#to the living they know they look really really bizarre

[kefiteria]

Hi!

Not sure if I'm late or not with this request (just lmk if I am) but

Could I ask for platonic Sebek with half-fae reader that is stronger than him while being smaller than him? Both in terms of combat and in brute strength like lifting objects and such.

O Strength, Thy Name is Pocket-Sized

Platonic Sebek Zigvolt x Half-Fae!Reader Headcanons

a/n🍨: hihi thank you for requesting! sorry it took me longer to finish this🙏🏻 don't worry! requests are always open for now~ do let me know if this is to your liking✨

💤 The First Time You Lifted a Boulder. With One Hand. While Yawning.

It happened during a school trip. A harmless little expedition. Crewel asked for volunteers to help move the landscaping boulders around for an aesthetic adjustment of the botanical garden. No one stepped up—until you did.

Sebek with his arms crossed, said something like “Manual labor is not worthy of my strength!” but in that moment, you—tiny, unimposing, looking like a polite side character with a single voiceline—casually wrapped your fingers around a rock the size of an overfed cow and hefted it into the air like it weighed less than Lilia’s will to live.

Sebek screamed. A shriek, really. Something between a kettle and a wounded peacock.

“WHAT. IN THE NAME OF LORD MALLEUS’ GLORIOUS GLARE—?!”

You blinked at him with a confused face and a tilted head.

“...This one?”

You threw it over your shoulder like an inconvenience. It shattered a gazebo.

🥗 Sebek Develops Several Existential Crises. Sequentially.

“HOW,” he demands, trailing you around the school like a very loud duckling. “YOU ARE HALF-FAE. I AM HALF-FAE. WHY ARE YOU BUILT LIKE A FAE TANK? I TRAIN EVERY DAY. I DRINK THREE RAW EGGS EVERY MORNING. I—”

“Have you tried not yelling all your nutrients out of your body?” you reply, sipping herbal tea with fingers that could probably crush a skull like a grape.

He goes quiet for a moment. And then—

“I SHALL ADD FOUR EGGS.”

Sebek begins doing upside-down push-ups on the ceiling beams at 3AM. You once catch him trying to bench press Grim.

🫙 “Can You Open This?” Is a Weaponized Phrase.

The moment anyone in the dorms says it—"Can you open this jar?"—Sebek springs up like a righteous jack-in-the-box.

“I, SEBEK ZIGVOLT, SHALL—”

krkkk—

You’ve already opened it. Effortlessly. Pinky only. You even clean the rim.

Sebek stares at you like you just kicked down a cathedral.

🖋️ Sebek, Tragic Poet of Strength-Based Humiliation

He starts narrating his inner turmoil in deeply poetic, bizarrely florid monologues no one asked for.

“Oh Lord Malleus, oh draconian prince of my heart, why hath the cruel laws of muscle-fate bestowed such grotesque disparity upon us? Is it not I who shouts my allegiance into every hallway like a war trumpet? Is it not I who drinks protein shakes thicker than potion sludge?”

Yes, you catch him muttering in a mirror:

“Perhaps I am but a slender reed in a hurricane of your glorious biceps.”

Let’s just pretend you didn’t hear that.

⚔️ Combat Training Gone Wrong. And Then Very Right.

He insists on sparring. Of course he does. “I must test my mettle...” he declares, sword in hand, eyes wild with the need to prove something.

You’re unarmed and also chewing gum.

Ten seconds in, Sebek finds himself flat on the floor, disarmed, and somehow… hugging a traffic cone.

“Why is there a traffic cone in the field?” you murmur in confusion.

“WHY DID YOU THROW ME INTO IT???”

“...You lunged at me weird.”

He trains harder after that. He is often found doing lunges under waterfalls. There are no waterfalls in NRC? He'll built one.

🫂The Half-Fae Solidarity Pact™

Despite it all, there’s this quiet little thing between you both. In the hush between Sebek’s usual dramatic windstorms, when the campus quiets and the moon takes center stage in the great theatre of sky, he says softly:

“Do you ever feel like you don’t belong to either world?”

Slowly you glance over with face unreadable. You tear apart an entire metal fence while thinking. “All the time.”

You don’t elaborate. He doesn’t need you to. The bond is forged: not in loud proclamations, but in the quiet understanding of being neither human nor full fae. A half-blood solidarity. Two paradoxes in sync.

And he respects you deeply—not despite your strength, but because you never use it to mock him. You don’t look down on him even though you literally could lift him overhead and chuck him like a javelin.

(You did once. For a bet. He screamed all the way down and then demanded a rematch.)

🧃 Bonus: The Juicebox Incident

You once accidentally crushed a juice box in your hand while thinking too hard.

Sebek watched as it exploded up your arm like some kind of fruity geyser. He whispered:

“You are… terrifyingly majestic.”

Short Conclusion❔ :

You are small, strong, and stoically unbothered.

Sebek is loud, conflicted, and devotedly dramatic.

Together? An unstoppable comedic duo. The hype-man and the heavy-lifter. The philosopher and the puncher of walls.

Sometimes, he tries to open a jam jar just to prove something.

You watch.

You let him try.

You believe in him.

(But you do hide the traffic cones.)

[hoonieyun]

hindsight is 20/20

pairing: sim jaeyun x reader genre: established relationship, drabble/oneshot, fluff, romance warnings: besides kissing not much, 18+ not proofread lol

synopsis: jake has a bit of misplacing his glasses

wc: 882

jake has a habit of misplacing things and you found it cute, especially when he’d have a shocked expression on his face, lips parted and eyes wide when he realizes that something was missing. the way he’d pat his pockets or walk around in circles like a puppy while he looked for whatever he had misplaced.

it was a cute habit of his. 

he often lost his keys, phone, wallet, the usual but would find it shortly after thanks to him putting his glasses on so he could see better. 

however, right now he was looking for that very thing, his glasses. 

he’s been misplacing them more and more lately, sometimes you’d have to help him look for them and after finding them in bizarre places like the shelf in your shower or in one of the plenty planters in your shared apartment, you decided you’d play a little prank on your sweet boyfriend. 

“baby..” jake says with a huff, lips settled into a pout. 

“can you please help me find my glasses again.. i swear i left them on the nightstand.” 

wrong. 

you woke up earlier than jake today and found his glasses sitting in your fridge next to the carton of milk. you thought it was weird at first, still is to be honest, but figured that he accidentally put them in there when he meant to put the half eaten sandwich sitting on the dining table instead. 

you hummed in response, “honey.. i told you that you really need to stop misplacing them. your glasses are important, you only have one pair!” you say, pretending like you didn’t know where they were when they sat right on your face. you put them on and have just been waiting for jake to notice. 

there’s a smile on your face as you try to hold back a chuckle while you watch him practically tear up your living room to find his glasses. he even went as far as going through each potted plant to make sure they weren’t in there again. 

“baby, please help meee.” he says, voice whiny as he’s coming to the conclusion that he’s probably never going to see them again and will have to order new ones to replace them. you can’t help but let out the chuckle and he whips his head towards you. staring straight at you with an exaggerated pout and when you thought you’ve gotten caught wearing his glasses, you realize that jake hasn’t noticed because you probably look very blurry to him. 

“what are you laughing at?” jake says with a cute frown, putting his hands on his hips with a scoff like he was an old man. 

he walks over to you and you just continue to giggle, waiting for him to finally realize that you were wearing his glasses the whole time. 

“what’s so funny, huh?” he asks, jumping on you gently and putting his whole weight onto your sitting figure on the couch. you welcome him with open arms as he settles into your lap even though he barely fits. 

you wrap your arms around his neck, still waiting for him to notice. 

“should i just order new glasses.. will you help me choose a design?” he says with a smile that puffs his cheeks outwards, like a loaf of bread– and once again you can’t help but laugh. you and jake were much closer in proximity now, his face just inches from yours and he doesn’t seem to notice the very pair of glasses he was looking for are sitting on your face, looking back at him. 

“sure, honey. i’ll help you choose. do you like my glasses?” you ask, trying to get him to notice. 

his eyes brighten at your words, cheeks flushing, “you know what? yeah! they kind of look like my old ones, we can match!” jake says, his brain filled with excitement at the idea of getting matching eyewear with his girlfriend. 

“honey, these are YOUR glasses!" you say, laughing at his oblivious nature. 

“what! no way..” he says, carefully plucking them off your face and putting them on his to test them out.

“woah! they are! you found them, thank you. baby!” peppering small kisses on your face before a longer one on your lips. 

“jake, i had them the whole time. i was waiting for you to notice because you’ve been losing them a lot lately. i found it in the fridge!” 

“is that why the sandwich on the table is still there? i thought i put that away..” he says, pouting as he tries to recall his steps from the night before. 

jake was just too cute that the prank itself doesn’t have the effect you expected. you fully thought jake would get even more sulky and pouty that you pranked him but he’s endlessly grateful that you found them and they weren’t completely lost. 

“can we still get matching glasses? we’d look so cute.” you nod in response as he reaches for his phone in his pocket, or so he thought, but when you notice he’s checking every pocket he has and still no phone, you realize that he’s also misplaced that. 

“you don’t know where your phone is, huh?”

jake shyly nods, a sheepish grin on his face, “maybe..” 

hoonieyun notes: a little drabble i thought of after my conversation with @s1rawb3rry about glasses LOL <333 also yes.. two jake fics back to back SUE ME I LOVE THE MAN

ᡣ•.•𐭩♡ @pagemiah @jiiyen @jnysaln @xh01bri @rairaiblog @laurradoesloveu @manaah02 @zorange13 @firstclassjaylee @kristynaaah @17ericas @heeseung64 @leipforggy @s1rawb3rry

copyright 2025 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned. if you enjoyed reading this please consider reblogging and following <3

[kjiscrawlingbackformore]

It’s Just a Knife

Shauna Shipman x Reader post!rescue

Summary: Even after everything is said and done. Shauna still haunts you just as much as you haunt her. The only difference is while Shauna lives to forget, you find a way to her out your system.

A/N: lowkey saw a post on here about a knife and thought of this. 😭

It started when you were at an antique mall. You were trying to find some furniture for cheap. You moved, to an off shoot town in Illinois, not too far from the city, but enough away to live a quiet comfortable life. You moved to a new place, enrolled into a small community college.

At this stage of life, the name of the game was to live a quiet life. At least try to.

You don’t know where it came from. The urge to runaway. Maybe it was because you felt suffocated when you came back from the wilderness. Like you were going to choke on this foreign air. It was as if your lungs got used to the air from that hellhole.

When you finally could breathe, the panic attacks came, and they came more times you can count. No matter how hard you tried to will yourself to a good place…you couldn’t. The only person who could calm you down.

Was that damn butcher.

You don’t even know why it was her. Why her rough fingers cupping your face had such a soothin effect. Or why your ears gave way to her voice above the ringing. Or even why when she kissed your temple, and pulled you into her chest. You could catch your breath again.

You fucking hated it.

You hated it because you hated her. You hated yourself for being weak for her. Even when she was mean, cruel, hurtful for fun. And when she went back to Jeff after five months into being back home. You felt lonelier than you ever had in your life.

You didn’t even really think it through when you left. Didn’t tell your parents, your friends, the others. No, you made damn sure no one was going to find you. It felt better that way.

No one needed you around anyways.

Your eyes scanned the booth, as the combination of old wood, dust, and lemon polish overwhelmed your nose. You wondered if the wilderness heightened anyone else’s senses?

Your smell seemed to change since coming back. You could smell things from a mile away. It was bizarre, you seemed to smell things no one else could. Your fingers poked through items on a side table. Wait. The pads of your fingers feeling the smooth aged wood.

This is perfect for your room. You started to search for the price tag. You opened the drawer, and there was a beautiful dagger. Your mouth opened in surprise. The sheath had an Ornate hand stitched design across the leather, in gold. You grabbed the handle, with hesitant hands.

And when you unsheathed the dagger, a dull but beautiful almost black metal knife met you, the same ornate design engraved into the knife’s body. Like branches reaching out into the tip of the knife.

You couldn’t help but think of her seeing this.

So you bought it. You told yourself you were buying it for the aesthetic. That it matched the wood grain of the nightstand you picked out, that it would look good resting across the top, beside an old ashtray you didn’t use and a lamp with no bulb.

But you knew that was bullshit.

Because the moment your fingers brushed the hilt, you weren’t in the antique mall anymore. You were by the river. It was snowing. She was crouched by a stump, sawing through a rabbit’s femur with that cold, mechanical focus she always had when there was blood involved. Even after months of it, months of killing to survive. you were the one, with tears streaming down your face after killing it.

Something about watching Shauna skin and cut into it with the eyes still open. Made you feel sick. You could detach, disassociate, hold the cold metal of a gun to your cheek, aim, shoot the thing. You could remove the yourself from the equation easy. Become an entirely different person. Doing what you have to do to survive.

But it was when you came back and sat wordless by Shauna like clockwork. Watching her move meticulously, knife skills still shaky but confident, like she was sure about each swipe and cut. The weight….the cost of it sits with you.

She would always look to you with a sorta mixed look. Half amused, half concerned. Probably wondering why this part of the process affected you so much. Or why you always sat by her like her shadow carefully watching a process that clearly bothered you so much.

You didn’t know either. Except that you could tell she loved it. She loved that you ignored the ugliness of the task at hand, but watched the skill. It made Shauna more confident, she felt needed, seen.

Her precision got better with each stroke. And when it was all said in done. She always sat next to you and with a kindness only reserved for you she would wipe your eyes and say, “You have to get used to it, eventually.” that was when she had softness in her voice.

Before Jackie, the baby, the cabin, Mari. Right before all that messy bit when you both were still you and Shauna. You hated how much you did get used to it.

You hated the after. The Shauna that came after. You hated how good she was at making you feel small, then safe, then nothing at all. The more the knife sat on your nightstand the more the wilderness seemed to nestle itself back into your life.

The more the shadow of Shauna entered your home. You couldn’t do that. It felt intrusive, consuming, and more than that exhausting. Like trying to will ghosts to leave you alone.

So did the next best thing. You sent her the knife.

No return address. No note. Just bubble wrap and a plain white box and her name in clean, blocky handwriting — the kind you learned to fake after forging your own absence notes in high school.

You didn’t know what you wanted her to do with it. Throw it away. Use it. Recognize it. Feel something. You didn’t even know if she’d open it. Maybe Jeff would get the mail.

Maybe she’d think it was some weird fan thing. She always said people were obsessed with them, sending weird ass letters — the survivors.

You never gave the public that satisfaction. You stayed away from the reporters. Left New Jersey. Moved under a fake name.

But you still thought of her. That’s the part that made you want to break things. That after everything — after she looked you in the eye and chose comfort over connection, chose Jeff and his stupid, normal future, you still saw her in your dreams.

Still woke up half expecting to hear her steadying breathing beside you in your tent. Still felt the ghost of her arms around you when it got too cold.

The knife wasn’t a gift. It was a message. Or maybe a question.

Do you still think of me? Do you remember what it felt like, when it was just us, bleeding and breathing and trying not to die? Do you still remember the wilderness?

And in a twisted way, like the nature of all things with you and Shauna, it became a kind of ritual.

Not intentional, not at first. The second knife was a coincidence. Some random estate sale in a church basement, the kind of place where everything smells like mildew and looks like the set of a horror movie. It had a bone handle, smooth as glass, and a blade so thin it could probably slice through paper without touching it.

You mailed it the same way you did the first. No note. Just the knife. It felt good, like getting rid of something too heavy to keep. And then it kept happening.

At pawn shops, flea markets, antique fairs, even once from an overpriced vintage shop in the city where the clerk looked at you funny when you asked if it was “functional.” Each one was different. One had a rose etched into the base. One came in a velvet box. One had a chip in the blade that made you think of her front tooth, cracked from a fall during the second winter out there.

You never expected a response. That wasn’t the point. It was never about her knowing it was you. It was about you getting rid of the memories of her that still whispered under your skin.

Until the fifth year.

It came like the others, plain brown wrapping, no return address, postage each from a different state. Shauna opened it while Jeff was unloading groceries.

She didn’t react, not right away. Just peeled back the paper and bubble wrap like she was used to it. Because she was. Because they always came around the same time every year. Late March, like clockwork.

This one was different, though.

Not just the knife, it wasn’t stunning, it wasn’t anything special even by her standards. It was plain, boring even. Rusting at the corners, the handle felt weighted, but ordinary. It looked almost ancient.

But it felt reverent in her hands.

Because it was…was exactly like the knife. Her knife. From the wilderness, the one Coach Ben handed her. All those years ago. It was like an exact replica. Shauna’s eyes went wide, and she felt like that scared seventeen year old, holding onto an old decaying knife in the middle of the woods.

Her breath stilled. Her grip tightened. Not daring to let go of it. Like her life-force was tied to this rusting piece of metal. Shauna licked her lips nervously. Tucked beneath it, a piece of stiff, cream-colored paper. She pulled it out slowly, hands trembling.

Typed in faded black ink, barely three lines:

“Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it.”— Norman Maclean

She hadn’t heard those words in years. Not since-

Her fingers curled around the note. The typewriter ink had smudged in one corner. Maybe from a trembling hand. Maybe from snowmelt, once.

Shauna could see your face just behind lines. Your small smile, your steady presence. You reciting that to Shauna under just by the bank of the river saying it’s the last thing you remembered from English honors. It left a whirlwind of emotions smack her. You always made it hard for her to be casual.

Jeff walked in, holding a gallon of milk. “What’s that?” he asked, already suspicious.

She didn’t miss a beat.

“Oh, nothing,” she said, slipping the note into her back pocket. “It’s just a knife again.” She laughed like it was harmless.

Jeff muttered something about how crazy those sickos are. But Shauna didn’t hear, her eyes didn’t leave the blade. And that night, when Jeff was asleep, she dug out a shoebox from the back of her closet. The knives were all there, lined up in dish towels and old scarves. She laid the new one beside them…then, for the first time in five years, she took one out.

Just to feel the weight of it.

Just to remember you.

[creaturefeaster]

sorry if this is a weird/confusing question, but if Colorquest was real or at the very least just mimes, would they still look cartoonish irl? like next to a realistic person theyre super rounded. like something out of roger rabbits. or would they be somewhat realistic too

This isn't confusing at all. Honestly, it's something I feel like I struggle to convey to people quite often, so the fact that you ask really excites me... er, as long as I'm interpreting the question correctly, of course. Which, it feels like I am.

Yes, the mimes would feel very artificial. They are like what you would expect a 3D stick figure to look like in real life-- with the added (typically) cylinder/tube-like torso, of course. Smooth surfaces with no imperfections, no pores or divets. Round, cartoonishly proportionate living mannequins, with the surface area of their bodies scattering light in such a way that it's hard to get a read on their depth as if they are cell-shaded; They are almost walking cartoons, but with respect to three dimensional laws. Less decided upon, I often consider they'd have a start black outline around their silhouette, like the effect you find in Borderlands games for instance.

So basically yeah they'd look about how they do as they are drawn as they would in real life. The living would look like actual organic people like you and me.

[fungi-maestro]

Happy tdov to fat trans people. 🏳️‍⚧️ Biggest thing that helped me as a trans kid was seeing older fat trans people. There were a lot of really irritating "advice" posts going around early in my time on the internet with a lot of misinformation in them, but one that I constantly saw (in addition to people claiming you should wear your pants rediculously low or only wear button ups) were posts saying you had to lose weight to transition. Can confidently confirm that is completely untrue. 👍

[ducktracy]

for some reason my brain decided that i really need to fixate on The Beatles and spend the entire day reading Wikipedia articles on each Beatle and browsing the internet for peoples' opinions on them. and i have discovered that i really like the songs that seem to be universally hated by Beatles fans and occasionally by the Beatles themselves. what this says about me, i do not know... but Maxwell's Silver Hammer rocks Bungalow Bill rocks Ob-La-Di rocks Octopus' Garden rocks. that is my message

[lilac-set]

Inspired by the last post i reblogged, genuine question, what is recreational dancing? Just like casual at the club dancing? Is it just random movement? Why? Watching any individual person it doesnt really look random. They seem to be making decisions about how to move in some sort of way. How? People always say there is no “correct”, but people also criticize people who do it “badly”, so how is that defined? I cant find a pattern

Also genuine question, why would you want to? Sitting still is physically and mentally easier (and socially easier apparently, because of secret rules they insist dont exist), so im curious what the appeal of casual dancing is?

[hana-bobo-finch]

i am one day late to my own character’s birthday but whatever better late than never. this image popped up in my head last night and I felt obligated to make it

for context Tornado is the name of the only social networking site on fincg island and C.C. is. very into the occult and would definitely think this is a halfway decent thing to do (it is not)

og

[baycitystygian]

the weird thing about living with a sibling you didn’t grow up with as adults is that you will literally act like siblings regardless and because you were raised completely different you will each think the other is the weirdest fucker on the planet. not sure how common this experience is but I could write a novel about all the weird ass shit my sister does. like refrigerating cosmic brownies and refusing to use tissues and instead blowing (literally) through toilet paper at a frantic pace. she literally keeps a roll on her desk and bedside table. tell me that isn’t serial killer level shit right there. I keep a box of tissues in the bathroom at all times and I constantly remind her that she’s free to use them but she seems to be under the impression that her nose produces so much snot that she’ll go through them way too fast. girl you have a deviated septum you don’t have an open geyser on your face!!!! it’s not the boogers making you unable to breathe it is your own damn nose!!!!!

[xcziel]

i wonder if maybe jin's fanmeet is really just a subtle way to touch base with the og army - the real ones that were there for them pre-debut and at the music shows

and that's why it's local only and they don't seem to feel bad about cutting some people out - probably for security reasons too

if i was jin i'd only want to actually be touching those i knew by face over the years who can be trusted not to pull something creepy or weird

[lovelivision]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎.❝ SAY MY NAME ❞

･ ⟢ ⋮ summary. . . running into your childhood friend you'd lost touch with just when you were in need of a roommate was super lucky for you, too bad living with and getting close to him has you feeling things you probably shouldn't !! just how exactly is he feeling about this arrangement ??

.pairing ﹒ꕀ . gojo satoru / reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎wc. ⁀ ⊹ 12.6k

warnings.ᐟ.ᐟ 18+ only, smut, university au, swearing, dirty talk, cunnilingus, thigh fucking, big dick gojo, p in v penetration, unprotected sex, praise kink, creampie, fingering, cumplay (not really), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, size kink (if you squint), gojo is down bad, reader is scared of horror films, f!reader, she/her pronouns used, i think that's all !!

Having a roommate is great! You pay less on rent, split utility bills, there’s usually someone home if you get locked out or have to go away for a couple days. There’s many benefits, which is why you wanted one in the first place but when it comes to your reality… it’s a different story. Especially when your roommate is some guy from one of your classes that suddenly needed a roommate when you started looking.

Okay, some guy is a little harsh, you’ve known each other since you were kids, you just grew apart as you got older and have only really gotten back in touch during university. It was surprising to see him on campus but not unpleasant. He was a familiar face on a day where you had no friends in a new environment. It’s embarrassing to think back on it now, with how you practically clung to him the whole day.

Your childhood with him was nice, there’s a lot of memories there. Thinking hard, there wasn’t even an inciting incident to your growing apart. It was natural and happened slowly. Still neighbours but he’d gone to a different high school, and you’d stayed where you were. You don’t really know or remember what happened that you stopped hanging out all together and you were too shy and nervous to just walk those few steps next door.

He was the boy that walked home with you after school, who held his hand out to you when you fell over, who told kids off for picking on you. He was a good friend and always made you smile, losing a friend like him hurt. It hurts more that there isn’t any obvious blame to be put anywhere, it’s not like you guys had a fight or anything.

The fact that your paths had diverged and met again feels bizarre and puts you on edge. Easily falling into step with him before realising you’ve not seen each other in years, a familiarity you feel like you shouldn’t have but is there regardless. Often talking like you’re close before correcting yourself because despite being the same people, you’re completely different.

“Your thinking is disturbing me,” his voice comes from behind you.

The sudden sound gives you a start and you jump, “Geez Gojo,” you turn to look at him, his head tilted and smile lopsided as he leans on the back of the couch you’re seated on, “How long have you been there for?”

He shrugs before throwing his leg over the couch and stepping onto it from behind, flopping onto his ass and jostling you with his movements, “I dunno, a few minutes or more?”

You only hum noncommittally at him, your train of thought completely gone. It doesn’t matter, you have a feeling you’d gotten distracted from the point you were trying to make to yourself anyways.

“You’re gone again,” he pokes at your cheek and you slap his hand away.

“Stop it, I was thinking about something and now all my thoughts are muddled and useless.”

Gojo sinks further into the couch, spreading his limbs out far too wide, “Must not have been all that important then.”

A sound of disagreement from you, “I was thinking about my childhood…”

“Ah…” he sighs, “Must’ve been thinking about me then,” his lashes flutter at you.

And just like that, you remembered what you were initially thinking of. Having a roommate is good in theory and not practice because now you’re living with the single most annoying person on the planet. Only he manages to press all your buttons and you can’t tell if he’s just like that or if it’s because you knew each other as kids.

You choose not to answer him, he bugs you and a part of why he bugs you so much is because he doesn’t even seem a little bit bothered by your past friendship. He’s comfortable around you and is quick to bring up the past, you’d wondered at first if he felt the same sting over your lost past together but his attitude towards you had that line of thinking dropping quick.

Maybe moving in with him was stupid but you needed a roommate and you knew him, it was the better choice but you’re questioning that logic a little bit now. “Do you feel uncomfortable that I’m living with you?”

His head shoots to look at you and his brows pinch, “No.” When you don’t say anything more, he asks, “Are you uncomfortable living here… with me?”

Your eyes meet and you can tell he’s concerned which wasn’t your intention, “No, don’t worry about it… I was just thinking out loud.”

“Wanna know what your problem is?”

Whatever he’s about to tell you is going to be stupid, “No. Not really.”

He gives his answer despite yours, “You think too much, always in thought worrying about things that don’t matter nearly as much as you think they do.”

“Maybe you just don’t think enough,” your retort is quick, not enjoying captain state the obvious over here.

He exhales while shaking his head, like he’s showing you pity, “I suppose you can’t help it; you’ve always been an overthinker.”

And it’s true… you’ve always had a tendency to overthink and for some reason the fact he still remembers that about you makes you feel funny. It’s like you’d half expected him to forget everything about you but time and time again he reminds you that he remembers a lot. More than you’d think he’d have noticed about you as kids.

“Hey, you okay?” His tone isn’t the same from before, no longer teasing, “You seem down lately.”

You brush him off with a smile, “I’m fine, we just have a weird friendship.”

He pouts, “I think our friendship is normal.”

“Of course you’d think that,” you roll your eyes lightly, “What I mean is, it feels weird to go from being so close to strangers back to friends again.”

“Maybe but I personally feel pretty good about it,” he smiles big, “Seeing you on campus was crazy luck and then you were so nervous you wouldn’t leave my side the whole day, it was cute. Reminded me of when we were kids.”

A groan leaves you, starting to feel warmed by your embarrassment, “Shut up.”

“I’m glad we’re getting close again,” his hand rests on top of your head and pats a few times, “Stop thinking so much about the past.”

You don’t have any problems with the past, it already happened, it’s what’s coming that has you feeling so unsettled. Gojo’s hand on the top of your head slides down to the side of your face, his hand caressing you. He grabs you and pulls you closer as he leans in, always so quick to invade your personal space like it’s also his.

He simply utters, “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” You nearly sputter at him, the proximity and intensity of his eyes making you nervous.  

Those eyes narrow at you in response, “Worrying.”

You change the topic, “You need to stop getting in my personal space.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he exaggerates, “Am I in your personal space?” He moves in closer, his cheek pressing to yours, the hand on your other cheek holding you still.

You’re laughing before you have a chance to stop, struggling against him and breathlessly telling him to stop, “You’re so annoying! You’re no better now than when we were kids!”

A gasp pulls from you when you both slip in your struggle, your back meeting the couch seats. You’re expecting the heavy weight of Gojo falling on top of you and wince in preparation but when it doesn’t come you squint your eyes open. He’d caught himself with a single arm, hovering over the top of you with a large grin on his face.

The position is suggestive and has you flustered; your eyes wide as you search your brain for the right thing to say. Gojo isn’t bothered in the slightest, smile unfaltering, “It’s adorable how easily flustered you get.” He bops the tip of your nose with his free index finger.

Quickly, your expression drops, brows furrowing, “Get off me.”

Gojo can’t seem to help himself when it comes to you though, faking deep thought at your command. Eyes scanning up and down your body, “Hmm, and if I don’t?”

“I’m gonna hurt you,” threatening through clenched teeth.

It’s almost like he lights up, always enjoying going back and forth with you like this, “Promise?”

“Gojo,” you warn.

He whines at you, “Why do you still call me Gojo, use my name… like you used to.”

You’re a little taken aback by his request, you’d been trying to be polite. Your brain shuffles through the things you could say right now, something smart or funny or just giving into his request. His eyes on yours are imploring, waiting impatiently for you to call to him.

“I’m not gonna do that,” your head turns from him to avoid his gaze, having decided on defiance.  

Dropping to his forearm, his head follows yours so he can stay in your line of sight. He’s pressed too close to you now; you’re getting embarrassed by his shamelessness. Your palms move to his shoulders to push him back but he’s holding steady.

“Come on,” he draws out his words, “Please, just once. Please. Please. Please. Please.”

He’s so annoying, he repeats his pleas over and over while you shake your head at him.

He changes his methods, seeing he’s not getting far with begging, “I’m not getting off you until you do.” Hand reaching for your face again, manoeuvring you so he can pull you to look at him better.

The way he’s looking at you makes your heart flutter, a pleasant feeling that upsets you. If he keeps looking at you like this, you might go insane. Against your will, your eyes flit to his lips before quickly snapping back to his eyes that are now crinkled with his too big grin.

You pout at him, “I feel like giving into you here doesn’t bode well for me.”

So obvious in how he looks to your lips, slowly tracing your features before locking with your gaze again, “That could be true but not giving in here might not bode well for you either.”

Maybe letting him win will be easier in the long run, you don’t want him becoming more difficult than he already is, “Just once…”

His eyes light up at your acquiescence, suddenly waiting so patiently for you to continue. Just as you’re about to open your mouth to hesitantly utter out his name, your apartment door swings open. Ieiri and Geto kick off their shoes and stumble into your living room. Gojo only groans and drops his head to your shoulder. Disappointed by how close he was to hearing you call to him.

You stutter and fumble over yourself at how he’s dropped onto you, your hands pushing at him, “Gojo get off me!”

“If you’re gonna invite people over maybe don’t try fucking right before,” Ieiri sighs at Gojo like his disappointment is his own fault.

Quick to dispute the accusation, “W–we weren’t doing that! He’s just all in my personal space like usual.”

“Satoru, get off the poor girl,” Geto rounds the couch and pulls Gojo up by the back of his shirt, “Don’t you put her through enough already?”

“You guys have the worst timing,” he grumbles back at him.

Geto lets him go and shrugs, “You’re the one who invited us over, maybe don’t give us a key next time or plan your flirting better.”

“I think you guys have great timing,” you smile at them both, grateful for the save. Especially since the situation was quickly slipping from you. You can’t believe you almost gave into Gojo; he’d absolutely only get worse if you had.

As you sit up properly, Ieiri comes up behind you and strokes the top of your head soothingly, “Would you like us to kill him?”

You laugh at her suggestion, “Thanks but I still need him for his half of the rent.”

Geto and Ieiri are kind and you like them, you’re still a little uncomfortable around them since they’re not your friends. They’re Gojo’s friends that he made in high school and he tends to have them around plenty enough that you’re friendly with them but not much more than that.

As you get off the couch to leave them, Gojo’s hand grabs your wrist, “Where are you going?”

“What? I…” You’re confused, “I was just gonna go to my room and leave you guys to hang out?” He pulls you back to the couch and you collapse into it. Pulling your wrist free, you slap at him, “What the hell?”

He’s unphased by your slaps of admonishment, “You’re gonna watch a movie with us.”

“Do I get a choice?”

He beams at you, “Nope.”

The other two just sigh at Gojo and his antics, moving to get comfortable on the couch themselves. You try to get up again but Gojo is quick to pull you down by the back of your shirt. “I just wanna get a blanket,” you pout at him.

The expression he makes is sheepish and cute, “I’ll get it… sorry.”

Without him in the room you feel nervous and uncomfortable, the silence between the three of you unbearable, “Uhm… sorry about earlier.”

“Don’t worry about it, living with him must test your patience daily,” Geto smiles in a way that eases your nerves slightly.

Ieiri looks around him to look at you, “What the hell was he even doing to you?”

“Ah…” you falter slightly, not sure how to tell them he was tormenting you into saying his name in a position that had suggestive undertones. Maybe overtones is more appropriate here.

“I didn’t do anything to her,” Gojo defends as he comes back into the room, “I just wanted her to say my name instead of always calling me ‘Gojo.’” He flicks the blanket out and places it down over top of you gently, “You guys ruined it though.” Grumbles coming from him as he sits down beside you again.

“You harass her too much, you don’t deserve to be rewarded for that,” Geto rolls his eyes before looking at you, “Don’t reward him for his bad behaviour.”

“I try not to,” you pointedly ignore Gojo’s sounds of offence from beside you.

Geto’s eyes sparkle with something devious as he calls you closer as if to tell you a secret. He whispers into your ear and it sends an involuntary shiver down your spine as you try to focus on his words. As you take in what he’s saying, an evil smile breaks out across your face. Gojo’s quick to get nosy, a hand on your shoulder pulling you back.

“What did he say?”

Chirping back at him, “Not telling.”

Gojo continues to hound you for a bit before Ieiri speaks up, “Can we pick a movie? I have other plans tonight you know?”

Geto agrees with her, “What genre?”

And just when you thought you’d have the upper hand for a bit, Gojo slaps you back down, “How about horror?”

The other two go along with it easily, fine with watching something scary. Apparently a newer film has just come to streaming and they’re all interested in it but while they talk about how good it seems, you’re semi spiralling. You look to Gojo, wondering if he remembers how much you can’t stand horror movies and by the shit eating grin on his face, you’re guessing that yes, he does remember this about you.

Ieiri must pick up on your hesitance, calling your name softly, “If you don’t wanna watch something scary we can watch something else.”

Geto turns to look at you, noticing your apparently obvious anxiety, “I’m cool with whatever.”

You feel awful, they came over to hang out with Gojo and they all want to watch this movie. Even though evil man next to you swayed it this way you don’t doubt they’d probably have watched it anyways if you weren’t here.

“No, it’s okay! We should watch it,” you give your best smile and they both seem placated by it, relaxing back into the couch.

A tug on your sleeve draws your attention back to Gojo, his joking expression gone. His voice lowered so the others can’t hear, “If you really don’t want to, we can watch something else… I was just teasing you.”

“I wanna watch it, I’m not a kid anymore,” you brush him off. They’re his friends and it’s his time with them, you don’t want to take that away from them.

He squints at you sceptically but jokes, “If you get scared you can always sleep with me tonight,” he winks and you dislike the way it makes you feel.

Scowling, you turn away from him but he only chuckles, pleased with your reaction. Then he’s starting the film, looking over to you a few more times before seemingly settling in his spot.

Scary movies themselves aren’t so awful, you can get through them, it’s the going to bed at night that’s less pleasant. It’s not like you think any of the monsters are real, it’s just that some small, irrational part of you has you feeling an awful dread. Laying in your bed at night and not opening your eyes for fear that something will be there looking back at you.

It's silly and something you wish you could say you grew out of but irrational fears aren’t known for being rational, the opposite in fact. It’ll be okay though, for a bit you’ll be a little scared of the emptiness of your room during the long hours of the night but that will pass.

The further into the film you get, the more antsy you become. It’s doing a good job of building tension and unsettling you and every moment that’s meant to frighten you, does. And while this is true for you, everyone else seems completely fine as they watch.

You’re actively fighting against yourself to not jump at the parts you’re meant to jump at, sufficiently scared and embarrassed over it. Nibbling at your lower lip as your eyes squint shut at a particularly loud part.

Something brushing against your hand has your eyes popping open, startling you. Looking down, you can see Gojo has slipped his hand under your blanket and blindly reached for yours. Once he’s found it, he takes your hand in his and squeezes once, his larger hand giving you a small amount of comfort.

The action doesn’t go unappreciated by you, relaxing slightly as he covertly holds your hand, hidden away from the two sitting by your side. Now every time you’re frightened, you grab at him and he simply brushes his thumb over your skin soothingly. It’s intimate and makes your heart flutter like it did earlier when he was on top of you. The movie is easier to get through like this but you can’t help but feel like your relationship with Gojo is on a precarious ledge.

When the movie is finished, your hand slips from his and you can’t help but notice his hesitance in letting you go. After that the night doesn’t go on for much longer, the four of you ordering dinner and eating before Ieiri and Geto are being walked to the door by both you and Gojo. Ieiri is ready to leave, eager for her other plans.

The way Geto looks at you reminds you of what he’d whispered to you before the film, a look of realisation crossing your features as you smile at him and Ieiri, “I had fun, bye Ieiri… S–” you hesitate before pushing through, “Suguru.”

Geto’s smile is huge as he returns your name, “Have a good night.”

Ieiri’s chuckle is quiet but doesn’t slip your notice and when you look to her, you see she’s looking at Gojo whose expression is dumbfounded. It’s like he’s an old computer slowly booting up, “Hey! Hey, what the hell!” He points between you and Geto.

Geto acts like he has no idea what’s set him off, “What?”

“We’ve known each other way longer!” Gojo whines at you.

You’re staring blankly at him, “Gojo, you’re being weird…”

“No! No, you’re being weird,” his hand clasps your shoulder, pulling you to face him instead of Geto. His other hand points to himself, “My name, say my name.”

You blink at him, “Gojo.”

He groans back at you, his shoulders slumping as he falls into you. His head sagged on your other shoulder as he laments this turn of events.

Ieiri adds fuel to the fire, “Call me Shoko.”

“Shoko,” you smile bright back at her, whether she offered just to further Gojo’s torment or not doesn’t change how happy you are to get a little closer to her.

“Oh!” She smirks at you, “My heart just skipped a beat,” she pinches your cheek, “You’re cute but I gotta go, bye.”

You wave awkwardly at her as she shuffles out the door, still being clung to by Gojo. He’s wallowing, “You have to call me by my name now, you have to.”

Geto pats Gojo’s back, you can’t tell if he actually feels bad about what he’s done or if he’s mocking him. He smiles politely at you, “Have fun with this!”

“Right… bye Suguru,” you wave him out too, now alone with a depressed Gojo who won’t let go.

Maybe you should’ve thought this through… the blowout feels like Gojo is about to get much more annoying and you’re the only one who has to live with him. “Would you get off me?”

“You’re so awful to me,” he fake sniffles.

“It wasn’t my idea, blame Suguru.”

“You’re even still calling him Suguru,” he collapses further into you, maybe he should’ve majored in theatre… since he’s so dramatic.

You sigh and stroke his hair soothingly a few times, hoping to calm him. “I’m sorry.”

He pulls back slightly to look at you through his lashes, “So you’ll call me Satoru?”

“I didn’t say that.”

He stands to his full height again, looming over you, “Why not?”

“Because you want it so bad,” a half truth, the other half is that it feels so intimate, especially now, especially with him.

“So, if I say I don’t mind, you’ll say it sooner?”

“Would you mean it?”

Thinking on it for a second before he decides, “No.”

“Then no,” you shrug and walk away from him, going to get ready for bed.

⁀ ⊹ ₊ “

The room is so silent and the dark is all consuming, you’re staring at your plain bedroom wall trying to work up the courage to roll over. The irrational fear that someone is behind you nagging in your brain, you thought since you were in such a good mood earlier that you’d forgotten about the movie but the unease is still deep in your bones.

Taking in a breath, you move quickly and roll over, flinging your legs over the side of the bed as fast as you can. Scuttling out the room, you find yourself at Gojo’s bedroom door. His offer earlier had definitely been a joke, you’re certain of that much but your room is scary and it’s worse because you’d only moved here a little while ago. It’s not like your familiar childhood home, this place still feels weird, specifically during the night.

Everything feels different at night and less recognisable and it’s made worse by how alone you feel. When something like this happened as a kid you’d at least feel soothed by the sound of someone up late watching television or the rattling of someone searching the fridge for food. This is unfamiliar and lonely and you wish you didn’t feel like this but since you do, you’re going to wake Gojo up and force him to hang out with you until you’re too sleepy to be scared.

Quietly you slip into his room, approaching his bed with light steps. His form is all spread out, making full use of his bed with his whole body, much like how he spreads out wherever he’s sat. It shouldn’t be an endearing quality but you can’t bring yourself to hate this about him, especially since he’s a fairly big guy.

He looks cute, you wouldn’t say it’s a peaceful sleep since he keeps pinching his brows as his lips move just slightly, like he’s speaking in his dream. But he looks cute, distinctly him. Staring at him like this is becoming creepy so you reach your hand to him, trying to wake him as carefully as you can.

Your touch is gentle but it wakes him easily, he’s always been a light sleeper. He rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand, making sleepy noises of confusion at you.

“I need you to wake up,” is all you say, like it explains why you’re in his room this late.

Gojo grunts at you, “What for?”

His voice is deeper than usual, words lazy with sleep. It makes your head fuzzy, enjoying how he sounds too much. Pushing aside your stupid feelings, you murmur, “I can’t sleep…”

A noise of unsurprise leaves him, eyes squinting up at you, “You should’ve just said you wanted to watch something else.”

“I was fine with watching it though.”

“And that’s why you’re waking me up? Because you’re fine?”

“I just need you to stay up with me until I’m too tired to be…” You trail off, not finishing your sentence.

Gojo finishes it for you, “Scared?”

“Will you just stay awake with me? Please?”

“No,” he slides over to the side of the bed furthest from you, “But my earlier offer stands,” he pats the empty side of the mattress.

He cannot be serious, “I’ve seen how you sleep; I think you’d suffocate me.”

Your name leaves him in an exasperated groan, “Just get in the bed, scaredy cat.”

It’s either this or go back to your empty room and as much as this feels like a bad idea, he’s making you feel better. “Stay on your side.”

“It’s my bed, the whole thing is my side,” he argues back.

Crawling onto his bed and getting under the covers you mutter, “Just don’t try to kill me with your stupid long limbs.”

“I promise nothing,” he stretches his arms up with a yawn.

A few moments of quiet pass and you assume he’s gone to sleep, his back now facing you. He’s so broad, looking at him like this makes him seem like a giant. Without really thinking it through your hand reaches for him, grabbing the material of his sleep shirt with your thumb and index finger.

Gojo mumbles, you can’t tell if you’ve woken him again or if he’d still been awake, “You good?”

Withdrawing your hand as you mutter, “Yeah… I’m just sorry… for waking you.”

He turns to face you, puff of breath leaving him when he flops onto his other side, “Don’t worry about it, I knew you didn’t handle scary movies well when I suggested one.”

“You knew I didn’t handle them well when we were kids, I’m an adult now,” you counter.

A low hum comes from him, “You’ve not changed very much.”

“You have,” he’s undeniably changed from when you were kids.

His interest is piqued, “How so?”

“You’re more annoying now,” you poke at his chest, “And meaner.”

He denies, “I am not mean.”

You look away in thought, “Hmm… maybe not mean but you’re cruel.”

“That’s worse.”

“You’re a tease,” you settle on.

He’s willing to concede, “I can’t deny that.”

“Because it’s true.”

“You get it the worst though,” he reaches for your hand poking at him, fingers unfurling yours and taking them in his.

Ignoring the way his touch makes you feel you sigh, “I have a feeling I knew this already.”

“I can’t help it; I like teasing you.” He smiles, “Your reactions are cute.” He uses his hold on your hand to tug you in closer to him, your front nearly colliding with his.

Suddenly, you’re nervous, “What are you doing?”

“Teasing you,” he answers easily, like it’s obvious.

You’re avoiding his eyes, looking to his throat, his chest, anywhere but his face, “Could you not?”

“I could,” he pauses, “but that’s not as fun.”

You’re so close to him, you rest your forehead onto his chest, “Gojo… if you’re not careful, I’ll start mistaking your teasing for flirting.”

“You wouldn’t be mistaking anything,” he half laughs, “If anything… you’d finally be catching on.”

Did you suddenly drift off or something? You pull back to look up at his face, “What?”

“I’ve been flirting with you the whole time,” he blinks at you, “to be honest I’m really surprised by how long it took you to realise that.”

Can it even be said you realised that? All you did was warn him of possible consequences, “I…”

“I’ve been laying it on thick too you know, I’m a little embarrassed for you,” he’s looking at you with faux pity.

Is he still teasing you, he might still be teasing you. Squinting sceptically at him, “I don’t know if I believe you.”

“Seriously?” He looks actually shocked; he leans down to level you with his gaze.

You frown back at him, “Stop looking at me like that.”

“I like looking at you.”

Okay, that one you could tell was flirting, “Gojo–”

He returns your name in the same tone, cutting you off. It’s tense, with your eyes locked and the now known fact that he’s been flirting with you for who knows how long. You should leave his bed but you don’t really want to. You’re so close now, not even having realised just how close you’d both moved to the other.

Gojo leans in as his hand leaves yours to instead hold your cheek, his lips pressing a soft peck to yours, once, twice, three times. When you’d caught on with his third kiss and kissed him back, he moves impossibly closer, his lips kissing you more. Feverous in how he pursues your mouth, becoming desperate in how he kisses you.

It’s making you dizzy and it’s hard to keep up with him, your hands reach for his shoulders and hold on. His hand moves for your hip, pulling at you, his lips insistent. Kiss messy and wet, his tongue licks into your mouth and you let it happen. Small noises leaving you at how good he’s making you feel from just this alone, he barely even parts to take a breath.

The hands you have on his shoulders push back; your breaths panted as you struggle to say what you want. “W–we should stop…”

He whines at you, disappointed, “Why?”

You stumble over your words, “Because it’s late and you’re sleepy and not thinking straight and–”

“–If you wanna stop that’s fine but don’t take this moment from me because of those reasons,” there’s something almost pathetic about him right now, “I’ve wanted to kiss you forever, don’t make me stop because you think I’ve not thought this through.”

His answer is surprising to you, taken aback by how needy he’s coming across. Instead of saying anything, you press a light kiss to his lips like he’d done to you. He’s quick to return it, lips demanding. His kisses are full and making you feel tingly all over, pulling a gasp from you with how he sucks your tongue into his mouth. This might make you crazy, you’re turned on and delirious.

Pressing your thighs together as slyly as possible, not wanting him to know just how worked up you are. The hand he has on your hip plays with the band of your pyjama pants, tugging them just slightly to dance his fingers along the exposed skin. Not moving any further than that, only gripping at you before sliding his hand back up.

The way he’s kissing you is breathtaking and yet also feels like he’s holding himself back, his fingers tapping against your skin as he refrains from exploring your body further. When he moves back, he nips at your lower lip and small moan slips from you. The sound pulls a visceral reaction from him, a soft groan leaving him as his head collapses onto your shoulder.

His breath tickles against your skin, “Please let me touch you.” He sounds so pitiful even to his own ears, words laced with desire.

For a moment you’re not even sure you heard him right, “What?”

He licks at your neck, shiver running down his spine, “You’ve gotta be so wet, just let me touch you, please.”

You stutter out, “I– I’m not having sex with you like this.”

Tone whinged back at you, “Fine. That’s fine, just– let me touch you.”

If you were surprised by his need before then you don’t know how you’re feeling right now, “Okay, you can–” your words are lost when he rolls you onto your back, his hands shoving your pants off. “Gojo, c– calm down.”

Eyes barely glancing at you, “Can’t.” He’s far too eager, skin buzzing with his excitement, Gojo could almost swear he’s still asleep and dreaming.

Reaching over clumsily to flick on his lamp atop the bedside table, he needs to be able to see this. Oh, and he feels breathless at the sight of you in your panties, like the wind has been knocked out of him. Lower half dressed in innocent white with a pastel little bow on the front. Almost feeling like it’s his birthday and this is his new favourite present he’s yet to unwrap.

“This what you’re always wearing under all those cute skirts?” He mutters out at you.

You’re not even sure you’re meant to have answered until his eyes flit to yours, clearly waiting for you to reply. “Uh, not– not always.”

“Gonna have to show me,” he smirks at the thought, wanting to see you in and out of every pair of panties you own.

Large hands trail up your thighs, landing at the edges of your underwear and just when you think he’s going to finally tug them off, he pulls up. Your panties moulding to your pussy obscenely, leaving nothing to the imagination with how he’d forced them up. Gasping indignantly at him, hands flying to grip his, your legs squirming. His lecherous gaze greedily eating up the view of you like this, delighting in how you’re wriggling. Beyond embarrassed at his actions, somehow feeling more exposed like this than if he’d just taken them off.

“Gojo!” You whine at him, hands clawing at his when he pulls just the littlest bit more on the material.

He bites his lip, not even gracing you with eye contact, too busy to, “What’s wrong?”

“You– you’re such a– a…”

He mocks your stumbling, “A– a– what?”

“A pervert,” you settle on.

Small, dazed giggles leave him, “Yeah, yeah I am,” a hand moves off your hip. Instead, slowly dragging an index finger through your wet slit over your panties, a low growl leaving him at just how slick you are. “Just for you though, sweetie. I’m your sick pervert.”

Your breath catches in your chest, not expecting him to be so depraved, “Could you please– hah– stop teasing.”

“I thought I made it clear that– oh fuck– I like teasing you,” in awe at just how much wetter you got when he started talking, “Hmm… I think you like it too.”

Pouting back at him, “I’d like it better if you touched me.”

“But I am touching you,” he singsongs back, barely there touch dancing around your clit.

“I was ri–right earlier,” your hips shuffle desperately to try and get him to touch where you so badly need it but he expertly avoids your movements.

Hand on your hip pushing you down flat into the mattress harshly, “About what?”

“Hm?” Your brain feels foggy and it takes you a second to remember what you’d started saying, “You are cruel.”

A breathless laugh leaves him, “Sweetheart, you got no idea.”

The devious smile he gives you has you believing him, no doubt in your mind that he could be worse than this. Regretfully, you use your trump card, “Hah– if you ma-make me cum– ah!– if you can make me–”

He takes your phrasing personally, “Oh, I can make you cum, don’t even–”

You cut him off but every time you try talking he taps lightly over your clit with two fingers, “If! Y-you can make– hng– mee~ cum, I’ll say your name.”

That gains his interest, offence gone at the promise of hearing your lovely voice murmur his name. He crawls over your body, face meeting yours, “Promise?”

Nodding your head lazily back at him, “Promise.”

“Gotta seal it with a kiss,” smile dopey as his eyes drop to your lips.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you press your mouth to his in a debauched kiss. Tongue pushing into his mouth to lick against his own, his chest vibrating with a sweet moan. Gojo feels fucked and stupid at how you’ve kissed him, not fully expecting you to press your lips to his like that. He doesn’t even want to part, mouth moving against yours effortlessly.

Realising his complete unwillingness to pull back, you do it for him, parting with a wet pop that makes his spine shudder. Gojo’s unable to help the small sound of yearning that leaves him, he would’ve been happy to die from suffocation if it meant you were kissing him like that the whole time.

“Gojo?”

Your voice shocks him back to his body, he’d been staring at you all dazed, “Now I just gotta make you cum, right?” His canines show in his grin, confident in himself.

Nodding at him, “Please.”

He snickers, “Such sweet manners, pretty,” Already shuffling back down your body, his new favourite place coming into his line of sight. Cruelly, he blows cool air on your heated core, enjoying the way you twitch at it.

Big hands pressing between your thighs and pushing them apart, making room for his large frame between them. Feeling indecent in how wide he spreads you open, even more so when he lets out a low whistle at the messy state of your panties. You’re about to admonish him for purposefully embarrassing you when he’s getting comfortable between your thighs and pressing his face into your covered cunt.

Large gasp pulling from your lungs at his shamelessness, skin growing so much hotter when you hear just how deeply he inhales. Deep groan reverberating from his chest, a sound so gutturally pleased that it makes you shy. Legs fighting against his palms, wanting to hide yourself from him and his salacious actions.

Your hands push at his head, “Oh my god, Gojo?! Could you be any more shameless?!”

He doesn’t pull back, speaking into your pussy, “Sure I could.”

Immediately following up with an example, tongue lolling out of his mouth to press up against you. Drooling onto your underwear, already wet material growing slicker. More moans tumble from his lips at the taste of you, enjoying this so much that you’re shocked by how aroused he’s making you.

“You– you’re embarrassing me.”

Only humming back at you happily, words muffled, “You’ll get over it.”

You’re not sure if you believe him, feeling so self-conscious by his brazen desire and not seeing that changing any time soon. Feeling twitchy by how turned on he’s got you from it, you shouldn’t be this into it, you shouldn’t be this into him but you are and you need him to do more to you.

Gojo feels insane, salivating over the taste of your cunt on his tongue through your panties. Poking his tongue into your hole, stopped by the material separating him from you. Simultaneously frustrated and so horny, enjoying this much more than he probably should.

Voice coming out pitchy and bitten back when you call to him, “Please– hng– take ‘em off.”

“Someone’s needy,” he accuses like he’s not about to start humping the mattress below him. Your hips wiggle down into him and he stifles an amused laugh, “let me savour this a bit longer.” And then he sucks on the material of your panties, saliva thoroughly drenching the already sopping wet garment.

Relishing in the shocked squeaks you let out at his action, finding something so addictive about all the sounds and faces you make when you’re flustered and embarrassed. All at once he grows far too impatient, the taste of you on his tongue nowhere near enough anymore, not when he knows you’re leaking divinely and honeyed sweet for him.

Hands rushed and frantic as he pulls your panties down, quickly realising that he’ll need to move to pull them off properly. He’s completely unwilling to move further than he has though so he simply tears them from your body, chucking them over his shoulder to let them fall in tatters.

“Gojo! Those were one of my fav– ah!–”

Not even bothering to listen to your full complaint, immediately diving in to slurp obscenely at your gooey cunt. His eyes roll to the back of his head when he finally tastes you directly, cock twitching in his pants as he moans. Tongue wasting no time slithering into your tight heat, feeling out of his mind as you throb and whine for him.

Why couldn’t you have realised he was flirting earlier? He could’ve been doing this so much sooner and the thought he’s been missing out makes him feel devastated. How many nights did you touch yourself while he was one door down and why is he suddenly jealous of your own hand? His tongue moves inside you and your back arches, a shaky hand reaching down for him which he takes in his own – he doesn’t want you moving him because he’s pretty sure he just found your sweet spot.

Repeating his movements just to get the same huffed moan and full body reaction he got the first time, a lazy smile on his face at the realisation. He has you wrapped around his finger now, sending you wave after wave of pleasure but never enough to make you cum. No, he’s having too much fun teasing you right now and he also knows that as soon as you cum this is over and he’s not ready to part with your gushing pussy just yet.

God, he’s like a fucking animal as he licks and sucks on your cunt, frenzied but lazy look in his eyes every time your gazes meet. He’s got you feeling like a real mess, head dizzied and heavy with the pleasure that’s soaking into your bones. Beyond turned on and so so ready to cum, at first your foggy brain thought maybe he didn’t know but now you know he’s just toying with you.

His deft tongue hitting all the right spots just until you’re about to finish only to start being evasive enough for the high to slip from you all too soon. It’s absolutely intentional and it’s hurting your feelings, why won’t he let you cum? Why does he like teasing you so bad?

Pleasured mind taking it all too personally, eyes wet and glazed when you whimper down to him, “Gojo– hah!– please– hng– please let me cum– mmph–” your voice hitches with your words, “I– I thought you wan– wanted to hear me– ah!– say your name?”

Gojo feels his dick leaking into his pants at the pitiful way you whine at him, finding it all too endearing that you’re this worked up over him. It makes him want to tease you a little more but he’s nothing if not pathetic for you and he’s all too quickly giving in to the cute sounds of you begging him to let you cum. He really could make out with your pretty pussy forever though.

Humming at your continued whimpers and pleads, trying to give reassurance that he’s about to be oh so nice to you but the vibrations have your thighs shaking so much more. Hips fighting to grind down into his face only to be steadied by his large hand on your hip, frustrated sounds leaving you at his continued resistance to help you get off.

Instead of trying to get you to understand, he’ll simply tongue fuck you until you climax. Focusing on that spot he found earlier, pressing his nose into your clit, loosening his grip a tiny bit so you’re able to grind down into him. Fuck, he might die if he lets you ride his face, to be used by you for pleasure could have him cumming untouched.

It’s perfect, it’s so perfect he just needs to not move. You try to tell him as much, “Don’t!– Don’t fffucking– I’m so– hnng!– ah!–”

You’re not even able to finish any of what you attempted to say, orgasm hitting you out of nowhere in the middle of trying to talk. Vision going dark as you shake and shiver through your climax, cunt pulsing around his tongue, desperate to be stuffed so full. You’re struggling to breathe through the best orgasm of your life, hand gripping onto Gojo’s tight as he keeps lapping at your achy pussy.

Gojo is in love with how creamy your delectable cunt is, he’s pussy drunk and feeling like he can’t stop. At least he wouldn’t be able to stop if it weren’t for the raging hard on he’s got, so hard it almost hurts. Reluctantly, he’s pulling back from your pussy and if you were just the tiniest bit more aware of your surroundings you’d feel bashful about how messy Gojo’s face is.

Not even bothering to wipe his face, tugging his shirt over his head quickly before slipping his hands under yours, not taking it off but pushing it up to expose your tits. Big hands groping at you, lightly pinching your nipples when he asks, “You still with me?”

“Uh huh,” nodding lazily back at him, limbs heavy and head buzzing. Watching him and the thinly veiled feral expression on his face as he palms your tits has you stifling down a moan.

There’s such an adorable look on your face, stupid and satisfied. Gojo’s barely holding onto his last thread of sanity, he wants to fuck you so bad but he said he wouldn’t, so he won’t. Resting a hand on the mattress he leans down closer to you, lips brushing the skin of your cheek before kissing your mouth sloppy.

You’re holding onto him, fingers digging into his shoulders. Unable to stop the small sounds he’s drawing from you, the effect he has on you sinful and unfair. Thighs rubbing together as his tongue licks at yours, low rumbles pulling from his chest. Still so horny for him but far too embarrassed to ask him nicely to fuck you.

Lips parting the smallest amount so he can ask, “Where’s my prize for making you cum?”

And now you’re remembering what you had promised if he managed to make you cum. Maybe if you were in your sane mind you’d try and wriggle your way out of it but considering he made you cum so hard you can’t even compare it to anything else, you’ll say it.

Taking a quick breath in and averting his gaze, you mumble, “…Satoru.”

His body reacts a whole lot more to that single call of his name than he thought it would, shiver running down his spine and dick twitching in his too tight sleep pants. Slumping down into you and whining, “Your voice is so pretty.”

Turning his head to the side, he latches onto your neck. Sucking a love bite into your skin, teeth nibbling at you before pulling away and licking over it.

He’d caught you off guard with it, gasp leaving you, “mmph– Gojo–”

He singsongs back, “–Satoru.” He nips at your skin lightly, “Say it again.”

His gaze on you feels heavy, watching your mouth carefully to see how the word forms, “Satoru.”

Eyes falling shut as he groans, savouring this for a moment before pulling from you and leaning back on his knees, “Sweetheart…” Large hands holding your thighs together by the knee as he asks, “can I fuck your thighs? Please?”

That was one of the last things you had expected him to ask of you, his straightforward request making you feel shy. It’s not even like you’re going to say no but you can’t have him thinking you’re too weak for him, “Aren’t you being a little greedy?”

He smiles big at you, like he already knows you don’t fully mean it, “I don’t think I’m following, pretty.”

“I agreed to say your name and that was it and now you’re asking for more…”

“I asked so nicely though,” he points out.

“You’re still being greedy.”

“Mhm,” he hums noncommittally, clearly he’s stopped paying attention. Already lifting your lower half off the bed and throwing both legs over one of his shoulders. “I’ve still not heard an answer from your pretty mouth yet.”

He’s holding you up so effortlessly, strong forearm holding onto your thighs. Free hand reaching down for the waistband of his pants. His eyes look to yours, eyebrows lifting in question, “Where’d your words go?”

“Okay,” you nod at him quickly, suddenly all too distracted by the sight of his slowly lowering pants. Happy trail far too enticing for you to even think of delaying this much further.

His hand stops moving, “‘Okay’ what?”

“Okay you can…” your eyes flit back to his hoping he’ll settle for you not having to say the whole phrase but with the expression on his face – patient and waiting – you can clearly see he’s not going to, “Yes… you can… fuck my thighs.”

He groans, pleased with your answer, “Fuck, thank you so much.”

Pants pushed down just enough for his cock to be freed. He’s so hard it looks aching, flushed a pretty shade of pink and leaking precum from the tip and down the sides. His hand squeezes the base of himself a couple times, taking deep breaths.

Tapping on your leg lightly to catch your distracted attention, “Open your thighs just a bit.”

Doing as he asked without questioning him, legs still over his shoulder as you give him room to move. He slides his cock between your thighs, resting between your cunt so wickedly that it has you fidgeting. The hand that had guided his dick grabs the outside of your leg and pushes, your thighs closing around him.

Gojo’s head tips back as he fights to keep his senses, your skin so warm and soft that he feels a little crazy. Pussy still so wet and messy for him that he can’t help but feel that go straight to his ego, you want him and that makes him feel all giddy.

Below him, you start writhing impatiently. The underside of his cock is pressed up against your clit and now you feel like you’re throbbing with the need for him to actually fuck you open. The moans that leave him are so pretty and you want to hear more, trying to move a little bit more in search of added pleasure but he’s quick to stop you.

The muscles in his arms bulge as he restrains your lower half, head dropping forward to look down his nose at you. The look he gives you makes you feel small, hole twitching at it. You need him to move right now and you need it bad, every part of you screaming for it.

“Move?” your lashes flutter up at him, “I need you– ngh– to move.”

Exasperated but all too amused breath leaving him, “You’re so needy. It’s making me dizzy.”

Frowning at his words, “I am not– ah!–”

But he’s quickly drawing his hips back and dragging his big cock through your folds before slamming forward, the whole length of him driving you insane. Between your thighs feeling so soaked, brain melting all at once.

“Fuck, fuck fuck, fuck– this is– you’re too– hnng–” Everything Gojo is trying to say is cut off by either moans or a brand-new line of thought.

With every thrust he makes you feel a little less like a person and a whole lot more desperate for him. It feels good, really good, so good that you want more. The fact that you’re aware of the fact he’s not even inside you and you’re feeling this good has your brain short circuiting. Fingers digging into the sheets, attempting to ground yourself and completely failing.

Your pussy is positively weeping for him; to be filled by him and it’s taking all of his strength to ignore the way your hole is borderline begging for his dick. Brows furrowed as he focuses on slamming between your thighs, already feeling so pitifully close to cumming like this. How he’s even held on this long is a wonder to him, too close to cumming earlier when he was tongue deep in your cunt.

Hitting your breaking point, you whimper out to him, “Gojo– hng– just put it in– hah!– you can put it in,” nodding your head desperately at him.

Chuckling breathlessly at your whining, “I thought you didn’t– fuck– didn’t wanna have sex with me like this?” He recalls your earlier assertion.

“Hnn– I– ah– changed my mind?”

Biting his lip to stop his moans enough to speak, “You’re talking outta your pussy, sweetheart.”

“I’m not, I’m not– hah!– please put it inside, please.” Worried that you’re not swaying him enough but you want it so fucking bad, insides aching for him, “Satoru, please.”

Well that’s just playing dirty, a small whine slipping from him at your use of his name, stuffing it down just so he can seem composed when he replies, “Well, when you beg me so sweetly like that how could I ever say no?”

Dropping your lower half onto the bed makes you mewl at the loss of friction and he can’t help but laugh airily at your despair. Opening your thighs obscenely just to drag his cock through your sloppy cunt, shivering at how messy you are. Little hole shuddering for him, the sight of it makes him tut.

“Are you even gonna be able to take me, hmm?” he wonders aloud to you.

You’re already nodding back at him, “You can make it fit…” eyes wet and fucked when you address him, “can’t you?”

You may as well have just shot him fucking dead, “Of course I can.” Eyes glinting in the low light of the room, “‘Course I can.”

Slowly pressing into you, opening you up so lewdly on just the tip of his cock. Your hands already reaching for him and gripping onto the hands on your hips. The amount of control he needs for this is astounding and you’re not helping with how twitchy and worked up you are. Every time you show just how much you’re enjoying this, how much you want him, he gets just that littlest bit closer to cumming prematurely.

“Sweetie,” he calls to you, words barely bitten back, “I need you to relax for me.”

“I’m trying, you’re just so–” Your eyes drawing down to where he’s picked you up and started working you open, “–big.”

Involuntarily, his hips drive forward, the tip of him finally slipping into you. The both of you let out moaned sighs, you’re fighting the urge to kick your legs, already feeling so good and nowhere near close to taking all of him.

“You’re gonna kill me, you’re trying to kill me,” he huffs out, feeling like the snug fit of your cunt might actually kill him dead right now and his only regret would be not being balls deep already.

His words are rushed and pitchy at the tail end, like he’s so close to whining about how good it feels. The soft flush on his skin is pretty, expression all twisted in so much pleasure. Looking at him is making you feel too many things, overwhelmed by his cock and how attractive he is. Bringing your hands up to cover your eyes, hiding him from your view.

Your name rolls from his tongue in a soft moan, “What are you– hah– doing?”

His slightly trembling voice has you clenching down on him, “I can’t– I can’t look at you right now.”

“Hmm? Why not?” The smile he’s definitely sporting can be heard in his tone. “Am I turning you on too much,” he taunts.

Replying hesitantly but honestly, “Yeah…”

Gojo was not expecting that from you, his ego growing tenfold from the idea alone, the confirmation only serving to make him even more unbearable. Small giggles leaving him, “How embarrassing~”

Your arms drop in exasperation, going to frown at him but as soon as your hands are off your face, he’s sliding into you a few more inches. Your brain no longer capable of thinking of anything at all, its sole purpose now registering the immense pleasure he’s giving you. Moans broken and shocked at his unexpected move, if your hips were on the mattress you have no doubt that you’d be trying to buck up into him just to take him all.

“Want my whole dick, sweetie?” He hums at you, thumbs rubbing soothingly on your hips from where he’s holding you up.

Your eyes feel wet, vision blurry, “I– hah!– want it, all of it.”

“‘Course you do,” he smirks, “so turned on just by the sight of me.”

Future you will be cursing horny you for admitting that to him so easily, he will absolutely be reminding you of this later. “Sh– shut up.”

“You sure you want me to?” A single brow quirking in your direction, “I think you like my voice, pussy squeezes me so nice when I talk to you.”

And then he’s slowly sinking into you inch by delicious inch, taking care as he does, cautious of how your tight, little hole swallows his cock. Drooling at the lewd sight of your pussy bulging around him, small and bitten back noises leaving him as he pushes into you.

You’re taking him so well, wrapped so perfectly around him, sinfully wet and soft. Cunt so greedy in how you suck him in that he might pass out, trying to focus so hard on filling you completely before he blows his load.

Damn near whimpering when his pelvis hits yours, struggling so bad to hold completely still, softly grinding into you. His whole body feels like it’s buzzing, ears thumping as his blood rushes in his head. Completely elated to be so deep inside you, even more so to see the way you squirm under him.

Your eyes already look so fucked out and dumb, lashes fluttering, struggling to keep them open. Everything feels raw and exposed, mind numbed and complacent, “Move– hnng– you need to– hnn– move.”

“Wait,” he groans, eyes closing to control his breathing, whines still trapped in every breath he takes.

“But–”

“–So cute, you’re so cute– hnng– and you feel fucking fantastic, too good that I need– hah– a moment to breathe before I cum inside you, okay?” He rushes out, words tumbling over each other just so he can adequately warn you that he’s certain this will end early if he starts moving any more than this.

That was cute of him, his bitten back words and grit teeth followed by soft sounds of feeling just so good has your heart jumping in your chest. Struggling so hard to be patient right now, beyond worked up, pussy absolutely throbbing around him. So slick and only getting wetter, especially when he’s admitted to feeling so good from sitting balls deep that there’s risk of him cumming before he wants to.

Maybe distracting him will work, “I’m glad… we got to get closer again.”

“Oh, we’re close alright,” he snarks, looking down at where he’s fucked so deep inside your pussy that it should be criminal.

“You’re such a pervert,” you complain, “I was trying to help.”

Leaning down, he rounds his arms under and around your body, hugging you flush to him. He doesn’t let go of you even as he rises, cock pulsing so hot inside you as he kneels on the bed. You’re clinging onto him so tight, praying that he doesn’t drop you.

“You’re gonna drop me,” you worry.

Nuzzling his face against your cheek, “I wouldn’t do anything to risk losing the tight heat of your pussy, sweetie.” Planting a sloppy kiss to your cheek and then your lips, “Just make sure to hold on tight.”

“You can’t drop me,” you assert.

He soothes, “I won’t.”

Lips locking with yours again, the urge to kiss you sitting too heavy in his chest to ignore. Tongue licking against your own languidly, kissing you so softly, taking his time. Mouth hot and wet as his lips smack against yours, his cock jerking inside you at how it feels to have his lips on yours.

Every part of you is buzzing, his kiss much more gentle and caring compared to the frenzied and needy way he had kissed you earlier. It’s making your heart feel weighted, this shared moment where he’s so deep inside you and kissing you so sweetly feeling so tender that it almost hurts.

Keeping his mouth on yours as his arms move from behind you to grip your thighs, he’s not even sure you register the change, still kissing him back so devotedly. And all he can think about is how bad he’s got it for you now, nipping at your lower lip to make you gasp before kissing you full again.

Hips pulling back, the slow drag of his heavy cock making your spine shudder. Keening into his kiss, lips dropping from his to moan.

“You’re so pretty,” he compliments low to you just before he slams back into you all at once.

The breath you’d had in your lungs exhaled so fast it makes your head spin, pathetic and whingey mewls the only thing leaving you. The compliment he’d given you making you feel a sickening kind of gooey fondness, feeling bashful at his sincere words. His kindness juxtaposed by the harsh way his dick is fucking into you.

Soft and delirious giggles leaving him, “You liked that~” He purrs, head dipped so his lips drag against your collar bone, “I’ll remember that.”

“D– don’t know– hnng!– what you’re talking about,” you babble back.

He coos at you, “I’m talking about– hah– how you liked being told– fuck– how pretty you are while I’m stuffing you oh so full.”

And you really wish you could lie to yourself about how much you like it, but your body is betraying you so severely, cunt gripping him tighter and gushing that bit slicker. Wet sloppy sound of him fucking you hard filling the room, squelching messy and lewd and embarrassing. So turned on that it doesn’t even matter, barely managing to garble out his name, moaning it over and over like a chant.

Back to being so horny and out of your mind that you can’t bring yourself to care about how needy and desperate you’re coming across. Hanging onto him for dear life as he thrusts so fast and deep that you’re seeing stars. His grip on your hips using you as if you’re a toy for him to fuck.

Tip of his cock hitting your cervix with each re-entry, hitting against every delectable inch inside you so completely and effortlessly that you’re starting to drool. “I– You’re so– ah!– deep!”

“Am I?” He stops thrusting, sitting as deep as he can go inside you, single hand drawing up to your stomach, “That means you can feel me here?” and then he’s pressing down.

You grip onto him tighter, clinging desperately, nodding fervently, “Mhm– yes– yeah–”

“–Already close, huh?” He notes. Your reaction so visceral, cunt pulsing around him rhythmically.

“Keep moving?” You rest your head on his shoulder, speaking into his skin, “Please, ‘Toru.”

Evil, that nickname for him on your tongue is so wicked and he doesn’t even think you realise you’ve just called him that. “You’re sending me to an early grave,” he mutters.

Hand back on your thigh in no time, lifting you with ease to keep fucking you breathless. Feeling absolutely devastated by how adorable you are, by how needy you are. Cunt positively creaming around him, saccharine sweet as your pussy begs for him over and over.

Tongue lazy in your mouth at you stutter out calls of his name, starting to have trouble holding onto him effectively. Gojo is the only thing stopping you from slipping back onto the bed, drooling onto his skin. Mindlessly, you press a soft kiss to his shoulder, and you just barely hear  the mewl he lets out because of it.

He’s so close to cumming, your loving kiss on his skin causing everything inside of him to go weak for you. “Sweetie, you feel so good– hnn– so so soso good,” he’s drawing in a shaky breath, “and now I need you to cum so good for me, yeah?”

Practically begging for you to cum on him, needing to feel it but you’re so out of it that you can’t reply coherently. Every word a sputtered whimper that you couldn’t stifle down without a hand on your mouth. You’re a complete mess and he feels so much overwhelming pride over the fact that he’s done that to you.

The only sounds you can hear anymore are the soft and sighed whines of Gojo holding back his orgasm, the lewd slapping of skin against skin, and the pleasant thrumming in your ears. The noises you assume you’re making not even fully registering to you, much preferring to hear Gojo’s anyways.

So close you can taste it and when he starts giving little rutted grinds of his hips every time your pelvises meet, you’re done for. Crying out broken moans as your cunt pulses hot and wet around him, cumming so hard you lose focus, vision dark and hazy and fucked so stupid.

You’re gripping him so tight, pussy trying to desperately milk him of everything he’s got. Veins in his cock throbbing against your walls so sinfully. Feeling so fucking sensitive with how he’d been holding back from cumming pretty much since he put his mouth on you.

Urgently, he gets your attention, “I’m gonna fucking– hnnn– cum, I need to–  hah–  I need to put you down so I can pull out.”

You only cling onto him tighter and shake your head, legs closing around him firmer, “Cum like this.”

And even if he wanted to argue with you a little more… he couldn’t. The lazy way the words formed against his skin and the cute way you’re drooling on him as him cumming so suddenly. Forcefully slamming into you a final time, dumping all of his cum so deep inside you and painting your walls an obscene creamy white. Hands gripping your thighs so hard that he thinks he might leave bruises of his hand prints behind. That thought alone making his dick twitch even more.

Feeling so boneless as he very carefully lays you down on the bed, his breaths coming fast against your skin as he reels from his own orgasm. Staying like that for a moment, pressed so close to you while you both come down from your highs. Aware enough to hold himself up by an arm so he doesn’t crush you under his weight.

As he goes to pull away he quickly realises you’re not about to let him go, “Gotta let me go, sweetheart,” he mumbles.

Brain taking a second to catch up to what he’s just said and the fact that you’re still clinging onto him, “Hm?... oh… m’sorry.”

His heart seizes in his chest, and he can’t help but press sweet kisses to your lips over and over, humming happily against you. Your grip loosens on him, and he fights against himself to pull back, there’s something he really wants to see.

Sitting back just to watch as he pulls out of you, his seed leaking from your gooey hole as he does. Shuddering at the view of it, his lecherous gaze lighting up at how much he’d cum inside you. As if on autopilot, his fingers collect what’s leaking from you and stuff it back inside, stroking against your inner walls.

His intention far from innocent, perverted touch making you twitch and whine. So hypersensitive from everything he’s put you through, one of your own hands reach down for his and grab at his wrist, trying to stop him.

“What’s wrong?” He asks through a smile.

You whimper at him, “Too sensitive, ‘Toru.”

Oh and there’s that nickname again, the one that make his heart skip a beat. “You’re okay, sweetie,” he hums as praise, “doing so well for me, you can cum one more time can’t you?”

You shake your head but your grip loosens and his grin grows wide on his face, he’s never forgetting how reactive you are. Still, he’s careful with you, he knows he just fucked you within an inch of your life, touch gentle as he fingers your pussy full of him.

Scissoring his fingers and gently rubbing circles into your clit with his thumb, “Your pussy is divine.” He continues cooing at you more, “Took me so well, so greedy for me, hm? So wet and tight, had me feeling like I was going crazy…”

You want to tell him to shut up, that he’s so embarrassing and shameless but your words won’t come. Mouth too occupied with letting loose the scandalous cries of pleasure you’re feeling, damn near pornographic in nature.

Back arching meanly only to be pushed right back down by his hand on you, trailing it from your sternum down your torso to just over your lower stomach. Lustful and plotting grin on his face when he pushes down, more of his cum leaving you only for his fingers to pull out to stuff it all back in.

It’s like he’s playing with you, getting a sick kind of enjoyment out of watching you squirm and leak with his seed. Already you’re so close again, barely having come down before he started finger fucking you, sensitive and dopey.

“Someone’s getting close,” he singsongs to you, the clicking sounds of him playing with your sopping wet cunt making your skin hot with shame.

Gojo puts effort into focusing in on that one spot he found earlier when he was tongue deep in your pussy, stroking you over and over, elated by the shocked and fucked look on your face. Body fighting so hard against its own pleasure and yet still greedy and begging for more.

Eyes rolling to the back of your skull as you cum yet again, struggling to breathe through it, whining out Gojo’s name over and over like how you did earlier. Twitchy and high strung and so so sensitive, thighs closing around his hand as you shake through your orgasm.

Forearm covering your eyes as tears slip from your waterline, everything feels so raw and electric and hot. Unable to even hear properly with how your head is rushing, all your senses dulled and simultaneously on edge.

Gojo tickles his touch up the outside of your thigh and you jerk at it, “Atta girl, did such a good job,” he compliments.

“I died,” you huff out.

“You didn’t die,” he wipes his fingers on your thigh, before crawling up your body.

You continue to complain, “You killed me.”

“I would never,” pulling back the arm hiding your face from him, “I like you far too much for that.”

Your only response back are begrudged grumbles that you don’t really mean. It’s hard to play angry at him well when you’re so high on your pleasure, body buzzing so pleasantly and head still dizzyingly content.

He smiles fondly at you before kissing you sweetly, lips lingering for a moment and then stating, “I’ll be back.”

And then he’s gone, and you’re left on the bed swimming in the relaxed and satisfying feeling thrumming through every inch of your bones. He shuffles around his room for a moment, changing into a clean pair of pants before scuttling out the door quickly.

Semi confused on where he’s gone until he comes back with a glass of water and a towel in the other, “Can you sit up for me?” You lay still for a moment, and it prompts him to check, “You can’t?”

“I’m thinking,” you don’t really want to get up, but you do, slowly dragging you body up to rest against his headboard.

He hands you the glass, motioning for you to drink while he sits down by your legs. Using the towel to gently wipe between them, careful not to touch you where you’re too sensitive. you finish the water and set the glass down on his bedside table where his lamp is lighting up the room.

Glancing down you quickly realise your shirt is still rolled up over your tits haphazardly, it suddenly feels dirty, you want a new shirt. “Gojo, can you grab me a shirt from my room… please?”

“Hmm?” He looks up to you and shamelessly stares at your tits, to which you cover them with your arms and frown, “I’m wiping my cum from between your thighs but you’re suddenly too shy for me to look at your tits?”

It’s not logical but that’s exactly how it feels, “Yes.”

Playfully, he rolls his eyes but gets up, discarding the towel in his hamper. He doesn’t go to your room though, simply tugging a shirt from one of his drawers. Walking back over to you with it in hand, “Arms up.”

Thoughtlessly, you do as he asks without question, arms raised up and waiting. Of course he takes the opportunity to blatantly stare at your chest, “Hey!” Your arms drop down.

An unapologetic giggle from him, “Sorry, sorry. Raise ‘em up again.”

You pout but you do lift them again and this time he actually takes your shirt off, it gets chucked over with the towel and the fresh shirt he grabbed is pulled over your head. It hangs off your frame and is clearly not your size but it’s comfy and soft and it smells like him.

Suddenly you’re feeling sleepy, eyes blinking slow as you struggle to keep awake. Something that changes when Gojo simply picks you up off his bed and starts walking out the room with you.

Yawning as you rest your head on him, “Where are we going?”

“To your bed, someone made a huge mess of mine,” he grins.

“And whose fault was that?”

Quirking a brow at you, “I’m pretty sure it’s yours.”

Feeling bashful as you pointedly look away from him, “Shut up…”

You both get into your bed beside each other, and you can’t help but snuggle into him, he’s so large and warm and it’s not even like you could avoid it because he was quick to wrap an arm around you and pull you snug to him.

Yeah… this friendship was definitely on a precarious ledge, and you tumbled right over the edge of it…

𝒂.𝒏. meow meow meow i hope you enjoyedddd,, this had been sitting in my writing folder since the middle of january and i couldn't wait anymore. i needed it finished and it's technically not because i had so many roommate gojo ideas that i couldn't add :< anyways !! THANKS FOR READING ILY❕

[⚠︎] — 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈.ᐟ do not reupload / repost / translate / plagiarise my works © all works are the intellectual property of lovelivision

[lizardho]

One of the weird things about growing up me is just the increased lack of social awareness sort of slowly reaching a crescendo in junior high. I remember getting picked on a lot more as I got older and older in elementary school, and the bullying started hitting in a weird way in Jr. High. Like, my knowledge of age-appropriate things had finally capped out and I was just entirely oblivious to the fact I was being picked on. Sometimes people made it easy, like the kid who told me my mom made me wrong, but sometimes it was harder. I do have some interesting memories from that time, though, and a lot of them are centered around a very small group of people who were willing to explain things to me. I remember in 7th grade I met a girl in a math class who was incomprehensibly kind to me. She wanted to be a special ed teacher, her older and younger brothers were both on the autism spectrum, and she was friends with all the emo and goth kids, so she was like the perfect storm of patient kindness and anti-establishment knowledge I needed. I remember one day walking out of math class after a fairly hard quiz, and she said,

“Oh man, that quiz was hard. I could really use a hug.”

An I responded with, “Oh, yeah, a hug would be awesome.” And then we just kinda sat there until I saw the light flick on in her brain, like “Oooh, that’s what her deal is!” and she said “Hey, can I have a hug from you?” and I said, “Yeah!” And gave her a hug, and like, even if I didn’t know what my deal was, she sure as hell did.

In addition to being absurdly kind, she was also EXTREMELY conventionally attractive, good at makeup, funny, and had an insatiable bloodlust for bullies, so she drew a lot of a certain type of people in. I always kinda felt lucky just being her friend because God only knows how I would have lived otherwise. One day we were walking to an assembly and she did a little jog to catch up to me because my confused gay ass always walked SUPER fast, and she got me to slow down so we could talk and that was VERY kind. And because of that, one of the kids in our class who had a HUGE crush on her and didn’t know the next thing about her thought that if he made me look mad enough or dumb enough or something that she’d stop talking to me and start talking to him. So he starts by coming up to me and saying,

“Hey dude, I fucking fingered your sister last night.”

And I am a bonafide grade-a dumbass who Does Not Know What Sex Is so I thought he meant he fingered her for a crime. But my sister was like 5 so I was like “What crime could a 5 year old commit?” so I was like “What do you mean? Like, shoplifting?”

And to his credit, he kinda stopped for a second. Not because he wanted to, but because with all his experience as a bully he had yet to encounter someone quite as earnestly confused as me. After he recovered from what, to him, was a bizarre crazy-person non-sequitur, he said,

“No, dude, I mean I fingered your sister last night.”

And I said, “Dude, she’s like…5, what could you have fingered her for?” And he was doubling down so he goes “Because I fucking wanted to,” with a big cocky smile on his face, which was NOT an answer to my question because I NEEDED to know what crime this dick thought a 5 year old could commit between 6:00 dinner and 8:30 bed time. So I kept asking, “But like, what was the crime? Like what did you finger her for?” and he kept being like “Because I want to” or “Because your sister’s nasty like that,” both of which were wholly insufficient answers. He thought I was ignoring him or stupid, and I thought he was a total moron, and realistically both of us were right.

And the whole time we’re talking about this, she is glaring daggers at him and telling him to Shut The Entire Fuck Up because she knows what he’s saying and she knows I do not and she doesn’t want me to learn like this. And finally, because he thinks she’s doing that thing that girls don’t actually do but that boys THINK they do of feigning being mad to play along and egg me on, he starts looking at her like they’re in cahoots, and she says “Oh my God you sick jerk just leave us ALONE!” and that gets a teacher’s attention. And suddenly he’s red-faced and confused because he thought he was looking like Chad Thundercock the top king stud of all time and realistically he’s looking more like the comedy relief pseudo-bully from an 80s film. And because she yelled at him to leave us alone, a teacher almost immediately comes over to check on what’s going on, and she explains it all in graphic detail and that kid got detention and probably a tension headache from trying to make his brain think good enough to figure out how all this happened. And once it was done she just grabbed my arm by the elbow and said “I’m so sorry about that, come on, let’s just go,” and I said, “Idk why you’re sorry, I don’t even know what’s going on.” And she said, “I know, sweetie, I know. Do me a favor and don’t look it up.” And because I promised her I didn’t end up knowing what fingering was until I was a Sophomore in high school when someone in theater explained it to me and I was retroactively so mad at this kid I almost went blind.

I actually have a LOT of stories about this kind of stuff so if y’all like this I will post more.

[yzzart]

⋆˙⟡ BOYFRIEND!DANTE ── HEADCANONS! ── PART TWO

── content warnings: F!reader, reference to the anime, jokes and puns with demons, mention of Eve and Vergil, a little bit of angst, content with some mature but light words and part one is here!

── word count: 744!

⭑.ᐟ Dante tells the worst, stupidest jokes you could ever hear in your entire life; and which, as time goes by, become the best. — He couldn't live without them, and he made sure you couldn't either. — His creativity and ability even in the face of extremely and frighteningly dangerous situations was admirable.

⤷ Since the first day of your relationship, you think that Dante has, keeps — or thinks about creating — a notebook full of puns, jokes and, sometimes, laughs alone and exults with them. — Nothing bizarre, it's just Dante. — Just like he sends messages during his “work” to tell you about them.

what’s a demon hunter’s favorite kind of tea? i don't know, sweetie ;P — what is it? EXORCISTI! ya know? it sounds like exorcist tea ;)

⭑.ᐟ Seeing you wearing some of his t-shirts, since there are very few of them, is something he will never get used to and will never be able to focus on, pay attention to anything other than you. — However, seeing his red coat with scarlet details on your body is enough for Dante to recognize his wild, animalistic side.

⤷ By heavens, that man worships, contemplates you by nature; as if he was born to adore your presence. — And every time you ask to use it, or just take it boldly and shamelessly, he melts, completely. — His eyes conveyed pleasure and so much desire.

“I’m starting to think it looks better on me.” — Of course, you couldn’t let the teasing go; running your hand along the sleeve, adjusting the reddish fabric, and deeply smelling your boyfriend’s scent on the coat. — “Don’t you think so, big boy?” — You bit your lower lip, hiding, and failing, a shy and so bold smile.

“I agree with everything that comes out of your mouth, my love.” — Dante was transfixed, acting as if he were hypnotized, he confirmed with greater pleasure that he was, in you. — “I really agree.” — That man was obsessed with you.

⭑.ᐟ This damn demon hunter — with a high chance of being the son of a demon, and without knowing anything about it — flirts with you every day, hour, minute and second. — Dante lives for comments, compliments and flirting with his beautiful girlfriend. — You don't have to admit it, he knows very well that you love him and can't resist all of them.

⤷ Oh, even while he's killing demonic creatures and beating up some idiots who try to ruin his work. — Dante doesn't waste time, he needs to let it be known that he's a committed and faithful guy.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” — He pointed one of his pistols at a demon, transformed, disguised as a lady who asked for his help; wow, a typical trap that never changed. — “I’m committed to my girlfriend, then.” — About to be attacked, he pulls the trigger. — “It’s so bad to be requested and desired by everyone.” — He let out a breath, picking up the phone and dialing a few digits, waiting patiently. — “Hey, my girl.”

⭑.ᐟ In that old, filthy and almost finished building — which, with your countless visits and almost becoming a resident, has gained a better appearance — you and Dante listen to music, chosen by the boy, until the last volume; it bothers the person who lives on the street in front, but who could care?

⤷ Your pool games, card games and days of just eating pizza are always accompanied by the jukebox. — Dante pretends to be at a concert, imitating playing the guitar next to you, soon, the two of you burst out laughing.

⭑.ᐟ Dante manages to hide the anguish, an unbearable tightness he feels when he remembers the loss of his mother and brother; the memory of his mother putting him in the closet, Vergil disappearing and the fire spreading disturbed him daily. — The heavens knew, they witnessed how much you wanted to help him with all this suffering; but Dante contradicted himself, saying that just by having you by his side, this pain disappeared.

⤷ It wasn’t a lie. — Dante would never dare do that to you. — He felt so good and grateful, thankful, just for your presence. — So, always after a long, boring, and extremely tiring night, Dante would cuddle up to you; specifically, he would bury his face in your neck and wish, even pray, to stay there forever.

what’s a demon’s favorite exercise? >:) baby, it's 3 AM… :/ but i'm curious, what is it? ;) possession presses—really strengthens the grip!

[ozzgin]

hear me out okayy imagine house full of obsessed monster x clueless human reader

I hear you alright. 👀 Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, mildly NSFW, obsessive behavior, stalking

You had been selected for an exchange program organized by the monster realm: one human to live with monsters, and one monster to walk among humans. They called it a cultural exchange.

Of course, you only found out about it after being kidnapped from your apartment. You thought you'd been taken by some mad serial killer and begged for mercy, until they finally dropped you before a regular looking office desk.

"Why the hell is the human so pale? What did you do?"

The monster lackeys fidgeted and mumbled some barely audible excuse. A slime creature poured you some coffee, and you gawked in confusion. The horned beast at the other side of the table seemed to realize his mistake.

"...They didn't tell you anything, did they?"

You shook your head in denial. To their defense, they'd never dealt with a human before. They must've gotten too flustered in the process, forgetting to speak. Or something along that line. You waved your hand, accepting their explanation, then probed for more details.

The whole ordeal is really mostly meant to satisfy their own curiosity towards humans, but they obviously couldn't express it so crassly to you. It's an exchange, you see. You, too, get to learn about monster customs, from the comfort of a shared home.

Thus, for the indefinite future, you'll be living with several creatures as roommates. You have been provided with your own room, naturally, in order to ensure your privacy.

Then again, how much privacy can one possibly get when surrounded by horny, deliriously infatuated creatures? Your underwear occasionally goes missing. You swear you feel watched every time you shower. And even more bizarre, you sometimes wake up to find a sticky film covering your pillow.

It must be anxiety. It was such a sudden change, after all. That's what the monstrous mates tell you in a sweet, caring voice. You appreciate their involvement, completely oblivious to the perversions taking place behind your back. Even the organizer couldn't foresee the unhinged thirst these beasts have for you. He didn't intend to ship you off as a wet dream to a pack of monsters.

"Is this alright, you think?" you ask, doing a little spin in the living room in order to show the chosen outfit from different angles.

The monsters shift slightly in their seats. If they were to be entirely transparent, you'd look much better stuffed with their appendages, pressed between them, coated in their fluids.

"Looks great", one of them manages to mumble, somewhat feverish. He let his mind wander too much.

"By the way, what were you doing last night? I could hear you saying my name repeatedly from your room."

The creature visibly tenses up.

"I was...I was practicing. It's a little hard to pronounce your name, you know? Being human and all..."

"Why didn't you just say so? I can help you with it. We'll practice until you finish properly", you declare with an innocent smile.

God. Keeping their hands off is becoming harder by the day.

[More Monsters]

[ccccatttta]

“every magic spell ends when the caster dies”

sirius has always known that. it was one of the first things his tutors told him when he was barely a toddler, and it was mentioned in some hogwarts' classes once or twice.

he sometimes ponders about it, how certain magic wasn't everlasting.

he witnessed it once, in his seventh year. the war had already started, and with each passing day, more and more students got black letters delivered, all of them mentioning some recently deceased relative. it was a third year ravenclaw girl he doesn't quite remember, but who always carried a fairy doll that her uncle enchanted to act like a living one. she always carried it in her pocket and let her out when she was bored or to show it to other students.

the day she got her letter at breakfast, she frantically searched her robes and took out the little doll, and it looked just like that, a doll. no more flapping wings, tiny giggles and fairy dust, just a toy. she burst into tears then, and was inconsolable for months.

it's one of sirius' most vivid memories.

it seemed so bizarre.

he prayed something like that never happened to him, because it would hurt. it would destroy him.

he was only given enchanted things by the people he loved the most, so he would know immediately if any of the different trinkets were to just go dull. the second it happened, he would know he has to face a reality without one the fundamental beings of his very self. it terrified him.

it was one of his biggest fears.

and it happened to him.

it was a thursday afternoon.

they had a rare free day. no fights, no funerals and no war in his and remus' flat, not for that day. james and peter were there too, an 'afternoon with the lads' they called it. they were laying on the living room, sprawled all over, bowie on the record player and cards on the table along with some beers.

he was on the way to the kitchen when he felt his hair falling out of the messy bun he did in the morning.

and, with a little clink, there was a metal star hairpin on the ground.

he knew then.

it was a secret, how he kept that hairpin. well, not a secret per se, but no one knew where it actually came from. only sirius.

no one knew he had the most horrendous time trying to tie his hair when it was long enough to do so. his hair was just as temperamental as him, which meant that they usually didn't get along. he suffered for months until that hairpin was gifted to him.

sirius didn't quite know how it really worked, just that it was charmed to make everything easier. he just had to think about the hairstyle he wanted for the day, and the hairpin would do it, shrinking or getting bigger if it was necessary, securing his hair perfectly and without much fuss.

no one knew that except sirius.

and regulus, who gifted it to him in his third year.

regulus.

his baby brother.

“every magic spell ends when the caster dies”

[running-with-kn1ves]

Cabin Fever, Baby Fever

A/N: originally named this doc ‘a dawg gone wrawng’ so I hope that gives you some idea as to what hell this is. Thanks to the anon for Conan's name, I wrote this mainly for his haters! deadass not sure if the drama is worth keeping most interested so his next ringer will probably be smut.

Part 1 , Part 2

Synopsis: You and the werewolf that knocked you up (ahem, kidnapper) discuss future pup names. 

CW: Pregnant! Reader described as a future ‘mother’, past mentions of kidnapping, kidnapper/kidnapped dynamic, knives 

You weren’t trusted in the kitchen. The only reason he left the knives out, was because he knew you wouldn’t have the gall to mess with them; if you did, a small steak knife wouldn’t do much to subdue the punishment you would quickly find, whether it was aimed at yourself or him. Anything else though, he didn’t believe you could handle. Not when you ached about the balls of your feet hurting, your lower back tensing up as you sat to read for the evening, or the dark circles laden under your eyes that made him throw a look of misery toward you.

It wasn’t just the roundness of your belly or the shift in your hormones causing you to complain. In fact, if you had been doing this entire pregnancy alone, you would probably be fine going back into work, with a slight pain in your tailbone or at your knees, but nothing you couldn’t handle. His hovering though, that was something out of your scope, doubling down on your constant stress from him always watching you. Like he was waiting for you to try and pick at the new keypad deadbolt he bought (mostly as an intimidation tactic.) Truly, a deadbolt would prove useless as long as he was here to stop you. 

Considering your recent… adventure had left you both exhausted, enraged, and anxious, your body had been deteriorating. You’d have no appetite some days and others you’d spend an evening ransacking the kitchen, alongside sleeping the entire day away only to be up at night sobbing, wishing you were anywhere but here in this shitty one bedroom flat, with a werewolf who didn’t even know how to decorate a damn living room besides for his PlayStation and 50-inch TV. 

He didn’t like to dwell on the past, or really anything that showed how miserable you were. So instead, Conan, the great next-door-whore and soon-to-be father, left you resting at the kitchen island to watch him try to cook, pretending like the fatigue causing your skin to droop and the redness in your eyes could be fixed by a good ol’ home-cooked meal. 

“I was thinking about baby names,” He broke the apartment’s stale silence, the slight sizzle of a pan on the stove accompanying his low voice. Often it felt like he talked to you like a hunter would, trying not to spook a fawn he planned on becoming his next wall decoration. “It’s so hard to choose. I mean, our kid is gonna have that name forever, y’know? Don’t want it to get picked on or nothin’ for its name.”

Our kid. What a strange thing to hear. You had known it as a fact, but hearing it outloud was bizarre.

“Names, huh…”  You let out a thin sardonic hmph at the thought.. “I agree, there’s enough things it’ll get pushed around for already, don’t need to add another one to the list.”

You didn’t mean to sound so bitter, but maybe it was the lack of concern for anything anymore that left you indifferent. 

Conan looked over his shoulder at you, his thickly haired arm still holding the pan’s handle. He was still chewing on the toothpick you saw him grab earlier. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You knew this tone, the one that said you were playing with fire. 

“How many mixed parents do you know? It seems like trying for kids in general could be a death sentence…It’s not normal, or even common. This kind of interbreeding…I mean.” The thoughts were building the more you spoke; how hadn’t you thought of some of this until now-- What would your life be after giving birth? Would there be one at all? Humans weren’t meant to carry werewolf pups. Instead of scaring you, the idea almost felt irrelevant; you were already here, caged. Death might even be a blessing.  “Either way, ‘our kid’ won’t fit in with either humans or werewolves. There’s no one for them, no place or middle ground.” 

The worries you conjured were so surface level compared to Conan’s influence. How’ll this child grow up to be a normal being with a father who won’t even let its mother out of the house? A mother who had other plans in life than this?

“We’re not all that different in species,” Conan argued, turning away from the steaming pan to look at you. “And I guess we’ll just have to be the ones who protect it. I’m not against beating up some snot-nosed brats.”

Finding your hands with his calloused fingers, Conan kissed your knuckles with a practiced gentleness. It was uncomfortably soft, not like the werewolf who once demanded you cry out his name beneath his sheets. He gazed at you through his overgrown hair with a sick sense of watching, like his eyes were trained on you. When was he going to trust you enough again to go out of the house for longer than twenty minutes, at the very least to get a haircut? It’d be a relief to have some time to yourself. To get away from his ever-prying stare. 

“The kid will be fine, i’ll teach em’ some fist fighting techniques, show em’ how to properly give a wedgie.Before you know it our kid’ll be the one bullying!” 

“Right.” You sighed, giving a small grin to offset the poorly disguised glumness in your voice. The idea was a small drop of water in the desert of your new anxieties. 

Conan would rather have you screaming and hitting at him than to see you slumped on the bed again, but it had become so routine at this point even he began to feel defeated. Maybe this was a good sign though, some light in your eternal pessimism at his lame jokes. 

He leaned over the counter to press a small kiss to your lips, not waiting for you to return the gesture before moving back to the stove. 

“Well, back to names, I was thinking a little Connie, or something badass... like Maverick.” 

You made a face at the names, shaking your head a bit. 

“I guess I haven’t given much thought to it, but even those don’t sound right.” 

“Then…” He did something to the cooked meat to make a sharp hiss of steam rise. “Why don’t we go with something easy, like Conan?” 

Conan said the name with a strange lilt, waiting for your response. He kept his back to you, biting at the toothpick in his mouth. Was he secretly hoping you’d pick that one?

“You just want a kid named after you,” You cracked a genuine smile. “Connie, Maverick, or Conan junior is the best you can think of?”

Conan gave you a teasing look, taking the mouthwatering steak out of the pan with a pair of tongs.

“Hey, I don’t hear you coming up with anything better.” 

Looking down at your stomach, the bump started to look more familiar. You didn’t know what to think about the creature occasionally kicking at your uterus and forcing you to vomit in the mornings; it seemed like it was more a part of Conan than it was you, especially with the way he tended to it with his ear pressed to your stomach, rubbing your belly like you were some magical human lamp. 

“Technically, I guess the name would be fitting. ‘Little wolf’ isn’t too far from the truth.” 

Conan placed two plates full of meat and salad on a round dining table across from the kitchen. 

“And we’ll do Conanette if it's a girl.” He quipped. 

Rolling your eyes, you attempt to get out of the kitchen island’s chair. “Alright don’t push it.”

As soon as you move to stand, Conan is quick to rush himself in front of you, blocking your escape.

“I’ll carry you to the table.” He places one hand on the counter and stares at you cautiously.

“It’s literally like three feet,” You look behind him at the food, the hole in your stomach desperate for something with flavor and not the mere Saltines you’ve been eating all day. 

“Just let me do it. Please?” He looked almost desperate, most certainly ready to brood if you dared to reject him.

The last time he carried you was… not a pleasant ride. Is that why he wanted to pick you up now, to repair what he’s done? You almost grew irritated at the thought. Did he really think picking you up with your consent this time was going to change anything? You were a prisoner here, not some sweet lover. Just another one of his one-night stands gone wrong. 

Well, at least this explained why the sadism and horniness he usually radiated had been partly snuffed. 

A hard kick in your stomach made you clench your teeth; seemed like the little monster was as hungry as you were. 

“So fucking persistent...” You mumble, hurrying him with your hand to get it over with. If you wanted to eat and not be brutalized by a fetus, there was a clear option to choose. 

Conan was quick to follow, putting an arm at your back and under your knees to pick you up bridal style. Your bump had gotten big enough to be uncomfortable if he didn’t hold you right, but his arms were overly heedful when picking you up. Laying your head to rest on his collarbone, he kept your thighs away enough from your stomach to keep you uncramped. The werewolf had deadlifted barbells twice your size, leaving you to be a solid, comfortable warmness in his arms; this was one of the few times his strength didn’t appear  to make you afraid, the image of your comfort practically egging on the hubristic grin that spread on his lips. 

“See, it’s not all bad being treated like royalty.” He smirked, watching you hold the satisfaction of a ‘thank you’ or a smile from him. 

“Can you please hurry, mini Conanette is beating on her cell bars,” You wince, the smell of the seasoned meat making your mouth salivate and your stomach twist. You weren’t willing to let him know, but the warmth of his arms beneath you, the smell of his skin-- it brought about a gentle comfort, accompanied by a kind of unfamiliar terror that made you want to crawl out of your flesh.

Conan pulled out a wooden chair by the table with his foot, leaning down to set you in it. 

“T’s because little Conan knows his daddy’s here.” Conan gets on his knees to be eye level with your stomach, letting his hand rest on your knee. “Stop beating on your mother, you brat. Once you get out here, you’re gonna have to fight me like a man for all the pain you’ve been causing.”

“Okay, that’s enough out of you.”

His little remarks had forced a small laugh from your lips, making the evening like that more of a dream than reality. This was the same man who drug you back to his apartment, who won’t let you outside without a tight grip of his hand in yours?

You pull your chair in, searching for your fork and knife. Instead, a fork and a spoon were placed beside your plate, your steak already cut up in bite size pieces for you. Odd. 

That’s when you noticed it; the table was set up as per usual, but the tablecloth had been dry cleaned, and small candles were lit in the middle, a porcelain plate keeping the wax in a secluded pool. You even had a napkin at your side, something Conan didn’t particularly take note of often in bringing. 

The werewolf turned your face toward him with his large hand, careful not to strike you with his sharp claws. 

“Eat up, you need your protein.”

He almost sounded condescending, but the hard kiss pressed to your temple made you unsure.

This poor attempt at what looked like a date, an effort at putting back together something that never could be fixed, would not fool you. The missing knife was starting to make you nervous as Conan sat down on his side of the table, digging in, untroubled. It looked to be another freedom stripped away indefinitely, your food’s preparation an unfunny joke in how it was akin to being cut for a child.

Your laughter was gone, replaced by something sour bubbling in the back of your throat. You’d have to hope, to pray that today he just wasn’t taking any chances so you wouldn’t ‘ruin the evening,’, that you’d find the missing knife block back on the kitchen counter tomorrow morning.