuff?" you asked, stopping the three in their tracks. sure, it's . . . fine that they stole your things without permission, but your lab was usually off-limits for those who didn't belong in your department. well, now that you think about it, when did these three ever follow rules?

+ rion waved her hand. "we'd love to talk, babes, but we gotta dash. will use these potions well, though!"

+ and nagumo added with a more enthusiastic wave, "keep a separate shelf just for me!"

+ and they left, leaving you to finish your work of delivering pills to the weapons department. they were a funny bunch, you always thought as you sometimes passed by them in the hallway. rion would always strike a conversation whenever you bumped into each other. she was always so sweet to you. sakamoto occasionally asked how your projects were going since it was a season of missions being carried out more often than ever, so you were ever-so-busy with surgeries. nagumo had the biggest grin on his face as he bombarded you with requests like a strawberry and lemon flavoured potion for his fatigue. they were strange but fun all the same.

+ since then, they made a common appearance, sometimes it was just rion who wanted to have a chat. you got along well, getting to know her likes and dislikes, laughing along when she verbally tore sakamoto and nagumo apart like they were shreds of paper. other times, it was nagumo alone and when it was just him, it was like a spitfire of insults after insults.

+ when nagumo is fiddling with one of your brain-relaxing equipments that you made just a week ago, he realises that you're a lot quieter when it's just him, when rion and sakamoto aren't present. "hm? why is it when akao and sakamoto are here, you have so much to say, but you're silent when it's me?" and honestly, it felt like a big slap to the face because wow, it was true.

+ ". . . shut up," you said, earning a chuckle from him. "the whole building will be able to hear you yapping."

+ today, a few years after their first intrusion in your lab, nagumo is taller and different at the age of 19. he wasn't more mature per se, but he definitely carried a more confident wittier aura that you didn't recognise from before. you, at 19 were renowned for your fantastic creations. one of your best moments was when you received a commission from an order member albeit a small one. your efforts were so well-recognised that applications for your department were growing much to your pleasure. rion congratulated you a lot, sakamoto actually used your creations and nagumo had never broken his streak of making sure to visit you almost everyday.

+ and you don't know when you started to feel this way, but whenever nagumo entered the room, time seemed to go painfully slower as though he was staying in your lab for longer than you thought. your equations for perfecting brain damage potions seemed harder than normal and you just couldn't seem to find that one blueprint that was always in its same place. even nagumo went, "it's this one, no? it was right under your hands" much to your embarrassment. your brain was scattered whenever he was near you and you really hated it.

+ and what was worse is that he noticed all this and was enjoying it.

+ "is my (name) . . . a little distracted?"

+ yes, yes. infuriatingly so, you think as you watch nagumo bounce over to where you stand in the far corner of your lab. he has that mischevious grin, the one that you want to melt off his annoyingly-handsome face. did it never occur to him that you couldn't work at your best whenever his talkative ass was in the room? is he really that stupid that you have to say, "nagumo, i need to do my work," then deal with those big eyes of his begging to stay? if he was a little less insufferable, maybe you would've─

+ you freeze. wait, he said 'my?'

+ and nagumo, his face creased with laughter, sees the cogs whir in your brain as you finally realise that he really just indirectly labelled you as his.

+ "don't tell me you've been ignoring me for that long."

+ and much to your dismay, it hits you that yeah, he's always been there. "wow! my (name) seems to like today's lunch! i don't see you here that often!" he once commented when you sat with him at the cafeteria. "the food's not always so great, but today seems ok."

+ or the other time when you had a first-year student schedule an appointment with you because he wanted advice for his weapons. nagumo saw him waiting outside your lab. "hmm, my (name) is a bit busy today! why don't you come back later?" he said while he was opening the door to waltz in, "ah! my (name) i've come to bother you!" he sang before slamming the door. you didn't manage to see the poor kid because nagumo took up your entire evening.

+ and you really did find yourself making a separate cabinet just for nagumo. even to this day, at the ripe age of 27, you made soothing creams for burns, motion sickness pills and gums for him to chew on for whenever osaragi would drive. his placement as an order member made him busier but never enough to keep him away from you. whenever you're at the clinic for your day-job, nagumo made frequent appearances. he'd lean on the front desk and request for his usual "lovely, lovely and beautifully perfected doctor," even when you're literally standing there, typing away at the computer. "yoichi, you're really doing this on my shift." it would never stop him. "i am your shift!"

+ he's surprisingly romantic for someone with little dating history. he's had a few girlfriends in the past but because of his occupation, they obviously don't last long. with you though? though not a fully-fledged assassin yourself, you're part of that world, his world, so you understand the burden and pressure that comes with it. just like nagumo is tasked with completing his missions with no mistakes, you're equally expected to never fail a surgery, always finish on time and come up with new ideas. it's a cycle where you both have each other backs.

+ like, as much as he jokes, he's very proud of your achievements. as an order member himself, he'd probably commission you a lot and if anyone needs surgical assistance or high-tech weapons, he'd be quick to mention your name. of course, he hesitates just a little because he doesn't want to share, but for the better of your work, he puts your name out there.

+ he doesn't get heavily injured because he's scarily skilled. his 'gold assassin's license' that he boasts about keeps him protected, but just to rile you up, he'd limp in through your clinic or house, crying for the kiss of the doctor that he's come to adore. if you're at the clinic, you need to appear more professional because you have people you see everyday watching you care for this grown ass man wailing his guts out. if you're at home, you're much more relaxed and honestly, so's nagumo as he leans into your delicate touch.

+ generally, he's so proud and whipped about the fact that you're a doctor and are so capable of doing what you do. he has extensive knowledge on poisons, so he tries to add his recommendations from time to time and he's grateful whenever you take it. on the rare case that you don't, he acts hurt, "oh . . . my (name) doesn't like my idea," and he'd jokingly mope until you kiss his ego better. anything can solve this man's problems if you silence him with a kiss.

+ sakamoto's like ". . . please tell me you did not get with nagumo," and nagumo finds this hilarious. he's like, "i have an idea! let's go on double dates with you, me, aoi and (name)!" to which sakamoto rejects. he doesn't mind the idea of you being friends with his wife, of course, but he doesn't want to take nagumo anywhere.

+ sometimes, he'd disguise himself as you and nonchalantly act as if he's doing chores in your house until you come back home. so when he sees you, he points and goes, "an imposter!" and at this point, you play along, "there's my doppelganger. can you give me back my boyfriend, please." and as soon as you say that, he transforms back and grabs you.

+ life with this mf is a wild ride, but honestly, you signed up for it, so good luck. once his eyes are set on someone, he goes all in and is not about to give it up. especially when he knows how serious you are about him and he is for you. a match made in heaven!

[carbonfiction]

the logan holding you to sleep reblog made me melt bc i’m sick rn and my whole body’s aching so i can’t sleep at all and i’m just thinking of him or frank being super duper pooper gentle and rubbing my hips that are in searing pain and cooing at me or holding my head closer when i make a pained noise 🐳 and my pussy is tender and fucking hurts too help 🥲

Pleeeeaaaaase 🐳nonnie!!! Being sick is so fucking sucky and i hope you feel better soon<3 i send so many lo and frankie hugs, plus heres a lil something bc goood, now im thinking about the way they would both take care of you when you were sick!!

Soothing Sickness, thought's w Logan and Frank! <3

Warnings?: mostly fluffy, mentions of medicine and such, a tinnnnnny smige of smut also- just some soft, fairly undescript, over the pants stuff! <3 masterlist

So, personally I feel like Logan would be much more.. Not quite anxious? But definitely a have that sort of disposition? Especially if you didnt have healing powers/weren't a fellow mutant.

He'd hover by the bed, by the couch, the door- anywhere you are. Half because it puts his mind at ease slightly to know where and how you are at all times, and half so if you need help at all; a drink, a snack, another blanket, literally just staggering to the bathroom, He is there and ready!!

Logan is the best at keeping you distracted too- in fact he will even bargain with you to stay in bed. "Nah cmon baby, gotta stay n' rest, ain't gonna feel better if you're staggerin about for everyone" and he does a have a point.. But perhaps you feel guilty about being stuck still in bed, like its not fair on those around you for you to be so inconvenient. Which is complete rubbish So logan breaks out the big guns.. Well.. books.

"How bout this, you stay in bed n' I'll stay.. Read you whatever you want. Hell, ill think about throwin in some cuddles if your good" with a stupid little smirk bc he knows hes got you- knows you will never turn down a cuddle with him no matter how bad you feel (you'd admitted something about feeling special that he feels safe enough with you to indulge in physical contact a while back and he swears it healed something inside him) or the soothing rumble of his voice. Those big hands of his rubbing over your skin, trying to ease the physical aches your body is feeling.

And if you began to get squirmy? A little warm and a little needy from having been enveloped by his scent for so long.. Well, he's gonna take care of that too. "What's the matter, not feelin sick are ya?" instead youd shake your head slowly, a soft sniffle filling his ears. "hurts.. " and the poor guy would practically be sniffling out whats wrong with you like an alert dog, checking everything until you all but tug his arm down beneath the sheets with a tiny whimper of struggle. "Whatcha doin with my- oh.. Oh i get it.. Poor babys all achey down there too? You need me to make it better honey 's that it?" logan would murmer, feeling over the soft fabric of both your panties and sleepwear. You'd stop him as he shifted to move them, to gather direct contact, instead putting his paw like hand back over the layers. "Hurts.. But sensitive.."

With a kiss pressed to your head in understanding hes rubbing slow circles on your clit over your clothes, providing just enough friction to build pleasure in your gut. Warm and fuzzy headed he guides you to orgasm, gasping softly into his neck. "Thats my girl, my pretty baby, did go good f''me. I know.. I know thats better huh?" as you you begin to drift off against him. Thoroughly taken care of.

----____--------____--------____----

Whereas our Frankie is a little more.. Prepared? Perhaps even clinical in a way. Every few hours hes plying you with medicine and warm tea for your throat, something like honey/lemon or camomile when he sees the way you refuse to sleep in favor of trying to push through.

"Aint gotta be doin laundry right now sweetheart, should be in bed." rumbled low beside your ear as he leans down, grasping a half folded shirt from your hands- too tired to protest physically.

"Gotta get it done frankie.." you try, only to hear him sigh- feel the weight of his hands begining to massage at your aching shoudlers. You stop and revel in the feeling for a moment, grumbling at the lick of pain that comes with the knots rubbed free.

Moments later you blink, trying to comprehend the fact your now off your feet and in franks arms- those hands now supporting your thighs as he carries you from the pile of laundry to the couch. Depositing you with a soft oomph! as he moves to grab at the blanket across the back.

Once sufficiently swaddled with it hes padding to the kitchen, coming back with tea; camomile if you had to guess despite not really being able to taste or smell it, and a few flu pills. Ready to get you comfortable for a nap so he can go finish the laundry you'd been trying to achive.

Except, frank doesn't get that far.

"Don' go.." he hears you sniffle pitifully, a soft hand grabbing at his forearm as he tries to walk away. Your expression filled with exhaustion that tugs at Frank's heart.

"Thought you wanted the laundry done sweetheart?"

"Mhm..Later" youd grumble, tugging again at him. "please.." The plea tugs at his heartstrings, sad and sniffley. Your eyes, filled with a sense of vulnerability, drooping the longer you peer up at him.

Frank sighs, resolve crumbling almost instantly as he sits himself down. "Alright, alright, my girl needs me huh?" you nod and his lips twitch into something like a smile. Large body open wide as he shifts to lie back against the arm of the couch. you begin to crawl your blanketed form ontop of his chest, legs between his. "Yeah, you come cuddle on up, atta girl, get all comfy"

You remain like that for a while, grumbling soft, contented sounds as his hands rub at your sore body. Shoudlers, lower back, your hips, massaged with gentle yet firm enough intent for him to think you fallen asleep if the soft puffs of your breath ment anything.

That is, until he feels you begin to rock over his sweatpant clad thigh. A broken, near Inauble sound pressing into his neck. The hands soothing over your sore hips drift up to sit at your waist with a careful squeeze. "Hey.. Hey sweetheart, whatcha doin there huh? Suposed to be nappin"

But your soft movements dont stop, the slow gentle rocks catching your core just right to feel good in your sleepy state. "Need.. Jus' wanna feel good.. Please.." you murmer into his skin, head not even lifting from the crook of his neck where you huff.

A thousand thoughts go through franks mind, most how he should stop you and get you resting. How he should be soothing you to sleep instead. But the broken, pitiful sounds you let out besides his ear makes Frank think otherwise.

So, as he always does when it comes to you, he gives in, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. "You got me sweetheart, not goin anywhere. Alright, shhh, i know. you hump away yeah? Hump that nasty feelin away sweetheart. Do whatcha need"

And you do, guided by his hands on your waist and the growing heat in your fluttering tummy. You hump at his leg in soft rocks until your own legs tremble and lips part in a quiet gasp. Shattering with a fuzzy mind and a throbbing clit.

"Oh there you go.. There it is.. Atta girl." frank coos, lips still pressing kisses to your skin as you grip him tightly. A large hand slipping to rub up and down you back soothingly. "Feelin a lil better now?"

Theres a soft mumble at fills his ears in response , arms nice and tight around you as you snuggle further into his chest. Eyes finally fluttering shut as the combination of your orgasm, the tea and medication kick in. "Yeah.. You take that nap while your all nice n' fuzzy. I gotcha."

Sigh.. Sigh i need them guys. I need them so fucking bad its not even funny.

[dreamsteddie]

This is a second love Omegaverse au inspired by @lexirosewrites fanfiction, Sometimes Goodbye is a Second Chance. It is one of my personal favorites and I have read it many a time and was inspired by it. This is meant to be a part of Slick Sunday but it got really long so I decided to post it like this instead.

------

They both find themselves suddenly alone in the world with little notice.

Steve thought he was in love. He was in love. But it turns out she wasn't. At least not anymore.

There had been a single moment of elation when she told him she was pregnant. That joy was quickly and brutally squashed by the admission that the pup was not his, and better yet, she was leaving him for the sire. They were going to take the chance of having her take a competing bond, hopefully beating out the strength of the old one to eliminate it completely. It's dangerous. If it doesn't go right the Omega will likely drop, maybe even lose the child from the shock of two bonds not willing to coexist but not being strong enough to eliminate the other

Apparently, moving on from Steve is enough of an incentive to risk it all.

Two nights later, he feels the bond dissolve. Gone, just like that. Empty where he had once been full. He turns into the pillows, the ones that still smell of her, and weeps. He reaches up to cradle his mating mark, now an empty scar with no meaning.

Eddie knew what he had wasn't love. He doesn't know if he'd ever been in love, but he knows it's not what he has with his Alpha. Without even realizing it, he had fallen into the same patterns of life his parents had tread before him. He met an Alpha at a bar, thought he was the best kind of wild, stayed with him just long enough to think that this was as good as it was going to get, and resigned himself to a bond. His Alpha wasn't the worst, but he was far from nice. He was a bartender who took advantage of his proximity to alcohol with a kind of reckless abandon that Eddie used to indulge in himself.

Then, all of a sudden, Eddie was pregnant. He didn't know how to tell his Alpha. Didn't know how he would react. Would he be excited? Mad? Indifferent? At the end of the day, he never gets to find out. By the time the call comes in to tell him his Alpha had had enough alcohol in his system to wrap himself around a pole, he's already felt the bond break. He thinks he should be sad. He should be devastated, it's the natural way to react, but all he feels is scared.

What is he supposed to do now?

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

They're both there to get their scars removed.

It's not a completely unusual procedure, common enough that there are a handful of clinics in town to choose from.

Steve hates it here. He hates the beige walls and the beige chairs and the smell of artificial air meant to cancel out the smell of distress that would no doubt be filling up the space otherwise.

He clocks Eddie first. He looks...vacant in a way that Steve can't help but feel is unnatural for him. He's dressed in all black but not like a widow. Chains and rings and a baggy hoodie brandishing the logo of some metal band he doesn't recognize. He doesn't know why, but something compels him to reach out.

He gets up, "this seat taken?" he asks.

The Omega looks up and, Jesus Christ, he has pretty eyes. Steve doesn't know if he's seen eyes quite like his before.

"Guess not," he says, voice deeper than any Omega Steve has ever met before.

For a while, they just sit. Everyone at these clinics is given a window of time to come in, so they could be stuck in this waiting room for five minutes or two hours. It all depends on how bad the cases before them are.

It's the Omega who breaks the silence.

"So, what are you in for?" he asks, looking at Steve with a little bit of that mischief that looks so natural on him. It makes Steve smile for the first time in weeks.

"Isn't it obvious?" he asks, turning up his wry smile just a little bit "I got dumped. She cheated on me, got pregnant, and now she's gone. Gotta figure out where to go from here, I guess."

If Steve wanted to flatter himself, he would say that Eddie looks shocked at the admission. In reality, he doesn't know what to call that look. He just stares at Steve for a long moment and then says, "Huh, wasn't expecting that one." It's enough to pull a startled little laugh from Steve.

"I'm Steve." he holds out his hand

"Eddie." he takes it.

"So Eddie," Steve says as he releases his hand, "what are you in for?" That, apparently, is the wrong thing to say because the Omega goes from quietly amused to averting his eyes and slumping in his chair.

"My Alpha died last week."

Oh.

Before Steve can think of anything to say to try and spit out the massive foot he just put in his mouth, Eddie is pulling at the collar of the hoodie and tilting his head slightly to reveal his mark. It's different than Steve's which has been red and irritated since the bond broke, upset at not having a match. Eddie's is dull, to say the least. It's like a grey film has been placed over the whole area. He hides it away as quickly as he'd shown it off.

"The wild thing is I don't even miss him. I didn't even really like him!" he says a little too loud for the low buzz of the waiting room, but he doesn't seem to care. "I didn't even like him but then he went and got himself killed and left me alone with a pup I didn't even want! And now I can't bear to give it up even though I know I should because I have no fucking Alpha and no job and I'm going to be a shitty fucking mom and-" By now he's definitely too loud for the waiting room and people are starting to look around like they're waiting for someone to do something and Steve really does not need to be kicked out right now so he does the only thing he can think to do.

Steve wraps Eddie up in an incredibly awkward side hug and starts crooning at him, trying to gentle him into relaxing a little bit. He subconsciously tries pumping out calming pheromones but with the clinic purifiers, it's probably not doing what it's supposed to. He half expects Eddie to push him away. He doesn't seem like the kind of guy who appreciates random Alphas invading his space, but to his surprise, Eddie melts into his side almost too easily. He puts his head right over Steve's sternum, getting as close as he can to that gentle rumbling purr.

"Fuck, sorry, that was too much," Eddie says, voice muffled by Steve's shirt.

"Hey, hey, don't worry about it. That sounds really rough, I'm sorry. I'm sorry about your Alpha." he soothes.

Eddie just lets out a little sigh, clearly not planning to extract himself from Steve's hold any time soon. "Like I said, it's not even the Alpha. Honestly, he kind of really sucked. It's just...It all seems so big right now, y'know? I never planned on pups, but now I've got one growing in my belly like some kind of parasite and all I want is to see their little face and hold them in my arms and keep them safe. I want this baby, but I don't know how I'm going to do it."

Once again, Steve doesn't know what to say. He's been abandoned more times than he cares to think about, but never in the same way Eddie has been. He doesn't know what to do, what to say, where this whole thing goes from a kind stranger offering a little comfort to an Alpha trying to insert themselves into a vulnerable Omega's life. He should say nothing. He should hold Eddie for as long as he wants to be held and get the last of his bond removed and start thinking about what to do with his life next.

In fact, that's exactly what he's planning to do, but in the course of step one -comforting Eddie- Steve makes the mistake of leaning his head on top of the Omega's. This close to the source, not even the extra strength air purifiers in the clinic are enough to hide Eddie's scent from him.

Steve has never really believed in scent mates, always thought they were an old wives tale, but he thinks Eddie might just change his mind. Steve has never smelt anything quite it. It's muskier than most Omegas tend to smell but with sweet notes of basil and peaches. It takes every ounce of self-control and a reminder to himself that he has been without a mate for less than a month for him to not start huffing at the poor guy's hair like a lunatic.

All that really means is that rather than continuing to hold Eddie in silence like a normal fucking person, he instead blurts out "I could help you!"

Startled, Eddie backs up enough to look Steve in the eye, his own eyes wide in surprise. He doesn't completely leave the circle of Steve's arms which he counts as a small win.

"What?"

This is Steve's chance to back out. To back peddle and make up something, anything, except for what he's really thinking which is something along the lines of "please be my mate and let me help you raise a child. I think we might be soul mates!"

What he actually says isn't all that better.

"I mean, I could help you with the pup, you know?" Eddie just continues to look at him, eyes getting impossibly wider, "I mean, we just met and that's crazy but I just got a new apartment with an extra bedroom and you seem like a nice guy and..." Steve deflates a little bit, letting the silence linger.

"Steve?" Eddie prompts. A little bit of hope peaking through his words. Just enough to give Steve the push he needs to tell to truth.

"...and I don't know what I want to do with my life anymore. I don't know what to do next. All I ever wanted was a family, but no one ever wanted one with me. So, if you want, you can stay with me. It doesn't have to be permanent but...maybe it could be. Eventually. Your choice." and he means it, is the thing. As bat shit insane as it sounds Steve is suddenly so sure that he could make a life with Eddie. That they could be happy together. Mates.

Eddie is, once again, silent. He's still just staring, jaw dropped searching Steve's face for something. Steve doesn't know what it is he needs to see, so he just lets him look.

"Eddie Munson?" a nurse calls out, breaking the bubble they've built around them. They both startle, instinctively scrambling out of their chairs so she doesn't pass over Eddie for the next patient.

Steve starts to panic as he feels this opportunity start to slip through his fingers. Once Eddie passes through those doors, there's no guarantee that they'll ever see each other again, but he won't push him. What he's asking for is crazy, he knows, and Eddie has every right to flee from him and never look back.

Instead, Eddie whips around. There's more life in him than there has been since Steve first spotted him. There's fear and hope and joy all dancing across his beautiful eyes as he surges back to grasp Steve's hand from where it was lying limp at his side.

"Yes!"

"Yes?"

"Yes! To all of it! Fuck!" Eddie is, once again, being way too loud for this waiting room, but Steve doesn't give a damn about that. How could he care about anything else at all when Eddie is smiling at him like that? "Just, wait for me ok? Or, I guess I'll wait for you since I'll be out first?" he says it more like a question than a confirmation, like he's suddenly scared Steve is going to take it all back.

"I'll look for you." is all he says, suddenly aware of the nurse making her way toward them, clearly impatient to get things started. He wishes he could go in with Eddie. Wishes he could hold his hand through the inevitable pain of the removal and soothe the pup growing in belly reacting to their mother's pain, but he has his own appointment to wait for.

Eddie nods, squeezing his hand just once before finally allowing the nurse to usher him back toward the offices in the back, never looking away from Steve as he does so. Steve gives him a little wave as he passes through the door before collapsing back into the seat behind him.

All that's left to do now is wait for what comes next.

[777nicetits]

look who’s back ;P

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ baseball player!schlatt x physiotherapist!reader, mentions of injuries, a lot of bickering, not proofread. english is not my first language.

“Where is he?!” You borderline scream as you enter the locker room, the sea of (luckily clothed, save for a couple shirtless ones) players turning their heads over to where you and the nurses stood at the door.

To your right, you heard the unmistakable and ever so insufferable sound of a gravel, low chuckle. Your head whipped in its direction, fire burning behind your dilated pupils as your eyes found his. Standing by the entrance to the showers (mistake number one, not supposed to put any weight on his left leg), a damp towel thrown over his shoulder and another one wrapped around his hips (mistake number two, no full body showers, no wetting the bandage), the dirty uniform he wore previously carelessly laid on the ground next to his feet (mistake number three, absolutely no playing for the next three months).

Mother. Fucker.

“You gotta be shitting me!” This time you screamed. The room erupted in laughter, but you didn’t find anything about this situation funny.

With a heavy sigh you looked over your shoulders, head nodding once, the silent signal for the nurses to go get him, and so they did, walking over to the man with the wheelchair he hated so much.

Schlatt stumbled backwards, the back of his knee hitting the wooden bench behind him and almost knocking him onto his ass. “Hey! What’s this about?”

“You’re late for your physical therapy session. Y’know, the place you should’ve been instead of in the field, disobeying my direct orders!?”

He scoffed. “Can I at least put some clothes on? Or you want me to go like this, doc?”

I’m gonna kill this bitch, you thought.

But, instead of jumping on him like a hungry lioness and taking a piece of his jugular off with your own teeth, you just inhaled deeply, holding the oxygen in your lungs for a couple of seconds before letting go.

“Just bring the clothes,” you said calmly, “we’ll help you put them on in the clinic. Can’t risk you putting any more weight on your feet.”

Out of excuses, Schlatt reluctantly sat down on the wheelchair. Huffing and puffing his way out.

“I can’t believe you did that!” You slammed the door to your office open, the wood plank hitting against the wall and making everything on it shake.

Schlatt, who now had a shirt on and had taken control of his own wheelchair, rolled his eyes as he rolled himself in. “You’re so dramatic. It was just a light practice, I didn’t even-“

“Dramatic?!” You did a 180°, twirling like a ballerina to angrily face him. “Schlatt, you’re 100% my responsibility. If you keep disregarding what I tell you, you won’t get any better, and if you don’t get any better the higher ups are gonna blame me for that! I could lose my job!”

Schlatt kept looking up at you with a blank expression, and it was your time to roll your eyes. “Dunno why I’m telling you any of that, it’s not like you care anyways.”

You walk over behind your desk, opening the top drawer and taking some new bandages to replace Schlatt’s damp one, while he takes the moment you weren’t looking to get up, quickly throwing the towel around his hip to the floor and putting his underwear on.

“You’re not gonna lose your job.” He grunted, sitting back down on the wheelchair.

“Sure buddy,” you scoffed, closing back the drawer, “because when they ask you why haven’t you recovered you’ll tell them that’s it’s ‘cause you didn’t listen to me.”

“You think I’m that much of a douchebag I’ll just throw you under the bus like that?”

You crouched down in front of him, placing his feet on top of your knee, fingers working skillfully as you undid the bandage, careful as to not hurt him in the process.

“You’re not a douchebag, Schlatt,” you sighed, “I just know where your priorities lie. And I don’t blame you, I’d do the same if I had the talent you do… and the salary.”

With yours eyes still fixated on changing the bandage on his sprained ankle, you heard him scoff. “My priorities? Yeah, right.” He leaned in, hand cupping your chin and lifting your head up, your eyes meeting his. “Maybe you should let me take you out for a couple drinks, show you where my priorities really lie.”

To say that his offer took you by surprise would be an overstatement. Ever since you started working with the Yankees, Schlatt has always flirted with you, just for fun (and you always send him on some HR visits, y’know, just for fun), but this is the first time he’s ever gotten this close to you, touching you while he talks with that smooth voice of his, that stupid grin plastered on his face. The bastard knows what he’s doing, and he knows he’s good at it.

You placed his feet back on the floor with little care, making him wince, and got up, your thighs burning a bit.

“You haven’t seen miss Anderson this month, have you?”

“Oh c’mon, toots,” he chuckled, “you can’t pretend you don’t like the attention forever. Just give me one night, you won’t regret it, I swear.”

You looked down at him, arms crossed over your chest. It’s not a matter of liking the attention, it’s more of a matter of not hating it. Or at least that’s what you’ve been trying to convince yourself.

“I’ll call Nelson to come help you put your pants.” You say after awhile of silence, making your way over to the door.

Schlatt lets out a breathy laugh. “Just so you know, I won’t let it go until you say yes!” He screamed as you walked away, leaving him by himself in your office.

You shook your head, a dumb little smile on your face.

I really hope you don’t.

aaaand scene 🎬 !! it took me three whole days to write this lmao, what can i say? i’m just that good at procrastinating 🤪

[ducksido]

Hi duckyboo 💗 (/j) i came back from my grave

As always, Rook Hunt, cause i luv him.

Rook with a Will Solace!male reader/yuu who, after going on a hunting trip (they somehow got permision by Crowley), realized that reader may or may not be more magically (or just useful) useful that what everyone thought.

(Gotta love our countryboy doctor who can kill or impale a non human by just understanding it's anatomy)

Hii arleboo 💖(/j) Chat every time I write for Rook I have to scratch my brain for my French Duolingo lessons

The moment you asked Crowley for permission to go on a hunting trip, Rook was already intrigued.

Of course he followed you. (Surprise surveillance is a love language.)

He expected to see you admire the woods, maybe set a few traps, or—if he was lucky—gather herbs with your charmingly clinical focus. What he didn’t expect was you casually taking down a magically enhanced boar-creature by stabbing it through the sternum and muttering, “That’s where the secondary heart is. Too bad.”

When you drag the monster’s corpse out of the thicket with blood on your sleeves, sweat on your brow, and a boyish smile as if you didn’t just perform a murder with surgical precision—Rook genuinely short-circuits.

“Mon dieu...! Yuu, mon cher! Quelle magnificence!”

He dashes to your side, breathless in admiration. You think he's mad at you for wandering too far, but instead he grabs your hands, eyes wide with awe.

“To know the rhythm of a creature's body—its heart, its bones, its hidden weaknesses—and to act with such unerring precision... c’est vraiment un don du ciel!”

You're awkward, wiping monster blood off on your jeans. “Uhh... I just know anatomy? It’s not that big a deal.”

“Non, non, non! It is the greatest of deals! You are the perfect combination of healer and hunter, light and lethality! Like Apollo himself forged you in a moment of divine indulgence!”

He starts reciting a poem about your hands. You interrupt to remind him you need to cauterize the wound on your arm first.

Once the others find out, thanks to Rook’s lyrical bragging and a very graphic photo in the group chat, everyone starts realizing just how useful you are.

Vil asks for you on wilderness assignments now. “If anything goes wrong, we have our golden boy executioner.”

Idia is both terrified and fascinated. “Bro... you’re like... a support character with assassin DLC.”

As for Rook:

He’s enamored. Not just because you’re deadly—though he adores that part—but because you do it with purpose. You don’t kill for thrill. You do it to protect others. To heal those who come after.

He watches you patch up Grim after a blast, sunlight on your hair and blood on your fingers, and he falls a little more in love.

“You are poetry in motion, mon soleil—both scalpel and salve.”

You: “Rook please I’m just trying to get this splinter out—”

“Let me serenade you as you perform your sacred work.”

And so you’re stuck with a devoted hunter boyfriend who writes you poetry about your anatomical knowledge and brags about your field surgery skills like they’re heroic feats—which, to him, they are.

[wrathofrats]

A good friend requested some ghouls comforting dew dealing with hair loss

So have 700 words of Swiss and mountain comforting dew after his transition caused some of his hair to fall out.

Warnings for: allegories to chronic illness, dew being insecure about his hair, descriptions of hair loss and the trauma related to that. Hurt comfort? Kinda? Dew is hurt and Swiss and mountain comfort him

“Oh droplet…” mountain mumbled to himself as he passed the hairbrush down the golden strands of dews hair. Once a more inky black similar to rains now a striking blonde after his transition, as if the element burned through his hair too.

“Its….” Swiss grabbed the hair brush from mountain to pull the clumps of hair out of it, “ok it’s really not that bad”

It seemed like with every pass more and more thin pieces and knots of hair came out. Another handful to throw into the garbage. When dew first came back from his transition it was never this bad, maybe a couple extra pieces in the shower but as the weeks went on dew found himself emptying the bristles of his hair brush more often.

“Let me see” dew tried to turn around to face mountain and swiss but was kept forward by mountains legs around his hips, “if it’s really not that bad let me see”

“Don’t think that’s necessary dew. Just let us take care of you, don’t worry about it” Swiss handed the hair brush back to mountain, pursing his lips as mountain parted his hair. A clear thick line of pale scalp was visible, patches more apparently missing as his hair was moved around.

“Then let me see”

“It looks fine, the more you fuss the more problems you’ll find dew” mountain parted dews hair for French braids, a common hairstyle he’s sent him to bed in when his hair was thicker, harder to tame. But as he ran his finger down the middle of his scalp Swiss shook his head, noticing the track of much too visible scalp. Mountain shook his hair out, opting for a singular braid down the center of his head.

“I’m not stupid mo.” Dew squirmed, trying to turn around again to a mirror. “It feels different. Do you understand how weird that is? My hair doesn’t tangle anymore. There’s not enough of it. I could go days without brushing my hair and it wouldn’t fucking knot like it used to if you looked at it wrong”

They could hear the struggle in his voice, how it wavered around the words he was so afraid to speak. Years of complaining about the thickness to now being able to not take care of it and he would be fine. The ends were starting to get choppy, thin and frayed, split ends poking out the last half. Swiss passed mountain a bottle of leave in, something to help a little and even if it didn’t it made dew feel normal again.

“I know darling. It won’t last forever, just gotta wait for it to heal” mountain sprayed the conditioner through his hair, more than he really needed but dew would recognize if he put less.

“It really doesn’t even look that bad. You can barely tell if I’m being honest” Swiss tried to lighten his mood.

“Please don’t lie to me- I’m not stupid. I know it looks different. It looks weird.”

“It doesn’t. You look just as beautiful as always” there was a heavy pause in the room, Swiss and mountain staring at each other thinking of what to say. What could they say? Yes dew looked different, but even if jarring he wasn’t any less pretty, wasn’t any less dewdrop.

“You’re our dewdrop. Hair or not. And we love you all the same”

“But I don’t. No one else seems to be worried but I’m the one who has to live with it”

Mountain pulled at three small strands right at the top of dews forehead, beginning to braid down slowly, taking his time to play with dews hair the way he liked it. Swiss moved to sit in front of him instead of behind, hoping a familiar face would take away the clinicalness of it all.

“And I’m the one who has to live with you. And I’m telling you we love you either way. The state of your hair won’t change that.” Swiss said, flicking his nose with a giggle “sadly I’d probably still love you even if you killed someone”

Dew batted his hand away, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Would you still love me even if I was a worm?”

“You’d be the prettiest worm” Swiss laughed

“And we would give you the biggest tank possible. With the freshest vegetables.” Mountain chimed, securing an elastic at the end of the braid.

“No asparagus right? You know I hate asparagus”

“Absolutely no asparagus, my pretty worm”

[slamminslamminmcgill]

waiter waiter!!! can i get more house md smut with a side of intox <3

I GOTCHUUUUUUU ive been thinking a lot abt it can you tell >:3

warnings: intox, hard drug use, cnc/noncon/dubcon, somno, gaslighting, humiliation, mentions of date rape and suicide, homophobia/transphobia, slurs, sph but make it t-dick, medical kink, 🏠 being 🏠

reader is a trans man/transmasc. anatomical terms used are cunt, slit, and dick/t-dick

so. house has no qualms drugging people for his own personal gain. he’s done it to wilson, cuddy’s mother, a nuisance neighbor, and god knows how many patients. but i don’t think he’d do it to have sex with someone. he has multiple reasons for this, the simplest being that he doesn’t need to.

“date rape is pathetic. if you can’t get people to sleep with you of their own free will, that’s what we call a ‘you problem’. you should worry about fixing your own life instead of ruining someone else’s. or, you could do the honorable thing and just kill yourself, like the noble samurai.”

he also wants his partner in the moment with him. someone excited, responsive, someone who will react to his every touch and beg for more. it’s an ego boost for him.

that being said, however, he’s absolutely into intox sex. it’s probably one of his biggest kinks. he’s fascinated by the effects of drugs, how a little bit of this or a tiny bump of that can augment the experience, either for himself, or a willing lab rat.

house gets off on documenting the experience. sometimes he’ll ask you questions about your high and put your answers in writing. sometimes he'll film the session (with or without your knowledge. i bet he has hidden cameras. depends on if he’s worried about participant bias). most commonly though, he'll narrate his findings into a voice recording.

he's fully clothed with you naked on his lap. your head's been spinning for a while now, thanks to that brownie he fed you earlier. he's got one hand pinching your nipple; the other lazily stroking your cunt, tracing up and down your slit, creating a baseline level of arousal for you. "current time is 11:57, almost 3 hours after ingestion. subject is presenting with dilated pupils, impaired motor skills, decreased cognitive function..."

he pinches your t-dick and jerks it aggressively, causing you to jolt upright and yelp in shock, "a-aah! f-fu-OH! fuck!” you start to leak into his hand.

"subject is self-lubricating adequately—" house’s fingers slip off your t-dick. he huffs in frustration, but gets right back to it, “perhaps even excessively, and presents with healthy erectile tissue despite underdevelopment.” he stops jerking you to suck on your neck and smack your cunt with an open palm. “you get that? that’s big smart doctor-speak for ‘you have a tiny dick.’” he starts to jerk you again. “an adorable, tiny little baby dick. it’s almost like you’re a real boy.”

it's not always a clinical trial with him, though. he’s also into more casual, personal, intimate intox play. things like drinking games or sharing a bong together. he loves pressuring you to do one more shot, take one more hit, let yourself slip further and further. he’s such a bad influence.

as you two get better acquainted over time, you’ll build trust in each other, and house will want to take more risks with you. he likes to call you on the phone at random with ideas.

he leaves you a voicemail, “you ever hear of ketamine? it’s a dissociative anesthetic. used as an antidepressant, a party drug, and horse tranquilizer. let me know if you’re interested, because i wanna give you some and then fuck you in the ass. alright! gotta go, talk soon. later, fag!”

after enough sessions together, he’ll pop the question: “how do you feel about loss of consciousness? are you okay with waking up to me using you?”

he invites you to spend the night, and you’re greeted at the door with some water and a mysterious pill.

“what’s this?” you ask.

“wanna find out?” he answers.

a few sessions like that, and then house will escalate. suppose an offer of a pill turns into a surprise injection in your bicep.

if you don’t pass out, you’ll have to guess what he gave you based on how it makes you feel. on edge? heart’s racing? a stimulant. dizzy? can’t think straight? a benzo. your body’s heavy, and the world seems like it’s lagging? ketamine.

but it’s not always obvious. you’ll be hours into a session, paranoid, overanalyzing your senses, trying to pinpoint what’s different than usual, but nothing sticks out. overall, you just feel… good. that’s all it feels like. no wacky colors or crazy thoughts, just good. but house always makes you feel good. in fact, his mouth is making you feel really good right now. what the hell did he give you? it’s gotta be something, right?

he’ll come up for air while he’s eating you out, “any guesses?”

you’re panting, gasping for all the air you can get in this brief moment’s respite, and you have no fucking clue. “i don’t… fuck, i don’t know. i can’t tell.”

“hm! sounds about right.”

“wh… wha?”

“i gave you a sugar pill, dummy. thought you would’ve figured it out by now. god, you’re stupid.”

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

bronya & seele hugging reader who they think is dead, confessing their feelings at the last moment

and oop he gets better and now they gotta deal with their confession

(H:SR) Bronya and Seele confessing to an injured Reader

Gender Neutral as per usual, but I LOVE prompts like these ngl

Bronya has already lost so many people throughout her life, soldiers under her command, loved ones, yet she would never grow immune to it.

The day she lost her mother and became the new Supreme Guardian, it nearly broke her.

And with (Y/N) taking a blow meant for her. any composure she had was instantly shattered the moment the battle was over.

Tears streamed down her face as she felt the snow fall on her arms, patches of red staining the ground and her clothes.

Though the soldiers around her attempted to patch the worst of the injuries, the situation was looking more dire by the second.

Bronya hugged (Y/N) tight to her chest, doing her best to not break down for the sake of those around her.

But more than anything, she just wanted (Y/N) to know how she felt.

(Bronya) "(Y/N), I'm so sorry...Don't go, please...!"

(Y/N) grit their teeth, unable to speak but managed to squeeze her hand, messily wiping away a tear from her face.

(Bronya) "I...love you, (Y/N)..."

They fell unconscious before giving their response, being carried away by the other Silvermane soldiers.

Upon returning back to base, Bronya had finally received news of (Y/N)'s status, and she braced herself for the worst:

(Silvermane) "Supreme Guardian! (Y/N) has been stabilized and requested to see you, ma'am!"

Bronya sighed in relief, dismissing the others so she could speak to them alone.

Honestly? She was ready to cry tears of joy knowing that they'd be okay, expecting (Y/N) to immediately begin reassuring her the moment she walked in.

And it would be for the second time today she'd be proven wrong.

(Y/N) "Bronya, I think I might have been going a bit loopy near the end but...did you say that you loved me?"

Bronya's jaw dropped, the sudden realization hitting her. She had confessed in the heat of the moment.

She had kept it secret for years, and Bronya had let it slip finally, though understandably so.

And yet Bronya was still completely flustered by it.

(Bronya) "I-I...Well, I just...! M-Maybe...?"

A brief moment of silence passed before (Y/N) began laughing, so hard in fact they coughed in pain, making Bronya rush over before they could even blink.

(Bronya) "Are you still hurt?!"

(Y/N) "Ow...! Yeah, but that can wait! How am I supposed to take the news of the Supreme Guardian being in love with me?"

Even though they were in pain, they were healthy enough to give her a little smirk, causing her to blush and pout.

(Bronya) "Pardon me for thinking that you were gravely injured!"

(Y/N) "You only wanted to let me know how you felt when I was at death's door?"

(Bronya) "Of course not! Just...how could have I told you?"

Her eyes trailed downward, sighing and leaning back into a nearby chair that sat near their bed.

(Y/N) eased off a little, a hand brushing a small strand of hair near her face, causing Bronya to freeze at the gesture.

But after a moment, she leaned into their touch, seeing a more genuine smile now.

(Y/N) "You could've told me anytime, Bronya, and my answer would've been the same. I love you too."

Bronya leaned her head against theirs, and for a moment, the two said nothing and enjoyed the brief moment of peace they had earned.

They'd figure out what to do and how to handle their relationship, but for now, they could just have each other.

Even if it wasn't entirely the way Bronya had planned to announce her love to them.

Seele bursts into Natasha's Clinic, breathing heavily as she's carrying (Y/N), one arm around her shoulder.

(Seele) "NAT! I NEED YOU!"

Natasha immediately rushes to her aid, getting (Y/N) to a nearby bed, looking to see how grievous the injury was.

Seele's clothes were stained in dried blood, though none of it was hers.

(Natasha) "What happened?!"

(Seele) "This dumbass took a hit that was meant for me, a-and...!-"

Natasha nodded, gently pushing Seele away from the bed, though she refused to go anywhere.

(Seele) "Please, let me help them!"

Knowing better than to tell Seele off when she was so clearly panicked, Natasha applied pressure on the bleeding and brought up her face mask.

(Natasha) "Sterilized bandages, now."

(Seele) "R-Right!"

After several minutes of intensive care, with (Y/N)'s breathing getting heavier, Natasha could hear the quiet pleas from Seele as she held onto their hand.

(Seele) "Not like this, please just hang in there...!"

Natasha disposed of her now red mask, cleaning her hands before grabbing Seele's shoulder.

(Natasha) "They have to rest, and we need to get you looked at as well."

(Seele) "Nat, are they going to make it?!"

(Natasha) "They're stabilized for now, but it's...hard to say. I'll have my eye on them 24/7 as soon as we're done."

Seele winced at the report, but knew nothing else could be done.

Before she left to get cleaned, Seele left a kiss on (Y/N)'s forehead, and reluctantly left their side.

A day or two later, Seele received a text from Natasha, almost making her knees go out in relief.

Natasha: (Y/N) is awake, and they'll make a full recovery in a matter of time. I'll explain more, but they were asking to see you.

Seele: On my way now.

Though her text was calm, she nearly sprinted the entire way to Natasha's clinic.

Swinging the door wide open, she saw Natasha sitting in front of (Y/N)'s bed, smiling at the sight of her friend.

(Natasha) "Looks like you already have a visitor."

(Y/N) "Seele!"

Seele rushed over to their bed, nearly crushing (Y/N) in a hug as tears fell out of her eyes.

(Seele) "You MORON! You almost got killed doing that stupid stunt, what were you thinking?!"

(Y/N) "Protecting you! You were about to take that blow yourself!-"

(Seele) "And I would've been fine!-"

(Natasha) "I beg to differ. And I also think you should let (Y/N) finish their thought."

Seele was tempted to roll her eyes, but instead listened to Natasha.

(Y/N) "You think I wanna see someone I care about get hurt?"

(Seele) "How the hell do you think I feel?!"

At first, (Y/N) motioned to say something else before blushing, making Seele confused.

(Y/N) "I...T-Think that kiss you gave me told me."

(Seele) "Wha-?!"

Immediately, the memory came flooding back. The kiss she gave them before they went under care. They were awake for that?!

And with that, Natasha just chuckled and moved to the curtains, winking at them.

(Natasha) "I think I'll give you two a moment."

Once the curtain closed them off, Seele and (Y/N) sat in silence, both blushing madly.

Until, mercifully, (Y/N) spoke up.

(Y/N) "I...feel the same way, if it means anything."

(Seele) "...Of course it does, idiot."

She held their hand, but was unable to meet their eyes directly, and the two of them stayed like that for a small eternity.

(Seele) "If you ever get hurt like that again, I'll kill you myself."

(Y/N) "Hah, sure thing, dear."

Seele spun her head to give them a glare, one which faltered immediately seeing them smile. And with a sigh, she just hugged them closer to her.