#so no matter what trope youre thinking of the answer is probably yes

[brokenmenswhore]

first | poly!marauders

pairing: poly!marauders (james, remus, & sirius) x fem!reader

summary: virginity loss trope :)

warnings: smut (MDNI 18+), language, gender swapped dorcas cus i said so 🤷🏻‍♀️

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“That’s ridiculous,” you said, body halting as the staircase began to shift beneath you, “and completely untrue.”

“Oh come on, you never do anything interesting! For your sake, it has to be true,” Sirius teased.

You turned to him, mouth open in offense. “I’m plenty interesting.”

“But not interesting enough to lose your virginity to Meadowes in the library during fourth year?” Remus raised an eyebrow.

“No! It didn’t happen!” you protested, “now please, let it go.”

“How would a rumor like that even get out if it isn’t true?” James asked genuinely.

“Probably because everyone knows Meadowes has the hots for her. Bet you he started it himself,” Remus answered, distaste evident in his voice.

“Are you three done now?” you asked, whispering the common room password and letting the boys in.

“So if it isn’t true, how did you lose it?” Sirius pressed.

You looked at him stunned, eyes wide in disbelief that he would ask you something like that out of the blue.

“Absolutely not,” you said, raising a finger toward him, “I’m not playing that game.”

“Oh come on!” Sirius raised his hands and smiled, “you’re no fun.”

“Yeah, now I’m curious,” James continued on, “if not Dorcas, who?”

You sighed, placing your books down and tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, turning toward them exasperated. “Why does it matter?”

“You know seventeen of the girls I’ve slept with by heart,” Sirius replied, “I’d say it’s only fair.”

“Sirius, you told me about seventeen of the girls you’ve slept with. Willingly. Without me asking. Ever,” you said, earning a laugh from James at your disgust.

They followed you up the stairs to your dorm, empty from everyone sneaking off to a party in the Ravenclaw common room that you were supposed to be getting ready for, but alas, you were late and distracted.

You sat down in front of your vanity mirror, ready to start applying makeup, when Remus placed a hand on the desk in front of you, leaning his face in close to you, his hair falling slightly in front of his face. He was completely in your personal space.

“Come on, Y/N, tell us who got to fuck you first.”

Remus’ voice was low, and his breath fanned your face as he spoke. You locked eyes with him, a sigh leaving your chest that you weren’t aware you were holding in. You were nervous to have him this close.

“No one has. Sorry to disappoint. Now drop it, will you?”

Remus didn’t move. You continued to look up into his eyes, your voice a little shaky, and you didn’t know what to do. You moved to get up, but Remus caught your chin between his fingers, pulling your attention back to him. “Meaning what?”

“Did you not hear me? Cus you’re like 6 inches away from me, so if you didn’t, you need to get your hearing checked,” you said, annoyed at your current predicament, just wanting to make the embarrassing conversation end. Remus finally let you stand, but Sirius and James were right behind you, stopping you from leaving the room. You opted to sit on your bed.

“You guys are insufferable.”

Sirius cleared his throat. “So you’re-“ he trailed off.

“A virgin, yes, wow, how crazy of me. You know, it’s not that weird, you all just have a personal body count higher than everyone at this school combined. And everyone else’s body count includes you. Can we please just forget about this?” you begged.

“Such attitude,” James teased, “from such a good girl.”

“Oh, so I’m a goodie two-shoes now that you’ve all discovered I’ve never had sex?”

“Kinda, yeah,” James giggled.

“Fuck you guys,” you sighed, partially lighthearted and partially annoyed, “it was my choice. You think I couldn’t have screwed Dorcas Meadowes in the library if I wanted to?”

No one had a response. Sirius’ nostrils flared, and Remus sighed. They almost seemed… jealous? at the thought of you and someone else.

You four were ridiculously close, anyone could see that, and you would be lying if you said you haven’t thought about them in that way, but you were best friends, and you didn’t want to risk ruining that.

“You ever think about, like, just doing it?” Sirius asked.

“What?” you replied.

“Do you ever think about just saying fuck it and asking someone, like, I don’t know, one of us, to just take your virginity?”

Your breathing caught in your chest. You stared at Sirius, a million thoughts coming to your head but you couldn’t articulate any of them. You had no idea what to say.

“I mean, I’ve thought about losing my virginity, yeah, that’s normal,” you explained.

“To one of us?” Remus asked.

You could lie. You could act disgusted at the question and walk away now, or, you could tell the truth, and risk ruining your entire friendship. You could also tell the truth and potentially gain everything you wanted.

Your voice became small, your eyes watching your hands fidget in your lap, “maybe.”

The boys all exchanged a look between one another.

James was the only one who was able to pull himself together. “W-who?”

You titled your head up at him. “What?”

James sat down on the bed next to you. “Which one of us?”

You could physically see all the boys tense up, ready to be filled with either pride or jealousy. Sirius and Remus were staring daggers at you, anxiously awaiting your answer. James kept his eyes on you as well, trying to make you feel less intimidated and tense than Sirius and Remus were.

Your eyes darted between all of them, “I-“

You were evidently nervous, and Remus felt bad. He knelt on the ground in front of you, taking your hands in his own. It was the most intimate gesture you’d received from him yet. He kept his voice soft. “Angel, you don’t have to tell us, but we really want to know. I promise none of us will be too hurt. Please,” he almost begged.

You sighed. You weren’t worried because you only thought about one of them, you were worried because you were embarrassed to tell them the truth. You took a deep breath. It was now or never. “All of you.”

They were not prepared for that answer.

Remus and James stared at you and tried to process your words. Sirius was more of an “act on impulse” and “speak without thinking” kind of guy.

“Fuck off,” he said, “all of us?”

“Mhm.”

“Like at the same time?” he pushed.

“Sirius-“ Remus warned.

“No, no, I wanna hear you say it,” he said, attention back on you, “I wanna hear you say that you’ve thought about losing your virginity to all three of us. At the same time. I wanna hear you say that you’ve thought about us fucking you.” He was standing dangerously close to you now.

“I- I have,” you said, blush evident in your cheeks.

Sirius growled. “Remus, move.”

“Excuse me?” Remus snapped back.

“Move.”

Remus sighed and moved out of the way so that Sirius was standing directly in front of you. “You stop us if there’s anything you don’t like. Understood?”

You nodded your head, but that wasn’t enough.

“Words, baby.”

“Yes,” you retried.

Sirius gave you a small smile before grabbing your face in his hands, tilting your head up and leaning down to give you a long, intimate kiss. Once you had settled in, he deepened the kiss, his carnal desires taking over. He slowly leaned you back on the bed, your legs still hanging off the mattress, as he placed one knee next to your waist, holding himself up as he continued kissing you. When your back hit the mattress, you held the back of Sirius’s head to keep him in place.

You felt one of the boys behind Sirius, pulling your pants off and leaving your lower half nearly exposed.

Sirius flopped down on the bed next to you, still kissing you as you ran your fingers through his hair.

James slowly kissed up your thigh, throwing both of your legs over his shoulders as he kissed your underwear right above your heat. You gasped, but Sirius didn’t let you break the kiss.

“Sirius, come on, give her a break,” James pleaded, “I wanna hear her.”

Sirius groaned into the kiss before breaking it, looking down to James in between your legs. “Well, go on then.”

Sirius was still feral and needy, pulling your shirt over your head and ripping off your bra, immediately going to grab and kiss at your breasts. You were embarrassed at the exposure, but everyone was moving on your body so fast that you didn’t have time to think about your body being on display.

James pushed your underwear to the side and kissed your folds, causing you to squeal. This was an unfamiliar feeling, but you were growing wetter and wetter by the minute. He pushed your folds open with his tongue, licking and flicking at your clit. You whined and threw your head back. He continued his actions, peeking up at you from between your legs, watching you come apart as he ate you out like a man starved.

“Take it easy,” you heard Remus say from behind your head, “you gotta remember she’s never done this.”

James moaned into your cunt as a response, sending a shiver up your body, causing your legs to shake slightly. He kept sucking and licking circles around your bud, and you couldn’t help but grab the hair at the back of his head, pushing him closer into you.

“Good girl,” Sirius cooed from beside you, touching every exposed part of your body that he could.

As James’ tongue quickened, your whines grew louder, but you tried to tame them and save yourself further embarrassment. Remus noticed and was not happy. He grabbed your face and forced your neck to look backward at him. “Are you holding back?”

“N-no,” you said anxiously, not sure if it was the truth.

“Ah, but I think you are,” he started, “and we don’t accept that. Let us hear you.”

“But I’m emb-“

“I don’t care if you’re embarrassed. Stop holding back. Now.”

Remus’s demanding and controlling demeanor only added at the pleasure James was giving you with his mouth. You did as he said. James continued to quicken his pace, whines and moans falling from your lips.

“Does that feel good?” Remus asked.

“Yes, Rem, I-“

“No fair!” Sirius suddenly exclaimed, “if you ask her all the questions, you get to hear her moan your name. Selfish prick.”

“Are you gonna let this be about her or what?” Remus retorted.

“I am! I should be asking you the same thing, why do you always get to be in control of everything?”

They bickered back and forth for a few minutes, but the entire time, James remained focused on you. He watched from between your legs as his tongue made you squirm and moan, and he had you nearly seeing stars.

You desperately tried to tell him you were going to come, but Remus and Sirius were too busy bickering for James to hear you. You tapped at his head to signal him, and he got the message, sucking at your bud until you finally came. Your chest rapidly rose and fell as James continued to lick you until he had tasted every last drop of cum from your hole, standing up and placing a wet kiss on your lips.

“What, did you just give up?” Sirius asked when he saw James standing.

“No, idiot, she came,” James replied, “you two dickheads were too busy arguing to notice.”

Remus’s nostrils flared. “You just let us keep arguing?”

“She tried to say something!” James defended you, and partly himself.

“Baby, you ok?” Remus checked in.

“Mhm,” you nodded.

“You got a little more in you?”

“Mhm.”

“You want me?”

“Mhm.”

Remus pulled his pants and boxers down and climbed on top of you, pulling your underwear completely off of you as he placed his knees on either side of your waist.

“You sure?” he asked, wanting to confirm your consent.

“Yes,” you responded.

“And you’re sure you’re okay with it being me?”

Instead of responding with words, you tilted your head up and kissed Remus, assuring him that you wanted it to be him. You would have been okay with any of the boys, but Remus was always so in control, it made sense that he would be your first. Your relationship with him was always a little less silly, and a little more intimate, than your relationship with the other two.

“Are you ready?” he checked, lining up his already hard cock at your entrance.

“Yeah,” you replied, “just- please be nice, okay?”

Remus smiled, “of course, baby.”

You nodded at him and locked eyes as he slowly pushed into you, a long gasp leaving your lips as he filled you up. His cock was bigger than you thought it would be, and it was taking you a while to adjust to his size.

“Shit, Rem,” you breathed out, “you should have warned me that you’re that fucking big.”

Sirius growled next to you, your words driving him crazy. He couldn’t help but pull out his cock, stroking it slowly as he watched you.

Remus gave you plenty of time to adjust before you nodded at him, signaling that he could move. He started slowly, pushing in and out of you as an excruciatingly slow pace. It burned, and you almost told Remus to stop, but after a few minutes, the pain subsided, and the pleasure took over.

A particularly filthy moan left your lips, and Sirius cursed under his breath. James appeared behind your head, stroking your hair as Remus’s head dropped to your shoulder as he began to pick up the pace.

“Shit, baby,” he moaned, “you feel so fucking good.”

“You look so fucking good,” Sirius breathed.

“Thank you, Siri,” you cried out, causing Sirius to cum in his hand, the nickname making him lose all control.

“What a good girl,” Remus spoke, his thrusts quickening until he was causing your body to jolt upward with each hit from the force, “you’re doing so well.”

James placed a kiss on your forehead and you reached up to grab his hand for leverage. You squeezed his hand, the pleasure between your legs becoming almost too much.

“Relax, baby, you’re being such a good girl,” James said.

Remus’ breathing quickened. “You’re so tight, angel, if you keep squeezing my cock like that I’m not gonna last,” he warned.

“I c-can’t help it,” you told him.

“I know baby,” he replied.

“I d- don’t know how to m- make it stop,” you said.

Remus giggled, “you don’t have to make it stop. It feels good for me.”

“Oh,” you whimpered, “that’s good.”

Remus giggled again. You were so cute, even in the middle of losing your virginity. Remus leaned down and kissed you, your lips moving in harmony as he began to pound into you. Any sense of kindness and mercy he had for this being your first time went out the window when you kissed.

Your moans grew louder and louder, and you tried to cover your mouth with your hand to quiet yourself down.

“Ah ah ah,” Sirius tsked, pulling your hand away, “none of that.”

“Rem- Rem- I-“

“I know angel, let go.”

Your high crashed over you again, your hips bucking upward to meet Remus’ final few thrusts before he came inside of you, the feeling of you squeezing him becoming too much for him to hold on. Remus stayed inside of you for a moment, watching your face as you calmed down from your high, a slight shake in your legs.

“What a good girl,” James praised, kissing your forehead.

“You okay?” Remus checked in, pulling out of you and standing in front of you.

“Mhm,” you hummed, “‘m okay.”

Sirius leaned down to kiss you again. “Everything you imagined?”

“Mhm.” You were too tired to formulate complete words or sentences.

“You wanna skip the party?” Sirius continued.

“Mhm.”

“You wanna cuddle and watch a movie?”

“Mhm.” You shifted so your head was resting on Sirius’ lap as he began to stroke your hair.

Sirius smiled. “And then maybe round two.”

[pedantic-poison]

Delicious | LN4

pairing: fem sainz!reader x lando norris

genre: SMUTTTTT, 18+ MINORS DNI, p in v, fingering, light choking, use of pet names (darling, baby, sweetheart, good girl, etc), cream pie, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y'all!!!!), language, hold the moan vibes, dirty talk, Lando being a hoe

requested: yes!

word count: 3.9k

author's note: i LOVE me some brother's best friend trope

When your older brother first joined McLaren, you were unbelievably proud of him, so, naturally, you moved heaven and earth to make it to his first race with the team. Meeting Lando, you finally understood why all of Carlos' stories from before the season started were about his new teammate, and how much he made him laugh. He was friendly to you, and kind, and had a knack for making sure you never felt out of place. He also made your chest go a little tight, but you chose to ignore that feeling. Best not to complicate things for your brother.

It's been years since you first met Lando, and you can't quite use that excuse to convince yourself you need to avoid Lando. You still try, certainly, but it doesn't really carry the weight it used to, not with Carlos at Ferrari now. Would it still be messy? Maybe. Would it be a complete shit show? ...Probably not, right?

That little tendril of doubt created just enough space for that weird feeling Lando elicited to bloom. And now, with the Summer break giving Carlos time off, he's invited Lando to your family's home, for an entire week.

"Morning," the sound of Lando's voice snapped you out of your thoughts. As if it wasn't already bad enough that he was staying in your house, now Lando had the audacity to show up in the kitchen, voice gravely from sleep, with a pair of gray sweatpants hanging low enough on his hips to show the V-line of his muscles there. Your eyes trailed up his torso, allowing yourself to indulge in his tan skin and taut muscles for just a moment, before your gaze met his. A knowing look danced across his face, eyes glinting with mischief, as he smirked at you over his mug of coffee.

"Oh, um, good morning," you coughed out, embarrassed at having been caught. "How'd you sleep?" you managed to force out.

Lando took his time, finishing his sip of coffee before answering, "Slept alright. Couldn't fall asleep for a while, for some reason, though." You couldn't quite decipher the look on his face while he said it, but he didn't give you enough time to overthink it. "You?"

Your face heated immediately at the reminder of what exactly you'd been doing last night, instead of sleeping. "F-fine, thanks." It had been four long days where Lando had made himself seemingly unavoidable. Even at night, when you could close your door to the rest of the house, and lock yourself away, your thoughts strayed back to Lando no matter what you did. Last night, the ache in your core had gotten so unbearable that you'd touched yourself to the thought of him. It seemed that even the walls of your room couldn't quite keep Lando out.

"What's got you thinking so hard over there, Sainz?"

You schooled your expression, refusing to let him throw you off balance again. "Wouldn't you like to know, Norris." The coffee mug in your hands hid your face rather well as you lifted it to take a sip, leveling him with a look that you hoped seemed like a challenge.

Pushing off the counter he'd been leaning against, Lando took a step closer to you. "I really, really would, actually."

You allowed yourself to lean in for just a moment, inhaling the smell of him, before pulling back. "Too bad." Chair legs scraping against the floor as you pushed away from the table, standing and taking your mug and book with you.

"Oh, come on! You're really gonna tease me like that?" he whined, shouting at your back as you headed up the stairs.

"Gotta make you work for it, Norris!" you called back, retreating into your room once again, giddier than you'd care to admit, and telling yourself that you'd only left because you had work to do. Certainly not because you weren't sure how much longer you'd be able to hold on with Lando under the same roof.

Just three more days.

The loud splashes and laughter from outside drew your attention away from your book, for what felt like the hundredth time in two minutes. Sighing exasperatedly, you rolled over on your bed, craning your neck up to look out of your window.

Carlos and Lando were in the pool in the backyard below you, squealing like little kids as they hit each other with water balloons. You rolled your eyes at the childish behavior, even as you fought (and failed) to keep a smile off of your lips. You heard your father's voice ring throughout the house, and Carlos and Lando must've heard it too, because they quickly dropped their makeshift weapons at the call that they needed to get cleaned up for dinner. Your parents weren't terribly strict, but even they preferred for everyone at their dinner table to be fully clothed and not dripping everywhere.

Just as you'd made your way out of your room to head downstairs, you froze, finding a sopping wet Lando Norris in the hallway. Even after you (accidentally) ogled him this morning, you couldn't manage to keep your eyes on his as you watched the way the droplets of water fell off the ridges of his chiseled chest and torso. You hadn't quite noticed how close you'd come to running into each other, barely a foot of space between you, that seemed to shrink more and more the longer you stared. And you weren't the only one. The sundress you wore hung off your body in a way that made Lando want to memorize every line and curve of it himself. Looking wasn't enough - he'd always been more of a hands-on learner, anyways. And the way the gentle breeze swirled the skirt of it around your hips and legs made him want to find out if you were wearing anything underneath it. Made him want to rip anything he found there off with his teeth.

"Hermanita! Lando! Dinner in twenty minutes!" Carlos shouted up, from the sound of it in the kitchen, most likely helping your parents like the doting son he was. Helping, unlike you. Standing in the hallway, now only inches from Lando, chest rising and falling erratically as you tried to convince yourself that you should not fuck your brother's friend and former teammate in your parents' house with your entire family downstairs.

"Twenty minutes," Lando breathed, barely above a whisper. He took a final step forward, mouth painfully close to touching yours as his spread into a mischievous grin. "I can work with that."

His lips crashed into yours, hands gripping your face delicately as he did so, moving only after yours landed in his hair. Lando finally, finally, got his hands on those hips that had been torturing him, tempting him, for years, squeezing as he pulled you into him. Your fingers raked through his curls, tugging gently as you pushed him backwards into your room. He went willingly, grinning into the kiss at your enthusiasm as you kicked the door shut behind you, letting you take charge for the time being and falling to the bed when the backs of his knees hit it, hands dragging down your thighs as he went. For a moment, you paused, taking in the way Lando was looking up at you. Adoring. Reverent. Hungry.

His hands on your thighs urged you forward to straddle him, sliding his grip up your back to pull your torso flush with his. "God, these fucking tits," he groaned, squeezing you harder into his chest before sliding his hands around to your front, cupping them harshly. Through lidded eyes, you watched his hands, large, nimble, and veiny, knead your breasts while he hummed appreciatively, unable to look away from your chest for even a moment. "Been waiting to get my hands on you for so long, sweetheart," he heaved, speaking into your skin as his lips trailed over your exposed chest, just under your collarbone, punctuating the statement with a final, firm squeeze of your tits.

Before you could finish the whine building in you at the loss of his hands, Lando had yanked down the flimsy straps of your sundress, allowing your tits to spill out over the neckline. Lando swears he could come from that sight alone. "You're so gorgeous," he muttered, more to himself than to you, before looking back into your eyes, "so fucking gorgeous." His lips found yours again, stealing your breath as one hand reached up to ghost over your nipple, already sensitive and hardening from the cool air in your room, while the other lowered to rest on your waist, gently urging you to rock your hips against him at your own pace. "So," his kisses now landed on your jaw, "so," your neck, "beautiful. I think it might actually kill me," gently nipping at your pulse point before soothing the tender skin with his tongue.

Your breath had grown shallow from the attention he paid to your neck and chest, hitching as he tweaked your nipple just right, almost harsh enough to be painful but light enough to make you crave more. But what caused your breath to quicken was the feeling of Lando under you. Those strong, muscled thighs, bracketed by your own, felt so firm you couldn't stop your mind from wondering how they would feel if you ground yourself against them. The way they tensed as he moved, or restrained himself from moving as he tried to let you set the pace, felt so delicious against your thighs and through layers of fabric, you can't imagine how they would feel flexing against your core. Delicious as those thoughts were, they would have to wait for another time, because nothing was more tempting than the press of his hard cock against you, straining at the material of his swim trunks, the remaining water of the pool dampening your already wet panties.

"Shh, sweetheart, we've got to be careful," Lando startles you, the hand that had been on your tits gently closing over your mouth, and only then did you realize just how much noise you'd been making. Your cheeks heated at the realization, feeling your breath catching in your throat, rapid and uneven, whimpers and whines and a whole host of other, embarrassing sounds trapped beneath the firm press of Lando's large hand. You were so worked up that even that thought, the sheer size of his palm against you, how those thick, nimble fingers would feel between your thighs, made you whine louder, hips speeding up as you sought some kind of friction. Lando's eyes darkened as you ground yourself onto him, harder, faster, hand tightening around your waist and thighs flexing underneath you. He was holding back, you could tell, his restraint hanging by a thread, and every move you made threatened to fray that thread to its breaking point.

You wanted to make him snap.

There would be another time to savor this, to take your time, to memorize every inch of him, later.

You raised one of your hands from his broad shoulders, gripping the hand that covered your mouth and tapping twice. Immediately, Lando removed his hand, eyes filling with concern that he'd done something wrong, but before he could ask you were already whining again.

"Please, Lan," you begged, hips pressing down as harshly as you could manage. "Need you so bad, please, please," your voice was thin and breathy, and if you weren't nearly delirious from finally having this, having him, within your grasp, you might've been embarrassed by it. "Don't tease me, I c - can't take it."

Lando's head fell back with a groan, making no effort to silence himself as he did with you. "Fuck, darling, you want me that much, huh?" You nodded eagerly, hips continuing their grind as you felt Lando's cock twitch beneath you. "Such a desperate little thing, aren't you?" he asked, latching his mouth on the flesh of your breast, sucking a harsh mark into the delicate skin. Low enough that your family wouldn't be able to see, you realized, but dark enough that you'd have a reminder of him on your skin for the next few days. The thought made you flush with heat. The sudden bite of Lando's teeth on your tit shocked you out of your haze. "I asked you a question, sweetheart."

You blinked down at him, bleary eyed, "W-what?"

His grin was wicked as he looked up at you, "Aw, poor baby's already going cock dumb and I haven't even fucked you yet." Your cheeks heated, and he didn't give you the time to gather yourself enough to formulate a comeback. "I asked if you were a desperate little thing for me? You desperate for me to fuck you stupid, darling?"

A whine escaped your lips, unbidden, at his words, and the look in his eyes told you he wouldn't let you deny its cause. "God, yes, Lan, yes I'm so desperate for you, want you to fuck me so bad, I - fuck -"

The sensation of his fingers sliding your thong to the side scrambled your brains again, scattering any thoughts you'd managed to gather. The rough, calloused pad of his thumb brushed over your clit, and your body rocked violently into his hold, chasing the pleasure. "Keep talking to me, sweetheart, tell me what you want. Tell me all the filthy things my pretty little girl wants me to do to her," he whispered into your ear, lips going back to attacking your neck.

"W-want - want you to - ah- fuck me with your fingers, think about those p-perfect hands all the - fuck - t-time, want your thick fingers in me before you fuck me, Lando," you moaned out, pushing through even though your whines threatened to interrupt you.

"Good girl," he purred, sliding his middle finger through your folds, moaning into your neck at the feel of you. "So fucking wet f'me, darling, fuck," his left hand tweaked your nipple, as his right slowly sank a finger into you. The sound he let out was almost animalistic as he felt you clenching around him, reacting to the stretch that even one of his fingers made you feel. "Holy shit, you're so tight, baby," he lifted his head to be level with yours, wanting to watch your face as he touched you. "How am I gonna fit my cock into this tight little pussy of yours if you can barely take one of my fingers?"

The only answer you could give him was a needy moan, one that had his left hand going back up, not to cover your mouth, but to rest on your throat. "Shh, remember, sweetheart, you don't want your parents to hear us, do you?"

You shook your head fiercely, but immediately lost your train of thought again as Lando began to pump his finger in and out of you, slowly to let you adjust. His thumb landed firmly back on your clit, and the way he curled his long, thick fingers had him reaching a spot inside of you you'd never managed to reach before.

"What else do you want me to do, darling? Don't tell me you've already gone brainless? I've barely gotten started with you."

"Want more, Lan, want you to stretch me with your fingers so you can fuck me, want to feel you - oh, god," you barely managed to catch yourself before you screamed at the feeling of Lando pushing another finger into you. Even though he was aided by your wetness, Lando slowed his pace as he let you adjust again, easing into you as gently as possible as he maintained his circles on your clit.

"Want to feel me what, sweetheart?" he encouraged, curling his fingers to that same spot, this time hitting it hit his index and middle fingers and making your brain short circuit.

"Want to - Lan - w-want, I, fuck," you babbled, head falling to the crook of Lando's shoulder as you struggled for words.

"Come on, now, darling, be a good girl and tell me what you want. You do want to be a good girl f'me, don't you?" He chuckled lightly at how quickly you nodded, head staying buried in his neck.

"I- I want t-to feel you in me, feel your cock in me, feel you stretch me out with it, f-feel you fill me up - stuff me full with you, with your cum, leave me dripping with it."

The hand on your throat tightened harshly, briefly, before both of Lando's hands were off you and working on his swim trunks. "Jesus christ, baby, you've got a dirty little mouth on you. Such a perfect fucking girl for me, darling, such a dirty little thing, god you're perfect," he mumbled the praises into your mouth, stopping every so often to kiss you tenderly, hungrily, as his hands made quick work of the tie on his swim trunks, pulling them down enough to let his cock spring free. Your eyes widened involuntarily at the sight of it slapping against his stomach, the hard muscles of his abs and the red, leaking tip of his cock mesmerizing you.

You lifted your hips, allowing Lando to yank you closer to him until you hovered just over his cock, both of your hands bracing against his shoulders as one of his went under your dress to guide his cock through your folds.

"You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?"

"Yes, please Lan, please, ple-"

You had to cover your mouth with your own hand this time, the stretch of his cock making your eyes water, tears springing from them. Lando stared straight into your eyes as he sank you down onto his cock, bottom lip trapped between his teeth in a feeble attempt to silence himself. Both of his hands landed on your hips, gripping harshly as he held himself back from fucking up into you right away.

"God, baby you're so tight, you have such a perfect little cunt," he panted, eyes fixed on yours, not wanting to miss a single expression on your face. Finally, he bottomed out, the slow glide of his cock in you heavenly, fingers flexing against you as he forced himself to be patient.

A weak whimper left you despite the hand over your mouth as you slowly rose up, dropping harshly back onto Lando's cock and digging in your fingers at the sensation.

"Fuuuuuuuck," Lando ground out, hips bucking slightly up into you as you sank back down on him again.

It didn't take long for your legs to begin to shake, pace faltering as you grew tired. "Lando," you breathed out, head nestled in the crook of his neck again.

"Yes, darling?" His voice was thin, reedy, telling you he was just as affected as you were, even if he was better at hiding it.

"Can't - can't," your own gasp interrupted you as the head of Lando's cock hit a particularly sensitive spot inside you. "Too tired, need you to - god."

Lando chuckled, chest rumbling underneath your forehead, "You need me to do it for you, baby? You already too fucked out to move?"

"Please," you whined, unable to muster any embarrassment at the desperation in your voice. He knew he did this to you. Why bother trying to hide it?

Something in your neediness got to him, hands sliding up to your waist and squeezing as he gave himself a better hold on you. "That's a good girl. Don't worry, sweetheart, I've got you."

He lifted you off his cock, before slamming you back down onto him, hips fucking up into you harshly. The feeling of him manhandling you with ease was nearly enough to make you come on its own, but that combined with the way he kept hitting that spot inside of you, over, and over, and over again? You were so close you felt like you were going to explode.

And Lando knew it, too. Could tell from the way your hands scrabbled for purchase on his muscular shoulders, the way your head went limp on his shoulder as you gave him complete control over your body, from the way you clenched around him, and when he dropped one of his hands to graze a thumb over your clit as he fucked up into you, you were helpless to do anything but collapse into his embrace as you rode out your high.

Lando continued to hold you up by your waist, limbs sluggish and heavy, as he chased his own high, spurred on by your whimpers of overstimulation. But what finally pushed him over the edge was the sound of your voice, wrecked and fucked out, whispering weakly in his ear, "Please, Lando, please fill me up."

He came with a groan that he tried to bury in your neck, nipping lightly at the skin as he came down, chest heaving and moving you with it since you still hadn't managed to regain control of your own body just yet. The feeling of him painting your walls made you whimper, unintentionally clenching around him again, which elicited a deep groan from him.

"You keep squeezing me like that, darling, and you're gonna get me hard again."

You giggled, which earned you a playful swat on the ass from Lando, chuckling along with you as he stroked your cheek tenderly, admiring you in your post-orgasm haze.

"Lan-"

"Dinner is ready! Hurry up and get down here, we're starving!" The sound of your brother's voice jolted both of you out of your stupor, matching looks of panic on your faces.

Before you could say anything else, Lando whispers, "We're talking about this later tonight, sweetheart." Placing a kiss on your cheek, Lando lifts you off of him, hissing at the feeling, and setting you on your bed next to him before getting up and running across the hall to his room.

After you managed to muster the strength to move, you quickly fixed your dress, trying to make sure that your face and hair weren't dead giveaways for just having had the best sex of your life. You rushed downstairs, blaming your breathlessness on having run to dispel your mother's concern, and sat down quickly, trying to avoid any questions about what had taken you so long.

A few seconds later, Lando joined you, sitting across from you, eyes burning into you in a way that made you shift in your seat. That turned out to be a huge mistake, because just as your brother passed you the salad, Lando's cum leaked out of you as you realized belatedly that not only had you not cleaned up, but you hadn't even put your panties back on. You froze, quickly shifting back and squeezing your thighs together in an effort to stop him from seeping out of you, and miraculously, none of your family seemed to notice.

But the way your eyes widened told Lando exactly what had happened.

When your parents asked how the dinner was, you stammered out some poor excuse of a response, not really knowing how to speak to your family with Lando's cum dripping out of you.

Lando shot you a wicked grin, winking quickly enough that no one else saw it, and stared right into your eyes as he answered.

"Delicious."

[pomefioredove]

May I please have a sugar cookie, order number 15, with sprinkles & chocolate chips?

I'm super excited I came in time for this event, I adore your blog & am excited to see what comes of this.

(Pardon me as I cross my fingers in hoping to get one of my babygirls or just one of my faves)

—🐈‍⬛

you get one of MY babygirls. praise mana-sama for helping me through requests today

order #15, sugar with sprinkles and chocolate chips

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ unlike yourself

tropes: hurt/comfort, fake dating characters: rook additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is yuu, short and sweet, probably ooc

It's strange, you think.

Rook Hunt, the mysterious, distant vicewarden, loved you more in an evening than anyone else had in months.

Only an act. You had to remind yourself of that, every time he squeezed your hand or pulled you closer to him.

Every time he whispered something silly in your ear, every time he kissed the back of your hand. Only an act.

"I could write a thousand poems of you, mon amour, and never become bored of it,"

At some point, you had stopped looking at the others. You had forgotten they were there altogether.

It's only an act.

It felt like a fairytale, glittering, iridescent and silver, yet one that still ended at midnight in rags and pumpkin seeds.

You didn't want to think about that.

That by sunrise, the event would be over, and you would be back to your life. Back to your drafty dorm and secondhand clothes, back to your cold, lonely mornings. Back to yourself.

Back to the person you so hated.

Rook made you feel something unlike yourself. You were someone beautiful to him, someone interesting, someone loveable, someone worth teaching to dance, no matter how many times you stepped on his toes.

He only smiled.

You had asked him to be your date, to lie with you, to act with you, to prove to everyone that you were that someone, so unlike yourself, that you were beautiful and interesting and loveable, and worthy.

It had been your request. Just two hours, you said, and now you selfishly want more. You want years.

You want to make him feel the way he makes you.

"Your eyes are watering," Rook whispers, holding your face and drying your tears with the gentle touch of his gloved thumbs.

"Why are you sad, mon ange?"

You can't tell him. It's only an act. It's only an act. You want him to stay. He can't. He won't.

You can't ask him to stay.

"You are tired," he says, smiling sweetly, his cupid's bow curving. "Let's get you home, Trickster."

He's right, of course.

And you don't want to leave, you don't want to lose something on the velvet steps of the dorm, but you do, for him.

He walks you back to Ramshackle himself. He tucks you in bed and makes you something warm to eat since you both know the silver-plated hors d'oeuvres weren't enough.

You don't want to close your eyes. But he asks you to sleep, and you do, for him.

And so you wake up in your drafty dorm and your secondhand clothes in a bed that isn't really yours, feeling like yourself again.

But today, on this cold morning, he's sitting with you, and it isn't lonely.

"Oh, Trickster," he whispers, leaning over your, holding your face and gazing at you with something like softness.

"You did not have to ask me to stay. The answer is always yes."

And he kisses, again and again, your lips, your cheeks, your nose and head. He kisses that person, the one in rags, the messy one, the lonely one, you. He kisses you. He wants you.

And you think, perhaps this person, this yourself, isn't so bad.

Rook loves them, after all.

[1-800reki]

❝random Osamu D. headcanons! ❞

Summary: Silly little headcanons with Dazai :3

Pairings: Dazai x gn reader

a/n: I don't really know how to write Dazai correctly so apologies if he's mischaracterized 😔

• Before you started dating he most definitely tried to act mysterious to try and attract you.

• It was the trope of he fell first and he fell harder.

• If you don't respond in less than 10 seconds he'll spam you.

D: 'heyy prettyy'

D: 'why aren't you responding.'

D: 'HEY'

D: 'fly low pretty 🦍(I couldn't find the dove)'

Your Initial: 'I WAS SLEEPING'

• He would spam you with random videos. Mostly ones he would find funny but it's depressing.

• If you were shorter than him he would constantly make jokes about it. If you're taller he still makes jokes about it.

• Teases you constantly.

• He annoys you whenever you don't give him enough attention. You could be doing important work and he'll be at your side.

Dazai: "Are you done yet? This is so boring!"

Y/n: "I just started. Wait like 30 minutes."

• He would kind of stop his suicide attempts. He'd still attempt but keep it to a minimum to not worry you as much.

• Would ask you to do a double suicide and you change your answer every time just to tease him.

• In a modern au he would put in his bio 'captured by this creature' with your @.

• Whenever you both go on walks and encounter a dog he will stare down the dog before pulling you to continue walking.

• He loves you but if you want a dog he would convince you not to get one since he dislikes them.

• You would have to drive everywhere since he's a reckless driver. Do not trust him behind the wheel.

• You keep him in line. Kunikida has your number on speed dial just in case Dazai slacks off.

• You are Kunikida's favorite person because you keep Dazai in check.

• Because of how people think of Dazai, they would expect him to be overprotective and possessive. But he's COMPLETELY THE OPPOSITE. He doesn't care if you stay out at night or who you're around, because he knows you're loyal . But if shit goes down expect him to be there in a second.

• Dazai is one sarcastic man. Like if you see him going to the bathroom and you ask "are you going to the bathroom?" he'll say "no, I'm going to the shed to bury Chuuya. YES IM GOING TO THE BATHROOM."

• If you were sad he'd probably say something stupid like "turn that frown upside down bbg"

• Dazai sings and hums when he's not paying attention , and you've definitely seen it a couple of times.

• At first you two were no labels but now he's super proud to be with you.

• If you had any insecurities he would always say he found you to be breathtaking no matter what.

• To be fair, he probably doesn't find PDA as an issue. If you intertwined your hand with his, he wouldn't find it as a big deal. He doesn't mind kisses in public either. (RAHHHHJHH)

• His favorite spots to kiss you would be the forehead, lips and your hands.

• If he were to take you on a date it would either be a restaurant or a at home movie night.

• He gossips with you. You have any sort of drama from work or friends? He's sitting with you listening to everything. Especially on spa days you insist you both have.

Y/n: "Then she found out her husband was sleeping with her co worker."

Dazai: "I knew something was up."

[comicaurora]

What are your thoughts on guardians vol.3? (If you have watched it) I went into it, expecting it went to the garbage like the rest of the mcu, but I was pleasantly surprised by its creativity, trope subversion, and how it wrapped up the previously unresolved arks of its characters.

That's what I've heard!

The thing is, Guardians 3 could be the most transcendent work of cinema ever made, and I'd probably still feel little to no motivation to watch it at this point. It's not Guardians's fault - it's just suffering from the same problem that superhero comics have been struggling with for decades: no matter how good an individual arc or run is, absolutely nothing good lasts or matters in the long term, and the stories are shaped in such a way that "the long term" is the only thing anyone gets to build towards.

Whenever I complain about the MCU I get a handful of people loudly complaining about my complaining, with the general thesis that if I don't like it I shouldn't watch it or talk about it - if I'm not having fun, just stop engaging with it. And the thing is, I have. I am intellectually interested in why this massive franchise is fumbling the bag so hard, which is why I still check in on it sometimes, but I've long since stopped turning to the MCU for uncritical entertainment. And even the good movies or shows with a lot of interesting ideas - good character arcs, fun concepts, interesting planting for future payoff - don't draw me in anymore, because they're hooked into a massive moneymaking machine that will scrap and squander anything if they think it'll make them more in the quarter. It doesn't matter how good the writing is, because the writers are not allowed to tell a complete, finished story, and they have no control over what happens to their characters outside of their own script.

Captain America's arc was set up from literally minute one to answer one burning question at the core of his character: does a world without a war still need Captain America? After that incredibly basic tee-up at the end of First Avenger, half a dozen movies failed to come up with a reason to say "yes," and now Steve is retired for good after getting fumbled through four different storylines that couldn't even pretend that they needed him (the unused Chekhov's Phone from the end of Civil War still haunts me). The foundational arc of his entire character never happened because nobody bothered to keep track of it past a single movie.

Taika did something interesting with Thor in Ragnarok - take away Mjolnir, force him to recognize what it means to be the god of thunder, give him a very Odin-y missing eye - and the very next movie undid all of it. Just kidding, never mind, here's an eye and a new weapon and also his old weapon again, and in one more movie we're even gonna give him his hair back, probably as an apology for all the completely unironic fatphobia we're gonna slather him in for two and a half hours. I'm not even surprised Love And Thunder was such an overblown mess that barely took itself seriously - why would Taika bother trying to give Thor another arc when the powers that be will just roll it back in six months anyway?

I hear Rocket Raccoon has a fantastic arc in this movie. That's great, and demonstrates that he's being written by a writer that deeply cares about him. But he's part of the MCU, and the MCU doesn't let anything end, so if current patterns hold, Rocket is going to continue to serve as quippy plushie-bait for the next dozen movies and none of that depth is going to come through in the long term. Hell, since they're making Kang noises for the Next Big Threat and Kang's entire gimmick is rewriting timelines, literally none of this is guaranteed to matter. By next year, it might not have even happened anymore.

The MCU has successfully shaped itself into a paradigm where the bright spots of good writing are overridden and lost as soon as the writers room turns over, and that makes it really hard for me to muster up the enthusiasm to watch even a really good movie that's locked into the exact same grist mill as everything else. I'm glad people liked it, I hope it gets to stay good this time - I just have no desire to watch it.

[isagrimorie]

Star Trek Voyager 6x02 - Survival Instinct | Star Trek Picard 1x08 - Broken PIeces

Seven: When I was first assimilated into the Collective, I was a child. They were assimilated as adults. When our individual memories began to resurface-- Chakotay: Yours were of being a little girl. A scared little girl. Seven: I let that fear control me. After I saw the drone die in the swamp, I panicked. I began to envision my own death. Alone, without even the sound of another drone to comfort me. So I forced them to return. I infiltrated their left cerebral hemispheres with nanoprobes and created a new interlink network. One that they couldn't resist. And then I eliminated the evidence of what I had done. Chakotay: You were overwhelmed by feelings you couldn't begin to understand. You're not responsible for that. Seven: Because of what I did, they'll be forced to live the rest of their lives in the Collective. For that, I am responsible.

Rewatching Star Trek Voyager after Picard is so good because it makes the Seven-centric stories even richer. They were already good but it adds another layer to everything.

It also makes this moment in Broken Pieces even more resonant for Seven because she's not only assimilated people before but she's assimilated people who were trying to escape. I love how interesting this makes Seven's character. It's a situation TV Tropes call Ignored Epiphany.

It's the moment when someone who is on a path of redemption or enlightenment willfully ignores the epiphany to continue on the current path they were. But narratively, the ignored epiphany moment wasn't futile.

Eventually what happens is the ignored epiphany becomes a building block for when the real epiphany hits. Because sometimes epiphany and the choice to turn around is not just one moment, it's composed of several moments, and sometimes, people need the help of other people to pull or push them out of the current path they were on.

This is what happened to Seven of Nine.

Drone Borg Seven of Nine was happy to continue being a Borg and was proud of being a Borg. It wasn't until Janeway chose to cut Seven from the Borg and started Seven on the path of her own individuality that Seven finally understood the real damage the Borg has down to other people and herself.

And now that she possesses individuality and knowledge when she's asked a year later if she would want to return to the Collective given the choice and Seven's answer is a resounding No.

And then going back to this moment in Survival Instinct to the moment in Broken Pieces knowing the context for Seven now it's so much more poignant because she's done this before and regretted it.

I think this is one moment out of many moments in what she's done and made to do as a Borg that Seven will never forgive herself for because the moment with her three Unimatrix Drones was something Seven did herself.

(I do wish they let the moment in Picard 1x08 breathe more but time and production probably didn't give them enough time to do more).

Seven: The damage I did can never be repaired, and my guilt is irrelevant. I simply want them to experience individuality, as I have. As you have. At one time, you were confined to this Sickbay. Your program was limited to emergency medical protocols. In some ways, you were not unlike a drone. But you were granted the opportunity to explore your individuality. You were allowed to expand your program. Your mobile emitter gives you freedom of movement. Your thoughts are your own. If you were told you had to become a drone again, I believe you would resist. EMH: Yes. I suppose I would. Seven: They would resist as well. They would choose freedom, no matter how fleeting. Only you and I can truly understand that. EMH: Survival is insufficient.

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is: @emryses! emryses has 15 fics in the Stranger Things fandom on AO3 and all of them are in the Steddie tag!

@lady-lostmind recommends the following works by @emryses:

MEMORIA (series)

TIMESTAMP: April 10, 1989

deep in, under my skin

"I had the pleasure of working with them in the Steddie Big Bang 23' and absolutely fell in love with the fic they were writing for it. I was hooked from the little snippet I read during claims and wasn't disappointed in the slightest when I got to read the rest, and the same goes for all their other work I've read." -- @lady-lostmind

Below the cut, @emryses answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

I love smacking the Ken dolls together and making them kiss. But for real, I had been a (very) casual fan of Stranger Things since around Season 2, but there was something so infinitely intriguing about Steve and Eddie that I couldn’t help but be drawn to them from the second S4 part 1 aired. Then the BTS pictures came out of what would eventually be the “Don’t’cha big boy?” scene and it was sort of just a slow descent into a sprint to madness from there. I love that surface level, these two don’t look like they should work but somehow they just do. So I love making them fall in love again and again. Each fic I write is a pocket universe where these boys eventually look at each other and say, “Yes, I choose you” and I think that’s beautiful.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

Mutual Pining 100%. I love when a fic makes you ache before they get to the juicy romance of it all. Bonus points if they’re fucking the entire time they’re pining.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

I’ve noticed over time that most of my fics involve a miscommunication of some sort. I just love putting these boys in Situations—anything that makes them a little bit messy. I love a good fight and a resolution: Friends with Benefits to Lovers, Situationship to Lovers, I Gave You A Hand Job Once and Now We’re Lovers (But We Don’t Know it Yet). They are Idiot4Idiot, always.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

One that I return to quite often is the other hand knocking by greatunironic. I don’t often read Historical AUs, but if I could recommend one I would recommend this one. There is a monologue Eddie says in the final chapters that has stuck with me. If I ever could do a podfic, I think it would be this one.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

I would love to write a true AU one day. I tend to stick in my safe zone of Canon or Canon Divergence, I think I might find the limitations it has to be comforting. Alternate Universe fics (true ones like Modern AU, or Historical AUs, etc.) feel so scary and daunting to me, no matter how much I love them.

What is your writing process like?

Writing is a true hobby for me, I have to admit I don’t feel like I have a real “process” and I recognize I probably make it harder for myself than I probably have to. I sort of throw words in a doc until something sticks, fics are usually thought of with a general concept or sometimes even a specific scene that comes to me and then I build out the fic from there. Sometimes it happens fast but most of the time it happens fairly slow. I’ll read, and reread, and edit and add more until it’s done. There’s a madness about it I can’t quite explain, I don’t really know how I get anything posted at the end of the day.

Do you have any writing quirks?

I enjoy putting through lines in most of my fics, something I consider to be a Universal Truth across all my Steves and Eddies, etc. Like I said before, I consider them all to be pocket universes, and they’re mostly lighthearted, silly things. Like that Steve enjoys WHAM! and Eddie hates that he enjoys WHAM!, or that Steve had a totally unrequited crush on Jonathan Byers (whether he knows it or not). They’re like little easter eggs, something I don’t think anyone but myself has really noticed, but they make me happy. Also, I've never once written something chronologically: I hop around to different points and different scenes the whole time. Sometimes I’ll have the end of the fic written before even the middle of it exists.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

What typically happens is I have every intention of finishing the fic and then starting to post it, but I will get 80-90% done writing it and end up posting the first chapter as motivation to get to the end. I do, however, prefer to wait until I’m done writing everything before starting to post when I can (especially because of the aforementioned chaotic writing & non chronological habits.)

Which fic are you most proud of?

It would feel wrong if I didn’t mention you looking at me, looking at you (affectionately referred to as YLAM.) It was my first multichapter for Steddie, and I posted it in the height of Steddie Summer ‘22, essentially in real time of finishing chapters. Though I might not think it’s the best of the best of my writing, I also don’t think it’s bad (actually reread bits of it a few weeks ago and was pleasantly surprised about how much I enjoyed it lol). It holds a very, very special place in my Steddie heart; I made so many new fandom friends (and a mini YLAM army, iykyk) while writing this fic.

How did you get the idea for MEMORIA?

Memoria was first thought of back in January 2023. I had the thought of writing an Eddie-centric fic based around the idea that he was taken into Witness Protection after the events of S4. I’m a lover of angst, and it felt like a delicious area to dive into. I also wanted to write an aged up Steddie, since at that point I had been writing them mostly at their canon ages, MEMORIA allowed me to do a bit of a time jump. Funnily enough, I originally thought it would be an Eddie POV thing, but Steve apparently had a lot to say.

When writing MEMORIA, what was something you didn’t expect?

I didn’t expect it to be so damn long, I truly thought it was going to be around 30k—and then I had written 30k and the fuckers hadn’t even kissed yet. It also originally in my mind was going to be a much darker sort of fic—I was toying around with going deeper with substance abuse for Eddie, something that is lightly hinted at in the Eddie companion fic, strange what desire will make foolish people do. In the end I was shocked about how much lighter the whole thing felt.

What inspired TIMESTAMP: April 10, 1989?

TIMESTAMP was written for @steddiemicrofic’s 1 year of Steddie Microfic challenge to write something using 1,111 words. I took it very seriously and said to myself, what is 1,111 days from March 27, 1986? (The answer may shock you.)

What was your favorite part to write from TIMESTAMP: April 10, 1989?

I’ll be the first to admit I’m not a concise writer, so writing TIMESTAMP was a challenge to fit within the steddiemicrofic word count. But when you do widdle it down, or up, to that word count it is immensely satisfying to know you told a whole story within a limited amount of words.

How do/did you feel writing deep in, under my skin?

I loved it! For someone who loves Eddie as much as I do, I tend to write more Steve POV than Eddie POV, deep in was an opportunity to add to the small pile of Eddie POVs I have. Eddie has always felt more funny and playful to me, even if he’s not having a super fun and playful time.

What was the most difficult part of writing deep in, under my skin?

Of all the fics highlighted here I remember deep in actually being the most straightforward! I’m pretty sure I wrote it to procrastinate working on Memoria. The only difficult part was I didn’t want it to be too similar to my fic YLAM which has sort of a similar premise: Steddie situationship/friends with benefits. I wanted to explore the hooking up to lovers aspect of Steddie again, but didn’t necessarily want to rehash the same thing I’ve already done.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

This was by far the hardest question. I think this bit from strange what desire is my favourite of what I’ve written recently. It’s such a through line of every fic I write, I think: Steve paints them a picture, he writes them a song, and Eddie is interwoven into every line, every brushstroke of it. He talks of a future, he talks about love. He talks about living life, about taking Eddie’s hand and showing him how to live it, too. What if we make it? What if?

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

I have been dipping my toes in and out of a Buffy the Vampire Slayer AU for close to a year now. It’s slow going, I haven’t even posted the main fic that started the whole idea yet, but I do have two prequel-style fics set in the same universe: LOVE BITES and FOOL FOR LOVE. If you are interested, I would love if you checked them out. (It includes Slayer!Nancy, Werewolf!Jonathan, Witch!Robin, Vampire!Eddie, and Just a Guy!Steve Harrington.)

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

Thank you so much to my nominator! This was such an unexpected and pleasant surprise. It’s such a kind way to let a writer know you’re thinking of the things they’ve written. It made me feel very special and very loved, so thank you, sincerely. If you liked Memoria, please go give some love to my Steddie Bang Artist, @lady-lostmind. She made a beautiful artwork of the moment Steve sees Eddie again, and truly pulled the image of an older Eddie out of my mind and put it into a beautiful work.  Finally, if you go to my blog and see a whole bunch of Dead Boy Detectives stuff, don’t worry lol. I still love Steddie so much and have so much I want to write for them. The Dead Boys just gone and got me.

Thank you to our author, @emryses, and our nominator, @lady-lostmind! See more of emryses' works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[lolotr]

fanfic author 20 questions!

I am late to the party, but i was tagged by @shadowquill17, thanks my love <3 <3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

51

2. What’s your total AO3 wordcount?

162,166 total words! Not too shabby

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I've written for a bunch of fandoms, but these days it's mostly Dead Boy Detectives. in theory i have other fandoms, but none that i'm so feral for at the moment

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

all of them are DBD which is kind of astonishing to me, this fandom never ceases to amaze 1. after the insects have laid their claim 2. like breathing 3. terms of endearment 4. a certain step towards falling in love 5. you can throw a party full of everyone you know

5. Do you respond to comments?

yes, every single one, no matter how old the fic is! i might be a little slow or miss one every so often, but i really try hard to respond to every one i get. comments mean the absolute world to me, so i want to thank everyone who takes time out of their day to tell me they enjoyed my work <3 <3 i also LOVE when fanfic writers respond to me, so i assume other people do, too

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

i am an angst with a happy ending sort of bitch, but probably one of the fics i wrote during the Nothing Much To Do Radio Silence (TM) when we were all losing our minds with no updates. haven't read those in forever, so maybe Something to Do, Someone to Blame? or maybe it isn't cinema that i wrote for Nothing Like the Sun? or maybe Tropes for Keleidotrope?

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

gosh, so many. again, i write mostly happy ending stuff, so it's hard to pick just one. maybe my fourth favorite public building to visit, if i had to pick one that hasn't been mentioned already. though after the insects have laid their claim has a VERY happy and corny ending that i will forever be proud of haha

8. Do you get hate on fics?

no, thank goodness

9. Do you write smut?

yeah! i'm new to it, but it's a lot of fun

10. Do you write crossovers?

not usually, but i'll stick characters from one universe into a similar universe because something resonates (like Heartstopper Squared or The Quest of the Maddening Mace), but i don't usually write characters meeting or anything like that.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i know of! *fingers crossed*

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

no, but if anyone wants to do so, just make sure to tag me in it and go right ahead!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

yeah! i have stuff in progress (that we haven't worked on in a while sorry @courfaeriedust) but i've also definitely written collabs that i've published, i think?

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Charles and Edwin from Dead Boy Detectives have such a special place in my heart, and I really hope this hyperfixation doesn't go anywhere, but in terms of pure longevity? Merlin and Arthur from BBC Merlin. I've been reading that shit for a decade. Special shoutout to Alex and Henry from Red, White, and Royal Blue, and Drew and Harrison from Keleidotrope, because I'm still insane about you all too, don't worry.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

THAT IS QUITTER TALK AND I WILL NOT STAND FOR IT. but to give a kind of cutesie answer, i'm not sure i'll ever be done with the libraryverse. there's so much story there, and i keep having ideas for it, so maybe i'll be able to keep playing in it forever. that would be kind of nice.

16. What are your writing strengths?

why are you making me say nice things about myself. why. overall, i think i'm good at dialogue. i actually wrote a whole manuscript in instant messages because i love writing dialogue so much. i'm pretty good at getting into characters' voices, whether they're my own or someone else's, and i find a lot of joy in writing everything from banter to flirting to meaningful conversations (but some of those are easier than others lol)

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

action, descriptions, things that aren't dialogue. i also tend to keep my writing kind of short, so i don't always allow for moments to breathe the way they should.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

woooooof the only other language i speak is hebrew (and not amazingly well) so probably not. if i ever got good enough at another language, maybe? but english is my first and by far my strongest language, so I don't think i'd ever be able to express myself well

19. First fandom you wrote for?

as far as i remember, Lord of the Rings. (no you will never find it.)

20. Favorite fics you’ve written?

HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO CHOOSE, THEY'RE ALL MY CHILDREN. how about this, you tell ME what your fave stories of mine are, because im tired of linking things. and because i thrive on praise lol

i am too lazy to tag people specifically, so anyone who writes fic is welcome to answer!

[a-student-out-of-time]

Reading your thoughts on the new drdt episode, I agree a lot on what you felt negatively about this episode. I've been frustrated for a while because it feels like the time spent on Levi's secret was dragged out, then Hu chimes in with her secret, then Teruko who is probably lying, and they're only just now talking about the murder method. One thing I want to get off my chest though: I think I may be in the minority in that I actually dislike the reveal with Levi's implied ASPD. For me, it just feels very jarring. He still killed 4 people, and while we don't know the entire context it just feels weird to me that this aspect of his character is being so positively received? Maybe I'm being too sensitive or interpreting in bad faith but I feel like Levi having implied ASPD and then having it revealed he killed 4 people is just iffy, especially since he mentioned 2 of those people he just decided to kill a few days after the first.

// I completely understand that, but this is also something I'm willing to go to bat for.

//I dunno if you were around for this, but last year, when it was revealed that Nico was nonbinary and then they tried to kill Ace, there were a LOT of people who were worried that DT was resorting to queerphobic tropes, or they themselves had some very nasty interpretations of them as a character.

//And none of that was true. Nico is not a crazy serial murderer whose villainy is exacerbated by being nonbinary, it was just something that happened and next episode is going to explain why it happened. Nothing about the episodes since have implied that attempted murder had anything to do with what people were worried about, and when it's brought up, it's still treated as a serious problem.

//I also wouldn't say Levi having ASPD was positively received. Everyone else seemed pretty disturbed and put off by both the murders and him admitting he doesn't really understand compassion or empathy. I'm not saying I'm happy about it either.

//But I think it's interesting to have a character like him in all this. This chapter's theme is about the complexities behind what it means to be a good person. Having someone who has done wrong, and who is physiologically incapable of remorse, but still has a desire to do good even if he has no emotional investment in doing so? That's a very different take on the idea that you don't see very often.

//I'm also just relieved that Levi isn't some crazy volatile murder machine like so many thought he was. The most common depictions of people with ASPD tend to paint them as inherently violent or manipulative, when plenty can live totally normal lives and have relationships with others.

//It's jarring, yes, but I believe that's the point. You have David, an obvious manipulator who claims to have good intentions but is willing to sacrifice others' lives to achieve them; and you have Levi, a moral sociopath who wants to help and protect others because it benefits him, but he almost seems apologetic about his inability to care about others.

//I feel the point of this chapter is that being a "good person" is not as simple as we believe, and by revealing someone with ASPD- one of the most maligned and villainized conditions out there- is actually on the up and up? It's a pretty challenging take, because I believe we're meant to consider it all as well.

//Bottom line, there's no easy answers in this situation and that's really the goal. Should we change our opinions about Levi because he's admitted he doesn't experience compassion for others? Or does it matter since he's made it clear he has no reason to harm anyone here?

//I still have my issues with this chapter so far, and I do understand your concerns, but all this why I think it's at least an interesting direction with this chapter's themes.

[got-into-worm-by-mistake]

Shell 4.5 Live Reactions

(This is me, writing reactions as I read, because why the fuck not. They're not complete, mature thoughts taken after I sit back and evaluate what I've read. Consider them as such)

In silence, we caught the bus at the ferry and got off at the Trainyard, the part of the Docks that sat opposite to the Boardwalk.

There is just something so deliciously absurd about the mental image of supervillains, even teenage ones, just... riding the bus. Granted, they're (presumably) not doing it in costume, but still.

slanted just enough that people wouldn’t be able to comfortably walk or sleep on top of them.

Ah yes, gotta love hostile architecture.

“If you asked me five hours ago, I would’ve said no,” Regent replied.  “I would have told you, sure, she’s a loose cannon, she’s reckless, crazy, she’s easily pissed off and she’ll hospitalize those people who do piss her off… but I’d have said she’s loyal, that even if she doesn’t necessarily like us-”

I mean, trust but verify and all that. No Rachel, no money, it's a safe assumption.

A soft clapping answered her.  It was slow, unenthusiastic to the point of being sarcastic. “Brilliantly deduced,” the same person that had been clapping spoke out.  As Tattletale whipped her head around, I took a few steps back from the storage locker, to get a better look at the two people who stood on the roof.

It's cliche, but I always like the 'character watching the protagonists figure it out and then do the sarcastic clap' trope.

They were standing with one leg higher than the other, to keep from sliding off the angled roof, and both were wearing identical costumes.  The costumes sported blue man-leotards with broad belts cinched around their waists, skintight white sleeve and leggings.  Their hoods were elastic, clinging to their heads so they left only a window for the face, and each sported a single white antenna.  Of all colors, their gloves, boots and the balls at the top of their antennae were bubblegum pink.  Their faces were obscured by oversize goggles with dark lenses.

Which... which video game is this?

“Rest assured, Tattletale, you do,” Über proclaimed.  He was the sort of person who proclaimed, announced, broadcasted and declared.  Just like Grue’s power altered his voice to make him sound haunting and inhuman, Über’s power made him sound like the guy who narrated trailers for action movies or late night commercials.  Overdramatic, intense about everything he said, no matter how mundane.  Like someone overacting the role of a gallant knight in a kid’s movie.

Evocative. I do think Wildbow's willingness to do descriptions like this (helped by using 1st person narrative, which I do think facilitates this sort of thing) whereas a lot of conventional writing wisdom would say to not do this, is a big part of Worm's success, honestly.

Leet frowned and turned to the camera, “Is that really necessary?” “You fucked with us,” I replied, “I fuck with your subscriber base.”

Hit 'em where it hurts.

He didn’t get to finish.  Regent swung his arm out to one side, and Über lost his footing.  I joined the others in stepping back out of the way as he fell face first onto the pavement at the base of the locker.

Regent's abilities would probably let him do well at slapstick improv shows or something. I mean, you don't need to fake a trip and fall with him around. :rofl:

Grue spoke in a low voice that wouldn’t carry to the pair of villains, “They did something to Bitch, they’ve got the money.  If we don’t get a decisive victory here, our reputation is fucked.”

Villain fight!

I wonder if, during her career as a villain, Taylor fights other villains more than heroes. From what I know of Worm, I wouldn't be surprised. But how much more, pound for pound? :thinking_face:

This was the sort of thing I had put on a costume to do.  Sure, the context wasn’t what I would have chosen, but going up against bad guys?

As far as some of Taylor's various rationalization's go, this isn't even a particularly dangerous or slipper one. :thinking_face:

[fancyfade]

Hey, hey, love your blog and I was wondering if you had some insight here. To what extent do you think the way DC has written characters like Cass Cain, Damian Wayne, Rose Wilson and Lian Harper over the years provides actual good representation of racialised people?

Like yes, they’re non-white character but how important is their non-european cultures, histories and roots to their personal identities (or if that matters)? Does the jarring orientalism in the depiction of their non-european backgrounds take away from the positives? Is the constant absence of their racialised parent a harmful trope that’s needed to be amended? Is Damian’s lack of connection to specific, real-life peoples, histories and cultures just feed into the orientalism (like what’s he representing exactly)? Are they maybe best written and read as “third culture kids” living in the US?

Sorry for bombarding you with questions. I guess I’m just asking is DC giving us good representation here and how could it be better. Answer however you’d like to if you’d like. :)

I'd say I'm probably not the best person to answer this b/c I'm white. I can answer what I do know (in terms of "here's what happens in comics canon, here's what other people have said"), and then maybe someone can chime in with their experiences if they want?

So, multiple people have spoken out about the racism inherent in Damian has to choose between his good white dad and his evil brown mom/grandparent. DC also generally has erased nuance from the al ghuls, Ra's is portrayed as a cartoon villain who'd be OK locking a child in a box in the desert for not tying his shoes right in Tom King's WW.

I think that they really do need to put Talia in Damian's story and make her in character, and not treated as someone Damian needs to break away from or someone who is harmful to him. Like we saw Talia working against her upbringing, we saw her disliking Ra's' ideas.

DC does frequently only bring up Damian's heritage when they want to villainize him. That was a big thing in Teen Titans 2016 where the comic where Glass started the character assassination arc was also where they mentioned him speaking Arabic and eating in an Arab restaurant.

I know @fatheriimaginedyoutaller wrote an article talking about how DC handles it's biracial characters focusing on Damian

Cass in general the writers don't talk about her heritage at all, which makes sense from a world building perspective - she was raised by her white dad in isolation - but also... they chose to write it that way. Sarah Kuhn, writer of shadow of the batgirl, who is Japanese-American, is the only writer I can think of who got into talking about it.

in general how they're best read best written... I can't say in that part. I can say DC has been racist a lot.

I didn't get into Lian and Rose b/c I've read less of them... Rose again IIRC her heritage is barely ever mentioned. Perhaps it changes in DS2016? I haven't read more than a couple issues. Her mom definitely is written with a lot of Marv's stereotypes and ideas of how an asian woman "should" be, and in general... the comics introducing her felt very racist to me.

[yannig]

Hello there.

For the asian ql ask game. 13 & 14 please.

Thanks. Rose💜

Hello! Thanks for the ask <3

13. Which Asian ql tropes get you every time?

Cooking together or for each other.

I just. Food is a love language. Food is my love language. Sharing food, making food for your loved ones, sharing quality time by cooking together, ...

Any variation of it. From Mut cooking for Rak in his overpriced kitchen that only ever sees take-out to shows entirely based on it like Our dining table, it gets me every time.

That's how I know I'll love Kinou nani Tabeta or Tsukuritai Onna to Tabetai Onna no matter what! Because cooking!

14. Which Asian ql tropes do you want to send to the trash heap?

When the main couple starts to spend time together because one of them has a crush on a girl. It probably could be done right but the ones I've seen are just so annoying. Both the girl and his relationship with the girl are rarely more than placeholders, they don't add anything to the story except giving a pretext for the story to start and then just take away time that could be spent elsewhere - at this point give them a school project to do together I'll be less annoyed.

Also, faux enemies-to-lovers where the starting animosity doesn't make sens or is underwhelming. Let's just stop trying to make enemies in an university setting, it doesn't work. Just say that you don't know how to write tension into your story. If there isn't a least a mafia war going on it's not gonna work. You need very specific characters to make a Pride and Prejudice romance work, and they almost never have those. Worst case scenario they end up being genuinely mean to each other for no reason and then it's brushed under the rug for the romance (looking at you Semantic Error).

More broadly, because this one really isn't limited to QLs, but it infuriates me to not end: redemption by death (preferably sacrifice to save the protagonist). I hate it, it's lazy, it only exist because we have an incredibly fucked up view of redemption, I don't think it can ever be done well. It's too easy to kill off a character by sacrifice so you don't have to deal with their redemption! I want them to actually work for it - which is not the same as suffering for it! I guess it especially angers me in Asian QLs because it's a fucking Christian trope - you guys aren't even catholic, why the fuck do you use this stupid ass trope?!

(yes i've managed to put him in all three of my answers to this game at this point. no i'm not salty about his death why do you ask?)

Asian QL ask game

[hamliet]

Dear Hamliet, I've read some of your analysis and I really admire the way in which you articulate your thoughts. I'm a literature major who goes through a breakdown every time I have to write an essay. It is a really hard job for me and recently a proff told me that I rely too much on paraphrasing and I don't understand what to do with that.

So I was wondering if you have any tips on writing a well articulated argument.

Thanks in advance and hope you're having a great day! ☺️🫶

Thank you! And of course.

First of all, go easy on yourself. Learning to write good essays takes time and practice. I routinely got told the same thing about paraphrasing in high school, and then in college it was "you didn't answer 'so what?'" I was also incredibly hard on myself in college, and only realized that I actually liked writing arguments and essays after college. Probably has something to do with the fact that, while some people tend to refine under pressure, I crumble into a heap of anxiety. Lol.

Tips for Arguments: Thesis

Here are my first tips: come up with a good thesis and write an outline based on this, but also keep in mind that your thesis can be revised after you've written it should you find you were arguing something slightly different than you planned on.

Good thesis tips: should be debatable (for example, saying "Daenerys and Jon Snow are foils" is not debatable; they blatantly are). It should also answer "so what?" aka, why does what you're trying to argue matter? In terms of literature, specifically, you might want to tie it to the themes of the story or the historical context of the work, depending on the prompt, to explain that your argument affects how people read the work. For example, "Daenerys and Jon Snow foil each other in that they each deconstruct a particular archetype of the chosen one, which shows both the bad and the good of chosen one arcs; ultimately, Martin affirms the heroic goals of chosen one tropes."

You'll also hear "repeat your thesis in every body paragraph!" Which you should do (or paraphrase it, lol). But basically you want the last sentence of each argumentative point to explain why it proves your thesis.

Tip for Argument: Bluntness

You can never be too blunt in an essay. Particularly if you're writing in English, and particularly even more so if you're doing so in America (yes, culture does play a role in the levels of bluntness expected in an essay, and there are actual studies on this, as well as how culture affects essay structures!).

If you think it seems obvious, state it anyways. Don't worry about repetition so much. Worry instead about being too vague.

This is obviously a different idea than in creative writing, where subtext and "show, don't tell" get a lot of attention. Not so in academic writing. Tell us, even if you think you've shown us.

Tips for Avoiding Paraphrasing:

Think about your audience. It's hard to know specifically what you refer to, but I'm going to assume that you might be referring to the idea that you might be summarizing the book too much?

Your audience already knows the story. You aren't speaking to a rando on the street. Your audience is your professor.

Every piece of text you cite, be it a quote or a plot development, is evidence. They don't need the context of the broader work. Assume they already have it. They need evidence.

Context matters for you, insofar as authorial intent (your intent as the author of the essay) matters. Not for the audience perception. Basically, I'm saying don't take quotes out of context to make them seem like they support your thesis when they really don't, but you also don't need to explain in great detail why the context does support your thesis. Assume your professor is not a hostile audience who needs to be convinced because they believe the opposite of what you're arguing.

The other potential thing you might mean for paraphrasing is that you use brief paraphrases of the text rather than direct quotes. Where you can use direct quotes, always use them.

If you ever have specific questions on an essay, please feel free to reach out! And if any part of this isn't clear, also feel free to reach out!

[aranarumei]

12 an 29 for the wip asks!!

ask me something from this list?

12: a trope you’re really into right now

hm… nothing? I don’t think of fic ideas in terms of tropes, more just that I wanna express some specific feeling I have

29: how easy is it for you to come up with titles?

the short answer is “it depends” but I think the long answer of how I approach titling is way more interesting, so… here’s an impromptu “kiri’s personal guide to titling fics!” I know my tendency to ramble, so I’ll let this spiel live under the cut.

the first thing to note is that titling got a bit easier for me when I realized that it just so does not matter on ao3. without pointing fingers at any specific fic, I tend to recognize a fic I’ve read and liked by the summary, tags, kr author… usually I remember the title only bc I’ve seen it a bunch, not because it actually connects to anything. this applies to browsing, too: I tend to judge whether I want to read a fic based on the summary and the tags. other people I’ve talked to have agreed that fic titles don’t seem to really… Matter? to them as much as other stuff. so if you’re someone who gets really anxious about titling stuff, hopefully that lets you take it a little less seriously?

with that said, I do like to think about titles, because it is part of the package of the fic and I’d like it to be good.

also on a practical level it’s just helpful for me to distinguish fics. if every one of my fics was titled smthing vague but pretty, like, I dunno, “fuschia birdsong”… I don’t know think they’d be so easy to identify.

this was actually a real problem when I went through my archives… I remember my published ao3 fics well enough, but I’d also archived pieces of unpublished wips, and just had no idea what any of them were based on title alone. like why is “eyes are the window to the soul” my title for this fic I wrote like. 8 years ago where kageyama’s a demon. I probably just thought it was a phrase that correlated with soul or something…? but it’s un-parseable. for wips that I shelve, these days I tend to pick out really obvious labels instead, so above would just be titled as “demon!kageyama” for my archives or something (yes I know the ! is not in common use these days. let me indulge.)

my rambling coincidentally highlights what I think is important about a title: conveying a core part of the piece. I want to look at a title and at least somewhat be like “yeah, I remember what that fic is about” so my title has to touch on something major about the fic.

as for how I do that, I tend to go to two sources for titles: the fic’s “concept” and the fic’s “point.”

the fic’s “concept” is like… is there a certain situation that this fic is about? some examples: “the stranger in the hall” (it’s literally about shirahama meeting ichinose—a stranger—in the hallway) or “day negative fourteen” (a fic set fourteen days before the beginning of a dating sim isekai), or, in its most obvious form, “help! my classmate’s asking for relationship advice, but I’m aromantic!?” (this fic is exactly what it says on the tin)

the fic’s “point,”on the other hand, is like… what themes or ideas are being discussed in this fic? examples include: “something there” (revolves around the underlying tension of shirahama’s yet-unrealized crush on miyano, which is a Something There that he’s trying to not really think about) or “see the light” (fic deals with vision and perception in various ways, and tashiro gets compared to light in a couple of ways, so it’s like… seeing tashiro in a new way, which is what the final scene of the fic is all about)

so that’s a good base for how i wanna start building a title. but then getting the words into something that “feels right” is a lot harder. how do you condense your “point” or “concept” into something that’s concise enough? sometimes it’s really easy: “the anomalous agate” is meant to copy the style of a chapter of one of the first two volumes of the case files of jeweler richard, and I literally can’t write the fic without knowing what the central gem (agate) and idea (anomaly) is going to be. when it’s not, I tend to have two ways I go about it.

the first is pretty classically ao3: song lyrics! if I happen to have some songs that I’ve been listening to for the fic mood, it’s probably bc it matches something in the fic, so I’ll just borrow from there. apart from that, song lyrics in general just tend to have… nice phrases? so they can be fun to take out of context or use. both “something there” and “see the light” reference disney songs, which is kind of the reason for why I named “see the light” that way… I was like “oh shirahama’s narrating this fic again, it’d be hilarious if another disney song title fit—oh wait I can work with this one.” this cloud & tifa fic I’d written is just very vaguely like “wow… Life Goes On even when things suck” which. ig “life goes on” is a title but I went with “symptom of life” bc I’d been listening to that song by willow recently.

my other technique is one I used to do for personal essays to apply to college, actually… which is basically just “if one idea isn’t good enough, go with two!” the reasoning is basically like… if you pick one topic to talk abt, it feels like it’s been skewered to death, but if you pick two and manage to synthesize them somehow, it’s got way more of a chance of being unique, and you also get to sound clever and thoughtful by how you tie things together.

examples: “the peridot of favor” borrows from the same structured title as “the anomalous agate”, but here favor has two meanings: hanzawa’s doing a favor for tashiro by helping him out with their crossdressing contest, but he’s also showing him favor, because they liiiike each other. or something. “dialed in” refers to the point of the fic (tenma’s paying attention to yuki and reaffirming his connection with summer troupe) as well as the concept (the fic is built off a moment in canon where they’re literally on a phone call), and “ill at ease” also blends point and concept, because seigi is literally “ill” (it’s a sickfic) but the fic is also about him feeling “ill at ease” (his discomfort with the hotel room he’s staying in)

while I’m writing wips my titles are almost never the actual ao3 title. I like putting either a very plain title like “kagihira wip” or something that makes me laugh. the latter can definitely seep into my published fic titles… song lyrics and double meanings are fun to me, and so is titling something “help! my classmate’s asking for relationship advice, but I’m aromantic!?” (this was the wip title as well. it was too perfect to change)

and as a final, super personal rule, i try to avoid using the word “dream” because i used it way too much for earlier titles when frankly. they didn’t need it. I just think i like the word a lot… it’s pretty and represents a fun concept, and it has vague sentiments of yearning so it can apply to a lot of stuff. it’s definitely way too easy to get to vaguely pretty titles with it. therefore I really try to make sure i have a good justification when i use that word. after this ban I’ve only used it in one title: “dream; reality” which is literally a fic where these two characters keep dreaming about a tragic alternative universe version of themselves, and differentiating that from their much happier reality, so… yeah, I’ll allow that.

[13eyond13]

So, not an ask for any game in particular, but do you know if there's a credible source on L being a very cleanly? I swear I read The TV Tropes page for him, which is of dubious trustworthiness, lists him as a clean freak and in certain adaptations being concerned about illness. I don't have the manga so I can't corroborate if this is true, and it doesn't have a source listed. I know some people interpret him the other way as being bad with cleanliness and hygiene. I am aware of the human washing machine but I'm pretty sure it's a gag. As the leading L historian, what are your thoughts.

Hahaha, the leading L historian! I'm honoured though unsure about that, but I will do my best to answer your ask... Well, I think of him as a bit of a clean freak rather than a grubby person, and apparently Ohba does as well. This is how Watari describes L in that infamous "human washing machine" panel from the one-shot that describes a day in the life of L: "He is rather fastidious and bathes himself often."

If we look up the word "fastidious" it sometimes means "very concerned about matters of cleanliness:"

Though I don't think L ever mentions anything along these lines about his hygienic habits or preferences in the manga, I feel as though he can suggest this vibe with his habits and mannerisms at times.... such as how delicately and fussily he holds most objects, the generally hermit-like way he normally lives his life, and the impersonal way he handles most social interactions (eg. using a proxy much of the time, or having his suspects restrained and filmed so he can observe them from afar without interacting with them personally himself, etc.)

However, the fact that he's a fairly shabby-looking character who wears the same thing every day and has a lot of self-indulgent, antisocial traits can also mean people read him as the opposite easily as well (just another one of those tightropes of extreme opposite traits L ambiguously walks as a character)... and there are certainly panels in the manga that make him look like a bit of a slob at times too, particularly when it comes to his food (eg. crumbs from his snacks on his chin, or licking out the wrapper of his cupcake in a way that makes somebody else watching go "eww" lol):

Overall I tend to believe he's more along the lines of somebody who is rather fussy and particular about being clean, though I also don't really take that one-shot about him bathing in a washing machine too seriously as canon either, hahaha. I kinda just take the vibes from that one-shot about his personality into consideration and then make the particulars of it a little more realistic in my mind. Like yes, he does insist on bathing frequently and being very clean, but he probably is not particularly vain or elaborate about his routine. The way I interpret it is that he sees a lot of self-grooming and self-presentation chores as boring and tedious "necessary evils," and prefers to outsource them to Watari or find other kinds of time-saving shortcuts to get them over with as quickly as possible (like having several sets of the same clothes that he already knows he likes, using 2 in 1 shampoo and conditioner type products, or avoiding getting haircuts until he absolutely has to, that kind of thing). I think it's mostly just because he IS a hygienic person that he can't eliminate that stuff from his life altogether, but if he could he would, because it's just not at all entertaining or interesting to him.

[tiressian]

Debate? Heated argument?

What about a quarrel because someone is... jealous. 😌🤭

But honestly, I've been waiting for you to write a jealous fic/sex trope. 🥺👉👈

You're in luck 😂 I have a scrapped jealousy scene from Hello Nurse that has kissing, on the house:

content warning for Naoya lmao, rated high T, sensuality, cussing

I’m getting laid, Shoko decides.

Ideally, she’d prefer a targeted lobotomy: erase everything about Satoru that makes her stomach tie up in knots, but anyone who’s manifested such a Cursed Technique has yet to step foot through the school gates. The thing about Satoru is he’s insufferable but also oddly considerate in unexpected ways, and these two facets of him are in constant harmony, which is frustrating, because he also has the nerve to be consistent about it.

Satoru’s stopped munching on her party-sized bag of potato chips and is staring at her.

“Oh,” Shoko says, realising after a pause. “Said that out loud, didn’t I?” Satoru nods slowly.  Sorry. What were you talking about?”

“My annual ‘End of Summer; Zero Deaths!’ party,” he says. He goes back to munching. Shoko got the salt and vinegar flavour out of spite, but that doesn’t stop him from stuffing it down by the handful. “Ish gonna be ‘allow-een-feem.”

“Halloween-themed?”

Satoru nods, swallowing. “Yeah, costumes. You’re coming right? Who knows; you might even get lucky.”

“Who are you going as?”

“The Dread Pirate Roberts,” Satoru says, puffing out his chest briefly.  Probably another character from all those movies he watches, Shoko assumes. “Wanna go matchy matchy? I think red suits ya.”

“Ha-ha.” Stupid Morgue joke, she thinks. Stupid Satoru, making the same one every year, as if it’ll magically land if he does it enough times.

“Worth a shot.” Satoru shrugs. He tips his head back to empty the rest of the potato chips down the hatch.

“Satoru,” Shoko says, suddenly remembering.

“Yo!”

“What kind of woman do you like?”

Satoru is briefly serious, thinking about it. The moment he smiles, Shoko knows she’s in for mischief. “Hmm, well. I really like women who like me.”

Shoko groans.

“What? It’s the truth.”

“Such a copout.”

“How’s it a copout?” Satoru scoffs, and as convincing as it sounds, Shoko’s ears are highly attuned to filtering out the bullshit.

“Plenty of women like you.”

“Still doesn’t mean my answer’s a copout.”

“Yes it is.” Satoru gives her a blank look. “You’ve noticed all those women liking you; you’ve at least figured out your preference if you haven’t acted on the fact by now.”

Satoru smiles coyly at her. “What an intriguing diagnosis. What makes you so sure I haven’t?”

There’s a fine line between teasing and flirting. Satoru is a deft hand at blurring that line no matter who he talks to. Five years ago, it made her heart race—until she realised he did that with everyone. Now it just triggers an involuntary eye roll.

“I’m not,” she says while Satoru chuckles. “That’s why I’m asking you.”

“It’s Six Eyes, not Six Hundred Eyes. Shoko, come on; I look like the kinda guy with that kind of time on my hands? You know my schedule.”

Another cop out. “I do know your schedule. I also know you have a knack for making space when it’s convenient.”

“Heaven forbid a guy practices time management!” Satoru throws his hands in the air.

“Favourite body part then,” Shoko says. Satoru tilts his head. “Are you a tits man or are you an ass man?”

Satoru snorts, then busts out laughing. He catches the marker pen Shoko flings at his head and sets it down calmly on her desk.

“I’m definitely an uncomfortable man,” he says.

“You’re lying.”

“Am not Shoko, I really am uncomfy.”

“Look, I’ll get the ball rolling: I like guys with nice bodies. That’s why I asked Suguru out,” she says. “See? Nothing you need to think too hard about.”

“Clearly.” Satoru says, catching her in a stare down. Eventually Shoko relents, unnerved. She looks away, digging into her labcoat pocket for the comfort of a cigarette. Stupid man, stupid consistency. “That strung out, huh…”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Shoko sighs. She balances her cigarette between her lips while she feels around her pant pockets for the lighter. It takes a couple of flicks before she finally gets a flame going. Satoru is quiet as he watches.

“Come to my party,” he says eventually, all teasing gone. “You never come.”

“I don’t like the noise.”

“Plenty of quiet corners. And beer.”

“What if I don’t want to wear a costume?”

“Then you’re drinking water.”

“Alright, compromise: I’ll come and I’ll wear a costume if you answer the stupid—”

“Hands,” Satoru says, heading off her rant at the pass with a smile.

Shoko closes her eyes and takes a drag. There’s never any comfortable middle ground when it comes to attention from Satoru. Always the extremes of barely enough, to have her noticing the days between his last visits and his current one, and too much all at once, filling her space with his presence until she feels suffocated by it.

“It’s stupid though,” he says.

“Liking hands isn’t stupid,” she says on an exhale.

“I mean liking only one part of a person. People aren’t made to be experienced in parts. You take them whole: good, bad…kinky.”

Shoko opens her eyes and finds him grinning at her, clearly having added that last part just to get a reaction out of her.

Shoko gives him nothing. She’s had enough years training herself out of knee-jerk reactions. She closes her eyes again and brushes the delusion aside.

“You’re weird,” she declares.

“I’m marking you down as Attending,” Satoru says. “Wear a costume—an actual costume—or you get no beer.”

He goes, leaving her office door open behind him so it can ventilate. “Smoking kills,” he says over his shoulder.

…

The party is in full swing when Shoko finally steps out of the elevator onto the penthouse floor. Sanji (Nanami) is there to let her in before he excuses himself to the bathroom. He doesn’t bat an eyelash at Shoko’s outfit, but then Nanami tends not to bat his eyelashes at most things. 

“Utahime’s already drunk,” he explains. “I have to go hold her hair. There’s a walk-in closet where you can leave your coat.”

Satoru, or ‘The Dread Pirate Roberts’ is in the kitchen, finding entertainment in watching a zombie (Itadori) and a witch (Kugisaki) race to see who can shotgun their cokes the fastest while a mummy (Maki) boredly stands off to the side, eating from a skewer. 

There’s a large icebox filled with beers set up by the couches. Shoko passes the kitchen as she weaves her way through the throng toward it, pretending as if she isn’t unnerved by the stares following her until she hears glass shattering. When she turns her head to the commotion, she finds Satoru standing there, staring at her like a deer in headlights, with the same blush she’d seen weeks earlier creeping across his face. 

Yuki’s about to have a field day. 

She gives the downright flabbergasted pirate a polite wave in greeting, careful to hide her glee. Then she continues on, retrieving a beer from the ice box and making herself at home on the empty space of couch that Two-Face (Naoya Zen’in) of all people has just cleared out for her. As she crosses one leg over the other, he leers without an ounce of shame, which seems to be a common denominator for these clan types. Then he shifts closer, draping an arm casually behind her head on the couch’s backrest, bringing her into his domain. He smells nice, Shoko will give him that much. 

“Well hello nurse,” he greets, in the pompous tone of a man very used to getting his way. “You’re a long way from the Infirmary.” 

The current leader of the Hei is a walking red flag, a veritable patron saint of Rotten to the Core. The name Zen’in is a warning label all its own already, but by god does this man work to make sure it stays that way. Shoko knows this, every woman in the jujutsu world knows this. 

But Naoya is also hot and she came here to get laid. She’s already accomplished her primary goal of wiping Satoru’s perennial smirk off his face, and that’s worth celebrating. Shoko considers both truths as she pops open her beer. She decides just for tonight she doesn’t care if Naoya doesn’t respect her. He’s never needed her like everyone else in Tokyo Jujutsu High’s needed her, come crying when there’s something to be fixed. 

Feeling wanted, even if it’s by Naoya Zen’in of all people, is way too nice of a thing to not smile about.  

“Yes, I walked all this way just to sit here with you,” Shoko tells Naoya.  

...

Naoya gets a phone call from the clan head and excuses himself to the balcony to answer, which is good timing for her, because she needs another beer. Most of the drinks have sunk lower in the icebox on account of the ice melting, so she has to bend a bit to reach. She feels a few of the eyes in her immediate vicinity fixate on her ass as she does, but it can’t be helped. She’s just straightening up, two cans in hand when her back brushes up against a wall that wasn’t there before and smirks as she turns. She didn’t expect Naoya to be done with his clan business so quickly, but she’s far from bothered; it just means she can get to her business too.   

“Aww did you miss m—oh,” Shoko realises, chuckling. Satoru has taped fake anime girl eyes into his blindfolds which are a hilarious contrast to the tension radiating off of him. He crosses his arms any tighter his head’s going to pop off like a cork, she thinks. “The Dread Pirate Roberts. What an honour.”

“Nice costume,” Satoru says. His smile is so fake, Barbie’s probably ringing him off the hook to sue about it. 

“Thank you. I think I might actually be getting lucky tonight, so I appreciate the suggestion.”

The fake smile on Satoru’s face splinters. “Naoya? Really? You couldn’t find anyone else to talk to?”

“It’s so fascinating Satoru; I don’t think he recognises me. Do you think he remembers what you and Geto did to him during Goodwill?”

“What you and me and Geto did to him, you mean.”

“Bygones. We’re adults now, Satoru.”

“He isn’t.”

Shoko smiles, poking him in the chest. “Oh? I don’t think you have any authority to say how an adult’s supposed to act.”

Satoru bats her hand away and holds up a gloved finger, which he probably assumes is supposed to lend him some kind of gravitas but in Shoko’s eyes he just comes across as petulant. “I got enough authority in this finger, nay, my pinky—” he says, wagging it in her face, “to say that that guy’s a hundred percent garbage dressed up in a fancy suit.”

“Well, no one else is interested in talking to me, garbage or no garbage.” 

Satoru gestures between them. “I’m talking to ya aren’t I?”

“Doesn’t count; you’re the host. My point stands. No one’s rushing to talk to me.” 

“Because they saw Naoya talking to you.”

“Why’d you invite him then?”

“Because he did me a solid.” 

“Ahh so he’s only ninety-nine percent garbage then,” Shoko says, and Satoru twitches, one corner of his mouth fighting a smile. 

“You’re smarter than this Shoko.”

“It’s sex, Gojo. Nothing to be smart about.”

“Well the sex you’re after is political.” 

As if she needed the reminder. Satoru looks at her expectantly. Shoko purses her lips, considering. 

“What if I asked him really nicely to let you off the hook?”

“Snowball’s chance in hell that’s happening. Look at him, Shoko: throwing his weight around, already enacting his terrorism over there.” 

Proclaiming Naoya as a terrorist is a step dramatic even for Satoru, Shoko thinks, as she follows where he’s pointing. “What, like he’s marked his territory? That is so ridic—” she cuts off with a snort at the scene on the balcony.  

Naoya is still on his phone, leaning on the railing, his back to the entire world while he nurses a beer.  The other party guests who were on the balcony before him have all instinctively crowded to one side to give him a wide berth.  

Yes. Marking his territory does sound like something in the realm of what a man who only viewed women as playthings would do.

“It’s fine,” Shoko decides, turning back to Satoru. He’s staring at the ceiling for no discernible reason, a blush high on his cheeks. “What’s with you?”

Satoru mumbles something. 

“Pardon?”

“I said Naoya sucks.”

“That’s what I thought you said. Now quit being a bad host and go save those poor balcony guests if you care so much. I’ll tell you about the sex tomorrow if I’m still alive.”

She squeezes his arm and leaves him staring at her back, mouth opening and closing without any sound coming out. 

...

On the spectrum of funny, Naoya is decidedly a lot less funnier than Satoru, which Shoko didn’t think possible until tonight. If there’s anything ‘funny’ about Naoya, it’s the way his gaze occasionally drifts to Maki from time to time. But Shoko also wants to get laid, and clan dynamics incestuous or otherwise are far down her list of things to be judgemental about, so. 

It’s an excruciating twenty minute conversation, to say the least. 

Shoko can only imagine what she looks like, smiling politely, and occasionally giggling, initiating contact by slapping Naoya lightly on the arm as though scandalised. She’s fervently relieved Utahime’s too drunk to see her subject herself to this, but Naoya’s staked his claim and it’s not as if anyone else is stepping up to the plate. That said, by virtue of his family name, rancid as his personality is, Naoya has to have no shortage of people lining up to throw themselves at his feet for the favours or protection being a Zen’in guarantees. He should be adept at seeing through bullshit pandering, especially since it’s not as if she’s going for the Oscar here. There’s a moment during their conversation where she thinks she sees intuition flash across Naoya’s face, but it seems to be unfounded when he inevitably cracks another unfunny joke and finally rests a hand on her knee. Shoko smiles as she takes a drink of her beer, dimly aware of the sound of glass shattering, amused by a different punchline:

Naoya is just like every other man. 

...

And so is Satoru, apparently.

Naoya gets another phone call and Shoko won’t lie: it’s amusing to watch the people on the balcony part like the Red Sea the moment he steps out. She makes her way to the kitchen while Satoru herds everyone into the living room for some party games and starts assigning them up into teams. 

The first game is charades. Shoko clears an entire tray of beef skewers while she watches, perched on one of the stools behind the kitchen counter. The only thing more entertaining than watching charades is watching drunk people argue technicalities for points. 

The stool beside Shoko scrapes against the floor. Satoru steals the last beef skewer before she can get to it and cleans it off in one bite, chewing with more gusto than seems necessary since every piece has been cooked until tender. 

“You n’ Naoya gettin’ real cozy,” he remarks. 

“As cozy as one can get, sidling up to a viper’s nest?”  Shoko guesses, smiling. 

“Well at least you don’t need me to tell ya.”

Shoko watches him pull a tray of dumplings over and steals the one he was about to pick up as revenge, popping it into her mouth and smiling innocently back at him afterwards. Satoru mutters something under his breath and picks up a different dumpling. 

“You know, Gojo,” Shoko says while they eat. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you wanted Zen’in-kun for yourself.”

Satoru chokes mid-chew, beating a fist against his chest. Shoko claps him behind the back a few times to help dislodge it, admittedly with more force than required. This sudden burst of protectiveness is appreciated but unnecessary. Naoya and his ilk could stand to attend a gender studies class, but it’s not like she’s setting out to screw a scumbag curse user.  

Satoru summons an unopened can of soda, and—after an expectant look from Shoko—a beer from the icebox with Blue. It’s as he’s sliding the beer over that Shoko notices the red smears on his wrists. 

She jerks his hands towards her before he can drink so she can examine them closer. No wounds, just remnants of his reversed cursed energy kicking in, and fairly recently, too, judging by the strength of his residuals. 

“What happened here? Fistfight with a knife?” 

“Tch, no. Pyrex dish exploded.”

“What? How? Why? Those are supposed to be oven safe.”

“Dunno,” Satoru says. He clears his throat unnecessarily and tugs his hands back. Shoko sits back and watches him eat, a hundred percent certain he’s being evasive and trying to figure the angle. 

“Never pictured you with a guy like Naoya,” he mutters, before he freezes, eyes wide, like he didn’t mean to say it aloud. 

Too late for him, Shoko pounces. She leans against him, smirking. Shoko doesn’t know what possesses her to do it, maybe it’s the costume giving her a boost of confidence, but she curls her fingers over his forearm, idly scraping her nails against the muscle she feels through the black silk of his shirt. Satoru stiffens at the contact, face pink, but he doesn’t move away.  

“Oh? You were picturing me with guys? I didn’t know your schedule had space for ‘that kind of thing.’” 

“Oh like you don’t have time picturing me with women. Miss ‘what’s your type?’”

Shoko drums her nails against Satoru’s forearm and sighs. “For your information, I only asked because Yuki wanted to know.”

“Yuki?” Satoru repeats, frowning at her. If Shoko didn’t know any better, she’d be tempted to say he looked disappointed. She presses on, tracing an ’S’ in his arm with a nail, amused at how every line in Satoru’s body seems to draw tighter the longer she does it. He’s never been the ticklish sort, so it’s fascinating.  

“What kind of guys, Gojo? Go on, tell me. You’ve been so vocal tonight, don’t stop now.”

“Good guys.” Satoru’s tone is clipped. 

“Look at Mr. Eloquent over here. What’s a ‘good guy’? Define it for me.”

“Ha, easy: anyone at this party who isn’t Naoya.”

“Anyone, huh…” Shoko lets go of his arm and glances to where the rest of the party guests have gathered, engaged in the most intense game of Pictionary she’s seen, gaze sweeping over the faces she knows.

Kiyotaka’s kind but too awkward. Mei Mei could be fun, but would probably lord it over me if she doesn’t try to swindle me first. Utahime’s already asleep. She tilts her head at Nanami whose lap Utahime has claimed dominion over for the foreseeable future. 

“I guess that’s true,” Shoko admits. Satoru nods in that self-satisfied way of his that she’s used to and pops open his soda. “Do you know if Nanami’s seeing anyone?” Shoko asks and Satoru spits out his drink. 

“Nanami?” He manages, recovering. Sheesh, from the look on his face you’d think she’d just declared that Suguru was right this whole time and that she’s going to buy a ticket on the genocide train. 

“Why not? Isn’t he a good guy? Or would Haibara be a safer bet. He’s nice and I like his face.”

“Well, yeah, but.”

“But what? Is he taken?”

“No, he’s just.” Satoru glances to Nanami and then back to her, managing to look even more put out, which is dumbfounding, considering Naoya as her only other alternative. “Nanami? Seriously!”

The last part comes out so sharply that Shoko startles, and she sees from the way Satoru registers her reaction that the outburst is instantly regretted. She’s used to seeing him emotional, but always as a third party watching him rant at Ijichi. Being subject to that ire is as sobering as a shock of ice water to the face. 

Shoko pops open her beer and skulls it, feeling her hands shake. She can’t deal with being sober right now, because then she’d have to contend with the knowledge of the ‘good guy’ sitting right in next to her never, ever, slowing down enough for her to reach him.

“Sorry,” Satoru mutters, massaging his temples. “Didn’t mean to snap. Hosting’s been a real pain. Think I’ll should just… I dunno, hire out an izakaya next time.”

“That’s the smartest, most adult thing you’ve said all day.”  

“Tch. I should confiscate your beer.” Satoru continues to press his fingers to his temples, brows knitted together, eyes closed.  

“Another migraine?”

“Yeah. From watching you slobber all over roadkill,” Satoru grumbles.

Shoko rolls her eyes and swivels his chair to face hers. Satoru cracks an eye open, looking at her quizzically. 

“Here.” She pulls his hands down, replacing them with hers along the sides of his face. Satoru closes his eyes. 

She’s done it so many times it’s muscle memory at this point. Locking in on the pressure built up behind his eyes takes her no time at all, and even less time to remove it completely. All in all the process takes no longer than five seconds, but Satoru’s expression remains pinched, so she lingers. She waits for him to move away, because he’s always the first to do so, always laughing awkwardly when he does. It’s a rejection she’s built an immunity to from sustained exposure. 

Satoru finally moves, but not in the way she expects. Both his hands come up to cover hers while he turns his head in towards one of her palms. When she feels him press a kiss into her skin, slowly opening his eyes to meet hers to gauge her reaction, she feels her entire body still as the realisation sinks in. 

Hands.

Satoru smiles as he tugs her in, his eyes flickering to her mouth. Shoko goes without any resistance, feeling heady from the rush of emotions flowing through her. 

Maybe it’s the universe’s way of evening the playing field, that for all of Satoru’s ethereal beauty, the allure of it is always instantly dispelled by the first thing that comes out of his mouth. For years she’s considered herself immune—and to a greater extent, special—because it’s never happened to her. She’s heard every conceivable off colour thing this man’s said, always felt an innate certainty that with all the years she’s spent supporting him, there’s nothing he could ever say to make her want to turn and run. 

Until tonight. 

The validation of every thought, every feeling, the alleviation of every doubt she’s ever had about the possibility of him returning her feelings; uplifted to heaven in a single gesture only to be dragged straight back to hell in the next. Ruined by the first thing out of his mouth, just as their lips are about to touch:

“Don’t go with him.”

Shoko pulls her hands back, too shocked to even derive some satisfaction from the way Satoru’s face falls. Her body moves automatically, muscle memory kicking in as it registers the grief, discerning no difference to her losing someone on her operating table, or completing an autopsy on a former colleague. She hops out of her stool, calmly goes over to the sink and washes her hands, dries them methodically like she always does, pausing to take in a pile of cracked glass and ceramic swept haphazardly into a corner, red streaks lining some of the larger pieces. Shoko decides she doesn’t care. She strides out of the kitchen and continues to the balcony towards Naoya, past everyone having a blast at karaoke, too drunk to pay them any mind. Satoru follows, ashen faced and stricken. 

“Shoko? What’s the matter? Why are you—”

Shoko reaches Naoya and snatches the phone out of his hand, ending the call. Naoya raises an eyebrow at her afterwards, a cruel smirk promising retribution on his face even after she hands back his phone. The few other people on the balcony scatter, heading for the safety of Satoru’s living room. 

“The last woman who gave me attitude,” Naoya says, advancing, “I had her—”

“Don’t care,” Shoko says briskly. “You’re hot, I like your face and I want to sit on it. You can fuck me however way you want after. We doing this or not?”  

Naoya’s smirk widens, gaze raking greedily over her. He takes another step forward. “Alright, feisty. Your place or mine?” 

“Neither,” Satoru cuts coldly in before Shoko can answer, looming over Shoko’s frame like an overgrown shadow. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”

“That’s my decision,” Shoko snaps, but Satoru’s attention remains fully focused on Naoya. She turns and prods him in the chest, which is the same thing as trying to poke steel. “Oi. Don’t talk like I’m not here.”

“Naoya-kun.” Satoru says, as politely as he can manage through clenched teeth. He tries to put a placating hand on Shoko’s shoulder but she immediately shrugs him off. “I think you should go. She’s only going to use you.”

“I don’t mind,” Naoya says, really more to Shoko’s cleavage than her face. Satoru’s eye twitches. Shoko inwardly rolls her eyes. 

Men. 

“Well if he’s leaving then I’m leaving too,” Shoko declares. 

Satoru frowns at her, confused for all of two seconds before he clicks. 

“Wait…what the hell, you’re mad at me? The hell did I do?”

Shoko pointedly ignores him, looking at Naoya. “Well?”

Naoya’s gaze shifts back and forth between her and Satoru, briefly perplexed before his smirk returns. “No idea what the hell’s going on here, but I’ve seen you—” he nods at Satoru— “watching me like a hawk, and you—” he nods at Shoko— “chatting me up all night. You both want a piece? Fine by me, but I get to top.”

Satoru doubles over laughing. Shoko pinches the bridge of her nose, feeling a migraine coming on. Naoya crosses his arms, watching the two of them, waiting for an answer. 

Satoru finally recovers, dropping a hand on Naoya’s shoulder. He shakes his head. “Not even in your wettest, wildest dreams, Nao-chan.” 

Shoko is already halfway to the hallway while Naoya shakes him off, digging into her pocket for her phone to call a cab. Satoru swears under his breath as he pursues, only a few steps behind her. 

“Shoko! What did I do?”

“Ieiri?” Naoya spits out, aghast. “Fuck! I knew she looked familiar!”

...

Satoru’s hallway feels twenty times longer than it initially felt when she arrived, which is doubly annoying because he remembers he can teleport, and does so, cutting her off at the halfway point. Shoko barely manages to stop herself from walking into him. She tries to shoulder past but he catches her wrist. 

“Why are you mad at me? What did I do? Back in the kitchen—look if you don’t want me that’s fine, but—”

“Don’t go with him,” Shoko deadpans. “Seriously.”

“Because he sucks! Why are you being so—”

“The second I start paying attention to someone else then suddenly I’m worth—”

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Satoru says, looking hurt. “I didn’t even know you liked me like that until five seconds ago. Give a guy a chance to catch up will ya? I didn’t even know I had a cha—” 

“What? Of course I like you like that, stupid dumb idiot! I’m still here, aren’t I? After everything, Satoru!” Shoko hisses, just in case karaoke isn’t loud enough to drown out their argument.

Satoru recoils from the outburst, startled. 

I’ve fucked it up. I’ve fucked it. Whatever, I’ll live. 

Shoko exhales and soldiers forward. Given time, none of this will matter in the grand scheme of things.

“I’m sorry. Look, it’s just. I put you first, I put everyone else first. I always have. I’m not complaining, I know my role in all of this. I just thought for once it was the other way round. And it felt nice…until you opened your big fat mouth.”

Satoru just stares, saying nothing. 

She takes that as her cue to leave, brushing past him. She makes it about two steps before he catches her wrist. 

“I’m sorry. Forget I said anything,” she says quietly, feeling too petty and small to look him in the eye even as he tugs her back, that same hand moving to cup her cheek. “I just need—” 

She breaks off as Satoru kisses her.

...

Shoko will give Satoru this much, the man knows how to kiss. It’s just as well that he does, because it’s good enough to stop her from wondering about all the other people he’s kissed before he finally got to her. His free hand weaves around, supporting her back so he can tilt her, smiling against her mouth briefly before he pulls away and straightens, taking her weight as she sags against him, her hands resting on his chest. 

It takes Shoko a few seconds to bring her brain back online, which would be mortifying, if Satoru didn’t also look like he was having just as hard a time catching his breath. 

“Uh,” he says intelligently, possessing only enough braincells to grin goofily at her from ear to ear. 

“Y-yeah,” Shoko says, just as intelligently, feeling a sudden hunger thrum throughout her body, sharp and hot until it’s all she can focus on. The equation’s simple enough: she wants him, he clearly wants her; the answer to said equation is even simpler: what the hell are they doing just standing around for? 

Satoru clears his throat. “Sooo,” he starts, conversationally. 

Shoko curls her fingers into his collar and drags him back to her mouth, a hand sliding up the nape of his neck to card through his hair.Satoru makes a noise as his back hits the wall, hands flailing  uselessly in the air as he kisses her back. While he’s so distracted, Shoko goes for his belt, unfurling his shirt from the waistband of his pants. Satoru makes another noise and catches her wrists, holding them up and out towards her sides. Shoko adapts, slipping her tongue into his mouth, pressing the length of her body up against his and rubbing against him. It works like a dream: Satoru’s grip on her wrists starts to slacken, moaning into her mouth—

“Yo! Gojo-sensei!” Yuji calls from the living room, the equivalent of cold water dousing the fire between them. “Your turn on the mic! Anyone seen Gojo-sensei?”

Satoru breaks away from Shoko’s mouth immediately, panting hard as he puts distance between them.  He straightens, hands shaking as he tucks his shirt back into his pants, attempting to work his hair into some semblance of the ‘stylishly’ dishevelled look it was before Shoko got her fingers in it.  Irritating as it is, Shoko will concede this about the interruption: it’s a nice ego boost on top of the catharsis of having her feelings returned, being able to admire her handiwork and let her imagination run wild on what else she can inflict upon this man. 

“Probably sucking face with Ieiri,” Naoya says drily, in a rare display of leaving his self-centred bubble long enough to concern himself with other people. Shoko always assumed that was only something he did in battle.  

Satoru just shoots a dirty glare towards the living room, blushing profusely.  

Haibara busts out laughing. There's a loud thud and Naoya coughs. “Hahaha! Good one Zen’in-kun!”

Shoko tries to approach Satoru again, but finds she can’t get within two steps of him, thanks to his Infinity. Satoru’s clearly realised that any attempt at restraining her requires their bodies to be touching, thereby opening himself up to further exploitation on her part. He’s probably also considered sitting on her or tying her up, but has wisely refrained because he doesn’t want her more annoyed than she currently is. Shoko huffs and plants her hands on her hips, pursing her lips. 

Stupid idiot, Shoko thinks, peeved, moving to lean against the wall opposite Satoru as a peace offering. Always smart only in the nick of time. 

“Don’t be crass,” Maki says, murmurs of agreement following. “Everyone knows Ieiri’s too good for that idiot.” 

Shoko nods in agreement. Satoru looks as if he’s just taken enough mental damage for his own soul to vacate his body. 

“And how much are you willing to bet on that?” Mei Mei chimes in, scenting blood like the dirty capitalist she is. Someone groans. “What? You think this manicure grows on trees? A girl’s gotta eat.”

“Thought you wanted me,” Shoko says quietly.  

“You fucking kidding me?” To his credit, he does look both apologetic and similarly frustrated about the situation, raking a hand through his hair, gaze sweeping longingly, hungrily over her, triggering an almost automatic lust low in her belly. He gestures wildly at all of her. “You’re wearing a nurse costume and stockings, for fuck’s sake! I got half a mind to barrel you over my couch.” 

“So why don’t you?”

Satoru chuckles. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well, dunno if ya noticed, but half the jujutsu community are on that couch right now.”

Shoko fights a smile. Stupid man and his capacity to only be funny in the worst of times. 

“I hate you,” she says, managing to keep an even tone about it.

Satoru still smiles, eyes twinkling. “Aww, don’t be like that.”

“No. I hate you.” Shoko enunciates crossly, turning her head away before he realises that charm can be weaponised against her. “I’ve liked you all this time and this is the thanks I get. I don’t even want to think about all the credibility I’ve lost wearing this stupid costume. I got half a mind to go running back to Naoya.”

Silence.

“I mean,” Satoru mumbles to his feet, scratching the back of his neck. “I thought you’d come as Buttercup not… I mean I’m totally not complaining but I didn’t think you’d actually—”

“What was that?” Shoko snaps, an eye twitching. 

“Nothing!” Satoru says quickly. He must have lowered his Infinity, because in the next instant he’s in front of her, taking one of her hands into both of his and squeezing. Shoko scowls up at him, feeling her resolve falter at the utter earnestness in his eyes. Damn him. “I’ll make it up to you. Promise. Good things come to those who wait, right?”

Shoko finds herself smirking. “If you say so,” she says. 

She snatches back her hand and turns on her heel, striding confidently back to the living room. If there’s anything she knows about Satoru, it’s that Paragon of Patience he is not.

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?” Satoru mutters, trailing a few steps behind. “Shoko?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Shoko lies. 

...

If it’s a battle of wills Satoru wants, Shoko’s happy to accommodate. Thirteen years of observing the man, be it fighting or teaching or goofing around has taught Shoko that he does not possess a single reserved bone in his body—ironic, considering the one she’d felt growing against her stomach five minutes earlier. He’s been spoiled by having Ijichi as a pressure valve to let off the steam before too much of it can accumulate, but Ijichi or no Ijichi, it’s not as if he’s ever had any trouble articulating his grievances. 

Armed with tonight’s realisations, Shoko’s determined to become the most difficult grievance for Satoru to ever have the displeasure of trying to ignore, let alone protest about. She may have agreed to wait, but that doesn’t mean she’s rolling over and letting the time pass uneventfully for him. She’s spent enough of her twenties doing that, thank you very much, and fuck him for making her wait. Dark corners her foot.  

At the very least, it will be an interesting stress test to see how many contrived, misinterpreted scenarios it’s going to take to crack him. Her money’s on Nanami as a heavy hitter, but Haibara could be a wild card, which is why he’s up first. It’s free amusement for her either way. 

Haibara is cheerfully munching his way through a tray of pull-apart cheeseburger sliders and occasionally singing along with whoever’s got the microphone at karaoke. Shoko reclaims her seat at the kitchen island beside him while Satoru passes, taking the microphone from Yuji at the front of the living room by the TV. Satoru clearly isn’t concerned because Haibara’s the guy who takes everyone at face value, and wouldn’t know a flirtatious line if she sat beside him and had a name tag that read ‘Hi! I’m Flirting With You’ sticky-taped to her bosom. 

“Ayy, park it there, Shoko-san!” Haibara greets, grinning at her through a mouthful of beef and cheese. He doesn’t even get distracted by her boobs which gives Shoko a newfound appreciation and respect for the guy.  Haibara may not be special grade, but he is an anomaly amongst his peers, with that endless optimism. 

“Hey Yu,” Shoko says, smiling and actually meaning it for once, “how’s life treating ya?”

“Better now that you’re here. So good to see ya out and about!” Sauce dribbles down the corners of Haibara’s mouth.

Shoko realises her cheeks hurt because her smile has turned into a full blown grin. In another life, she’d let that unpretentious charm of Haibara’s sweep her off her feet. Just her luck, falling for a serial schemer instead of someone so wholesome and uncomplicated. 

“What?” Haibara says. 

“You got a little…” Shoko can’t help but laugh when Haibara uses his tongue to try to mop up the sauce, only succeeding in spreading more of it around his mouth. 

“How’s that?”

“Better.”

“Awesome!”

“No, you idiot, you got it everywhere,” Shoko laughs. 

Haibara just shrugs like this is his life now, nothing to do except roll with it, which is just the most Haibara thing ever. 

And seeing a mess and feeling a responsibility to clean it is unfortunately just the most her thing ever. Shoko grabs a napkin and leans forward, beckoning for Haibara to follow suit. “Come here then.”

“Okay!”

Shoko wets the napkin with water from an opened bottle and wipes away the sauce as best she can from Haibara’s face while he giggles. 

“That tickles Shoko-san,” Haibara says, when she pokes his cheek. 

A few more daubs here and there and, “Perfect,” Shoko declares at last, leaning back. 

“Thanks!” Haibara says. He grabs another two sliders and stuffs them into his mouth and there’s more sauce dribbling out than before. 

Shoko tosses the used napkin to an empty part of the table with a sigh. As Haibara goes back to eating, she tunes back into karaoke just in time to see Satoru’s head whip back to the lyrics rolling across the LED, his jaw slightly set.