#questions will keep them hooked! such as:

[kindslut]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃𝐒 𝐄𝐍𝐃

╰ SHOW ﹕ ARCANE !

︵ WARNING(S) ﹕╰ swearing ⸝ violence ﹕ sex

︵ relationship ﹕ Vi x fem!fragile!reader x Caitlyn

⟣・S2・HEAVY IS THE CROWN︰

THE SOUND OF screaming could be heard when you had awoken from being on the ground, your hair in a messy style as you couldn’t see your surroundings. was Jayce and viktor okay? was everyone alright? mel..? of course you wouldn’t know, everything in your body hurt, it felt like some sort of piece of metal lodged in your side.

Being a well trained solider had its many perks but you weren’t prepared for this. Of course you weren’t. like they say, the most unexpected things come.

For you though it felt a little far fetched whenever your mom would tell you the stories about the ghost and salem. Where the witch would be haunted down and hunted but towards the end they found her having did no wrong doing.

Sad tale it was. really.

Everything on your body hurt like hell, the only voice you could hear was Jayce’s. was he carrying you and viktor? probably.

That dude had some incredible strength.

JAYCE SITS IN a chair with his head in his hand, looking over at viktor who lays inside the hextech. seeing you and viktor in this condition was tearing him limb from limb, not in a gruesome way but a much more sadder way.

He had hated not being able to protect the both of you, it felt like hell. But you know, some things just come and go…you lay there on a bed with a bunch of iv’s attached to your arms and lower half, your hair was in a messy bun since Jayce had tried thing it himself.

Mel walks inside his office as she takes a look around, her eyes landing on Jayce. “How are they?” She questioned.

“Same as before. They’re both breathing.” Jayce answers in reply, a distressed look on his face. “Their pluses are consistent. Beyond that, your guess is as good as mines.”

Mel walks over to viktor, her eyes landing on the hextech as she starts reaching her hand out with curiosity. When she goes to touch it, it reacts differently with her making her gasp and step back.

“What’s it doing to him?” Mel questions.

“The hexcore has been evolving.” Jayce explains, “shifting through runic patters faster than I can keep up. All I know for certain is that it’s keeping him and her alive.”

Jayce eyes land on where you laid, his heart aching with devastation as he sees you reacting differently to the hextech aside from viktor, your body was rejecting it but also accepting it at the same time.

If it was the only thing keeping you alive he wasn’t gonna mess with it.

“It should be me up there instead of him. I should be laying in that bed instead of her,” Jayce grumbled, gesturing to an unconscious you on the bed barely breathing. “Vi and cait are gonna lose it.”

“Don’t say that.” Mel placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “They’ll both come back to us.”

“I still don’t understand.” Jayce replies. “They were both right next to me. How does the explosion do that to them, and I just…? I just walk out without a scratch? [name] almost lost a hand, my god.”

Mel sighs. “There’s no sense to these things, Jayce.”

The male was quiet for a while before speaking again, “how’d it go with the council?” he asks.

Mel scoffs. “My mother’s entered the game. She’s already gotten her hooks into salo. Using his grief to make a play for hextech.”

“Mel, I promised viktor, never again.” Jayce tells the woman.

Mel places her hand over his. “It’s all right. I handled it. I won’t let them corrupt your dream.”

Jayce looks over at an unconscious you again, before laying his head on mel’s thighs, tears threaten to fall down his eyes but he holds them back.

He just wanted you and viktor back, that’s all.

You were very important to caitlyn and vi after all.

“I should get going now.” Mel says, “you might want to spend some alone time with them.”

With that, she stood up and patted his shoulder one last time before walking out the door. The door slams shut behind her by itself, making Jayce flinch a little.

He feels you stir, his head perks up immediately.

When it does, he saw you already staring at him, a confused look on your gaze.

“What was that about?” You questioned, sitting up with your back pressed against the pillows. It was a little hard to breathe but it was manageable with the breathing machine.

“I don’t even care-- i just-- you’re--?” Jayce launches forward and pulls you into a huge, a huge so tight you had gasped. He wasn’t hugging you too tight as though you couldn’t breathe— he just hugged you with desperation and worry.

“Woah! hey, hey, it’s okay.” You reassured, patting his back. “I’m okay.”

He was so happy to hear your voice.

“ONE OF THE MANY PRIVILEGES OF SERVING AS YOUR COUNCILOR IS HAVING THE OCCASION NOW AND AGAIN TO STAND BEHIND THIS PODIUM TO BEHOLD SO MANY JOINED TOGETHER NOT BY BIRTH OR DICTUM BUT BY ALL THAT WE SHARE.” MEL SPOKE as you stood by the other guards to keep watch, your back was leaned against the wall as the wound with the patch on your side was being healed. Your biceps flexing under the light as your toned abs still hurting from the explosion, but the wounds would heal, you were sure.

You glanced down at the tattoo on your hip and let your thumb graze over it, remembering when it was given.

You see one of the enforcers walk past you, you look them up and down by their attire before your brows furrowed— something felt wrong.

Heading into the crowd you lock gazes with vi, the both of you nodding towards one another before following the enforcer. But another person caught your attention as well, making you turn around and face the other way.

“The hell..?” You whisper lowly.

You push past the crowd of civilians as your hips sway when walking, and you walked with a purpose.

To figure out who the hell these people were.

Walking over to the other enforcers you climbed over the railing, your thighs still hurting but of course you forgot to bring your crutches for support. But it’s whatever.

“Wait, wait, ma’am you can’t--“

“Excuse me, I’m an enforcer too.” You say firmly as your eyes narrowed at the man. “So I can get pass, just like the rest of you.”

“We can’t even go in, so we can’t let you in either.”one of the enforcers replies. “Plus, you’re still injured from the attack so…”

Your piercing (e/c) eyes looked into the man’s brown ones, making his eyes widen a little— least to say, he was intimidated.

“Move, please,” you pleaded this time. “I feel like something is very wrong.”

Caitlyn looks over her shoulder and noticed the panicked look on your face— you would never randomly fuss about anything.

She knew something was wrong.

“Awful, isn’t it?”

Jayce looks over his shoulder when he hears a woman’s voice.

“Losing a loved one.”

When Jayce slowly turns around, the woman slips off her mask as she grabs her chainsaw, swining it at Jayce who barely dodged out of the way quickly.

Everyone starts screaming and shouting, rushing off to find somewhere safe.

“Get all the civilians to safety.” You told the enforcers before turning around to go and find Jayce, your leg still hurting from the explosion. you couldn’t walk around with a weak and injured leg but you thought against it.

“Jayce!” You shouted, searching for him. “Where are you? Jayce?!”

Someone suddenly slams you into a wall, making you hit the solid platform hard. A weak cry of pain escapes past your lips as you slid down the wall, clutching your arm.

Staggering to your knees, you rushed to get away from whatever was chasing you.

Get away, get away, get away

That was just going through your mind.

Something slashes in your back through your coat, “ah!” You shriek as you collapsed to your knees and hit the ground. Back arched as you tried crawling away from whatever had attacked you.

They grab onto your hair, arm wrapping around your neck once they finally got the chance to turn you around, the air in your lungs seemed to have collapsed the second they tighten their large hand around your throat.

You kick and flail your legs around as you gasped for air, eyes heavy and face turning blue as you choked— the breath you were now trying to breathe was very toxic seeping into your nostrils and throat.

You use your fists to hit at the man’s hands, he watched with a sadistic grin on his lips as the life in your eyes were starting to fade.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as the life in your eyes seemed to have been fading.

“Get the fuck away from her!” Vi shouted as she rushed towards the much bigger man and knocked him in the face with her knee.

You collapsed to the ground, gasping for air as you clutched at your own throat.

Vi rushed over to you with concern, cupping your cheek as she leaned over you. “Are you okay? does anything hurt?”

“Vi?” You croaked weakly, grasping at her wrist.

Vi presses your hand against her fast beating chest, concern wiping her features. “It’s me. It’s me. you’re okay.”

She helps you up, “I’ll be right back. go and try to find cait, okay?”

You nodded before rushing off to find caitlyn.

“Cait!” You called out.

You couldn’t even get as far before you hit the ground, passing out.

END OF CHAPTER ONE

[phantomrose96]

Aromantically rotating this quote from Jon "The Silt Verses" Ware from the Season 2 Q&A (bold emphasis mine)

Question: I love what Paige and Hayward have going on. How would you describe their dynamic? ​ JON: I saw someone online talk about the, “the paladin and the prophet.” Which I think is a really nice way of looking at it! Whereas I saw them as two people who…both of them have come to the end of the road in their old lives. [...] I think maybe there’s also an implicit question there about whether there’s something romantic going on – maybe I’m reading into it, but that is something that’s on my mind a lot, so I’d love to talk about it more. ​ Because shipping is fantastic and it’s wonderful and it’s cool, but as a writer who’s way too online in a parasocial world, I’m really wary of how I respond to it and how I process it. ​ I personally, I don’t like writing fictional characters where the most important moment in their narrative arcs is when they get together with the person they were always meant to get together with. Generally, it’s just a bugbear of mine in fiction and I’m not sure I agree with the underlying message. ​ But I think if any writer who’s way too online sees, hey, people are getting excited about these two characters hooking up and falling in love and they keep coming back to this idea of them hooking up and falling in love, there’s a real rodent voice in the back of your head whispers, "give the people what they want. Get those likes, get that fanart." ​ Which is the wrong response! Because we don’t understand that maybe people are just having fun exploring these characters or their own interpretations of these characters, we think they must be anticipating a pay-off from us. ​ And again, I think it can send you in the wrong direction, one that ends up being essentially flattening – we don’t think, "if these characters hook up, OK, what new opportunities does that give us to explore them, to understand them in greater depth?" Instead we think we need to perform a climactic moment of love and comfort and happiness to get the audience’s approval. Which can be very much to the detriment of the complexity of the characters, but also, afterwards, where do you go with it? ​ And after we released maybe one episode of The Silt Verses, I saw a couple of folks online going ‘oh, god, I hope this isn’t going to end with Carpenter and Faulkner hooking up,’. And you go, "oh my god, I hadn’t considered that as a possibility for a second, that’s not who they are and that’s not what the relationship is here" - but of course all of us are primed for it, that enemies-to-lovers thread that is so common. ​ [...] ​ So it felt like I could introduce a connection there [with Paige and Hayward] and we could see a different way that they begin to be around each other that hopefully feels like it’s adding new dimensions to both of the characters without me looking over my shoulder going, “Am I in danger of turning this into something a bit stock by turning it into quite a straightforward romantic situation?”

[softringing]

There's always been a question that bugs me about sampo. Obviously, there are several, but this one specifically, has to do with his ideologies involving elation.

If sampo cares about people so much and desires to make everyone happy, why did he not take direct action in those 8 years he remained in belebog?

We all know sparkle said sampo has a line that he won't cross, and that line is very clearly not hurting people, well at least the ones who have already been hurt enough.

We see this from sampo's actions in the underworld vs overworld. For some reason, even tho sampo is a scammer and values money, he has never attempted to scam underworlders. In Hook's companion mission, hook's father had a rare mining item that was stolen by an npc named Skipper(?) I believe.

While Skipper was trying to sell this item to sampo, sampo kept insisting that he was selling it at such a low price. His direct words were "Are you sure you want to sell this at this price to me?"

And he kept hesitating until hook and tb found skipper and took the item back. We can see cleary that sampo means no harm to those who are weak but when he's in the overworld, he's known for scamming ppl like Chavez from Anti-Blue Scam Society without much remorse.

From all this, it's clear sampo has never done something to hurt anyone seriously, and to add to this, shields is the name for the belebog currency. Yet, in sampo's idle, we see him holding a different currency.

This pretty much implies that to sampo, belebogian currency would be useless. Although we know he's a scammer, we don't really know why he cares about money so much other than this text we got in game from him

Sampo seems personally tired of doing this :( but says that he has to to feed few mouths which we can take as him trying to help the ppl in the underworld with the money he 'earns'.

So, here we return to my initial question, why didn't sampo directly help ppl of belebog with their disaster if he has so much power?

He is hiding from a certain someone-- as mentioned by @/samposillies, in sampo's LC, the exact same currency he's holding is shown & his eidolon

(money model from @/kittykattz)

If u look really closely into his LC, you can see not only that it's from a POV of a sniper, but also another assasin behind sampo, holding a gun and wearing a foreign attire to belebog. The description also matches that someone's obviously trying to kill him, as told by the sniper himself.

At first, I assumed it was the ipc but their outfits lean towards red rather than plain black. Plus, although it looks like sampo isn't in belebog, there are two posters in the lc on the brick background and you can find these coffee posters in belebog at the location "Backwater pass".

But the thing is, sampo uses the non-belebogian currency (assumed to be Kalevalan currency) to convince the sniper to talk to him.

The lc's name is Eye of the Prey-- and although it's from sniper's POV, Sampo is clearly the Hunter, while the sniper is the prey.

This led me to think that someone from Kalevala is perhaps trying to kill sampo while he was in belebog, which is strange bc the world believed Jarilo-IV did not exist before the astral express saved them. Meaning that whoever is trying to kill sampo probably always knew about his whereabouts hence sampo decided to keep a low profile and decided to help underworlders in such a silent approach.

Not to mention, the currency sampo's holding doesn't have the usual hsr language on it (pointed out by @/samposillies)

(maybe it needs horizontal flipping ill check it later)

Therefore, we can assume sampo didn't help belebogians directly by bringing an end to the stelleron bc he's being chased by someone. and even tho sampo appears non-chalant or calm about it in his lc, maybe he just doesn't want that person to come and specifically show up in belebog.

We don't know why that person's trying to kill sampo but there are lots of reasons, just like the fact that sampo is LITERALLY the 'device' from Kalevala as referenced in his event. He CAN legit create ancient relics,

he laughs it off as a typo BUT HE CAN CLEARLY MAKE THESE RELICS!! GEPARD ALSO MENTIONS IN HIS LINES ABT HIM THAT HE SELLS A NUMBER OF ANCIENT RELICS!!

"ancient" MEANS OLDDD, like really old!! How can a normal person make such things?? Not to mention sampo can make his bombs and is immune to their poison and a MEMORY bubble (in autheirum wars), which had the description of being "abnormal or unusual"!! Only memokeepers can make memory bubbles, and herta has several of them in her space station. So he either stole one or knows how to make one himself!! Sampo also made those items in his pop-up shop event with some materials the tb brought so there's no doubt he's the object that's supposed to 'bring wealth'.

Or could it be that sampo is like Giovanni? He prefers natural endings rather than artificial ones? he's still a masked fool no matter how different his aesthetics are after all... LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU ALL THINK!!

Edit: Here's the flipped image of his money but I still can't read what it's supposed to mean and tried to google translate in Finnish but didn't. Work

[david-blackthorn]

I havnt read those books in the shadowhunter chronicles yet, what are your favorite things about them? (Im curious whether I should read them or not since I have such a big tbr already)

Oh maaan you're in for a ride

I have no idea which series in the Shadowhunter Universe you meant exactly but i'll start with my fav

Part I:

The Dark Artifices:

Do you ever feel like your soul needs a good mix of romantic pining, chaotic battles, and emotional devastation? The Dark Artifices is calling your name.

But seriously if you love stories that combine heart-pounding action, deep family bonds, and characters so real you’ll find yourself thinking about them long after you've finished the books? This is the series for you!

This series follows a family of Shadowhunters in sunny Los Angeles (yes, there are beaches AND demon fights) as they deal with forbidden love, ancient laws that make no sense, and plot twists that will leave you staring at the ceiling at 3 AM like: what just happened.

It’s got:

Two people who can’t be together because of reasons but have enough chemistry to destroy you.

A goofy warlock with more secrets than anyone is ready for.

A soft boy who paints and probably writes poetry but will absolutely murder you if you hurt his siblings and childhood friend.

A broody faerie loner who says “I work alone” but would probably die for his friends.

“I would die for my siblings, but also, they’re so annoying” energy.

Found-family dynamics that will have you texting your friends, “DO YOU SEE THIS?”

And, of course, the *painful but addictive* mix of love, loyalty, and chaos...

Enemies-to-lovers? No, wait—friends-to-lovers? Actually, it’s more like "reluctantly obsessed but too emotionally constipated to say it."

Three people staring dramatically at each other like ‘Is this polyamory or a REALLY complicated love triangle?

Characters who will make you scream, “JUST COMMUNICATE,” but you’ll love them anyway.

Enough family angst to fuel a therapy session for years.

A genius, autistic boy who solves mysteries but can’t solve the mystery of his own feelings

Main characters? Let’s just say there’s a parabatai bond that’s more complicated than your high school crush.

The plot? Fast-paced, full of betrayal, and packed with vicious fight scenes.

The family? Everything is fine...except when it’s not.

The romance? You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll probably scream and definitely ship things that should not be shipped. :)

Basically a murder mystery, faerie politics, and the most relatable struggle of all: Trying to keep your family alive and well while the world is falling apart.

Fair warning: you’ll never emotionally recover (and you’ll love every second).

part II:

The Mortal Instruments:

If you’re looking for a fast-paced urban fantasy series full of adventure, humor, and heart, you need to pick up The Mortal Instruments.

It’s got everything: shadowy secrets, epic battles, forbidden love, and enough twists and turns to keep you hooked from start to finish. Plus, the friendships and family bonds will hit you right in the feels.

If you like:

Hot people with emotional trauma

Family dynamics so messy even you would say "y’all need therapy"

Enemies-to-lovers-to-enemies-to-allies-to-love(maybe) but make it *gay*

Bonus gay dads with actual functional communication (because someone has to balance the chaos)

A love triangle that's not technically a triangle, but don't worry, it'll still destroy your soul

If you do then babe, let me introduce you to The Mortal Instruments:

It’s like Twilight, but everyone fights better is hotter and has sarcasm set to ✨maximum damage✨.

You'll question the characters' life choices, then realize your own aren’t much better.

There’s an overachieving golden boy with a superiority complex who definitely Googles his own name but is secretly baby.

A girl who just wants to vibe and maybe not be surrounded by apocalypses, but alas.

A cinnamon roll nerd who says, “I don’t want to be here,” but somehow ends up saving the day every time.

And a guy who walks in like: "I’m too goth for this mess," but then adopts everyone and pays for dinner.

The Mortal Instruments is what happens when an ex fanfic writer starts a writing carrier and makes a book series: chaotic, emotional, weirdly self-aware, and packed with heart. Read it. Your inner emo kid will thank you.

Bonus:

The plot? Like Supernatural on speed.

The dialogue? Whedon-esque but with more sass per square inch.

The drama? Every fanfic writer wishes they wrote this level of ✨chaotic bisexual disaster energy✨.

If this sounds appealing, congratulations! This series was literally written for you.

part III:

The Infernal Devices:

The Infernal Devices by Cassandra Clare is an absolute gem of a series, blending romance, adventure, and a touch of Victorian-era steampunk. If you love books with unforgettable characters, heart-wrenching love triangles (in the best way), and a beautifully atmospheric setting, this is the series for you.

It’s full of witty banter, emotional depth, and a story that stays with you long after you turn the last page. Trust me—there’s no ‘right’ team to root for, but you’ll love every moment of trying to decide.

The plot? Wild.

The romance? Devastating.

The side characters? Hot, chaotic, and probably more interesting than the main ones in most other books you’ve read.

Let’s not forget:

The Victorian Aesthetic™ (it’s giving Pinterest board).

A robot army that would make Skynet say, “You okay, bro?”

Poetry recitals that feel like life-or-death declarations.

And more tragic backstories than a Shakespearean play.

It's got:

a steampunk version of London where demons and shadowhunters roam the cobblestone streets, and your biggest problem isn’t the fog, but the ✨existential dread✨.

There’s a protagonist who just wanted to read books but accidentally became the center of everyone’s emotional drama (relatable queen).

A golden retriever boy who’s so perfect it physically hurts and is slowly dying.

And a sad boy™️ who looks like he stepped straight out of a My Chemical Romance album, only with a reading obsession.

A love triangle where instead of fighting, the two love interests are like, ‘Hey, what if we all just loved each other?’

Friendships so deep they’ll make you scream, “WHY CAN’T THE WORLD LET THEM BE HAPPY?”

A heroine who’s like, ‘Do I choose the guy who might secretly hate himself more than anyone else alive, or the literal angel in human form?’ (Spoiler: she chooses both. Iconic.)

Brooding boys who quote poetry in life-or-death situations (because of course they do).

*A love triangle where instead of fighting, the two love interests are like, ‘Hey, what if we all just loved each other?’

Start with Clockwork Angel and get ready to laugh, cry, and ugly sob over Will, Jem, and Tessa. But be warned: this series will RUIN you in the most beautiful way possible.

I won't write a summary of The Last Hours since i haven't finished it yet sorry babes, but hope you liked these *mwa*

[tgmsunmontue]

Saga of Solitude 15/21

Nepo!Baby Bradley and his life at USNA and afterwards. DADT fully in force. IceMav AU. (Begun prior to 'It's not who you know' - the non-angsty version). (Side Hangster, which is ALSO angsty).

PROLOGUE (He remembers)

HANGSTER FIRST MEETING (Lonely Nights - set 2009)

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

ONE (2000) TWO (2001) THREE (2002) FOUR (2003) FIVE (2004) SIX (2005) SEVEN (2006) EIGHT (2007) NINE (2008) TEN (2009) ELEVEN (2010) TWELVE (2011) THIRTEEN (2012) FOURTEEN (2013)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN – 2014

                Tom has it narrowed down to three candidates. He’s been chipping away at figuring it out, not making it a top priority, but definitely something he keeps circling back to. The man who he wants to keep a closer eye on, even if it’s been five years he suspects that Bradley hasn’t exactly forgotten him. He had tried gentle probing questions, only to have them deftly avoided. Clever of him, and Tom knows he’s no doubt had practice from when he was younger and serving under DADT as well as protecting Tom and Pete’s own relationship.

                However Bradley hasn’t even told Natasha, because he’d also carefully asked her and she’d simply blinked at him in surprise before shaking her head, saying she didn’t know anything, but that if Bradley had slept with anyone he’d been very discreet, because she heard gossip, and there hasn’t been any about Bradley. Well. Other than him apparently being secretly married to her. Tom doesn’t know why he should even care so much, other than Bradley is his son and he wants to protect him as much as possible, despite the fact that Bradley is now over thirty and more than capable of looking after himself. He has his own house, not that he stays there very often, preferring to be in the center of things and being here in the family home with Tamsin and Petra.

                Except Tamsin and Petra are growing up too, Tamsin in her last semester of high school. She’s been accepted into California-Irvine and he’s so proud but he is also not prepared at all for her to move away. He’s glad she’s decided to stay within state at least, and he knows Bradley likely helped sway her in that decision. Which is why he wants to find some way to ensure Bradley is never held back in anyway. So he’ll keep trying to work out exactly who it is that he still so hooked up on.

…            …            …

                “She’s going to prom,” Pete says again, and he knows he’s maybe belaboring the point, but also he can’t believe that Tamsin is in her last year of high school, is so capable and accomplished and intelligent. Hell, she runs circles around him on the regular and yet he can’t fathom how the little baby girl he held in his arms over seventeen years ago is now taller than him. A fact everyone seems to great joy in pointing out to him, however he can still pick her up and carry her. Her boyfriend hasn’t stopped trying to impress them, and Pete can’t say he likes the young man, and he has tried, thank you very much Bradley.

                “Wish I could have gone to prom with you…” Ice says, stepping in close and wrapping his arms around Pete’s waist. He leans into him, never feels safer than when he’s like this.

                “Yeah? You want to dance with me?”

                “Always…”

                “We pretending we’re at prom?” Pete asks with a grin and Ice smiles, the soft-gentle half smile he uses when he’s feeling particularly sentimental. He feels Ice’s arms tighten around him and there isn’t any music, but then Ice starts humming quietly and his own smile grows wider and he presses a kiss into the side of Ice’s neck. “God I love you…”

                “Love you too. So much Pete… Did you ever think we’d get to have this life?”

                Pete startles a little, surprised at the question.

                “Of course…”

                “Seriously?”

                “You didn’t?”

                “Not in my wildest dreams. Every day I am grateful I get to have… all of this. You. Bradley, The girls. Sarah and Melissa. Hell, even Aubrey is a blessing.”

                “We are very lucky. Want to get luckier?”

                “This was a nice moment…”

                “It’ll be even nicer soon. Let me take you to bed?”

                “Yeah. Please.”

                “Mmm. Begging already. I like it.”

                “Begging you to stop talking. You used to be a man of action, not words…”

                “Pfft. I’ll show you action…”

                “In a bed Mav, come on.”

                They undress with no haste, helping each other, trading kisses and running hands over bare skin as it’s revealed, Ice’s touch on him causing repeated full-body tingles, they always have. He hopes his own touch has the same effect, thinks it does with the way Ice shivers and presses against him, murmurs his name quietly under his breath and kisses at the soft skin just behind his ear. He presses a gentle kiss over the newly healed port scar from Ice’s cancer treatments, suddenly overwhelmed that he too is grateful that he gets to have all this. He’d have been content with just Ice to call his own, but to have his odd little family, to have a son and two daughters who are all turning into these amazing individuals.

                “Pete…” Ice says, voice deep and raspy, the way it gets when he’s just woken up or when he’s getting really turned on. Then there are warm dry fingers wrapping around his cock and he follows Ice down onto the bed, lets his hands find purchase on Ice’s hips as he rocks against him. It’s warm and comforting, and despite wanting everything else to go fast in his life, this, with Ice right now, is something he’s happy to draw out. Knowing they don’t have to rush, not the hard-fast-desperate times that they had in the beginning, terrified of being caught.

                He’s married to this man, it’s on his record and they live together, always come home to the same place. He realizes he didn’t think he’d get to have this, but he had always hoped and dreamed he would. That despite everything he’s damned lucky and he shouldn’t take what they have for granted.

                “You want to fuck me?” Pete asks, straddling Ice’s thighs and grinding his erection in a rocking motion against Ice’s.

                “Yes.”

                He grins then, knows his face is probably scrunched up in happiness but he doesn’t care. They don’t do this very often, it’s more effort than either of them are usually wanting to put in, but sometimes it’s exactly what they both want. He leans back, rolls off the bed and pulls open the bedside table drawer for lube; hears Ice shuffle off to grab towels. He follows, uses the glass on the sink to have two large glasses of water.

                “You planning on working up a sweat?”

                “Yeah… you better be able to keep up.”

                Ice snorts at that, but follows his example and throws back a glass of water, but his eyes stay on him, the light grey-blue shaded darker with arousal and Pete’s cock jerks in anticipation. Ice, being the smug bastard he is, and because he knows him so well smirks, lets one of his hands come to rest on Pete’s flank, fingers digging and rubbing and pulling him close so they can rub together. He’s being moved, Ice using his height and breadth to encourage him back to the bedroom, like he somehow needs convincing.

                “Hi…”

                “Hi. Can we…”

                “Always trying to rush…”

             ��  “Not this. Not with you.”

                “I know.”

                Then he’s on his back, Ice dragging him so his hips are raised on a couple of pillows, which are covered with one of the towels. Ice kisses him, then there’s the slick slide of fingers between his ass cheeks and he reaches blindly for him, needs to touch him so he can feel grounded, know that Ice is there with him. It’s not fast, Ice always takes his time, makes sure now that he’s not going to cause any pain or even discomfit. Pete has learnt that he’s allowed to just lie back and enjoy. The whole preparation aspect is something Ice takes pleasure in, the building anticipation and knowledge he has time, permitted to touch Pete and make him feel good. He does that now, their years together making him an expert in Pete’s body.

                Pete doesn’t often have the patience for this; time shifts and passes in a liquid state, seconds measured in kisses against his skin, minutes in the growing and easing pressure of fingers stretching him. He’s hard and leaking, feels like Ice has been driving him around the edge of a whirlpool for hours and he’s just waiting for them to get sucked down together. He feels Ice’s cock push into him and he lets out a groan, cants his hips to make the press deeper and let’s Ice manhandle him so his legs are around his waist.

                “Ice…”

                “Yeah. I got you Mav…”

…            …            …

                He’s home five weeks early, and they’re managing to pull it off, and god, if he makes her cry and her mascara runs she’s going to kill him. But it’s her prom night and while they’d planned on him arriving during a school assembly to surprise her, they’ve modified it because she’s going to prom alone because her boyfriend is an asshole.

                So.

                Bradley is going to turn up in his dress whites, sweep her off her feet and he’s going to consider himself lucky if Tamsin doesn’t punch him. She’s standing with a group of her friends, nearly all of whom he recognizes, Ice and Mav are failing at hiding behind a pillar, Petra with them and looking bored. A lot of sets of eyes are on him and he can see someone making a signal for the music to be turned down, and that has Tamsin and her group look around and he steps forward, hand out stretched.

                “Can I have this dance?”

                “Bradley!”

                Then he’s being hugged tightly, she looks so grown up and he’s reminded again that parents do this all the time; that he works with some who leave their young kids for months at a time and he’s simply an older brother. He steps back to take in her dress and hair, is pretty sure Mav and Tom probably had collective heart attacks given the split up the side.

                “You look amazing.”

                “I know!” she laughs. “It took hours. I cannot believe that some people do this every day before they leave their homes…”

                There’s applause and he’s got the usual thanks for your service and he nods and smiles his way through it all, because he’s in the service to fly planes because he can’t imagine doing anything else, and if it has the added bonus of serving his country then that’s okay. But he knows what came first for him.

                He dances with Tamsin, can actually dance the more formal and traditional dances but steps away when she starts throwing her hands up to a song he doesn’t recognize. So this is what old age begins to feel like. Ice and Mav have left, and some of Tamsin’s teachers come and introduce themselves, and he finds it a little alarming that one of them is in fact younger than him, the others only a few years older and he hopes his freak out about being his age isn’t showing on his face.

                “You’re actually in the Navy huh?” a man asks, and he thinks this is Tamsin’s English teacher.

                “Yes. These are my actual dress whites. Thought I’d try and make tonight better after her boyfriend decided to dump her.”

                “Ah yes, he’s a bit of a social pariah now. Tamsin is well liked.”

                “Good. She’s awesome.”

                “The words of a completely unbiased bystander, I’m sure,” the guy says with a gentle teasing smile and Bradley turns slightly, thinks he’s being flirted with.

                “Protective and proud older brother instincts aren’t ever going to go away. I’ll be in a rocking chair and I’ll still think she’s awesome.”

                The glint of something intensifies and Bradley raises an eyebrow, licks his lips and doesn’t miss the other man’s eyes flick down to the movement.

                He is never telling Tamsin that he got a blowjob from her English teacher, however he also doesn’t feel like he’s so ancient after all, so he’ll definitely count it as a win.

…            …            …

                Tom isn’t an idiot. When Petra turns sixteen he very politely recuses himself from even being an option to teach her how to drive. He did it with Bradley and Tamsin. Petra is another thing entirely, and he knows Pete has already let her drive his motorbikes up and down the airstrip at the hangar, has no doubt that she’s already done the same with a car. He can only hope that Pete doesn’t make any exceptions around safety. He doesn’t expect he will, he never has with Bradley or Tamsin. It’s only his own body he’s a little reckless with. They both come back super excited, fizzing with more energy than he knows what to with and later when they’re curled up in bed Pete admits he knows what he’s going to get Petra for Christmas. Laps at the nearest racecourse.

                Tom sighs.

…            …            …

                “Hey Bradley?”

                “Yeah Pet?”

                “If you try and pull that prom bullshit on me I will castrate you and make you wish you’d never been born. Got it?”

                Bradley snorts.

                “Yeah. Got it. Is that a no surprises ever, or just big public ones where you might cry?”

                “No public ones. Nice surprises are fine.”

                “Okay. Well I’ll try and keep the big public displays saved up for Tamsin.”

                “Yeah. That sounds good.”

…            …            …

                “I have to look over these promotion recommendations before sending them on to the SECNAV. We’ve got a young aviator who chalked up an air-to-air kill, so he’s being recommended for accelerated promotion to Lieutenant… A Jake Seresin.”

                Tom recognizes the name immediately. Jake Seresin. He remembers having dinner with him, he’d been polite and engaging, flown in a way that made him itch to be in the sky again. He’s also on the very short list of men that are potentially Bradley’s ill-advised hookup that he is adamant about leaving the fuck alone. Tom isn’t so sure, but also he’s got a feeling in his gut that this is him. That Jake Seresin is the young man that Bradley hooked up with. Which makes him worth his attention, but it doesn’t stop him from halting the other man’s career trajectory. He signs the paperwork giving his recommendation for promotion and asks for an invitation to the ceremony.

…            …            …

                “Jake.”

                “Lieutenant Bradshaw.”

                Bradley bites back his immediate retort, because he guesses he deserves that.

                “Congratulations on the promotion.”

                “I’m sorry, are you talking to me now?”

                “Well, we’re currently the same rank so I can’t have the fraternization rules thrown at me as a warning. So yeah, I guess I’m talking to you…” Bradley starts, even knowing that the previous difference in their ranks is a weak excuse for his previous behavior.

                “Yeah well, I’m not listening. Catch you around Bradshaw.”

                Fuck.

                So much for trying to apologize.

[everythingheard]

Small though it may seem, the way Teddy followed Joshua's unspoken guidance into the saloon's shadow filled him with a sort of wonderment. Without breaking away to look back or question his intent, his companion simply believed in him and wherever that might lead. Teddy wasn't foolish ( regardless of the trait of naivety that he had once presumptuously ascribed ), wasn't apt to heed just anyone. Nevertheless, trust was placed in Joshua's hands with each blind step. That feeling it prompted in him swiftly sparked into a warmth smoldering beneath his skin as Teddy's back pressed against the wood and a quiet, coaxing sound slipped into their kiss. Fingers pushing into his hair while a leg looped around one of his own only stoked the sensation hotter, threatening to consume everything else —

Until Teddy drew back, their combined inhales of deep breaths forcing forth some semblance of clarity into Joshua's hazy mind. However, their lips continued to touch as his gaze met the hazel one across from him nearer than he ever would have imagined it would. Those big eyes and their depths he had overlooked, the shy yet beckoning mouth that was shaped so enticingly: he knew with an irrevocable certainty that they wouldn't weave their way into merely his waking thoughts, but his unconscious ones, too. Nevertheless, Teddy did one of the few things that could have torn Joshua's attention away from them, managed by the thumb behind his ear. It drew inadvertent shivers down his spine until his head leaned into the other man's touch, his chin tipping forward a short second for the too quick kiss that followed.

"You sure you should be askin' me that?" Joshua's voice was just as quiet as the one he answered, every brush of his mouth against Teddy's twining new waves of heat through his veins. "Don'tcha think you should be kissin' someone nice?" Despite the teasing in his cadence at that second query, genuine hesitation rode its undercurrent. Still, the fingers beneath Teddy's chin lifted to graze along the other man's features: jaw, lips, cheekbone, that sprinkling of freckles. This was never a question that plagued Joshua before Rose Creek with anyone, really. It was easy not to think about it when he was barely acquainted with those he was with; all he needed to know was the way it felt when they touched him, or how pretty they looked when he touched them. And now here he was, filled with self-reproach over a simple kiss. Dammit, Teddy.

Perfection didn't exist in people, and Joshua would deem it boring as hell if it did, yet the man in front of him was unequivocally good. Whatever Teddy believed of him, what if it was wrong? He couldn't stand the idea of being a regret. Not for Teddy. And yet, in spite of it all, he couldn't keep the thumb on Teddy's hip from hooking one of his companion's belt loops and pulling them closer. "But I still don't want you kissin' anyone else."

That short beat of surprise from Faraday seemed to stretch in Teddy's mind, the fear of harsh reprisal swelling like a flash flood. Before it could carry him away, though, it evaporated under the heat of that quiet pleased sound. To think he could make a man sound like that, especially a man like Faraday, with just a kiss.

Teddy was content to hand over the metaphorical reins for their second kiss, to follow the other's lead in every languid, firmer press and drag of lips. One boot heel scraped on soft dirt at first, until he also followed that guidance at his hip. As soon as his back met the saloon's outside wall, an encouraging noise eked out of his own throat, only loud enough for Faraday to hear. Teddy's hand on a stubbled cheek skimmed back to rake fingers into the gambler's short brown hair. His other arm, meanwhile, kept them pressed close together. One leg loosely hooked round Faraday's as a bit of extra coaxing - if either of them even needed that by now.

He couldn't quite tell whether the racing heart he felt was his own or the other's; maybe it was both, cantering almost in tandem. Teddy didn't want to part, couldn't think of anything consequential to fill the space, yet at a point he still needed a deeper breath. So when he did pull back, it was only that far, lips close enough to brush and eyes slivered open. He noticed then they'd moved fully into the saloon's shadow; intentional or not, he sincerely appreciated the sense of privacy. A work-callused thumb brushed over the soft skin behind Faraday's ear, and Teddy couldn't help a gentle peck to the man's lower lip while catching his breath.

Though he could guess, or at least hope for, the answer, he nonetheless asked in a whisper, "Can we do that again?"

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: Baby's First Commissioner Meeting :)

TL:DR This Post: Danny (orphan) gets poisoned with blood blossom extract by Vlad. He runs away from him and ends up under the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman! Starry is loudly pushing her batdad agenda.

(Also known as "Late At Night, When The Nightingale Sings" on my ao3!)

This was a fun rough idea I've been sitting on for weeks, thinking about how Commissioner Gordon and Nightingale's first meeting might go.

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

Commissioner Gordon likes to think that he's adjusting to the new normal of Gotham very well, -- the new normal being grown men running around dressed like bats, in military-grade strength body armor, committing acts of vigilantism, -- and slowly, little by little, he was no longer being surprised when this new normal pops up out of the shadows like the world's most terrifying daisy. His shaving lifespan thanks him for it.

....

The kid is a surprise though.

Granted, he seemed to be a surprise to the Bat too.

There's been a string of murders lately, -- which, in Gotham, is kind of like saying there's been another storm during monsoon season. And there's just been another; in some dilapidated building down in south Gotham, with the broken, boarded-up windows and mildew-crawling walls to match. The victim is a man in his thirties, multiple gunshot wounds to the chest, left in the center of the room for the blood to pool out around him.

The place is already secured when he arrives, the building swarmed with officers and the forensic detectives. The Bat emerges shortly after he does -- or, he might've been here the whole time, hiding someplace dark and shadowy. For his own sanity, Gordon doesn't think about it too hard.

The kid is a surprise, and he appears like a bolt of lightning.

He shows up in the middle of a conversation Gordon is having with the Bat.

A whistle, sharp and loud, slicing through the air, meant for open air rather than a confined space. Gordon's ears pierce and protest the sound, and the solemn, murmured chatter floating through the room abruptly cuts off like the swing of a gavel. As he turns towards the sound -- as they all do -- he swears, up and down, that he sees Batman's shoulders jump, just slightly.

At the source, perched on the window, is a boy. A boy in a gray-blue scarf and an oversized black hoodie, one that hangs off his frame and has ace bandages wrapped around the wrists in some attempt to cinch the sleeves. The hood is up, big like the rest of it, and threatens to swallow the upper half of the boy's face whole in the fabric. What upper half Gordon can see, is smeared with some kind of opaque, black face paint. He's holding onto the side of the frame with one hand, on his hip is a grappling hook. A familiar grappling hook.

Gordon has multiple questions, and his officers tense up.

Martinez puffs up, brows furrowing as his face shapes into a frown. Shoulders rolling back. "You can't be here, kid--"

The reaction is immediate, like a spark to gunpowder, the boy yanks his fingers from his mouth and his mouth twists into a scowl. Head snapping over to Officer Martinez, his hood manages to stay on but Gordon swears that as he bares his teeth, the glint makes them look sharper than they should be. His voice is rasp and quiet and harsh; snappish in its hissing; "Put a fuckin sock in it, Martinez. I'm not stayin."

Martinez reels back, and the boy immediately veers his attention off him. Like a switch, his demeanor drops. Despite half his face being covered, his mouth twists into a cringing, apologetic smile. Slanted and off-beat, embarrassed. It'd be disarming if this wasn't Gotham, and if he didn't just hiss at Martinez like he was about to bite his head off.

"Sorry." He whispers, voice deceptively polite and softer now. Gordon has to strain his ears to hear him. "I was looking for him."

He points his finger towards-- Gordon? No, Gordon follows the direction, and finds himself looking at -- the Bat.

The Bat, who always looks stiff as a pole, now looks even stiffer. Somehow. Well, the explains the grappling hook attached to the boy's waist.

"What are you doing here?" The Bat says, gruff and unable to completely smother the stumble of surprise in his tone.

The boy still holds a sheepish smile, and slips off the window ledge. His feet hit the creaky boards with a near-silent thud, the Batman finds his feet and rapidly begins crossing the room.

Gordon notes the slight tremble in the boy's legs as he straightens. He adjusts his scarf, which droops close to his knees now that he's standing, and slings a backpack -- how long has had that? -- off his shoulders. When the Bat reaches his side, he does as he always does, and looms over the boy like a spectre. A threatening mass of shadows cloaked in all-consuming black. Standing next to him, the boy looks teeny in comparison.

The Bat is a man who terrifies even the most hardened criminals, Gordon has seen grown men shiver in fear at the mention of his name. And yet when the boy looks up at him, he doesn't even flinch.

Instead, his sheepish smile melts away like ice under the sun, holding only traces of his previous embarrassment. It remains as a shadow on his face, a small upturn at the corners of his mouth. The boy pushes his hood back just enough to reveal glinting, ice-flint eyes surrounded in tar-black face paint. He holds the backpack up with one arm. "You forgot this."

[torchickentacos]

Ok so far my experience with House MD is "everyone here sucks on pretty much every level possible. why do I love them so much"

[steampunkedparm]

should i giggle or be mortified

[bostonbakeddeans]

"enemies, frenemies, and splenemies" <- vaguely threatening and a little mysterious

“Girls gays and theys” <- uninclusive while trying to be inclusive. Bad. Makes me uncomfortable.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and other distinguished guests” <- inclusive but far, far too formal

“Alrighty gamers” <- Incisive of everyone, informal, and fun to say.

[sysig]

Haven’t seen your slimy face in a while (Patreon)

Bonus original concept sketches from 2018 (left):

Tbh even I find some of these shapes kind of hard to read lol. Really showcases my style progression tho like woah - I was aiming at the time for a kind of shoujo-parody style anyway, but now I struggle with those kinds of shapes! I’m used to a much more cartoony, and darker, and smaller style haha

This was all me tho lol, he’s just a gangly greasy fucker

It’s uncanny right

I had to put in a good bit of interpretation and filling in the details for this one lol - something like a punk vampire aesthetic?? He’s too good for the MC anyway lol, but that’s by design

[sorairoknife]

You can never have too many hair ribbons, I say, struggling to organize them

[ultimatecryptid]

Emery Brosca Banter

Emery: You can't cast when you're a spider.

Morrigan: Curious about my skills, Warden? I assure you they're up to par.

Emery: Not what I said.

Morrigan: I suppose not. No, I cannot cast when I'm a spider. I am thus relegated to biting things. Not a terrible fate, even if our enemies are usually less tender than I prefer. Is this where you explain your real question?

Emery: You're making yourself… something you're not. You like your magic. When you change, why wouldn't you keep it?

Morrigan: 'I like my magic,' what a strange way to put it. I do not simply like it, it is inseperable from the rest of me; if I were to cling to any part of it I would not be able to make the change.

Morrigan: For all it's strengths, a spider is not a mage.

Emery: This spider always turns back to one though.

Morrigan: Indeed.

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | oneshot smut [18+]

title. around the clock

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

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

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

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

ᰔ word count. 12.6k

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

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

➸ masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

2:49pm Gojo Satoru: Ok, got it

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

2:53pm Gojo Satoru: Oh?

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

2:55pm Gojo Satoru: Weird things?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So much for no flirting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

7:22pm Gojo Satoru: oh

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Bros.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The corner of his mouth ticks up slightly. 

1:09am Gojo Satoru: Yeah I can tell

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1:17am Gojo Satoru: Sure

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He feels like throwing up. 

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

The referee nods. “1-0, next round.”

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

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

sometimes, i think of when you kissed me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter)

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

Oh fuck.

That was right.

You drunk texted him last night.

You drunk texted your little brother’s hot babysitter.

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I think about fucking you all the time

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

10:34am you: do it then

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

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In me,” you moan, “nowhere else.”

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

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

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

“Want a taste?” he asks, casually.

“Mhm,” you nod, face looking flush.

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

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

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

“It’s cum, Satoru.”

He shrugs. “Bad?”

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

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

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

“Sa—” you stutter, “Satoru.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gojo feels you lean against the coat closet door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh okay so I’m stupid.”

“I never said you were stupid?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I—” He stops himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

.

.

[the end]

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

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@crystalymin @dcvilxswish @miakxn @satxoru

[inkskinned]

it's because the bear wouldn't kill me just for being a woman. the bear doesn't kill me for fun. the bear can be shouted at, and will leave me alone. the bear won't make a tiktok complaining about how i crossed to the other side of the path when i saw him coming. if a bear kills me, it's just being a bear: it cannot understand logic. it is not acting out of malice - just fear or hunger.

bell hooks once wrote about how porches might be the only outside space left for women - it is still the domain of the house while it is also outside-but-safe. when i am in the woods, i am in the bear's home, and he has a right to defend his property. outside spaces - anywhere at night, certain parks in the day - those are often implicitly "owned" by men. i cannot explain the feeling of knowing when you have entered a man's "territory." you walk into a place and just know you are in their space. you get a sick sense - you're in danger.

the other day a group of about 8 men were fooling around in the woods while i walked my dog. i had to go around, take the extra 3 miles just to avoid them. it's okay, i like walking. this wasn't even a #feminism moment. it was just a tuesday.

what a plain and easy question. only one of the situations is seen as a tragic accident. i would rather die and have a park bench erected in my honor rather than have my family questioned about why they let me, an adult, walk in the woods in the first place when i should really be at home in the kitchen.

i worked in retail and food service. i have had women say and do absolutely heinous and abusive things to me - not because i was a woman, but because i was there, and they were angry. the way men treated me when angry was different - it was because i was a woman. you can always feel the difference, how there's an undertone of i'd hurt you worse if i could get away with it. i keep seeing people try to cite stupid statistics. why is there always a strange rage whenever women agree on things? like men can argue their way out of our lived experiences? it isn't a buzzfeed quiz - which of these traumas are you? 10 super cute ways not to fear strange men.

i have actually (thrice!) seen a bear in the wild, by the way. i died each time, obviously, and am a ghost writing to you. (it was scary but completely and utterly fine). the second encounter was a black bear with her cub. she looked at me like - do we have to do this or are we good? my dog was busy sniffing a bush, completely nonreactive. i felt like i was in a sitcom: feminist poet reacts - does she actually mean she'd choose the bear? my only thought was - she's so beautiful. her paws are massive.

and there's a part of me that feels the rage spinning out in a corner. why do we have to come up with quippy little comments in order to teach men empathy. would you rather die in a car accident or due to a mugging? and would you rather your house burn down due to an electrical fire or due to arson? gee willikers - it's almost like we're human people, and want to risk the accident versus the intention.

i would rather my last thought be oh shit, a bear rather than i'm a person too. why doesn't that matter? why don't you care?

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

LOGAN HOWLETT 18+ thoughts bc I can’t get a grip

mdni, fem!reader. 685 words

Thinking about Logan playing with you from behind:

His back to the headboard, yours to his chest – warm skin pressed to his as you lay into him. It’s lazy, it’s comfortable. Your thighs parted loosely, bent knees resting against his straightened legs either side of you. 

It’s all so casual, one of his hands teasing at the fabric of your underwear, fingers extended down as he toys with you. Pad of his middle one circling your clit, working up that growing patch of wet. His other hand wrapped around your middle, palm large and warm over your stomach – holding you to him, keeping you firm to his chest. 

Your head hangs back on his collarbone, crown of your head resting slackly against his shoulder. You feel as though you’ve been run through the wringer, the minimal, inconsistent touch of where you wanted him causing you all sorts of anguish. 

He was teasing you, every touch calculated despite its relaxed environment. Just absentmindedly playing with you through the fabric, working you up to hear those soft, breathy whines of yours he loves ever so much.

And while you thought your patience was being tested, that was not solely the case. His toying coming from a place of reluctance – like he was seeing how long he can go without sinking a couple fingers in you. It was hard, and he was growing antsy. Just like you.

So after what feels like forever of faint, featherlight pussy play, he slips his hand down the front of your underwear, his fist protruding in the thin fabric. The bow sitting on his thick wrist, the lewd view of something so dainty and pretty against something so rugged and manly was overwhelming. The feeling making you tighten on nothing. The feeling releasing an involuntary soft moan. 

“Barely touched you yet, sugar,” he whispers behind you, voice gruff and low. 

The grip he has around your stomach raises, his touch light as he finds himself cupping under your tits – arm wrapped securely, fingers clasping at the one on the opposite side. Breasts resting on his meaty forearm, holding them carefully.

The hand in your underwear is barely moving, his fingers resuming their prior pattern of fiddly touching. Though, this time it’s beneath the fabric, not over. He dips his two middle fingers between your lips, tips of each immediately being coated with the eager anticipation betwixt your thighs. The tapered width of his fingers parting your folds ever so obscenely.

He’s hesitant, not because he doesn’t know what he’s doing, rather, the opposite. He’s hesitant because he knows what he’s doing. Waiting and waiting – being a tease with his hand grazing heavy against your wet cunt, the palm of his hand feeling the clamp-like, jitter motion of you beneath. 

He reaches his middle finger downwards, the tip delving inside of you —only up to the first knuckle— the feel giving you a brief, momentary wave of relief. 

It’s not enough, so you find yourself extending a hand down to his, your fingers struggling to envelop the meat of his wrist as you push him further into your underwear. Silently, desperately asking for more.

All he can do is chuckle faintly, the deep sound amused. He’s mean, but he’s not evil. So he gives you what you want – the full length of his middle finger, those few inches sinking inside with the greatest of ease. His ring finger easing in shortly after.

“Better?” he asks, the question almost rhetorical. He knew it was better.

Your grip around his occupied hand loosens, and instead moves to hold onto the arm around your upper torso – fingers pawing at the muscles. You go limp, melting into him from behind, your soft, dulcet noises echoing everything he does. Each of you looking down between your thighs, watching his fingers disappear inside you, his head resting against yours as you both stare at the near pornographic view. 

And as he begins to pump slowly inside —hooking his fingers up into all the right spots— you twist into him, pressing kisses into his bulging, veiny bicep. Wordlessly thanking him.

just watched dp3 again, christ