#so uh. manifesting i make something nice

[fallloverfic]

I know Netflix is garbage, but I am so tired of all the bullshit with official Nocturne Olrox merch. He's available on precisely two (technically three if you count the blu-ray) things: a blind box keychain set where you have a 1 in 11 chance to get him and it's over $100 to get an assured chance of getting him, and an expensive statue. So we've got gambling, and now Dark Horse Direct had manufacturing issues and have had to cancel pre-orders for the statue (though they've said they're going to put up pre-orders for it again soon).

Like... could you idiots at Netflix just design more merch of him? He's really popular.

(Yes, I'm aware fan merch exists, but I would also love official merch where I can get it)

[bluukive]

Eyes On You

summary - you finally decide to give the gym a go, getting yourself involved with a man who's dead set on pushing you to your limits

wc - 5.4k

content - MDNI, insecure!reader x gymowner!Sukuna, mentions of weight, Sukuna's harsh at first, eventual mutual pining, solo mast. (m + F, separate), 0ral (f receiving), face s;tting, handj0b, slight body worship, submissive reader, freaky in the gym shower (anyone could hear them...but no one does?), teasing, hella unrealistic, really amateur writing like please I'm cringing so hard

an - uhm I've never written a mini fic before !! please excuse the awkward writing

Lazily proofread by me mb

It took all the courage you had to even think about signing up to the gym that opened down the road, but the little voice in the back of your head was telling you to go. Just check it out, it said. Walk around a little, and then right back out. Shouldn’t be hard, right?

Right?

Wrong. How wrong you were. It was easier said than done in hindsight, but you didn’t expect the heavy thud of rock music to blare throughout the facility until you felt your bones tremble. Nor did you expect large gaggles of gym bros swarming around the equipment, a few heads turning the moment you pushed open the glass door. Sure, there were enough women there also, but not enough to deter you from yanking the drawstrings of your hoodie. Your vision became obstructed as the hood tightened around your face, whispered curses leaving your lips.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you muttered, eyes darting side to side as the social anxiety set in. You were close to turning around on your heel and out of this building, leg already twitching. But a low, gravelly voice called out to you from beside a water fountain you were unfortunately standing too close to. 

“Lost? Nervous? Which one is it, girl?”

You don’t know how you missed this giant of a man, especially when his cropped, pink hair made him stick out like a sore thumb. Some strands were plastered to his sweaty forehead and concealed the judgement of his stare. Barely. His tank top also did a poor job of hiding those hulking muscles, flexing slightly with full veins as he gripped his water bottle. Looks like you caught him mid-workout. Oh, and you’re gawking like an idiot.

Nice going. 

“Are you deaf or something? Speak up already,” the stranger clicked his tongue impatiently, and you internally panicked. You wondered whether manifestation was real and if you could will for the stranger to just explode. Actually, make it the entire room. An embarrassed grimace appeared on your face as you realised you had the attention of a couple of people on you.

“Uh, no. No, I’m not deaf. Just looking around,” you began to explain, undoing the drawstrings of your hoodie once you realised how utterly stupid you must have looked. But then the stranger gave you a grimace of his own, lips quirking up as his eyes landed on your dishevelled hair. You looked like a mess. 

Way to go. Now you can’t show your face in public. And yes, it really was that deep.

And so you smoothened your hair out and plastered an overly enthusiastic grin on your face to compensate for the fact you couldn’t socialise. “Where do I sign up?”

He snorted, a sceptical brow raised as he checked out your incredibly outdated attire. “You want to sign up?” 

You nodded. Fuck, you weren’t even meant to say that. The urge to slap a hand over your forehead grew tenfold, but you fought it.

A shaky breath left you as you gave in to that little voice reminding you that no, you didn’t fit into those jeans you’ve had your eyes on for a while. No, your mom hadn’t stopped making comments about your body and lack of love life. 

“...Yes, please,” you said after a beat of silence, and that was that. Sukuna, who was apparently a trainer, led you through the whole process. Sign this, read that, fork over some of your wage. You know, the typical procedure. The new you was coming very soon, you told yourself after internally crying over the money spent. You’ll buy those jeans in no time.

═══════★

“Sloppy fuckin’ form, girl. Sharpen up,” Sukuna barked, circling around you like a goddamn hawk. 

Oh, you swore you were going to quit that gym soon. He had been riding your ass for the past couple of weeks, pushing you further than you’ve ever pushed yourself. Sukuna called you out on your bullshit that first day when you tried hiding in the corner with your phone out, coaxing you onto a mat and making you stretch. Since then, Sukuna kept an eye on you, making sure you were red-faced by the end of the workout. 

A sharp click of his tongue brought you back from your thoughts. You groaned, raising your hips from the floor and spreading out your limbs. You were currently doing a plank, which appeared to be dissatisfactory in Sukuna’s eyes. 

“I’m doing it, I’m doing it,” you hissed, head tilting up as best as you could so that you may glare at your tormentor. A scoff left his lips.

“Yeah, you’re as intimidating as fuckin’ pebble right now. Head down.”

Your head dropped reluctantly. The quiet grunt you accidentally let out didn’t escape the trainer, but he wasn’t about to soften up. Neither were you out of sheer stubbornness. 

However, the burn in your thighs and arms became more noticeable. An ‘oof’ sound left your lips as your jellied arms buckled and you face-planted the floor. Another tut and more chuckles from the other members scattered in the gym. 

“Take five,” Sukuna couldn’t help but roll his eyes at you. 

A dismissive noise left you as you remained face-down on the floor, Sukuna’s fading footsteps and mutters of annoyance filling your reddening ears. Your face burned. 

Swallow your pride and quit, the voice in your head mocked. 

But two weeks in? You couldn’t. Not when you had stupidly formed a grudge against Sukuna for pushing you so hard too early on. You shook your head and got back into form, lower lip jutting out in sheer determination. You were completely unaware of the approving nod from the other end of the room.

═══════★

Walking was simply out of the question today. You threw the covers off and gritted your teeth at the way your legs throbbed with each shift of your body. 

It had been maybe five sessions since you had face-planted the floor in front of Sukuna. It didn't look like he'd ease up any time soon after that incident. In fact, he grew meaner. That apparently made you like him more.

The mere thought of him made you shrivel up in bed and grimace, but you couldn’t fight the slight inkling of attraction you felt towards him, slight being an understatement.

It was bound to happen eventually, right? You'd be stupid not to be attracted to him. Each muscle looked like it had been carved right out of stone. Hell, now that you think about it, it was probably also those unamused looks he was throwing your way that made you keep going back to that cursed gym. 

You were there now after hyping yourself up in the mirror back home. Not for too long, though. One look at your chest flailing around was enough to make you curl your lip and shrug on that tacky pair of sweats and hoodie you liked to work out in. You skipped breakfast and settled on a shitty cereal bar you found in your kitchen. It wasn't the best thing to do, but you were set on losing weight. 

The air reeked, to be frank. It was the first thing you noticed after walking into the gym. Testosterone and sweat mixed with a strong hit of regret. Regardless, you pushed through and continued shuffling on your boneless legs. You set your bag down in some lonely corner and mentally prepared yourself for Sukuna to berate you about God knows what. It was something new every time you came here. 

“Told your stubborn ass to stretch after the workout,” he drawled once he sauntered over, an amused look on his face. “Just had to stomp out like a little brat, didn’t you?”

“That's not true. I just wanted to go home and shower,” you scoffed in response. But Sukuna didn’t reply. Instead, he raised a brow that screamed oh, really? You could feel the back of your neck prickle with an uncomfortable heat as he stared you down. 

And then he walked off. Asshole.

“So fucking weird. I mean, who does that?” you rambled to no one, getting in form and raising your arms over your head as you stretched. The slight sting of your muscles being used was actually rather welcome for once. 

═══ Later ═══

By the time you were done, you were warm and sweaty. Sukuna hadn’t spoken to you much today, too busy chewing out a new member of the gym. Poor dude, you thought. But at least it wasn't you. 

This gave you time to look in the mirror, a poor habit of yours. Your eyes cast over your body agonisingly slow as you checked for any changes in physique. Little bursts of cool air hit your flushed skin when you lifted your t-shirt with one hand slightly to inspect yourself, the other hand fanning your face. You then sighed, running a hand over your hip. 

“The fuck are you doing?” 

A garbled yelp left you as you dropped your top and looked at Sukuna from the mirror without turning around. His red eyes were trained at your hip, and he looked almost disappointed at the fact that your clothes had covered again. You whizzed around and stood there stiff. A pause, and then you were wondering why the hell your mouth was starting to run. 

“Nothin’. None of your business,” you chuckled nervously, hands clenching at your sides. “Just checking progress.” 

“Yeah, ‘cus that’s the only reason why you cop a feel of your own body after every session looking like a kicked puppy,” Sukuna’s eyes remained lidded, flicking between the mirror and you. 

“Oh, cmon. I look nothing like a kicked puppy-”

“Yeah, you do. Every single time.”

“You're watching me like some perv-”

“And what?”

You paused and inhaled deeply, a stupid smirk appearing on Sukuna's lips as you grew increasingly frustrated with him. “Will you at least let me finish my sentence?”

“No can do. Wanna explain yourself?” He asked, beefy arms folding over his chest. You had to forcefully drag your eyes away from the slight jiggle of his pecs, your body reacting similarly to that of a Victorian male seeing an ankle for the first time. 

“Eyes up here. Talk to me,” Sukuna repeated, softer this time. Your hands fiddled with each other as you debated whether to open up to this hothead. It was likely that he'd a) make fun of you, or b) propose on the spot and fawn over how perfect you were (extremely unlikely, but a girl could dream).

Sukuna watched as your lips parted and the lie tumbled out of your mouth since it was easier than telling the truth.

“Just stretching.”

An unimpressed grunt rumbled in the man's chest. “Bullshit, but keep telling yourself that.”

“Tch. What else am I doing then?”

“Fuck knows, but quit it. That's not healthy,” a finger jabbed at your forehead, and you swatted his hand away without thinking. Your chest tightened slightly. Was that genuine concern?

Sukuna saw your reluctance to accept his words, making him shoot a deadpan look your way. “I'm being serious. Stop grabbing at yourself before I throw a dumbbell at the mirror,” he scolded, narrowed eyes boring into yours.

“I see you busting your ass every time you're here. You may not think I notice it, but I do. Trust me. Do you really think I’d push someone so hard if I didn’t see something in them?”

He was speaking to you like a trainer now, but you could hear some of his own personal feelings slip through the cracks. It made your throat feel tighter. 

“To be honest, I didn't think you'd see,” you mumbled, swallowing the lump in your throat and wiping your increasingly sweaty hands on your t-shirt.

“Well, I have. Now, stop touching your hips like that. They're fine,” he scolded. Sukuna didn't even wait for a reply as he walked off, probably to slap the back of someone's head again.

For the first time that day, your body felt less heavy. 

And you could confidently meet your eyes in the mirror again. 

═══════★

With your eyes fluttering shut, you shifted and lay on your back whilst reminiscing on Sukuna's words. Maybe it was your memory playing tricks on you, but you swore his eyes lingered on your body in an appreciative way. Maybe he saw more in you than you had ever seen in yourself. But realistically, maybe you were that attention deprived that you were making up scenarios to feel special. 

An exasperated groan left you as you rubbed your face in your hands, heat creeping up onto your cheeks yet again. Honestly? You couldn't remember the last time you felt so whipped over someone before. It had been just under a month since you joined that gym, and Sukuna was already plaguing your every thought. 

It's not like Sukuna was your teacher or anything. You were both legal adults. Yeah, maybe you were just some stubborn brat who frequented his gym. But that didn't mean you couldn't feel anything for him. 

But why did you feel guilty? Was it the way he was so uncaring yet so observant at the same time that made you feel this way? Or was it the fact that you saw yourself as unworthy of this arousal?

Regardless, you could feel your cunt beginning to ache. You tried relieving it by squeezing your thighs together, but it was useless. The muscles in your body still felt tight, and the effects of the gym lingered. God, why couldn’t you escape him?

Slick noises filled the bedroom not long after you began questioning your whole dynamic with Sukuna. Yes, it was deeply embarrassing and you’ll surely regret it later. But right now, the sensation of your fingers rubbing tight circles over your clit was too pleasurable to ignore. 

With each ashamed jerk of your hips as you lay there, the plush skin of your thighs shook as you raised it slightly and bent your knee. Even though you lived alone and no one was around to hear you, you bit into your fist to conceal the plethora of needy mewls and gasps falling from your lips. The towel had come undone, exposing the curves of your writhing body. The cool air contrasted deliciously with the wet heat between your parted legs. Now that your breasts were free, the hand at your mouth moved lower so that you lazily brush a couple fingers over a hardened nipple. 

But the moment you did that, existential dread crept over you and you withdrew your hand. Self-consciousness hit you like a ton of bricks and you sat up abruptly, face burning at the fact that you were getting off at the thought of some musclehead at the gym. Your eyes fluttered down, unfocused and blurry from denying yourself of an orgasm. You guessed it was time for another shower. Maybe that’d wash the shame off of you. 

═══════★

After a few days of ignoring the urge to go to the gym, you gave in and dragged yourself out of your home. There’s no way you could look at Sukuna in the eye now. That was one of the many thoughts whizzing round your head as you kept your eyes low and headed to your usual corner of the gym. You could smell the lecture coming from the pink-haired man from a mile away, and boy, you were right. 

You were barely done with your first warmup set when you heard his gruff voice cut through the blaring music. He was not amused. 

“You suuure took your sweet time coming back, Sick of working out already?”

And that’s when you froze. Your heart quite literally dropped to your ass once you managed to stand up straight, but your eyes remained on the mat below you both. 

“Was busy, that’s all,” which was a bold lie. He could tell.

“Hm,” Sukuna began. “Looks like you were too busy to even do your stretches properly.”

A thick set of fingers met your back, the digits pressing into your spine so that your posture was correct. An awkward noise left your lips at the contact.

“Straighten up. At this rate, you won’t even be able to workout because of body pains.”

But that was the least of your problems. Fantasies of his hands coaxing your thighs open and his tongue doing unspeakable things to you filled your mind, causing you to move back sharply. You cleared your throat, noticing again the displeased look on Sukuna’s face.

“I didn’t think you’d care if I turned up or not,” you admitted sheepishly, a bold assumption on your end.

A low, hum of laughter rumbled in his chest, which quite frankly did nothing to soothe the steady pulsing between your thighs. “Oh, I don’t. I just don’t want to be losing out on money through your absence.”

Ouch. 

Your head turned, and he saw the mildly offended look on your face. His words were just enough to make you forget about the heat of his body as he walked around slowly to stand in front of you. 

“I’m kidding, i'm kidding. Mostly," he borderline purred. "Is everything okay, though? You’ve been ignoring me more than you usually do,” Sukuna cocked his head to the side, and you wondered how he could sound both amused and irritated at the same time.

A short huff left your lips, almost sounding amused. If only he knew why you had been avoiding him.

“Nah, everything’s good. Just working out, y’know. Like a normal person would.”

Sukuna’s lip quirked up again, a stupidly attractive habit he had when he felt playful. “Riiiight. If that’s the case, stop lookin’ at me like I’ve fucked your life up or something.”

Your brows furrowed as you struggled to keep your eyes on him. The fuck did he know?! But that frantic look on your face didn’t stop him from running that mouth of his. 

“Oh, but who knows? I might have already. And in that case?” he let his voice drop down a couple of notches, leaning forward until you could practically taste his aftershave on your tongue. “You’re welcome, I guess.” He let his eyes drift down, pausing at your lips, and then down to the swell of your breasts through your t-shirt. 

Were you meant to ask him to look for longer, or slap him?

Once the realisation that maybe, just maybe Sukuna was attracted to you settled in your stomach like a heavy weight, he pulled back and walked away slowly, eyes on you until the last possible moment. You blinked once, then twice. 

You were dumbfounded, but also aroused. What the hell was going on with you both?

═══════★

Sukuna’s private office was…something. Low hanging fluorescent lights flickered periodically as he sat there in the busted chair, sun already having set outside. The occasional clang of metal reverberated around the gym outside of the private wall, and the air inside was heavy with dust, sweat, and intense longing. 

Sukuna’s eyes were screwed shut, unable to physically eat the half-chewed apple on his desk. His cock was aching in his sweats. It’s only been under a week since you came back to the gym, and he’s losing it. He’d be lying if he said you had caught his eye immediately. Sukuna remembers the day you came bumbling in like an idiot into his gym all wide-eyed like you’ve never seen a man before. 

But how wrong he was. You had a mouth on you under all that awkwardness. But most importantly, you were so reactive. He doesn’t know why he liked it so much, but seeing you stiffen up at his touches, push out your lower lip when he pissed you off… It really set him off. Not to mention the noises, God. Your soft pants after a workout, your low groans as you stretched those legs of yours.

Honestly? Sukuna didn’t understand why on earth you were so insecure. He had the urge to drag you away from the mirror every time he saw that disappointed look on your face after each workout session. He could spend ages running his hands across every soft inch of your body to show you that you were fine. There was no need for you to push yourself so hard. 

The mental imagery of burying his face deep into your pussy pained him. It was embarrassing, really, the way he was always ogling at you bent over the dumbbell racks or watching your throat bob with every gulp of water. Sukuna rubbed his face with his hands, groaning and manspreading further in his seat as his cock practically weeped to be freed. He could feel the front of his boxers dampen with his precum, which he had been trying to ignore for a while now. But it was useless. Sukuna may have felt like a hormonal idiot for freeing his length from the confinements of his sweatpants, but he saw no use in denying himself the pleasure of fantasising you on top of him. 

It wasn’t long before Sukuna had a large hand nestled deep in his pants, wrapped around his throbbing cock. He couldn’t be bothered taking it out, and something about ruining his clothes to the thought of you made it all the more thrilling. When he shut his eyes, he could see the full outline of your body underneath your clothes, the way the outline of your sports bra was visible due to sweat after vigorously exercising. 

His cock twitched in his hand and he finally began pumping his hand lazily. Sukuna could imagine you walking in on him, the frazzled look you’d shoot his way. He wanted you to see him like this, but unfortunately for him, you had gone home. 

“Fuckin’ hell, you’ve done it now. Messed me up all good and p-proper, huh?” His hand continued to move, wrist rolling expertly. Almost as if he was used to jerking off to the thought of you. Sukuna’s head tipped back as he pictured you on your knees, lips glossy with his cum and body eager to please him. Oh, you'd look so pretty with your tits pressed together as you sat their obediently.

The chair creaked once he started rutting into his hand frantically. His hips jerked once, then again as his orgasm hit him. It hit him hard. It was messy and the waves of shame hit him at the same time ropes of thick cum coated his fingers and the insides of his sweats. 

Uneven pants filled that small office, and Sukuna finally withdrew his fingers and wiped them clean with a nearby rag he kept nearby. He could feel his heart hammering in his throat, and he actively avoided looking down at the mess he made inside of his sweats. 

Maybe Sukuna felt ashamed. He definitely should have. But there was no way in hell Sukuna would ever stop thinking about you. 

═══════★

You should have gone home and showered there like you usually did. But the tension between you and Sukuna exactly two days later had you on edge. You weren’t thinking straight, water bottle empty and chest heaving from overexertion. Your aching feet dragged to the gym showers instead, where you stripped after setting up all of your belongings. That berry-scented body wash just screaming your name. 

Sukuna however, came with other plans. He was thanking the stars that the gym was mostly empty, and there was little to no chance of anyone walking in. Plot armour, one may call it. 

You were in the middle of washing your body, washcloth scrubbing at your chest and getting them all soapy. How odd Sukuna was acting today, you muttered to yourself, recalling how his stare never left you and how his jaw remained tightly clenched. You were almost afraid he’d break a tooth.

The obnoxious creak of the shower-room doors brought you out of your daydreams, and you were glad the curtains concealed you from the eyes of whoever had just walked in. You were thinking to yourself that gosh, they really should oil up the hinges, but the curtains opened. Your eyes landed on a very pent-up Sukuna, whose eyes were shamelessly ogling at your nude body. You merely blinked at him, brain trying to catch up with what was going on.

“So, hey! One person per shower!?” you practically shrieked, backing up when Sukuna entered the shower and shut the curtain behind him. He’s soaking in the sight, clothes becoming drenched as the hot water beat down on both of you. Sukuna’is breath met the steam as he exhaled heavily, finally forcing himself to speak. 

“Gonna tell me to fuck off any time soon? Say something, pretty girl,” he cooed raspily, head cocked slightly to the side as he hunched over you. You could only stare back up at him, blinking away the spray of water. But the way your pussy clenched around nothing told you all you needed to know. You were positive you wanted him, so you gave him a nod. 

That was enough of an invitation for Sukuna to capture your bottom lip with his teeth, sucking it lightly into his mouth as he initiated a kiss under the spraying showerhead. You wanted to kiss back, but everything about Sukuna screamed urgency. You could barely register the fact that he was nipping at your neck, sucking a nipple into his mouth as his greedy hands pawed at every inch of skin you had to offer. 

“R-ryo, please wait-”

“No waiting. Don’t you dare tell me to wait,” he gritted out, sinking onto the tiles and using his hands to maneuver you around so that your rear was in his face. You winced at the sensation of the cold tiles your breasts were pressed up against, but you had no time to complain about it when Sukuna used both hands to spread the supple fat of your ass apart. A sharp gasp ripped out of your throat and your head whipped behind you to check.

“What exactly do you think you’re doin-”

He doesn't allow you to finish your sentence. The fiend angled his head, flattened his tongue and licked a fat stripe from your pussy to ass. You shrieked, hands flailing as you tried to grip the tiles unsuccessfully. A sharp swat to your ass served as a reminder to keep quiet, so you slapped a hand over your kiss-bitten lips. Sukuna took this as a chance to grab one of your calves and lifted it to the side, allowing him to groan deeply at the way your pussy spread so nicely for him. The fact that he could do so with such ease had you positively shaking. 

Your foot slipped ever so slightly on the wet tiles, but Sukuna was there to grip you even tighter, digging his fingers into the ample layer of fat over your hip to steady you. He dove back in, mouth hot on the entirety of your cunt as he ate you out like a man possessed. A garbled cry left your lips as you let your hand leave the tile. Sukuna was beyond pleased when you twisted his short hair into your fist and tugged, beginning to practically ride his face. 

“Fucking starving today, y’know?” he huffed in between filthy slurps. “Acting all shy for what, when your body is this fuckin’ slutty. Think I wouldn’t notice, huh?”

He went on and on, pausing to languidly roll his thick tongue over your pulsing clit. Sukuna sucked it into his mouth, nose buried between the crevice of your ass. You couldn’t respond, rendered to stupidity as ragged breaths left your lungs. The only time the man under you pulled away was to spit directly onto your pussy before diving back in. 

“P-pull away, gah, pull away, Ryo. M’gonna-,” you whined before being rudely cut off. Sukuna chokes on a curse at the nickname you have for him, and he wraps his arms around your waist. You’re sitting on his face, spasming with a cry as he begins shaking his head to the best of his ability. He’s a certified munch for a reason, devouring you from the back as you release all over his face with a strangled cry. 

You wiped the water from your face and slumped against the tiles. A kiss was planted against your ass, and then another. 

“Fucking hell. Should have done this sooner. Much sooner,” he muttered as he eventually rose to his feet. Sukuna’s knees ached, but it was worth it. “Pussy tastes sweeter than anything I’ve ever had.”

You managed to focus your eyes on him, face undeniably flushed as you pushed yourself away from the tiles. It did something to you to see Sukuna so pussydrunk and hard in his boxers. Somewhere along the way, he had tossed his shorts aside, which was perfect. His erection was straining against the fabric, and you took that as an invitation to sling an arm over his bulky shoulder. Your other hand slid down his torso, dipping in every curve of muscle it could find. You left his pecs alone, deciding to squeeze them another day. 

“Oh, oh. You want this as much as I do?” he teased before stopping himself from speaking anymore once he saw the look in your hazy eyes. You didn’t want sex. Not today, at least. So you settled on timidly freeing his length from his underwear and brushing your thumb over the flushed tip. The larger man almost moaned aloud when you rested your forehead against his chest and looked down, a soft noise of awe escaping your mouth at how deliciously thick his cock was. All thoughts of covering the stretchmarks on your hips, the thickness of your thighs, all of it… they were long forgotten at that moment. You started stroking his length almost lovingly, and you heard the slight crack in his usually confident voice.

“Hahhh, s-shit. Got a reaaal sweet pair of hands on you, don’t you, pretty girl?” he simpered, raising your head with a hand and affectionately resting his warm forehead against yours. The way Sukuna praised you had you doubling your efforts, wrist twisting as you pumped him earnestly. 

The water kept running, but Sukuna could worry about the bill another day. A chorus of guttural growls left him, strokes growing increasingly slick with his precum. The periodic twitches spurred you on, your eyes lighting up the closer he came to orgasm. Your gaze broke away when Sukuna’s lips pressed against your temple in a feverish manner, aaall the way down until he could claim your lips once more. The slight musky taste of your own slick graced your mouth. You should’ve pulled away, but you enjoyed the way his saliva mixed with yours.

“W-woah, there. Steady, fuck. I’m about to cum-”

One last flick of the wrist and a sweet peck on the cheek was all Sukuna needed to cum all over your fingers with a final grunt of your name. His release was warm, ropes of it shooting up to his abs. The urge to pop your fingers into your mouth grew, but the water washed it away. Neither of you spoke for a minute, trying to gather your wits about the change in dynamic between you. The steam continued to swirl around you both, providing a more intimate cocoon for you to relax in.

“Let me wash you up, yeah? Can’t be going home half-cleaned,” Sukuna murmured after pulling back from your face, trying as gently as he could to wipe the sodden strands of hair off of your face. He’s made a mess of you, but you were a gorgeous mess. One he’d happily devour a million times over. 

“Ah, well. That’s your fault, no? I suppose you should be the one taking responsibility,” you laughed weakly, mild exhaustion setting in. The orgasm combined with the heat of the shower was getting unbearable, and you wanted to leave. Sukuna picked up on this, making quick work of cleaning you both up. 

“Is that so, hm? Let me take you out then. Properly,” he said, followed by a nip at your ear. Large hands rubbed at your skin, thumbing at the curve of your waist. A swat of your hand landed on his chest, but Sukuna didn’t pull away. Oh, he was deathly serious. 

“...Yes, please.”

divider creds - @cursed-carmine

[twizzie-lairs]

My Darling, My Honey

Alastor X Fem!Reader (Part 11)

Have a nice big chapter/part for the weekend! :D

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 |

Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11

Part 11:

Did.. did Charlie just say... Alastor?

You felt someone poke your face, multiple times, all at once, "Hey, Hey, miss bandage face, you good?"

You blink rapidly, being pulled out of your stupor and laugh awkwardly, "Ah haha, uh yeah. Yup, I'm good... Haha, thanks Angel.."

Angel just squints at you, not convinced of your act at all but just sighs and says, "Alright, whatever you say, weirdo.." and then returns back to chatting with Husk.

Vaggie, who was sitting next to you struck up a conversation, "Are you really sure you're okay to be up and around already? You look like you saw a ghost or something."

You briefly glanced at the radio that was sitting on the mantle on the wall before returning your attention to Vaggie, "Yeah, being up was much better than sitting doing nothing, I thought I was going to waste away if I didn't do something."

Vaggie sighs and nods her head, "I know the feeling."

"And.. I swear I thought I heard Charlie mention the name Al-"

"Alastor! You're back! We have a new guest staying at the hotel! Come say hi!" Charlie shot out of her seat as soon as she saw Alastor's shadows start to manifest, signaling his return.

You felt your blood run cold as your suspicions were confirmed. Yes, she just said Alastor. How common could that name be down here? This is just a coincidence, surely- Of all names!

"My, my dear Charlie, you seem quite excited! I haven't seen you bouncing off the walls like this in ages!" Alastor chuckles as he allows Charlie to practically drag him over by the wrist to the group.

He sounds like a radio host...

Your breath starts to quicken as Charlie guides him over to you, his aura feels so oppressive, unlike any Overlord you had ever met before... But what made your hair really stand on the back of your neck was the static noise that filled the air as he got closer. You felt your eyes shake and your gut sink in your stomach.

What was this feeling?

You gulp and look up, eyes wide, looking like a deer in headlights as you make eye contact with this "Alastor".

"Go on! Introduce yourself!" You felt Charlie nudge you excitedly, in an attempt to nudge you out of your frozen state.

On his face, a large, creepy grin/smile- (if you could even call it that) grew even larger on his face - a feat you didn't even know was possible. You felt like you should be scared but then... It dawned on you.

That feeling in your gut dissipated instantly and it felt like a weight got suddenly lifted off your chest.

This was Alastor. This was your Alastor.

Tears start rolling down your face uncontrollably as your body is racked with sobs.

"Heyyy! Hey! It's okay, (y/n)! I know Al can be a wee bit intimidating sometimes but I promise he's not a bad guy! Well... mostly.. haha..." Charlie trails off with a nervous chuckle as she scrambles around the lobby to find you some tissues to dry your tears.

Upon hearing your name said out loud, a loud record scratch filled the air.

"Haha... ha...Charlie, dearest! My, you'd think the years are catching up to me! Was that some sort of joke? Why, I didn't know you wanted to become a comedian! Did you say.. (y/n)? That must be a mistake. I've only ever known one person by that name and they surely couldn't have ended up in Hell of all places!" Alastor chuckles, the laugh track coming from his staff warping as he hovers over Charlie with an intimidating aura- thinking she was playing some sort of sick joke on him.

Charlie whips around to see Alastor up in her face and then she scrambles back, "Woah! What? Alastor! Gods, no, why would I joke about our new guest? That would go against everything i'm trying to do here!"

Alastor's gaze darts over to you, "You see, I think this '(y/n)' and I need to have a chat..." His eyes narrow as he makes quotation marks with his fingers as he says your name.

He walks towards you and grabs your wrist with force, finger like claws starting to dig into your arm- despite protest from Charlie and Vaggie to let you go- to stop harassing their new guest because you were still quite injured and fragile. Even Angel and Husk got up from their seats at the bar after hearing the commotion in the lounge and started yelling at him to stop hurting you because it was very apparent that you were in pain with how rough he was handling you.

Then, with a snap, he teleports you and himself up to his radio tower- away from all the commotion.

Alastor slams the door shut with a fury that you've never seen before, and locks it to make sure you won't even try to make a feeble attempt at an escape.

He was powerful. Alastor knew he didn't really need to lock the door because with his power, he could vaporize you before you even thought of making a dash for the door. He did it as an intimidation tactic because he knew the fear it instilled in his prey.

Now, walking towards you, he pointed his staff at your chest, and leaned in close to your face. Strange static and symbols fill the air as he and his antlers grow in size, towering over you.

"Now... who are you really? You get one chance to make a feeble excuse before I kill you and broadcast your screams for all of Hell to hear, for making a mockery of my dear (y/n) by taking the name of my beloved and masquerading around Hell- thinking you can show up here like this to try and mess with ME- tHe RaDiO DEMON."

You see dark shadows and tentacle-like masses appear, and you stumble backward until your back hits a wall, never breaking eye contact with him- your lip quivering in fear.

"I.. But- It... is me...hun... I missed you so much..." You whisper with a somber smile that's quickly warped into an ugly crying face. The unrelenting tears keep rolling down your face, and your left hand reaches up towards his even more demonically altered form that towers over you in a desperate attempt to get him to recognize you.

Before you can touch his face, one of his hands snatches your wrist and pulls it closer to himself to examine the sparkle that caught his eye as you started to reach out to him, roughly jostling you and lifting you up in the air by your wrist as a result.

You wince briefly at the pain in your wrist and shoulder joints as he examines your hand when you remember you were wearing your ring. You never took it off all these years.

You could hear his breath hitch just ever so slightly over the static as he gently put you down and let your feet touch the floor again.

Alastor realized that the ring on your left ring finger was the exact one he had gotten for you- the one he put on your ring finger right before he buried you right the night you were brutally assaulted and murdered back when he was alive.

He slowly morphed back into his "normal" form. (Normal for Hell, that is, this was an entirely new look for him from what you remembered when he was alive).

The shock dawning on him that it really was you was apparent as he took a few steps back, still holding your hand. He looked at you in disbelief, the look of pure shock was just like how you had looked at him initially in the lobby.

Then suddenly, he pulled you into a warm embrace, "My dearest... I am so sorry for hurting you. My darling... whatever are you doing here? Someone like you doesn't belong here!"

Now, holding your face in both of his hands, he wiped your tears with the most gentle expression on his face, a stark contrast from the nightmarish demonic one just a moment ago. and you could almost swear you could see the slightest traces of a misty look in his eyes as he held you.

His claw-like fingers slightly dug into your face, but not enough to hurt, as he examined your new appearance, his gaze turning from soft into a hardened expression once again. Almost snarling, he began to ask you again, "Tell me, darling, tell me the name of the gods forsaken angel bastard that cast you down from Heaven. I will find a way to make them pay. I'll make them ALL pay for this... NO ONE will ever harm you again..." The strange symbols and glitchy auras were threatening to come out again.

You sniffled, still trying to calm down your tears, which immediately made him halt in his tracks and turn his attention back to you at this moment.

You looked at the ground, and you knew you couldn't avoid this conversation forever, "Hun... I... Before we met... there was something I never told you-" Before you could finish, you felt your legs start to wobble underneath you- the adrenaline was starting to fade and you were starting to feel some of the pain from your previous injuries come back to you.

"Please, my love, take a seat first." He guided you to a set of a table and two chairs. Ever the gentleman, he pulled your chair out for you and helped made sure you were alright before he sat down across the table from you.

You put your hands on the table, a signal he immediately picked up on as a sign to envelop your hands in his. You looked at him in the eyes with a look of shame that scrunched up your face as you prepared to tell him the truth, "Alastor, hun... I never went to Heaven..."

You swore you heard another record scratch before a quiet hum of static filled the air again. Alastor chuckled, "Oh my dear, never lost your sense of humor, I see!"

A look of even deeper shame washes over your face as you break eye contact with him and stare at his hands that held your's on the table, "It's true. Alastor..." You sigh deeply, feeling an aching pain in your chest, not only from your injuries but also from the mental anguish you were dealing with as you shakily begin to explain everything about your past. Your shitty family and messed-up inlaws. Your narcissistic, unloving, and abusive ex-husband that you killed.

You painstakingly revealed every single minute detail. You told him everything.

-> Part 12

Tag List:

@mysticwitchcraftco @lil-bexie @lonely-burger @cherry-cola-100 @angelxx7 @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 @avitute @justhellacesome @mcrtrashfan @spookysisters

[lay-z]

✨️ Day 4 ‒ Mama's boy

Synopsis: Captain Price knows he can count on his team; no matter what and no matter when. He knows it and his soldiers know it, too. 1–4–1. Still, to say you were shocked when he’d asked you to play his darling girlfriend at his annual family Christmas gathering, is an understatement.  

Pairing: John Price x fem!Reader  Warnings/Info: No smut. | military!Reader; humour; fake dating (or is it???); awkward flirting; sexual tension; cussing; fluff; happy ending; teammates to lovers 

Word count: 2.4k 

↳ back to 🎅🏼 Masterlist ☃️

This is for the lovely @staytrueblue ! You've become the absolute Captain John Price expert to me. Hope you'll like it! 🩵

You pick at the hem of your dress; deep red velvet with elegant long sleeves, a tight top with a Carmen neckline which allows a peek of the soft curve of your shoulders, and a bottom that flows seamlessly into a skirt that reaches just above your knees.

A white pearl choker adorns your neck, along with the matching earrings. You’ve done your hair and make-up, and added a spritz of your most expensive perfume – and you don’t question yourself why you’re even doing this much, but perhaps it’s simply the all-consuming urge to please and impress your Captain, like an eager pup with its owner.

You’ve cleaned up nicely for tonight and you’d be more focused on that if it wasn’t for that tight ball of anxiety manifesting deep down in your gut since this whole ruse had taken root a few days ago. It didn’t help when Price gave you a genuine compliment after picking you up from your apartment on base, either.

Trying to relax back into the soft leather of the passenger seat, you decide to glance out of the window and distract yourself by watching the steady storm of snowflakes flutter furiously outside, covering the scenery in fresh powdery snow while the engine of the car purrs steadily.

Aston Martin Vantage. V8. British racing green. Jet-black rims. Sleek interior. Holy shit.

You’ve never sat in a car like this before, nor did you expect Price to own something fancy and flashy like this. Then again, you didn’t expect him to ask for this favour, either.

“Would you stop worrying, darling? You’ll be fine.”

Your eyebrow quirks as you glance at Price, giving him a side-eye as you hear how casually he drops that pet name in that gruff voice of his. It shouldn’t feel like this, this right, shouldn’t make the hair at the back of your neck bristle this pleasantly.

Darling.

“Getting into character already, sir?” You can’t help but ask teasingly, unable not to take the piss out of this whole situation you’ve found yourself in.

Your Captain and superior asking you, one of his Sergeants of all people, to accompany him to his annual family Christmas get together, and what a shit show it is going to be. You’re sure of it.

However, Price huffs, brows furrowing as he keeps his sharp eyes focused on the snowy road.

“Might as well,” he counters curtly, “and stop calling me ‘sir’, will ya? We’re not on duty and I need this – us – to be believable.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you make a dismissive gesture with your hand, pondering for a moment before turning your head to really take a good look at him this time.

John looks handsome, too handsome and too civilian, wearing a dark grey chequered pair of chino pants that accentuates his firm rear a little too well, with black dress shoes and a simple black turtleneck sweater that stretches over his broad chest, shoulders and bulging biceps.

The cab of his car is cosy warm and filled with the scent of his tangy yet subtle cologne, a smell that makes you want to hook a finger into the hem of his turtleneck sweater, tug the fabric down to expose his neck and then bury your nose in it to take a sniff.

Yes, no, you’re absolutely normal about all of this.

Your eyelashes flutter as you blink those thoughts away at once, clearing your throat awkwardly.

“So, uh... W-What should I call you, then? Honey buns? Babe?” You quip and cringe internally at your own joke, though you’re gauging his reaction as he drives over to his parents' house.

“Baby? ... Good boy?”

His jaw clenches under his beard, you can see it in the way his temple twitches, and the leather of the steering wheel creaks softly as he grips it tighter. Interesting.

“John is fine,” he answers eventually, “Sweetheart or love if you’re feeling bold enough after a glass of wine, ya bloody lightweight.”

“Sweetheart... Love...” You repeat those pet names quietly, testing them out on your tongue regarding him, still your Captain and superior – and the man you’ve been harbouring feelings for, for the past few years, if you’ll finally start to be really honest with your damn self.

“Okay, I can do that.”

He reaches over and pats your knee; the warmth of his rough palm seeping through the thin fabric of your black tights, “I know you can, darling.”

The first few minutes were incredibly awkward, but that’s just you – being incredibly awkward in general.

Put yourself in any gunfight, jumping out of planes, fake dating Gaz or Soap for a mission, or stalking a target for days on end without a break – no problemo, – but social interactions outside of the field? One such as this?

Oh, boy.

However, you stick to the plan, to the detailed briefing John has given you prior to tonight, and it does seem to work.

His father, William, is surprisingly chatty, but you could also already smell the bourbon on his breath when he went in for a brief hug at the front door.

His mother, Margaret, though, she’s not an easy read, and you quickly realize where your Captain got his steadfastness from. A proper lady who’s obviously the head of this household. He’s got her piercing eyes and appraising look, and you know you’re being scrutinized thoroughly, but she’s friendly enough and gives you space, though you’re already anticipating the moment she’s going to herd you away from her son to put you through the wringer like a wet kitchen towel.

His older brother, Robert, wife Deborah, and two kids, Luke and Ben, are easy to fool, though it seems old Bobby gets a kick out of trying to make his younger brother and especially you flustered. It doesn’t work on John, but after a first glass of wine, you have to admit that it does work on you.

Robert is even less funny than John and that’s just because he’s trying too hard; trying too hard to make everyone like him, and you wonder why John lets him get away with it, but then again, Robert’s the firstborn son, so maybe it’s just the respect John is forced to have for his older brother that’s holding him back. Classical sibling and brother hierarchies, and all of that.

“Say, how did Johnny even manage to woe a woman like you? He’s as charming as an ice pick that one.” Robert dares to ask during dinner, and you actually get offended by that.

“Charming enough for me,” you retort, staring daggers at him and wishing you had an ice pick to throw right about now, “I prefer a straightforward man over some bootlicker.”

Deborah laughs while Robert looks bewildered, eyes flickering between you and John, who’s seated next to you. You cringe internally at yet another blunder, but then you see John’s smug smile out of the corner of your eyes, and his hand finds your knee again under the table, lingering there for the remainder of dinner.

His mother keeps watching and observing from her seat across from you at the long table, a small smile tugging at the corner of her red-painted, wrinkly lips.

John’s younger sister, Alice, shows up right after dinner, before everyone is moved back into the spacious living room to exchange presents; with the large, decorated Christmas tree looming in the corner next to the fireplace, where the birch wood is already crackling nicely.

Alice is an artist, a photographer, living in Paris. Her flight got delayed due to the weather, hence why she’s late. It’s clear by the way John pulls her into a tight hug while simultaneously calling her a muppet that he prefers her over Robert.

She’s a cold breeze of fresh air; a whirlwind full of buzzing energy, joy and kindness, and she would almost be too much for you in any other situation, but when she embraces you gleefully and welcomes you into the family, it’s too easy to get lost in that fantasy for a moment.

This whole ruse is starting to turn cruel on you, really.

Especially, when John’s large and warm hand comes to rest on the small of your back, just above the curve of your rear, once Alice demands to take a picture of you two in front of the Christmas tree. You glance up at him as he towers next to you, smiling boyishly at his little sister while he pulls you closer into his side, one arm curling around your waist and making you go somewhat rigid as you practically feel his strength and dominance radiating off his body, and there is a touch of possession in the way he’s holding you, too.

Or perhaps, you’re simply imagining it.

A sudden camera flash goes off, blindsiding you momentarily and you blink away the dots blurring your vision when Alice speaks up again.

“Alright, thanks for the mugshot, cherié,” she quips, snapping her fingers at you as if to wake you up, “Give me a good one now, aye? I need to capture proof that John actually brought a woman home for once. Look at your poor man; bloody sap’s completely infatuated with you.”

Infatuated? You blink dumbly and glance up at him instinctively as if to check for that yourself, acting as if you could tell how said infatuation would even look like.

And then, your stomach drops and the blood in your veins starts simmering, toes curling in your pumps to ground yourself as soon as your eyes lock with his slightly glazed, steel blue eyes, like a steady flow of ice melting in a rivulet.

Sometime, somehow, in this moment, your hand reaches up to rest on his chest, manicured fingers splaying over the fabric of his sweater to feel his strong heartbeat thudding against your palm–

... and then, Alice coos at you two – breaking the spell.

“Yes! That’s more like it, cherié!”

You excuse yourself after Alice gets the perfect picture to her liking, and before John can follow you, his mother urgently calls out to him, asking for his help in the kitchen.

Meanwhile, you almost feel bad that Alice’s family photo album will have a staged picture of a fake relationship in it, one that will taint it with a big, fat lie.

It shouldn’t be like this. You shouldn’t be here tonight and yet, you are, after having agreed way too quickly and eagerly to the Captain’s request to play his girlfriend and help getting his family to back off.

Now, you find yourself wandering the hallways upstairs of his old family home, where he grew up in, you’d learned; sipping your glass of white wine absentmindedly while you study the rows upon rows of pictures littering the walls, like a walkway through time.

It feels like overstepping a boundary, but John should’ve expected you, a trained special forces soldier, to sneak off at some point to snoop around a bit; he never explicitly told you not to, after all.

You get stuck on graduation pictures of all three siblings, though your eyes linger on John, standing at attention in his dress uniform; tall, handsome, very beardless and fifteen years younger, at least, and you catch your smile before it can spread into something too fond.

Taking another slow sip, you feel a familiar presence behind you; still, you wait for him to address you first and maybe chew you out for being nosy.

“Don’t get caught up in the past, darling,” his gruff voice cuts through the peaceful silence, “I’ve long lost that youthful charm and vigour.” He chuckles gruffly.

Darling. There it is again.

“You can drop the act when we’re alone,” you mumble into the glass as you take another sip, trying to get rid of that damn flutter of nerves deep in your stomach, “I’m positive we’ve fooled them well enough tonight, sir.”

His footsteps are dulled by the carpet covering the hardwood floor as he keeps approaching you from behind, and your grip tightens around the wine glass, nearly shattering the delicate glass, when John’s powerful arms come to wrap around your midriff from behind; his buff body moulding against your back like it’s meant to be.

Admittedly, you go rigid again, holding your breath, stiff as a board.

His breath is warm, a hint of smooth bourbon catching in your nostrils as he leans in to murmur against your ear while his arms tighten around your waist, “I told you to stop calling me ‘sir’, haven’t I? Mhm, darling?”

You shudder involuntarily in his sudden embrace, this forbidden intimacy, breath hitching as your brain begins to short-circuit at once.

“Yeah… You did,” you croak out, voice coming out too breathlessly for your own liking, “But there’s no one to fool here right now, John.”

His chest rumbles and reverberates against your back with something like a pleased hum when you use his first name.

“Not trying to fool anyone, love. ’s just you and me now. ‘sides–”

He then nuzzles his nose against the exposed juncture where your neck meets your shoulder, trailing the tip of his nose along the smooth curve while his beard scratches over your skin pleasantly.

“My bloody mother knew the moment we stepped over the threshold of this house. Thought I’d trained ya better than tha’, Sergeant, or were you not faking any of this after all, hm?”

Despite your better judgement, you allow yourself to lean into his embrace, feeling his body heat seeping through the velvety fabric of your dress.

“Were you?” You counter-ask overzealously, tongue loosened by the alcohol you’ve already consumed, before biting down on your bottom lip, though you can’t take your question back to swallow the words like you probably should have.

“Faking it… I mean.” You add, clearing your throat awkwardly as you continue clutching your wine glass.

There is a heavy pause, one that has your pulse thrumming violently in your neck with each passing second of his silence, until John’s low, gravelly voice murmurs, his lips brushing over that sensitive spot right below your ear.

“Thought I was already being terribly obvious, darling.”

[doiliedaze]

Match Me

Warnings: nothing just fluff and soft kisses

Genre: fluff

A/n: im dyeing my birthday wig and I imagine doing shit like that with my butch so boom this idea was created; hopefully it manifests LMAOOOO

───────┈ · ·

Vi loved home projects and she especially loves doing them with her girlfriend! So she got a bright idea…

“Babe! Have you seen my wig?” You yell from your shared bedroom as you see the wig missing from its stand. You have a 613, 22 inch wig prepped and ready to be dyed except it’s gone now.

“Yeah it’s on my head!” She yells back and you scurry to the bathroom. Vi sees your things and likes to play in it, she thinks the girly stuff you like is interesting! However she can be quite clumsy and has broken a makeup pallet or two.

When you go to the bathroom it was actually not on her head and on your other wig stand.

“Okay before you say anything I kidnapped your wig because I have to re-fresh my hair and I was thinking what if we had matching hair? It feels kinda stupid to say out loud but I thought it be nice…” she got a bit shy towards the end and her cheeks change to a rose hue. Vi likes to do cutesy couple stuff but she’s always ashamed asking you about it.

“Of course I want to match with you” you lean up and peck her plump lips.

Vi wraps her arms around your waist and kisses you deeper but you pull away before it turns into something more passionate. Which is a common occurrence for you two.

Happily vi set up both of your stations, you prefer the water method when it comes to dyeing weave so vi set everything up by the tub for you. She doesn’t care for gloves when dyeing her own hair whilst you wear two to make sure it doesn’t seep onto your nails.

The silence and occasional giggles when the two of you looked back at the other.

“Can you help me reach my roots cupcake?” She pouts as your wringing the water off the wig. You know she can reach, she just wants your touch.

She sat on the floor in-between your thighs. Her fingers drawing shapes onto your legs and pinching your calves here and there. “Thank you” She whispers, her body almost leaning into yours. “Anytime baby” you whisper back as you massage her scalp.

Vi hasn’t know much comfort let alone a family structure so you aim to make her feel as loved as possible.

You wash the excess dye out her hair and you do the same to the wig.

“Can I install the wig for you?” She says with a small smile, “you may help me style it but install is a no.” You say patting her cheek causing her to pout.

“Why not?”

“Last time you poked several holes in my lace so no!” You bop her nose and you go to move the wig onto the wig stand.

“Can I at least blow dry it?” Your mind goes back to the time she yanked the wig too hard by accident and a rip a little bit out but you push it to the side.

“Uh sure just let my hand guide yours!”

The two of you spent the eve of your birthday, doing hair and talking. This is a bliss the both of you never imagined you’d be in but you’re so grateful to be here.

───────┈ · ·

Dividers- @thecutestgrotto

Taglist: @manfuckthisimout @bambishaven @femme-historian @furrytaesss @milanyas @highnfemme @5seos

[remiivu]

Ghostly Companion- Chapter 1

Link on Ao3! Currently rated Teen but may go up to Mature/Explicit

Masterlist Next Chapter -->

A Mr. Crawling x Reader fic (that may expand into a series!)

This is the first time that I've written anything like this in the past 5 years, so give me some slack if it's bad or cringey lol (also the first fic on Tumblr!)

Set in the ending (and series of events) where you take him home! I've done a few playthroughs so some parts may not be fully accurate, but I'll do my best!

No warnings-- just some minor cursing here and there. 1.8k words!

Enjoy!

 Note: Words in italics are in the ghost language. The blocks represent words reader doesn't understand.

You…

Honestly, you weren’t quite sure what happened these past 24 hours. Half of your now fully-conscious brain had settled on this being some sort of twisted hallucination you experienced after inhaling the noxious spores from some weird mushroom during your bravery challenge. But, the other, half-insane half-sane side of your mind simply cannot deny the manifestation of your nightmares sitting right across from you, a sharp smile stretching from ear to ear and a mop of strangely neat black hair swallowing its figure.

It? He? That, too, was something you didn’t know. Hell, the thing never stood up, and the noises that creaked from its throat were far from human.

But… It was nice. It helped you. It followed you, shielded you, and the pure, radiant happiness it exuded when you proposed, in broken ghostly-language, for it to join you hardly came across as malicious or non-sentient. It had feelings, and while some parts were… wrong, surely, it was owed some sort of humanity, you reasoned.

And so, it became a he, and then a Mr. Crawling-- the highlight of your creativity, truly. You doubted he understood the significance of the slightly different noises coming out of your mouth as you called to him, but still, it was the least you could do.

“... not… go?” He asked, head tilted as he sat patiently on the ground, lanky grayed limbs bent awkwardly into some mix between a w-shape and a regular sitting position. You think he said something else as well, but honestly, you were exhausted, and you hadn’t really had much time to truly learn his language.

“...” You sighed again, looking at him, then your surroundings. You had popped out right where you had started– or somewhere near it, at least, as you recognized the spooky decorations nailed and wrapped around trees. You were back in the forest you had entered before being sucked into… something. At least the light rain had stopped, leaving damp soil and the smell of petrichor to fill your senses instead of the… yeah.

Well, besides, you had nothing on you. Right– it was all in your bag that, for some reason, wasn’t brought alongside the rest of you.

“Need…” you paused, hesitating. How did you say bag? Scrounging through all the corners of your mind left you with a blank, and you searched for the next best thing.

Which would be bucket. Fuck.

Mr. Crawling tilted his head the other way, mouth flattening slightly in what you presume to be confusion. “You… ∎∎∎” he uttered something that didn’t spark a single click of recognition in your brain. “∎∎∎… ∎∎∎. ∎∎∎∎∎∎. Help?” 

You gave one nod. “Yeah, help. Uhm… bucket… “ You made the attempt of drawing out what it looked like in the dirt while ignoring the small amount of embarrassment that rose in your chest at your horrific attempt to communicate.

You jabbed at the middle of the drawing of your rather simple bag. “Uh- blood.” You muttered, figuring it was the closest thing to whatever the actual word for red was.

Mr. Crawling frowned a bit, then chirped a “Me help you ∎∎∎ bucket! ∎∎∎ ∎∎∎∎?” With a much more pleasant smile. 

You nodded, “Yeah, thanks. Ok, so… I guess we’ll split up?”

Mr. Crawling stared blankly with that dopey smile and you sighed, standing up. You felt a little bad for making a… disabled ghost? Yeah, a disabled ghost do some of the work. Shoeless and possibly pant-less

Damn. You’ve stooped down low these past few hours.

_____________________________

Honestly, you were surprised at just how efficient a disabled ghost was when left in the dark, blind, and in an environment he’s never been in before. Just as you were about to give up and start heading back into civilization, you heard a gleeful, familiar bone-chilling giggle followed by “Me ∎∎∎ bucket blood!”

Your head shoots up, “You did?!” As you rushed off to the bushes where he had wandered off. 

You let out a sigh of relief as you spotted the familiar bag, grabbing it from Mr. Crawling’s hands. “Thank you,” you smiled, weary but grateful, as Mr. Crawling giggled once again.

“Happy! Happy!” He said, reaching out to pat your head again.

You found yourself letting out a small laugh as well at the unusually tender action, giving your bag a quick once-over to confirm everything was there. When you spotted your phone, you quickly tapped on the screen, letting out a quick breath of relief as it lights up only for it to immediately be followed by a small wince.

Over 50 missed calls and 100 messages… yikes. And with a glance at the time and date, you understood why. Turns out, your sense of time was rather accurate– it had been just over a day since your disappeared.

“Hurt? You hurt?” Mr. Crawling asked, leaning in close to do his ghost-equivalent of looking. Honestly, you can’t be bothered to question why, how, or even what he’s seeing when all you’ve noticed on his face was a deep red wound in place of his eyes. 

“No,” You shake your head. “Uhm. It’s, uhm, humans. Humans worry… no– me worry humans.” You explained the best you could, standing up again. Mr. Crawling looks up, confused. 

“You safe.” He says, crawling towards you rather slowly. “Humans ∎∎∎?” 

You shake your head. “Go together with me.” You say with a bit of force. The desire to get home and in bed overshadows much of anything else that could run through your mind.

Mr. Crawling, however, doesn’t seem to mind your curtness, breaking out into another small fit of uncanny giggles as he follows after you, letting out a small mantra of “Together together together together!”

With half fondness and half exasperation, you trudge on with a smile, feeling like this experience was more akin to a person walking their dog rather than a human leading a ghost to their home. Which… you choose to think about another day. You really, really don’t want to contemplate any more images of your death.

You were so tired.

But, after nearly half an hour of much slower-than typical walking, your patience was wearing thin.

As it turns out, disabled ghosts walk– crawl much slower on slippery, uneven terrain than their familiar concrete floors. You’ve had to slow significantly so that Mr. Crawling wouldn’t get too tangled up in roots and rocks, and a part of you worried for the safety of his bare legs, but every passing glance resulted in a tiny glimpse of smooth, unharmed skin. You assume he was taking extra care to ensure he doesn’t get hurt.

But, still, every passing hour drains your phone’s limited battery and therefore your limited ability to navigate through whatever area of the city you wind up in upon exiting the mountains. You really couldn’t afford to keep slowing down or to risk losing your understanding of where to walk by circling around roots and trees. They had passed most of the decorations by now, leaving only trees and the very faint noise of any rare passing cars.

Eventually, you kneel back down, waving at him to get his attention. “Mr. Crawling.” You hum, watching as he perked up.

“∎∎∎!” He chirped, getting to your position in a few seconds.

“Me…” You hesitate. “... Me you… up.” You said, staring at him to see whether or not he understood. You were sure that, without… a lot of things necessary for life, he would be light enough for you to carry. Sure, you weren’t the fittest of the bunch, but you were healthy and exercised. In fact, you’re sure that your physical health was the only reason you lasted that long in that death trap.

His head tilted, then he grinned. “... Me you ∎∎∎?”

You sighed, contemplating. That was a vaguely familiar word, and you could almost hear something else in your memories having said it.

But before you could actually responded, Mr. Crawling lunged up at you, bringing you down to the ground in one swift motion. You let out a scream, your throat raw and strained by now, but settled in once you realized where you were.

“Mr. Crawling, what are you–?” You let out a half-scream of shock as he began to scoot across the floor with his legs, holding you firmly in his lap, cold yet sturdy arms caging you in.

He giggled, “Me ∎∎∎! Me ∎∎∎ you!”

Your jaw dropped, and then the word clicks– carry! Well, carry or lift or hold– something along those lines. You remembered that decapitated head speaking it. The head that you had left behind in the hands of that… goat thing.

“Me carry you!” Mr. Crawling giggled, and honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that this was twice as slow as their previous pace (an actual snail’s pace) you might’ve just stayed here and squeezed a nap in.

“Wait, no– no!” You wiggled, trying to loosen his arms. You couldn’t– not through sheer force, as his arms felt like stone bricks, but he loosened his hold on his own, leaning in far too close and spewing out a cycle of: “Hurt? Hurt? Damaged? You sad?” 

You sighed, shaking your head. Well, at least now you know the word. “No, me carry you. Me carry you.” You said, trying to convey through hand motions that it would be faster.

Then… Mr. Crawling giggled. Laughed. Directly at your face. “You carry me? Me ∎∎∎, you ∎∎∎!” 

In your heart, you knew you were being laughed at, and you felt heat rushing to your ears as you sputtered in indignation. “What– listen, I can carry you! You’re not even alive, so you probably don’t have water or blood or any other thing in you that makes you as heavy as–”

“Cute!” Mr. Crawling cooed with another giggle, playing with your ears, his fingers gentle despite how coarse they felt. The coolness of them actually felt… nice against your burning ears.

You balked, “You–!”

Your breath was interrupted as cement arms wrapped around you again and his butt-scooting continued. 

“Hey, I– !”

“You ∎∎∎ rest!” He said happily, strong legs picking up the pace and pushing small mounds of dirt across the forest floor.

Well… that was actually amendable. Maybe you’d get to the city before sunrise at this pace.

“Rest rest!” He said, one arm reaching up to pat your head. “You ∎∎∎! You rest! You safe.”

You let out another sigh, though you hardly put any heart into it, leaning against him more as you felt the rhythmic stop and push of him quite literally dragging the both of us to safety.

A disabled ghost… helping a fully-capable human move.

You snort, letting your eyes fall shut.

What has your life become?

And that's all! Thank you so much for stopping by! If you're interested, I just wanted to add some notes for anybody paying a bit more attention to minor details in this fic.

Yes, the reader is exhausted and far too tired to ask why a ghost who "can't use his legs" is currently using them as a motor to propel them across the forest floor. Give them some slack! They nearly died about 3 times lmao. (And I have mentally planned out a timeframe where they realize this exact piece of info)

I am aiming for the reader to be completely G/N (for our rare male players) but I may slip up and call them she/her or accidentally follow the canon a bit too closely.

Honestly, while it is based in Japan, most of my understanding outside of some rare visits comes from anime. So, in my head, the local high school was hosting a bravery challenge up in the forest on the mountains and the reader was dragged along with their friends (reader is a working young adult, ~25 years old). In my world, the city they live in is maybe 40 minutes away from that specific area in the mountains. I'm contemplating making the reader American-Japanese (who resides in the US and visited Japan for a vacation to meet up with old friends, or something like that).

Yes, I know that "bucket" in the ghost language isn't correct (the correct word is "container" or something more vague like that) but I can't recall if the reader gets to go to the SOS room on this route where Mr. Crawler refers to the pencil case/make-up bag with that same word, so their only experience would be learning the word through buckets with Mr. Hood.

I may accidentally call Mr. Crawling "Mr. Crawler." I'm pretty sure I haven't done that in this fic, but this is simply a warning for the future lmao.

That's all! Thanks again!^^

Masterlist Next Chapter -->

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[shaun-p]

Superpowerd Stink: Part 1

Jayce (top image)

Willis (bottom image)

Like many others in my world, I manifested my powers during puberty. The first time it happened, I accidentally broke a vase with my mind during an argument. From that point on, life at home got... complicated. My emerging telekinetic abilities made day-to-day living unpredictable and tense, barley 1% of humans have supernatural abilities, and my parents, being your run of the mill powerless humans didn’t make things any better.

So, like most teenagers with supernatural abilities, I was sent off to a private academy to hone my powers. After high school, I enrolled at one of the most prestigious hero colleges in the U.S.—Ridgemore U. Becoming an actual superhero had never really interested me, but I figured there had to be other ways I could use my abilities to help people.

The dorms on campus were large and surprisingly spacious, with sleek, futuristic sliding doors that had to be at least nine feet tall, clearly built to accommodate a wide variety of students with unique traits. As I stepped into my room and began unpacking, I found myself wondering, What kind of freak needs doors that tall?

That’s when my roommate arrived.

A towering, muscular young man ducked slightly under the doorframe to enter the room. My jaw nearly dropped. He introduced himself as Willis Miller, and his enormous hand completely engulfed mine in a handshake.

"Uh... Jayce, nice to meet you," I answered awkwardly.

Willis was a miniature giant among men. His presence alone filled the room. As we both unpacked our things, I couldn’t help but sneak glances at him when he wasn’t looking. Beyond his height, he was honestly kind of stunning dark brown hair almost black, a strong jawline, a thick, athletic linebacker build, and a slight red flush on his cheeks. His school-logo t-shirt was drenched at the armpits and stretched over his torso, showcasing his broad shoulders, solid pecs, and huge arm muscles. But the part that really drew my attention was his ass perfectly round and far too tempting not to notice. Every time he bent down to dig something out of his duffel bag, my eyes drifted back to it.

As we got settled, we started talking and getting to know each other. Eventually, we revealed our powers. Willis shared that he was the son of the former hero ,Titus." Suddenly, his size made a lot more sense. Titus had been a popular, though somewhat niche, hero back in the '90s. He was famous for his staggering height 8 feet 5 inches, which made him one of the world’s tallest heroes. Along with his super strength and durability, he was a fan favorite.

Now I was sharing a room with his son, who had inherited his abilities and then some. I resisted the urge to ask, but he had to be at least 9 feet tall.

Willis had a chill, easygoing jock energy to him the type of guy who’d probably been popular in high school without even trying. His voice was deep, and his sentences had a charming slowness to them. He was like an oversized himbo. That kind of relaxed confidence helped put me at ease, at least a little.

After we finished unpacking, our stomachs started to grumble, so we decided to check out the cafeteria. As Willis led the way, I trailed a step behind, trying not to stare. His basketball shorts clung tightly to his huge glutes, each step sending a hypnotic bounce through that massive bubble butt. It was like watching a work of art move in slow motion. I had to literally shake my head to snap myself out of it.

Once we got to the cafeteria, my first-day nerves limited me to just a small sandwich. Willis, on the other hand, put away a borderline ridiculous amount of food four double cheeseburgers with fries, a personal pan pizza, two large chocolate milkshakes, and for dessert, a giant cookie and soft serve. It was like watching a human garbage disposal in action. He didn’t even look remotely full afterward. Casually, he let out a deep 10-second belch and blew it to the side. But for the next few minutes, I could smell the meaty stench of it in the air.

As we were tossing out our trays, I caught a strange look on his face. It was subtle, like he was trying to suppress something, but I didn’t think much of it. We decided to head back to the dorm to charge our phones before heading out to explore campus some more.

Walking back, Willis led the way again, his long legs carrying him smoothly down the hall. Suddenly, he stopped short, and I nearly bumped into him. Before I could ask what was wrong, he lifted one leg slightly and let out a massive fart.

It was thunderous. Easily 20 seconds long. Loud enough to echo down the hallway and rattle the nearby windows like a mini-earthquake. Then the smell hit me.

A wave of hot, putrid air slammed into my face like a wall. It was awful a sickening mix of rotten eggs, spoiled milk, and sewage. I felt my face heat up and the bile rise in my throat, but I forced it back down, swallowing hard.

Willis turned around, face flushed but with a mischievous smirk.

“Phew,” he said, fanning the air behind him. “Guess two milkshakes and ice cream was overkill. Dairy’s tearing me up.”

I tried to laugh, to keep it light, but I was genuinely getting dizzy from the lingering stench. Willis’s smile faltered slightly, replaced with concern as he looked me over.

“Come on, buddy, let’s get you some fresh air,” he said, guiding me gently with his huge hand on my back.

He led me far enough down the hall that the air was clean again free from the noxious cloud he’d unleashed and I started to feel a bit better. My head was still spinning slightly, but at least I could breathe again.

Dazed, I looked up at Willis. He wore a lopsided expression part guilty, part amused.

“Sorry about that, bro,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I should’ve warned you before I let one rip. You okay though? You were looking a little lightheaded back there. Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s passed out, I’ll tell you that much.”

I blinked at him, trying to gauge whether he was joking or being serious.

“Yeah... I’m fine, don’t worry,” I said, unsure if I should laugh or be concerned.

He grinned wide, clearly enjoying my reaction, but there was a flicker of sincerity behind his eyes like he genuinely hoped I was okay, even if he thought it was kind of funny.

When we arrived back at the dorm, Willis pulled out the bed extender he was provided for his size accommodations and snapped it into place before collapsing onto his mattress. He kicked off his sneakers with a heavy thud and laid back, scrolling through his phone for a bit.

That’s when I caught a glance that made me whip my head around in awe. I hadn’t really noticed before, but his feet and his shoes were massive. Possibly bigger than my entire lower arm. If I had to guess just from looking…

Then, just as suddenly, that same lightheaded feeling from earlier returned. The sharp stench of his foot odor began to fill the room like an invisible gas bomb. It was like he marinated old cheese in warm vinegar and let his feet soak in it overnight. My nose wrinkled, and I tried not to gag.

Willis glanced over and caught me staring. He grinned.

“Yeah, they’re huge, right?”

I tried to play it cool, pretending I wasn’t looking but he saw right through me.

“Nah, bro, no shame in it. I’m a big guy. I get that you’re probably curious. Size 34, before you ask. And I’m a tad over 9’5 nowadays.”

My mouth nearly dropped open.

“Thirty-four?? I—I didn’t even know they made shoes that big,” I stammered.

“They don’t,” he laughed. “But it helps that my dad was famous in his glory days and can pay for custom pairs whenever I need ’em. The money from his merch loyalties alone is enough to keep our family comfortable.”

“Uh—royalties,” I corrected.

“Yeah, those things,” he said.

Then he nodded toward the corner where I left my shoes. “What about you, big man?”

Something about the way he called me big man, even though it couldn’t be further from the truth, made my heart skip a beat.

“Size 10,” I said, suddenly a little self-conscious of my completely normal feet.

Willis looked like he was doing the math in his head, then chuckled. “Damn… I haven’t worn shoes that small since I was a kid.”

He stared at me for a beat, then noticed my discomfort and the lightheadedness from the stink still encircling the room.

“Oh shit, my bad, bro,” he said, quickly getting up and sliding the window open. “I forget how bad these dogs can reek after being cooped up all day.”

Cool air rushed in, and the worst of the smell began to slowly disperse. He glanced back at me.

“You good?”

Snapping out of my daze, I nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Good,” he said with a relieved sigh, though the air still hung heavy with the scent of foot funk. It was the second time this giant of a man had nearly rendered me unconscious with his stink.

And if I’m being completely honest with myself... it was a little bit attractive.

As I was lost in thought, trying not to look visibly overwhelmed, he caught the expression on my face and decided to come clean.

“This might sound weird,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck, “but it’s kind of part of my powers, well.. kinda. I mean, I’m obviously way bigger and stronger than the average human... but I’m also, like, ten times as smelly.”

He chuckled awkwardly. “Big man, big stink. Kinda like an extra power if you wanna look at it that way.”

I blinked at him, stunned.

“All my life I’ve had issues keeping my odor in check,” he continued. “Especially when it comes to gas. It’s bad, man. Like, hazardous levels of bad. That earlier comment I made? About people passing out? I wasn’t joking. I’ve knocked out more folks than I can count.”

He was so casual about it, so matter-of-fact, that I had to strain not to get turned on. I tried not to think too hard about it, but his lingering foot odor still in the air only made the task more difficult.

When he finished explaining, his expression turned a little guilty.

“I should’ve said something earlier. You totally have the right to talk to the housing office if you want a new roommate. I’d get it, seriously.”

But I surprised him and maybe even myself when I shook my head.

“Nah, it’s fine. I’ll stick around.”

His eyes lit up. A wide, grateful grin spread across his face.

“I knew you were cool, bro,” he said, walking over and picking me up in a hug that was just a bit too tight. “We’re gonna be best buds. Trust me you’ll get used to it in no time.”

“Mmmhh...” I muttered, my face sandwiched between his meaty pecs.

Then, just as I was starting to feel a little more grounded, that mischievous glint returned to his eyes. He put me down.

“Speaking of…”

He suddenly spun around, and before I could react, he let loose another fart in my direction one somehow louder and longer than the first. The force shook the dorm room like a subwoofer at full volume, vibrating the walls and floor and blowing back my hair.

Then the smell hit, even more terrible than before. The heat was like standing in front of an open oven.

Before I could even fully process what just happened, my vision started to blur.

This is gonna be a long semester, I thought to myself as everything faded to black.

(End of part 1)

[midnight1nk]

So, this week's episode...

[spoilers below cut]

WOOHOO 🎉 I'm finally free from finals, and we got the latest episode on 4/Luke's birthday!! I gotta tell yall, I can't believe we manifested it [X] hours before it was released lmao

now I don't expect it to be one to one, it's a silly birthday for a silly guy ^^ if we're gonna have shenanigans, it's gotta be here

(the following is my live reaction:)

not even 5 seconds in and YOOOO 4'S WORKING WHILE STAYING IN 3'S CAFE, WE DID IT!!

so many of us were like "it would be nice to see 4 editing videos while enjoying coffee in 3's cafe". Hell, even I wrote it in one of my concepts!

we can now say it's canon YESSIR 👏👏

hmm, spinning Beeg4 *jotting down theorist notes* interesante....

oh hey Meggy ^^

*pauses video*

nahnahnah, so you're telling me that 4's response to getting jumpscared is to glitch out? and eerily close to the glitch colors of his logo? *grabs you* if THIS doesn't convince you goop!4 is real, I don't know what does

okok, first off: aw Beeg is hanging out with his Dad and reminded him of his birthday 🥹💙

Second, Meggy's trying to find a coaching gig, huh? Alright, huddle around, guys, I've got an idea: what if Meggy goes on and coaches Karen's kids with the new abilities? After all, next to Karen, Meggy's got the experience, and the kids do need a good teacher/positive reinforcement. And while we're at it, we can give Karen a secured job at 3's cafe and she can keep an eye on them training in the Showgrounds! It's a win-win here ^^

And now third, the utmost important part, this is MAR10 all over again. "huh?" right, you guys are gonna have to follow my train of thought here: this scene right here, Meggy noticed how serious 4 is being right now, as he's editing a silly video. And sure, it could be that Meggy is trying to find anything she could to apply her coaching skills on, but it could've been "oh 4, you've been behind the screen all day, let's do some stretches" or something. No, instead she pointed out his emotions and wanted to promote a healthy, positive mindset, work-life balance. Practically, therapy. Yet, look at 4's face when Meggy wanted him to "turn that frown upside down". He looks unsure. Almost uncomfortable with the idea. ofc Beeg4 comes in and reminds them that the next day is 4's birthday.

Now, 4's attitude toward the coaching changed, and it makes sense why. For one, it doesn't seem like he don't got any plans for his birthday, considering the way he reacted at the reminder. And two, it seems like he's more willing to do it bc Meggy seemed passionate about the idea. Time and time again, 4 is willing to do anything for his friends, whether or not he's ok. He did it while he was injured, he did it when he was spiraling out of control with the manga. All while saying "everything will be fine". Here, 4's willing to go along for the ride, for Meggy. To get it over with, and I guarantee you that 4 would say he's fine. Which in itself is concerning. HOWEVER, this was pushed aside bc Meggy wanted to know how 4 was gonna celebrate his birthday. Now, doesn't that seem familiar to you? The IGBP arc up to MAR10. When 4 was set on making the perfect video, completely serious about the project, and while his friends did notice his behavior, they didn't know how much it was truly affecting 4 mentally/emotionally. And even more bc MAR10 (a day of celebration dedicated to one person) was coming up, causing the problem to be even bigger than before.

So, Team: what's up with that? *blinks curiously* just wondering

anyway uh. We gotta move on. It hasn't even been a minute and we're still here with my rambling

4: "I'm just gonna do the same thing I always do." Right, which is..... oh you're not gonna say it?

NOT MEGGY THINKING HE'S GONNA BE ALONE WITH A CAKE

I'm sure it's not the case. Maybe he gets a quiet/enjoyable day for himself, treat himself with something nice for dinner. Play some games. You never know. Also, from one adult to another, relatable.

At least we know why we haven't gotten a 4 birthday episode before (and I say 4's bc we had one with Melony).

AW look at Beeg with the lil cup, that's so adorable tho

OMG OMG, THEY PULLED A PHOENIX WRIGHT

MY MEGGY ACE ATTORNEY AU IS FINALLY COMING TRUE YESSS!! See? This is why I had 4 take Phoenix's role here, they have so many parallels (I mean, mootie, you would know)

everyone's just chilling in game room hehe

"isn't 3 supposed to be in the cafe?" he's on his break, dw about it 😌

Mario: "He has Mario's friendship!" look, see? maybe 4 and Mario were gonna hang out for the day together, just like old times :) Besides, y'know the two of them value each other's friendship more than anything. Mario isn't wrong to say his gift for 4 is friendship

omg WE CALLED IT!! I DID. They are gonna plan a surprise party for himmmm

3 is so disappointed that he got paired up with Boopkins pfft hahaha

erm. Meggy. honey, please don't. Just order a cake instead

*wince* I wouldn't trust Bob with it either, oh boy. There's the SMG4 shenanigans we know :)

Love how 3 wasn't so into it like the rest of them. But he did join in the fistbump tho

PFFT 3 did not just say that omg....

let's see what you got, 3

*looks at boarded-up door* ah yes. my nemesis......

strange that they keep showing that, huh *looks at Team*

AY that's pretty good!!

oop- no? well okay then, 3. You arranged 4's room so, I trust you with this

So, we got our distraction team, eh?

Tari's so real about surprise parties. They are nice but I rather you tell me, especially when I got plans already

don't be suspicious 👏 don't be suspicious 👏 don't be suspicious 👏 don't be suspicious 👏 /ref

the cutaways are CRAZY, they're so funny to me I don't know why lol

I do like how 4's trying to be patient with them, even if they're acting weird in his eyes

what can I say? Mario learned from the best :) and involving a PC too, woah

The right idea, Meggy, for snacks (and some decor). But girl, that's not for cake

Aw, it really is a nice sentiment, Meggy. But there's nothing wrong with a store-bought cake! The fact that you got him cake at all, I'm sure it would mean a lot to 4

THE GUILLOTINE?!

the transition from Boopkin's frown to 4's is absolutely PERFECT. since y'know. brothers irl

He did the thing (facepalm)!! (no I'm totally not freaking out about it being on his left eye, what noooo)

wait, wait...

two Mario :D (honestly, this is a funny animation error haha)

Mario, no! you're not forklift certified!! /ref

4. buddy. let' calm down for a second here.

....huh? pink?!

*pauses video*

nope, that's it. I'm done. It's over, I need to leave the room. Give me a second... *screaming in the distance*

[30 minutes later] chat... I'm not. I'm not imagining things, right? That this isn't some kind of shared delusion, right?? This. It can't be real, are you kidding meeeee

We got 4 going insane again, wanting to finish his video. He's glowing magenta and his right eye is only shown.... Now, I know what you might be thinking: Magenta? that's crazy. But the right eye? Didn't you say that his left was absolutely important to note in the goop!4 theory? Isn't the right one supposed to represent his true silly side? Well, there's a simple explanation: yes, he is doing everything he can to meet deadlines and finish his video (his perfectionism), but he's not doing it to prove his self-worth. He just wanted to finish the silly project he had (his true self) since really, that was what his plans were for his birthday. He didn't know about the party. Plus, he did extend out his left hand for Tari to hand over the laptop

But yeah, he isn't mad about Tari and Mario withholding a PC from him, he's just confused about what the hell is going on with these two

SCREW what I said about earlier! If THIS SCENE right here didn't convince you that goop!4 is real, then I really don't know what else does. So anyway, welcome aboard, have a free t-shirt ^^

OOP more evidence to the 3 speech color theory, light blue this time talking about another change of decor hmmm

KAREN HI!! how's it going since y'know.

And her kids too!!

Welp, time to panic :D

URETHRA!!💡 /ref

*shoves paper off desk* ARE YOU FUCKIN KIDDING ME?!

IT WAS RIGHT 👏 THERE 👏. THEY'RE DESTROYING EVERYTHING AND DIDN'T EVEN TOUCH THE ROOM WE'RE MOST INTERESTED IN!! WHAT'S BEHIND THAT FUCKIN DOOR

*head in hands* we were so close, dude. now the Team's just playing with me smh /silly

me @ the door: we shall meet again, my nemesis.....

oven temperature: "who made these settings?" honestly, good question 🤔

oh Bob, he's trying to hard to make the decor :(

the Castle falling apart is pretty close to the fanart I'm making ngl. I gotta save this as a reference

see? 4 is just so confused, man

ough 🥺 they really did try

also 3 wasn't wrong about the demolishing part. 4 is a pretty simple guy, no need to go all out. also considering how his room was before 3 decorated, yeah it makes sense

3 did know what would 4 would like, yessir 😌↕️

THE BALL PIT?! not dashcon bro

no, guys, don't be sad. Knowing 4, I'm sure he's actually moved that yall went through the effort to do this for him

I TOLD YOU, SEE?

look at him 🥹😭💙 he's so happy that his friends could give him the best birthday everrrr, this truly means so much for a simple guy like him

Happy Birthday, Four!! 🎉🎂⭐️

and they entered into a coma *wheeze* well that'sas close as we're gonna get with coma 4 hehe

Congrats to LolWhatAYDH for your fanart getting featured in the end credits!! 🎉 See? Told yall sunflowers totally suit 4

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

I absolutely loved this episode, it had everything I could ever ask for!! The love behind friendship, the callbacks, the theories, the silliness and chaos. Even some character cameos in the background! This is the best way the Team can go about it to celebrate the meme lord himself. ofc 4 but also Luke's birthday too!!

Obviously we gotta celebrate to the fullest. Everyone, get your fanart, the fics, anything to celebrate this wonderful day. This show truly means so much to me and I know at least some of you feel the same. For many years of my Saturday morning cartoon (tm), thank you Luke for the memories. And to 4, for being the silly meme guardian we all know and love

But ofc, the Team: thank you for the amazing episode and the hard work put into it. The funny gags/bits you had in here never failed to make me laugh! I gotta say tho, I know for sure you guys are scheming with these IGBP references. Even Ben's like:

(not that Ben was fully involved with the episode but anyway) We'll see if any of the Team's willing to show some behind-the-scenes stuff but in the meantime, I do hope they had fun making this episode!!

And I'm gonna take a wild guess and say yall were waiting for my reaction, huh chat? Haha, well I am the "local crazy theorist who constantly screams about goop!4", I'll take that title with pride :) Trust me, I was so well fed with this episode, I got a whole bunch of evidence I gotta get through. Now, I don't suspect that we're getting IGBP 2 soon, no. Let the Team cook. But at this point, we should establish for a fact that it's gonna happen. It's only a question of "when". That's all from me for this review. But dw, we're definitely going to party all day today. Otherwise, I'll see you next time and remember: numbers always go first!!

once again...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, 4 & LUKE!!!

⭐️🎉🎂🎉⭐️

[cautious-soup]

Obsessive!Suguru Geto x Fem!Reader

Part 1

Summary: Suguru Geto finds himself unwillingly fixated on you. Infuriated that he's so preoccupied with such a weakling, he sets out to make you suffer.

CW// metaphysical non-con, degrading internal monologues directed at reader, stalking, weirdo behavior

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

The obsession from him was pure. Unadulterated, delusional, eye-twitching nail biting obsession--with you. Obsession with making you cry, making you hurt, making you bleed, and reveling in otherworldly ecstacy from your wails of pleasure (and agony).

You're normal. Well, you're unique in your own way, everyone is, but you're normal, a regular person, a non-curse user.

So, naturally, he hates you. Because honestly, how dare you? You're nothing special, you're weak, you're a waste of space. Yet, the biggest space you occupy is the space in his brain, pressing against the walls of his skull, driving him batshit insane.

You? Really?

You came to him because you were depressed, and anxious, and your shoulders hurt all the time even though you bought a fancy new bag online that was supposed to make them hurt less.

So, with nowhere else to turn, you go to see Suguru.

He was new, and expensive, but according to your peers he worked. He was good at what he did, and you could hardly stand to raise your arms for more than a few seconds without clenching your jaw in pain.

Suguru scoffs internally when you first meet him because, well, you're just another client. Another useless weakling with insignificant problems. He exorcises you and sends you on your way like he's always done.

But this time something's wrong.

It starts quietly, almost insidiously. He thinks he's fixated on you because he's stressed, unhappy, craving sex because whether he admits it or not, he's still a man with needs. (Pathetic needs.)

So, he figured he'd mess with you--quietly and systemically terrorize you until you manifested a curse strong enough to suit his appetites, then do away with you. Maybe he'd force himself on you, but only to speed up the process if things went to slow, make your negative feelings more potent.

Then, when the job was done, he'd kill you. That part was always just for fun.

He learns you're in Japan as an English teacher. Before Suguru removed your curse, you had to grit your teeth to keep from snapping at your students due to the pain.

The stress of work had only manifested a low grade curse, and he had no use working with that.

So first, he studied you. What did you like? What did you hate? What did you fear? He took note of it all.

He took note of your height, then your weight, then shoe size, then skin, eyes, hair, nose, mouth, teeth, lips.

He decides he's documented enough about your physical atrributes when he tries to estimate your cup size.

But he knew it wouldn't be enough. No, in order to truly terrorize you, he'd have to talk to you.

You're unnerved when he approaches you for the first time. The market street is bathed in sunset orange, and you've just picked up your end of the week snack, ready to go home and binge Netflix, but he's there. Suguru.

It's strange, you thought the oppressive energy you felt when you'd gone to see him had something to do with the old temple. But you felt it here too, almost before you saw him. Whatever it was, it followed him.

"Y/N," he said pleasantly, "I trust you've been well."

You take a while to respond, before laughing nervously, "Uh, yeah! Yeah I've been much better, I appreciate it a ton."

"..."

Not much for small talk, I guess you think when Suguru doesn't respond.

"Well, I'll be on my way then. It was nice seeing you."

Suguru watches you leave, pulse throbbing in his neck and jaw clenched. It wasn't enough. Why, why wasn't it enough? You were nothing--nothing. It would take too much singular effort to coax out negative energy from an average weakling like you, he'd be better off hunting for special grades like usual.

Still, he followed you home.

And a week later, Suguru decides to take things up a notch, or several notches.

You don't usually remember your dreams too well. You have pieces from over the years--learning to fly, falling, running, chasing

But tonight, it's vivid. Vivid and panicked, you feel so panicked, but you don't know why.

It's so dark. The darkness feels alive, like it's touching you. No, it is touching you. The unmistakable feeling of a hand clasps your shoulder, your hip, you choke.

"Hk," but you can't move.

The darkness combs over you, leaving cold in its wake against your skin. Why can you feel cold? Why can you feel any of this?

It isn't like feeling in the waking world. You can almost see it, you're confused, you're scared.

The touch of darkness grows rough, violent. It tugs at your hair, gropes at your thighs, your chest, prods at your mouth until it's open. It chokes you when you try to scream, wrenches your thighs apart, and then--

"HHHHH-"

You shoot up so violently the room spins. Awake, you fumble for your lamp, reaching vainly for your breath as you hyperventilate.

The ghostly cold still lingers on your skin. You fold your knees up to your chest and sob.

All the while, Suguru revels in this little bit you give him, even though it's nowhere close to enough.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Part 2

[utopiastri]

Touch starved/cuddle curse for landoscar please!!! I love your writing so much, thank you for sharing 💕

hi anon! i went for cuddle curse because i always love an excuse to write magical realism - i hope you enjoy and thank you for the prompt!!!

“So. How much longer are we trapped like this?” Lando asks

Jon checks his watch and glances at the ceiling as he does some quick mental maths. “About seven more hours? Give or take.”

Lando groans and tries to tilt his head back dramatically only to be stopped abruptly when the back of his neck hits Oscar’s arm where it's curled around his shoulders. “Sorry, mate,” he grimaces.

“It’s ok,” Oscar says quietly, “Sorry for getting us in this mess.”

“It’s not your fault. Alright, well it’s not entirely your fault anyway,” Lando amends after Oscar gives him a look.

Jon clears his throat and Lando and Oscar both turn to look. “You boys all good here for the next few hours then? I'll be right next door if you need anything – you need anything before I go?” Oscar shakes his head and mutters a small thanks, but Lando stops to think about it for a second. He opens his mouth but Jon cuts him off. “Lando, no matter how many times you ask me, I’m not letting you have a cheat meal the night before a race just because your teammate got you cursed.”

Lando huffs. Oscar winces. Jon sighs.

“Fuck off then, if you’re not even gonna let me eat anything fun,” Lando grumbles.

Jon rolls his eyes and leaves the room. With him gone, Lando and Oscar fade into an awkward silence. Or as close to silence as you can get when you’re tangled so tightly with your teammate that you can hear every breath, every sniffle, every fidget. When the curse first pulled them together they'd experimented with lying further away from each other, but it resulted in so much pain for them both that they decided it would be better to just cling to each other instead.

For the record, Lando wasn’t kidding when he said this whole thing wasn’t entirely Oscar’s fault. Yes, Oscar’s the one who impeded Charles in quali today and yes, technically, Charles is the one whose magic accidentally manifested a curse on Oscar, but it’s not Oscar’s fault that Charles has never been able to control his magic.

“Why do you think Charles’ magic wound up casting a cuddle curse of all things?” Lando asks eventually, sick of the somewhat tense silence.

Oscar mumbles something but Lando can’t quite make it out.

“Hmm?”

“I said, I think the curse is having fun with the fact that Charles was pissed off that I was so close to him on track.”

“Huh?”

Oscar huffs. “I was too close to Charles on track so now the magic says I’ve gotta be too close to you instead.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry,” Oscar mumbles after a few more moments.

“I’ve told you you don’t need to apologise. It’s fine.”

“Oh, what, because you’re having such a wonderful time right now? Being forcibly stuck to your teammate when you could be in your own bed with as much space as you want?”

“I mean it’s not…like, I mean I know I said we were ‘trapped’ when Jon was here but like, it’s not…not nice.” Lando tries not to pull a face at the trainwreck of a sentence he just came out with.

He's not lying though. There is something not not nice about being cuddled up so close to Oscar. It’s warm for one thing, comforting for another. He’s always enjoyed the rare occasions he and Oscar have hugged for longer than your typical bro hug.

It’s not not nice.

It’s, well.

It's nice.

Like. Really nice.

Oscar makes a soft noise. “You, um, this is, uh…”

“Osc?”

Oscar takes a deep breath and then somehow manages to pull the two of them closer together, nuzzling his face into the side of Lando’s neck. “This ok?” he whispers. Lando can feel his lips move against his neck as he speaks.

“Yeah,” he replies as quietly as Oscar spoke. Tentatively, prepared to pull back at any moment, he takes the hand currently plastered to the back of Oscar’s shirt and dips it underneath, resting his palm there, skin against skin. “This oka–”

“Yes,” Oscar breathes, barely letting Lando finish the question, already leaning into the touch.

Lando swallows and does his best to tug Oscar in tighter.

Maybe being stuck like this for seven hours isn’t such a bad thing.

[sky-scribbles]

Party Banter with Rook!Blackwall

Harding: You know, for a moment back there, I thought you might actually get through to Solas.

Thom: Regret’s something we have in common. I thought… if I reached out to him, told him I understood what guilt drives you to do…

Harding: But no. ‘Do not compare your regrets with mine, Thom Rainier!’

Thom: He’s right, though. He can at least say he did his crimes trying to stop tyrants. I did mine for coin.

Harding: Uh, yeah, and then you faced up to it and decided no one else was going to get hurt for it except you. Solas is right. He’s nothing like you.

—

Lucanis: Do we have a problem, Warden Rainier?

Thom: You kill people. For gold.

Lucanis: I do. Venatori. Blood mages. The political rivals of those who hired me.

Thom: And that’s enough for you? Someone flashes a purse, and you’re ready to murder over some nobles’ spat over which of them gets the bigger fancy house?

Lucanis: Depends on the size of the purse.

—

Bellara: Um, so, about the mayor of D'Meta's Crossing? I just… do you really want someone like that? In the Wardens, I mean.

Thom: I won’t defend him. But he wouldn’t be the first Warden who let innocent people die for gold, and got another chance from the Order.

Bellara: He doesn’t deserve it. Like, really, really doesn’t deserve it.

Thom: No. Neither did I.

—

Thom: Do you ever get people trying to bribe you? To look the other way, or drop a case, or...

Neve: It's Minrathous. If I took even half the bribes I've been offered, I could buy an estate in Hightown.

Thom: It takes a special kind of strength to resist that.

—

Thom: I got a letter from Sera the other day. Don’t ask me how she got it to the Lighthouse.

Harding: ‘Friends’, I bet. And hey - she dealt with the Fade for you! So what'd she say?

Thom: Well, there was a lot of calling Solas a shite-faced arseknuckle. And then she told me not to get killed, or she’d yank my beard ‘til my head came off.

Harding: Aw.

—

Lucanis: Rainier, I do not knife civilians. Everyone I have killed has been embedded in politics. Their hands are never clean.

Thom: And you're sure you’ve never made a mistake? Never got a passer-by or a child caught in all the blades and arrows? Never gone in without knowing everything, and got someone hurt?

Lucanis: Of course not. I’m a professional.

Thom: You’re a mercenary with a cape.

—

Thom: You could’ve left Dock Town. A mage. Talented. You could’ve gone anywhere, chased a better life.

Neve: If I left, I’d be abandoning people who never got that choice. I’m good where I’m at.

Thom: I hope you know how admirable that makes you.

Neve: Not that admirable. If I got that estate in Hightown? Too far to walk to Hal’s fish stand.

Thom: (laughs) Good priorities.

—

Davrin: So, Rainier. Heard a lot of rumours about how you joined the Wardens.

Thom: (uneasy noise) You know, Warden Blackwall told me your past gets forgotten after the Joining.

Davrin: A nice ideal, but it never stands up to the gossip. But you’ve shown your worth.

Thom: Enough for me to have one of those griffons when we rescue them, d’you reckon?

Davrin: (laughs) We’ll see.

—

Thom: I knew someone like Manfred once. He was a spirit, but he sort of… grew his own body.

Emmrich: Oh! A spontaneous incarnation! Do you happen to know what kind of spirit he was?

Thom: Uh… the kind that looks like a young man, but reads minds and flits about trying to make everyone feel better about themselves?

Emmrich: Ah, Compassion! A rather more advanced emotion than Curiosity, and therefore capable of manifesting a physical body, rather than needing to adopt a vacant one.

Thom: More advanced? Right. That explains why Cole used to talk to me about living with the weight of regret, and Manfred spent ten minutes yesterday poking my face to see if my beard came off.

—

Neve: So, you know Dorian?

Thom: Does anyone who’s been in the same room as him for thirty seconds get a choice about knowing Dorian?

Neve: And didn’t always get along, I take it.

Thom: He’s… he’s not so bad. We might’ve judged each other by first impressions back when we met.

Neve: And what’s your impression now?

Blackwall: Still too fancy for his own good. But it says exactly who he is that he’s fighting against slavers and blood mages. I think I got the better deal with the darkspawn.

—

Taash: I heard the Inquisitor turned into a dragon.

Thom: No, she… didn’t. But she did get one to fight with us once.

Taash: She did? What kind? How’d she do it?

Thom: Sort of… gold? And she drank from this pool of elven magic, and… that somehow let her ask it to help us. I think.

Taash: Did she ride it into battle?

Thom: Uh… No.

Taash: Oh. I would’ve ridden it into battle.

—

Thom: Emmrich, do you know what those demons were the other day? The ones that wouldn’t leave me alone?

Emmrich: Ah. Those were manifestations of Shame. A variant of the Despair spirit.

Thom: Right. Don’t know what I expected.

Emmrich: If it’s any consolation, I find that one can tell much more about a person from the more benign spirits that gather around them. I catch glimpses of them about you often. Valour. Fortitude. Honour.

Thom: I hope to be worthy of them.

—

Thom: Lucanis, have you ever regretted any of your kills?

Lucanis: Not so far.

Thom: So this is what you’re fine with being? A man who takes nobles’ money and lives in luxury with your bloodied hands? That's the life you chose?

Lucanis: Not ‘chose’, exactly. It is what I was trained to be since my childhood.

Thom: Wait. You were – who trains a child to be an assassin?

Lucanis: You met my grandmother.

—

Davrin: You held up pretty well in the last fight, Rainier. For an old man.

Thom: Whelp like you’d better watch what he says around a senior Warden.

Davrin: Why? You’ll tell me to do the fifty press-ups that your creaky bones can’t handle?

Thom (laughs) I’ll stop letting you borrow my best chisel.

—

Bellara: Hey, um, Thom? You know that little rocking griffon you made? Could you make, I don’t know, a bigger one? Like… adult… person-sized?

Thom: (chuckles) You never have a rocking griffon growing up?

Bellara: No! They’re not a Dalish thing! Because you can’t really rock. When the aravel’s moving, I mean. So… no, it’s a dumb idea. Forget I said anything.

Thom: You want me to make it a rocking halla?

Bellara: Yes please thank you.

—

Emmrich: How far you must have travelled, with both the Inquisition and the Wardens!

Thom: I like being on the road. Keeps a man honest.

Emmrich: I rather envy your fearlessness of the wider world. It’s so recent that the end of the Circles allowed me to travel freely outside the Necropolis.

Thom: Must have been freeing. Having the whole world suddenly open to you.

Emmrich: And rather overwhelming, I must admit. When I compare myself to you – a brave Warden, combatting the Blight across all of Thedas…

Thom: Trust me: compare the two of us, and that’s the only way I’ll come out better from it.

—

Thom: We fought quite a few dragons in the Inquisition. Almost got eaten once by some pissed-off beast in the Hinterlands. Kept throwing its dragonlings at us.

Taash: Fereldan Frostbacks are crappy mothers. First sign of trouble, and it’s ‘here! Take my children!’

Thom: (laughs) The worst was the lightning-spitter off the Storm Coast. Spent twenty minutes hacking away at its scales, rest of my team unconscious on the ground.

Taash: Wait - you what? That's not how you fight dragons. You can't just stand there and hit them. That's stupid. And boring.

—

Lucanis: It’s how the Crow Houses work. Children of the House lineage are trained from our infancy.

Thom: Andraste’s fucking tits.

Lucanis: It’s necessary. If Illario and I had been coddled… Caterina pushed us hard and young, because she wanted us to survive.

Thom: I don’t… (sighs) The things people do to children.

—

Harding: I never thought to ask - how come Varric changed your nickname?

Thom: I asked him to go with something else. 'Hero'... that was a name he gave to Blackwall.

Harding: Well, he chose the right name. You know, 'cause Rooks move in straight lines. And you charge right in there, don't mess around with fancy words, just hit things til they drop. You could say you're -

Thom: Don't do it, Lace.

Harding: Straightforward.

Thom: (chuckles) You're as bad as Sera.

—

Emmrich: Master Rainier, I wanted to say – I hope you know that you’re the only person here who looks at you with any harshness.

Thom: I – (sighs) You don’t know everything about me.

Emmrich: I would never claim to. But I know that you place yourself before your allies and the defenceless without hesitation and with utter selflessness. I know you understand your Warden oath better than many of your superiors. I know that you are a good man.

Thom: … I wish I knew what it was like to be you. Seeing the good in everyone, living or dead.

Emmrich: Then I hope you’ll permit me continue to see the good in you – until you can see yourself as I do.

[jjkeremika]

Here to Forever

description: date nights with the AoT men (plus historia lol) <3

pairing: Eren, Levi, Reiner, Armin, Porco, Erwin, Jean, Zeke, Historia, all x (fem!) reader

like A LITTLE nsfw/smutty

Eren

Eren and you almost always went to the movie theaters--your man loves a good trip to the movies. Sometimes you would suggest a meal before, but he was always reluctant, complaining that then he'd be too full to eat the movie snacks. You always rolled your eyes with a large smile on your face, usually caving.

Movie choice alternated each time, you often opting for comedies and animations while Eren advocated for actions and sci-fi's. He liked to sit in the back, able to view the entire screen, usually directly under the speaker so no one could hear your hushed whispers and hearty breaths.

Although you enjoyed a good movie now and then, Eren's eyes were fixed to the screen, absorbed in the film that he wouldn't even notice when you asked for the candy.

So you always enjoyed the bad movies the most, because Eren's attention was on you; and the fact that you had to be very, very quiet while his hands groped your breasts, while they traveled to your bottoms, turned you both on. Sometimes he'd pull you onto his lap, his fingers intimately gracing the sensitive spot between your legs as he nibbled at your earlobe, sucked on your neck. You kept going back, because you've only been asked to leave once.

Levi (age gap)

Levi didn't talk a whole ton, but he liked listening to you. He fervently believed you were smarter than him, always spouting interesting ideas and bringing up counterpoints. And you were so damn kind to everyone, always considerate, and he genuinely did not give a damn about anyone.

Except you. He cared an awful lot about you. Having repeatedly been kicked down by life (he didn't really talk about that), born into a shitty lot in life, had the rug pulled out from under him and lost everything, he built wall after wall and thought he'd lost access to his emotions. Then he found you. And somehow your naivety and wide-eyed view reinvigorated something deep inside.

Although relatively stoic and unemotional in public and rarely voiced his positive opinions with friends, Levi was, in some sense, rather vulnerable when alone with you. He was quite open about his infatuation with you in private; his eyes frequently roaming your body, his mouth pressing hundreds of kisses to your skin.

Then there was the vulnerability that manifested in unique ways. The immense desire to have you, the fiery need to have you on your knees, taking him, all of him, feeling him so deeply it'll last for hours, craving him so deeply to last for days. After he was satisfied with the number of times you'd called his name, begged for more, he'd take the best care of you, wrapping you in his softest sweatpants and giving you the warmest kisses and making you both the most delicious food.

So while most couple's dates consisted of the date then sex, yours was reversed, always working up an appetite.

Reiner

Reiner's dates, a generous term, were always spontaneous activities: playing soccer at midnight, hiking some oh it's only a few miles trails, biking or rollerblading around the city. Even though the physical activity was exhausting and sometimes even daunting, Reiner's presence made it infinitely better.

He'd carry everything, never letting you carry any bags (not that you'd complain). He'd offer various snacks and water, offer to frequently slow the pace or stop and admire the surroundings. Uh, why are you looking at me like that? you'd ask, an eyebrow raised. Hm? I told you. I'm admiring my surroundings, he'd answer, the sunlight reflecting off his brilliant smile.

Hiking was the most frequent activity during nice weather, which, you couldn't deny, definitely had its perks. During higher altitude breaks with clearings in the trees, or at the peak of the climb, when the view was the most clear and pristine and the sunlight was basking on you.

The view was always worth it, and you'd preen as Reiner's lips would connect with yours, smile widely as he gripped your thighs and picked you up, carrying you until your back was against a rock edge or a tree. His large hands groped your cheeks as he kissed sloppily down the middle of your neck towards your chest, already breathing heavy. You smiled as the tingling sensation and a warm heat spread throughout your body, the gorgeous landscape disappearing as your eyes blinked shut with pleasure.

Armin

Armin liked to have you all to himself, often taking you on dates to secluded places or sitting in the corner of restaurants. He was the most gentlemanly and domestic, packing extra jackets and carrying sneakers on the nights you wore heels.

His favorite site was under the large oak tree in the meadows, near where the rabbit's den was. He would set up a picnic blanket in the shade, removing fake glasses for champagne and perfectly portioned meals.

Armin loved telling you how beautiful you looked in the setting sun, the golden light highlighting your features just right. He composed lyrical hymns on the spot, accidentally stringing into teary-eyed poems and soft-spoken sonnets.

The sunset is so beautiful, you would say. Not as beautiful as you, he would reply. You'd roll your eyes because, well, cheesy, before he'd continue: Words elude me as they know they're not worthy of you; Dictionaries are developed to describe you; I could list ten thousand things and none would be as beautiful as you.

And you'd kiss him as the sun dipped beyond the horizon, as the stars shined second to you, illuminating your face as you moaned in ecstasy, intensifying Armin's blue eyes and blond hair as he stared at you from between your legs, his tongue writing love letters in cursive.

Porco

You were the first person Galliard had ever been on a date with, which honestly surprised you. His tough exterior, confident demeanor, honest humor, and cynical smile was so charming you had a hard time believing him when he coyly told you that you were his first, the pink blush on his cheeks just so cute.

During the warm evenings you'd walk along the beach together, enjoying the expansive view of the stars and the soft sounds of the waves landing against the sandy shoreline, watching the tide change.

The sway of you in his huge arms always synced to the sway of the tide, a gentle rocking that soothed your body and mind. You'd close your eyes as his lips would travel along the back of your neck and upper spine. Your hands would travel to his hair and you'd push your hips back into his. Eventually he'd grab your hips and forcefully spin you around, kissing you and dragging you to the soft sand.

He always returned you home after, moist swollen lips and pleasantly tingling bodies, sharing knowing looks and giggles at the dry-humping and grinding that transpired; the sand you find at home for days after becoming an intimate inside joke between you.

Erwin (age gap)

Erwin was the first older man you've been with, and you weren't sure how you had ever survived before. Experienced, mature, muscular, capable, successful, stable.

You were his priority. Were you happy with your wardrobe? He'll buy you a new one. No one to go to the store with? He'll take you shopping wherever you'd like. Did you like the furniture in your apartment? He'll buy you a new set. Did paying bills stress you out? He'll pay it for you. What else would I want to spend my money on if not you? he'd tell you when you'd protest, capturing you within his large arms, pressing you into his strong chest.

Date nights were events, where you both dressed in your nicest garments and ate at a nice restaurant. Erwin would open and close the car door for you, push and pull the chair out for you, pour the bottle of wine for you, order for you, telling you he knew what you liked (he always did).

During the dinner the clouds in his blue eyes whisked into lustful storms. He'd pay the check and hurry you out of the restaurant with his hand glued to your lower back, complaining in your ear about how the food never tasted as good as you did, how he'd wished you'd stayed in and he'd had you instead. He'd rush you into the car, practically running to the other side of the car and racing home.

Jean

Jean prepared you dinner for your first date, buying the ingredients fresh that morning and preparing it from scratch, still cooking (about an hour from being done) when you arrived at his apartment. He'd begged his roommate to leave for the night, and he'd already prepared the table for a romantic evening (about 5 hours before the date started).

He greeted you with a peck on the cheek, a move that you watched him internally question for a split-second, one that he then tried to move on from by awkwardly shuffling you to the counter. You'd smile, a light blush forming from the proximity and the heat of the room.

He liked preparing you dinners for dates, frequently remaking the meal you'd had that first night, kissing you on the cheek every time in homage to that first night. Jean would shower you with compliments, making up for the moments where the sarcastic comments would slip through.

After a few dates you started arriving earlier to cook with him, chopping and dicing vegetables while he seasoned and operated the stove. He'd trap you between his arms against the counter, pressing kiss after kiss to your cheeks and lips and pulling you close, your hands traveling to the growing bulge in his jeans, only moving away when you both started to smell something burning.

Zeke

You had first met Zeke on the lawn at a concert. He was shirtless, sitting on a flannel fabric (probably his shirt), waving both hands in the cool autumn air, a lit lighter in one hand, swaying to the beat of the music, smoking something between his lips.

He put it out as soon as he noticed you standing nearby, scrambling to stand up and started to talk to you between opening acts, somehow managing to intrigue you enough for a date outside the concert venue (totally didn't have anything to do with his six-pack abs).

Although keeping a cool, calm, and collected demeanor, Zeke was always nervous on your dates, constantly wondering if you were enjoying yourself, if the conversation was stimulating enough or if the activities were entertaining enough. He never said anything, but you could read it in the unsteady glances and nervous nail biting.

When you wrapped your arms around his neck, you'd step on your tip-toes and press a soft kiss to his lips, swooping in to ease his anxieties. I had a great time with you, you'd whisper against his lips, thanks for a great night.

He'd tighten his grip around your waist, pull you in as close as you could get, until the only space left between you was the air in your lungs and he was going to squeeze that out too. His attitude would shift as the blood started pumping to his legs, smacking your ass and biting your bottom lip. Let me make it so much better.

Historia

When Historia had first confessed her feelings for you at the coffee shop, you were slightly surprised. The hand-holding and faux-flirting was something she did with everyone. You never realized it was special with you, that it was real with you.

She liked to spoil you, and though she always needed to convince you, you always gave in, letting her buy just that one thing for you or take you to that place you really wanted to go.

Museums were where you both frequently visited, the quiet ambiance perfect for you two. You both talked so much outside of date nights that you had nothing to say during them, and observing art was a hobby you both shared (one that you imprinted on her (she likes it because you do)).

You found out later that Historia considered that time at the coffee shop your first date. But you considered it that first night at the museum, when your hands grazed in front of the Mona Lisa, when you both felt pulled together for the first time, when you both leaned in and kissed for the first time, feeling like no eyes were on you.

Despite that Historia was very affectionate, that first time being an exemption, she never kissed you in public or on camera. That was shared between you two behind closed doors, and you two alone.

[hippolotamus]

thought i planned for everything (just didn’t count on you) | 1.6k | E (BuckTommy)

Earlier today I promised my wife @bidisasterevankinard an incentive for studying in exchange for making her think about too many WIP ideas. Since husband @diazsdimples is also going through it with schooling, this is for both of you 😘 ps: idk anything about what certs and licenses and stuff Tommy would need. Just roll with it and be nice, yeah? Also, this is unbeta’d so if you see any mistakes, no you don’t.

Tommy scrubs at his forehead, blowing out a frustrated breath. He’s looked at the material in front of him for months now, determined to ace his recertifications. And it had been going well. Really well, in fact. He had a study schedule mapped out, accounting for his shifts and time with friends. He even left a small margin for the unexpected. There was just one factor he hadn’t accounted for. Evan.

The past few years of dating haven’t exactly gone anywhere serious. Some casual dates, one that he thought could go the distance but only broke his heart. So the expectation of having that feeling again? Of having someone thoughtful and caring, who gives him butterflies and makes him want things? Pretty much zero.

But then a hurricane happened. Actual and metaphorical. It tore through his life, upending the idea that love – or anything close to it – just wasn’t in the cards for him. And when everything settled, there was Evan. Evan, who asks how his shift was, tells him when he gets back from a call, and turns a pretty shade of pink as he blushes and says ‘I missed you’.

Tommy doesn’t regret any of it, but he does wish the universe’s cosmic timing could’ve held off just a little longer. At least until the state of California tells him what he already knows and says he’s fit to pilot an aircraft.

A knock on the door gets his attention, but he seriously contemplates ignoring it. He didn’t order anything and he doesn’t have plans. Unfortunately, the first responder in him can’t help wondering if one of his elderly neighbors needs something.

Fine. He sets down the pen he’s been chewing on and reminds himself it’s been too long since he stood up and walked around anyway.

“Evan?” Tommy asks, surprised to see him standing there. He instinctively looks him up and down for obvious injuries or signs of distress, but finds nothing. Only his gorgeous boyfriend, smiling coyly. “I didn’t forget about a date, did I?”

“No, uh, nothing like that. Because you are supposed to be studying.” Evan raises one eyebrow like Tommy is in the wrong for answering his own door after somehow manifesting Evan’s presence.

“And yet here you are.”

“Here I am,” Evan says shyly. “I know I’ve been taking a lot of your time lately and wanted to help.”

For the first time, Tommy notices Evan’s got his hands behind his back and wonders what his definition of ‘help’ is. He’s dressed down, soft and adorable in a hoodie and joggers, so it’s unlikely to be a booty call. Though not completely out of the question. And not that Tommy would complain either.

“Did you bring flashcards or something?”

“As a matter of fact…” Evan steps over the threshold, past Tommy, like he owns the place. While shy, demure Evan is a favorite, confident Evan is by no means a turn off. Especially as he whirls around and proudly holds up a set of blue, yellow and pink index cards. “I did.”

“Evan-”

“A few nights, when I couldn’t sleep, I might have taken some notes of my own. And, like I said, thought I could make myself useful for my hot, pilot boyfriend.” He rocks up on his tiptoes, capturing Tommy’s lips for a chaste kiss before he meanders to the kitchen.

Tommy pushes the door closed, following Evan where he lays the cards down on the table, opposite the books and manuals Tommy has scattered. Evan walks to the cabinets and helps himself to a glass, filling it with water before returning. Next he makes himself comfortable in a chair, sitting slightly back with his legs spread apart.

“So, can I help?”

There’s a glimmer of mischief in the way Evan looks at him now that has his heart racing. Like helping is the last thing Evan plans to do.

Tommy gathers himself enough to sit down in his own seat and flashes Evan a confident smirk.

“Do your worst, kid.”

“I’ll start with an easy one. What is the atmospheric gas composition?”

“Twenty-one percent oxygen, seventy-eight percent nitrogen, one percent other,” Tommy rattles off.

“Well done.” Evan flicks the card down then casually leans over to untie one shoe and slip it off.

“What are you-”

Evan clicks his tongue, tutting in fake admonishment. “Can’t tell you all my secrets, baby. Next question. Each one hundred meter climb in elevation causes a temperature drop of what?”

“One degree Celsius.”

Evan simply grins and removes his other shoe, leaving him in socked feet. Tommy would be lying if he said his dick wasn’t taking interest now that he’s caught on to Evan’s game. It is thoroughly unhelpful.

“PAIP should be implemented how many minutes after an aircraft fails to give its position report or is overdue for arrival?”

“Fifteen. Got anything harder for me?”

Evan’s tongue darts out, licking along his lower lip. “Oh, you bet I do.”

Tommy takes a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure and think about… anything except bending Evan over the table. If only it was that simple.

They repeat the process, volleying questions and answers back and forth until Evan’s stripped down to his boxers, his cock obviously hard and leaking beneath the tented fabric. It’s distracting as hell and Tommy doesn’t know how he’s supposed to concentrate.

“Come on, old man,” Evan teases, palming himself lazily. “Lives are on the line here. You need to be able to think under tense conditions.”

“You’re such a brat.” Tommy’s jeans press uncomfortably on his own straining erection and he doesn’t bother to stop himself from mirroring Evan’s movements.

“Yeah, but I’m your brat.” Evan applies more pressure, letting out an obscene moan as he strokes himself. “Or I could be – ahh – if you get this – mmph – question right.”

“Fuck, Evan.” Tommy undoes his belt and zipper, creating the tiniest bit of relief.

“That’s the idea. Even – oh, fuck – wore the new plug I told you about.”

Christ, Evan’s gonna kill him before they get the chance to see this all play out. And that’s unacceptable.

“Don’t stop,” Tommy orders, stalking off to grab the lube stashed in the couch cushions. When he returns, Evan is still stroking himself exactly like he was instructed. “Good boy, Evan. Doing what I told you.”

Tommy grips his chin and crashes their mouths together in a filthy kiss, delighted as Evan makes the most beautiful whine.

“But, you – ah – didn’t answer me,” Evan protests when they separate.

“Myoglobin.” He leans close to Evan’s ear, nipping at the lobe. “Lesson’s over, kid. Face down over the table. Naked. Now.”

Evan nearly trips over himself, leaping up from his chair and shoving his boxers down. He drapes himself over the piles of papers and index cards, wiggling his ass like he’ll die if he has to go one more second without being fucked.

“Gotta say, I like your methods,” Tommy murmurs, starting to work the plug in and out, tracing his other hand along Evan’s bare skin. “But now I think it’s time for your reward. Don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, yes. Please.”

“So desperate, my Evan,” Tommy coos. “Thought you would be in control, getting me all worked up. And here you are, laid out so gorgeously for me, just begging for it.”

Tommy pulls the plug out completely, discarding it to the floor. Evan keens and clenches around nothing, just waiting to be full again.

“Don’t worry, baby. I got you.” Tommy shoves his jeans and boxers down to his thighs. He slicks himself up with the lube and smears a generous amount on his fingers, fucking them in and out of Evan’s hole. Just enough to ease the way.

“Tommy,” Evan pants, practically crying when he pulls out.

He lines himself up, gripping Evan’s hips and pushing in without additional warning. He doesn’t pause for adjustments before he sets a relentless pace. It’s unlikely either of them are going to last, but he’s not going for longevity here.

Evan curls his hands around the edges of the table, leveraging it to fuck himself back against Tommy’s cock. It’s stunning and breathtaking, the rhythm they’re creating. A symphony of moans, squelches and skin against skin.

Soon the familiar heat pools in his belly, bringing him closer to the edge.

“Ohfuuuuck,” Evan moans, purposely tightening around him.

Tommy digs his fingertips into Evan’s sides, the world around him being reduced to static and white noise as he comes, filling Evan up. He thinks he might shout Evan’s name, but he’s not really sure, nor does he really care as he slumps forward, draping himself across Evan’s glistening skin.

“Gimmeasec,” he mumbles. “I’ll take careayou.”

“No need,” Evan murmurs back. “All good.”

Tommy presses a lazy kiss to Evan’s spine, enjoying the resulting small shudder. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

He kisses another ridge, and another, before answering. “For taking notes. For caring. Wanting to help out. For being you.”

“It wasn’t too much?” Evan whispers, hesitantly.

“Never,” Tommy assures him, dropping gentle kisses over his neck and shoulders, mindful of the mess forming between them as he maneuvers to properly reach. “Never too much, baby.”

He bites back words that are too early to say, even if he definitely feels them. Has felt them building in his chest, creating a near endless chant. He wonders how long he’ll be able to smother them before they burst forth. Hopefully long enough. Enough for Evan to feel them, too. For Evan to want to stay.

“Clean up and nap?” Tommy asks instead.

“Sounds good. Earned it.”

Tommy huffs an amused sound against Evan’s skin before pressing one last kiss there. God, I hope so, kid.

[randomness19]

Adventures of the pack omega :D

(name is a work in progress, might make this a series on ao3)

In the high-octane world of Formula 1, where roaring engines, cutthroat rivalries, and towering egos collided, there existed one rare anomaly: Yuki Tsunoda. A pocket-sized storm of bubbly chaos, the grid’s singular omega, and possibly the only person who could hurl a croissant at Max Verstappen during breakfast and get away with it.

Yuki didn’t think of himself as special. Not really. Sure, he was the shortest guy on the grid, the loudest when angry, and had an uncanny ability to befriend every caterer and mechanic within a fifty-meter radius—but he chalked it up to personality, not biology.

What Yuki didn’t know was that to the rest of the paddock, especially the drivers, he wasn’t just *another* omega. He was *their* omega. Their chaotic, stubborn, too-loud, too-sweet, entirely oblivious little pack omega.

And nothing brought out the truth of that more than *today*.

---

The press pen was stifling, a narrow gauntlet of microphones, cameras, and nosy journalists. Yuki had just finished a strong qualifying run—P5—and was glowing with post-race adrenaline and pride.

"Yuki! Over here!"

He turned, smile wide, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Hi! Hello! I can hear you, no need to yell!"

A chorus of laughter. The press loved his soundbites. The way he swore with glee in interviews, how he called race engineers “idiots” and still got hugs after.

“Great lap today,” a journalist began. She was smiling, too nice, too fake. “Tell us—what’s it like being the only omega on the grid? Do you feel like you're at a disadvantage around so many strong, assertive alphas?”

The question knocked the wind out of him for a second.

“Oh.” Yuki blinked. Then forced a laugh, the same one he used when his trainer asked him to do core workouts. “I mean, I don’t know? I just drive fast. No one bites me or anything.”

More laughter, but thinner this time.

Another reporter chimed in, emboldened, “Has any of the attention from the others become *romantic*? You seem quite close to several of the alphas…”

“I’m close to everyone,” Yuki replied cheerfully, though his cheeks were hot. “We’re all friends, right?”

But the smile faltered when someone muttered something crude—too low for cameras to catch, but Yuki heard it.

“Bet the little omega likes the attention.”

Yuki’s face didn’t change. His eyes flicked over, then away. He smiled tighter, forced a breath through his nose, and turned to the next question.

But Charles Leclerc, standing two pens down, heard it too.

So did Pierre Gasly, just behind the wall of PR reps.

And Max Verstappen—who, despite being a self-declared grump—had a soft spot for Yuki that manifested mostly in food deliveries and intimidating glares.

---

The paddock was quiet as a storm brews.

Charles moved first, as smooth and elegant as ever. He abandoned his own interview mid-sentence, stepping over wires and ignoring the calls of “Charles! Charles!”

He stood behind Yuki, not saying a word—just there, a quiet shield, one hand lightly resting on Yuki’s shoulder.

Yuki glanced up, confused. “Uh—Charles?”

“Stay here, chouchou,” Charles said softly. “Don’t move.”

Then Pierre arrived, fire in his stride. He didn’t stop to smile. Didn’t wave. He walked straight past Yuki to the journalist section.

“Who said it?” His voice was low, not loud, not yet. “Which one of you thought it was funny to disrespect *him*?”

No one answered, but the silence spoke volumes. Pierre’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tight.

“You think because he’s small and sweet, he can’t hear you? Can’t feel when you’re laughing *at* him?”

Max wasn’t far behind, dragging Lando Norris and Alex Albon with him like backup. Even George Russell appeared, polite mask gone, eyes sharp and assessing.

Yuki stared, bewildered.

He didn’t understand how a single comment, brushed off with a shrug, had escalated into what looked dangerously close to a grid-wide standoff.

“Guys,” he started, flustered, “It’s fine, really—”

“No, it’s not,” Pierre interrupted, stepping back to cup Yuki’s cheek. His touch was gentle, thumb brushing over flushed skin. “You don’t get to decide that. Not when they make you uncomfortable.”

Charles leaned in too, the subtle scent of his cologne soothing. “You shouldn’t *have* to brush it off, Yuki.”

“I—” Yuki faltered. “I didn’t want to cause drama…”

“You didn’t,” George said from the side. “*They* did.”

The FIA’s media delegate tried to intervene, voice trembling, “Please—gentlemen—this is highly inappropriate—”

But Charles cut in smoothly, “You’re right. It *is* inappropriate. Which is why the person who made that comment won’t be receiving credentials next weekend. Yes?”

No one dared argue. Not with *that* many drivers watching.

---

Later, in the AlphaTauri hospitality suite, Yuki sat on the couch, legs tucked under him, nursing a boba drink Max had somehow fetched without a word. Pierre sat beside him, arms crossed but eyes soft.

“Why are you all like this?” Yuki muttered. “It was just a dumb comment…”

“Because you’re ours,” Pierre said quietly. “And you don’t even realize it.”

“I’m not a *thing*, Pierre.”

“You’re not,” Charles said, sitting on Yuki’s other side, “but you are part of our pack. You make this whole circus bearable. You’re the joy in it. The heart.”

“And the chaos,” Lando chimed in from the corner. “Don’t forget the chaos.”

Yuki blushed. “I just like throwing snacks at you guys…”

“And you make us feel like a family,” George added. “In a sport where we’re all raised to be competitors first.”

“I’m not… trying to be anything,” Yuki whispered. “I’m just being me.”

“That’s *exactly* why we’re protective,” Pierre murmured.

Yuki sniffled, a little overwhelmed. “Okay but—if you’re gonna do that whole protective alpha thing again, at least *warn* me next time.”

“No promises,” Charles said, smirking. “You bring it out in us.”

“You’re the pack omega, Yuki,” Max finally spoke, rare but firm. “And we’re lucky you don’t even know how much power you have.”

Yuki blinked. Then laughed, bright and disbelieving.

“I’m gonna make you all wear glitter at the next press conference.”

Pierre smiled. “Fine by me. As long as you smile too.”

---

And somewhere, in the background, F1’s most fearsome alphas and competitive betas had silently agreed on one thing:

Anyone who made their omega uncomfortable again wouldn’t be facing cameras next time.

They’d be facing *them*.

And *this* time, there’d be no mics on to censor what they had to say

[lordsukunas]

never make him love me

tldr: you’re determined to confess to teen!gojo, but your chances of success are literally 0.

cw: angst/no comfort... sorry? reader is a bit very delusional n kinda weird, gojo may be a bit ooc, no curse au, gender neutral (i think) but reader is wearing a skirt, and im p sure this is not very accurate to the actual japanese school system. not beta read btw

a/n: this has been in my drafts for too long... whoops! trying a different divider but i don’t rlly like it. also does reader count as a girl/boyfailure here or not? they kinda strange tbh :/ idk lol, hope yall enjoy getting rejected by gojo n can yall guess who hes already in love w

you’re in love with gojo satoru.

which, to be fair, a lot of people are. he’s a pretty face: soft, snow-white hair with bright cerulean eyes that draws anyone and everyone in. a big, gorgeous smile, and long, muscular limbs that you just know would feel so good wrapped around you.

plenty of people have confessed to him, and all of them have been rejected. that should be enough to put you off, to make you face the reality that gojo may not be madly in love with you, but it just makes you more determined. he’s just rejecting everyone else because he’s waiting for you!

that has to be it, right?

definitely, you think as you skip to gojo’s classroom. you can feel the weird stares from students (and even a teacher or two), but they don’t matter. you’re going to confess to gojo satoru, damn it, and nothing’s getting in the way.

it’s lunch period, thankfully, which means he’ll be with geto and ieiri. that’s good — his best friends will be there to watch him declare his reciprocated love for you.

you slide the door open, love letter and two packs of kasugai gummies in one hand. a few students in the room glance up at you, including gojo!

the two of you lock eyes — well, you think you do. it’s a bit difficult to tell, but his head is facing your direction, so he’s totally looking at you. he’s noticing you!!!

you bite your lip to stifle the giggle bubbling up in your chest and walk up to the perfect trio (hopefully, soon to be quadruple). “hi, gojo,” you say, a nervous yet giddy smile on your face.

“... hey?” he exchanges looks with geto before focusing back on you. “do i know you?”

okay, ouch. you literally sat behind him in chemistry, but, whatever. don’t focus on the little things!

“um, probably not, but!” you hold out the envelope with a heart sticker as the seal. “i have something to tell you.”

“uh... okay.” gojo scratches the back of his neck, then takes the letter. he slides his finger under the seal, tearing it open, and pulls the letter out. he unfolds it, and both geto and ieiri lean in to also read it.

a frown tugs at the corners of your lips. the words were meant for just gojo, not those two. although... does it really matter? you’re just proving that you’re a good fit for their best friend.

after a drawn out moment of silence, gojo chuckles, albeit awkwardly. “wow, uh... this is a lot.”

you nod. “yeah!” you also hand him the packs of gummies, which he takes a bit more eagerly than the letter and sets them on his desk. “so, um...”

your heart has been hammering in your chest this entire time, but now it feels like it’s trying to escape. sweat accumulates on your palms, and you resist the urge to wipe them on your skirt.

this is the big moment.

you hope and pray and plead to whatever being that’s out there for gojo to accept and reciprocate your feelings. with all the manifesting and ‘love spells’ you’ve done, it should work. gojo satoru is most definitely in love with–

“this is nice, but, uh, i’m not interested.”

...

what?

you blink down at him, and now you’re the one chuckling nervously. “i’m sorry?”

maybe you misheard. that had to be it, right? there’s no way he isn’t in love with you. you bought him gummies, you wrote him a letter, you spent countless hours researching and trying different manifestation methods, you prayed at the shrine, you learned his schedule so that you could pass by him on the way to class, you did everything for him.

he scratches the back of his neck again before refolding the letter and putting it back into the envelope. “i’m not really interested in a relationship right now. you’re probably really cool and stuff, so don’t take it personally.”

no, no, no, no. this isn't how this was supposed to go! he was supposed to say yes! what happened? what did you do wrong?

now you’ve embarrassed yourself in front of his friends. his best friends. how are you supposed to come back from this? thank god no one else in the room is paying attention right now.

heat creeps up the back of your neck and spreads to your face. sweat is drenching your palms, blood is roaring in your ears, and you really want to melt into the ground never to be seen again. you’re pretty sure your heart just shattered into a trillion pieces and a shard pierced your lungs, because you cannot breathe.

you then feel a hand on your forearm, and you jolt. it’s ieiri. “hey, are you–”

“i’m fine!” you blurt, and a few heads turn in your direction. you take the envelope back from gojo, spin on your heel, and rush out of the classroom.

damn it.

you’re pushing past people to get to the restroom, and you slam the stall door shut before locking it.

you’re so stupid. how could the gojo satoru be in love with you?

the tears finally spill from your eyes, running down your cheeks, and you let your face fall into your hands as you sob.

idiot, idiot, idiot.

you should’ve known you wouldn’t be any different. he wasn’t waiting for you. he’ll never be waiting for you. you never had a chance, and in your defense, no one did.

gojo’s heart has already been claimed by someone else, and if you were a little smarter, you’d know exactly who it is.

[angelsleepinggurl]

𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐨𝐩

cw: blowjob, semi-public.

.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧

the ball of fear that has been churning inside you all weekend has manifested into something bigger and it’s relentless. it’s feels worse than tiny butterflies, more like moths. it’s more like the growing worry of having to approach your own shame like a criminal trudging to their execution. you don’t know what the boys have in store for you today and part of you hopes that that afternoon was a blip. they must’ve been doing a very elaborate prank and actually wanted nothing to do with you. that is until you catch sight of kuroo leaning against a locker, peering down on one of the younger girls.

no force could make you even go near his vicinity, your gut tells you to steer clear so you do. you just want to have your lunch in peace and hope to never be unfortunate enough to cross paths with them. this afternoon, you decide to make your way to a tree near the back of the school. the tree is large and flaky and the grass surrounding it is unappealing, but it’s good enough for you. away from the stupidity and chaos of your school. smoothing out your skirt you sit on the ground, surrounded by the large roots of the tree climbing out from underground. you’re about to sift through your bag and find the lunch you’ve packed for yourself until you realise it’s not with you.

uh oh.

in your history of existing, you’ve never once lost anything, you’re not careless enough to leave your bad behind/ but before you can scold yourself you remember that it’s not your fault your head’s out of the game. it’s theirs.

irritated, you stand from your spot, storming your way back into school. you aren’t entirely sure as to where you misplaced it, so you work backwards going to the place you were last. your classroom.

turning corners and walking upstairs. dodging people and people making way for you as you get to your science classroom. peering inside through the window you fail to see it from its restrictive viewing. so you try the door.

luckily it opens and you enter, but you still don’t see your bag. losing things is more discouraging than people make it seem.

“looking for this?” a voice emerges from behind you.

the familiar mop of brown hair causes a lump to get stuck in your throat, your fear settling within you again. you attempt to assert dominace in this situation but the flirtaous brunnete doesn’t let your attempt at reclaiming your power phase him. he’s sat on the teacher’s chair, his feet carelessly on the desk and he hold your belongings on the edge of his fingertips.

“give me my bag back.” you demand although your voice shaky.

“have you never heard of the magic word princess?” he says. evidently teasing and belittling you. your jaw clenches and you grit your teeth, holding back a numerous amount of snarky insults.

“i’d like it if you gave me my bag back.” he doesn’t move, he just sits and stares at you.

of course.

“you giving me my bag back would be greatly appreciated.” there’s a silence between the both of you.

“why can’t you do as you’re told?” he responds quickly.

“why can’t you stop being an annoying shit and give me my own stuff?”

“oo, she’s got a tongue. do i have to remind you how to use it around me?” he threatens, standing up from his seat and walking towards you. towering over you with his staggering height.

“i don’t need to do anything.”

“say it.”

“or what? we only agreed to fuck.” your tone aggressive.

“play nice or you know what.”

you bite your tongue again. visibly defeated.”please may i have my bag back?” you say lowly, jaw tense.

pleased, oikawa hands your bag back, “yes you may.” you snatch it off him and scoff as you walk away.

“where do you think you’re going?” he asks. “you have to show me you’re sorry for how you spoke to me before. it really hurt me.” he says with a smirk, walking back to sit on the chair.

“what do you want? money?” to which he shakes his head, maintaining eye contact with you as he man spread in the chair.

“come blow me, pretty.” you feel your heart drop to your ass.

“are you crazy! you want me to do that in a classroom, where a teacher could walk in any minute? where a student could walk by any second? it’s like you’re begin for me to get caught and expelled.”

“no never. i’d never wish such a thing.” he says “i just think the thrill of getting caught would do us both good.”

“but-”

“no one’s coming here. we’ve already taken care of that part. now don’t take too long or lessons are gonna start.”

there’s a twang in your heart as you drop your bag near the desk and walk to your demise. dropping to your knees and gathering your hair in a ponytail, you look up at him, waiting to be told what to do next. he’s amused. seeing you like this, in this state. vulnerable.

sick bastard.

“go on. unzip.” he commands. you hesitate for a minute before your careful hands reach out to his zipper, pulling it down and pulling the band of his briefs down slightly. his dick springs out, touching his stomach.

you gulp nervously as you take it in your hands. one hand moving slowly as you pump him the other pushing your hair behind your ear. you open your mouth as you approach his dick, making eye contact with him before latching your lips and wrapping them around his cock. with slow, languid movements, you bob your head up and down again this length. with gained confidence and increased speed, you begin including head tilts and using your hand again. oikawa seems to be enjoying this plenty, with the way he drops his head back and groans. with his dick now lubricated by your spit, it’s easier for your hand to glide across his length. you let your tongue swivel around his sensitive tip and you watch as he hisses because of it. your large eye looking up at him curiously seems to turn him on further as he groans again.

“shit, i didn’t know you were so good at this princess. i knew your tongue was good for something.” he says, hand playing with the hair atop your head. you fight the urge to retaliate in any way to his statement and focus on getting the hell out of there. you moan as you bob your head, using your thumb to brush against his tip instead whenever your mouth isn’t on it anymore. the boy places a firm grip on your hair, forcing you all the way down his length, earning him an angry glare from you.

“message received.” he responds passively, focusing on enjoying his free service. enjoying as your warm little mouth coats his aching dick, and your plush, pillowy lips are placing quick kisses from your base to tip. teasingly, you take a breather, gathering spit in your mouth, making eye contact as you dribble your spit down on his dick, creating a mess. “fuck.” he says quietly.

you reattach your mouth to his dick, sensing that he’s close and use your hand to help you get there. by stroking him faster and keeping your cheeks hollowed, leaving a small pop sound whenever you moved away. “shit just like that baby.” he groans in ecstasy, redirecting his attention to you making a mess on his dick.

who knew little ms. principal could get so naughty, and was so good?

you moan with him, the reverberations of your moans sending through his dick and making him grip the armrests of the chair harder. “good girl, i’m gonna come down your throat m’kay?” he says. it was only a matter of time, a matter of strokes and pumps before he was seconds away from cumming down your throat. and in the very last moment, you stop and quickly walk away.

“wha- hey!” he’s stunned as you leave in a flurry, the school bell ringing as the door slams shut behind you. “what the fuck? bitch.”

⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲

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taglist: @slutkoo

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