#tv press kits

[atomic-chronoscaph]

Star Wars Holiday Special (1978)

[kingoftieland]

ORIGINAL POST: This Breaking Bad Season 2 Press Kit is truly an awesome find, coming packaged in a Mylar bubble mailer designed to look like a police evidence bag! What’s inside? The contents include: 

Walter White Video Camera Prop 📹

Promo DVD Set (S1 Recap + S2 Ep. 201-203) 📀

USB Stick (Feat. Cast Photos + Unreleased Artwork) 💻

2 AA Batteries (“for use if video evidence tampered with”) 🔋

UPDATE: Little did I know when I got this 3 years ago that I was missing an item from the Press Kit! But I finally tracked it down – a green Breaking Bad apron, still in its own individual evidence bag from the set!

[laboitediabolique]

Front cover of Galvion press sheet, 1984. Scanned from my personal collection.

[pupkashi]

satoru loves you & he’s tired of being your friend

a/n: loosely inspired by taehyungs song fri(end)s i hope u guys like pls lmk what yall think plsplsplspls

word count - 1,764

masterlist

the only light illuminating your living room was from your tv as it played your favorite comfort movie, one you’d seen countless times before. the familiarity of it had you dozing off on your couch, in and out of sleep as you lost the battle with your heavy eyelids.

there’s a soft knock on your door that has you jumping out of your skin, heart racing loudly in your ears. you pause the movie, wondering if maybe you’d hallucinated it and it truly was time for you to go to bed.

knock, knock, knock

your palms are sweaty, checking your phone before standing up. there’d been no missed texts or calls from anyone you knew, who the fuck knocks on a door at 3:24 in the morning?

you grab the baseball bat by the door, peeking through the peephole and being met with tousled white locks. a color of hair you’d be able to spot a mile away, one you’d grown to care for.

“what are you doing at my door at four in the fucking morning?” you whisper-yelled, setting the bat down and opening the door wider to let the man in. he gives you a small smile, one hand pushing his hair back and out of his face and the other holding his side.

“sorry sweet cheeks, didn’t wanna go home just yet” he mumbles, stepping in and standing by the doorway, waiting for your instruction.

“d’you get hurt? are you bleeding?” the annoyance in your voice is gone, and it makes satoru relax. he gives you a small nod, shrugging his shoulders and trying to play it off.

“nothing that won’t be healed by mornin’” you roll your eyes at him, muttering a small ‘come on’ and walking to the bathroom down the hall. “i miss you y’know” satoru says softly, watching as you searched for the first aid kit under the sink, grabbing the box and making him sit on the toilet lid.

“did you really?” you scoff, not meeting his gaze as you grab a soft rag, running it under warm water. satoru furrows his brows, confused as to why you think he wouldn’t have missed you.

“‘course i did,” he replies, opening his mouth to continue but closing it quickly when you turn to face him.

“can i take your blindfold off” you ask, your hands fiddling with the damp rag before setting it down when he nods ‘yes.’ you find the small knot hiding in his hair, gently undoing it.

the black blindfold loosen instantly, and you’re quick to gently take it off his head, setting it on the counter. his hair flops onto his forehead, falling almost perfectly to frame his face. despite the countless times you’d seen his eyes, your breath still hitched in your throat when you looked into them.

you try not to stare too long, brushing his hair out of his face and cleaning the dried blood on his face. satoru doesn’t take his eyes off you, eyes tracing your every feature. his gaze is one you always faltered under, growing nervous when he’d stare at you for too long.

“what” you ask, a small nervous smile forming on your face. satoru shakes his head, a small upside down smile on his face as you wipe the cut on his cheeks with an alcohol wipe.

“you’re just real pretty” he says, watching as you bite your bottom lip, surely trying to stop the smile fighting its way into your face.

“is you side hurt too?” you motion to where his hand is covering, trying to brush past the compliment he’d given you.

“healed it up a good amount while you were cleaning me up” he shrugs, lifting his shirt and showing you the brand new scar, “I’m not completely helpless.”

“no you’re the strongest” you tease, throwing away the used items and washing your hands. “did you wanna shower? you look like you could use it” satoru pouts at your words.

“don’t have to be so mean about it” you laugh softly, drying your hands before you’re standing in front of him again. you let your hands brush through his hair, exposing his forehead before you press a kiss to the skin.

“sorry angel, you’re the one who woke me up” satoru lets his eyes close softly, heart sinking a bit when you pull away from him.

“I’ve got some clothes you’ve left over so I’ll leave ‘em on the counter” you smile, closing the door behind you and sighing softly.

how’d you get to this point? how’re you stuck between friends and something more?

friends don’t feel the way you do about satoru. friends don’t place feathery kisses on their friends scars. friends don’t act the way you two act.

satoru steps out of the shower, smiling when he realizes his clothes smell like you. his heart leaps when he exits the restroom, finding you still awake and waiting for him on the couch.

“waiting for someone?” his voice makes you jump a bit, shaking you head and watching as he sits next to you. “did you have plans for tomorrow?” he questions, watching as you send a text.

“told them something came up,” you shrug, “figured you need me more.”

the words tugged on satoru’s heartstrings. there was a never night you hadn’t been there when he needed you. you’d been there for him since the day you’d met him, there to comfort him and ease his racing mind. you were there to calm him from panic attacks and frustrations, help him through grief and stress. everything.

you were a great friend.

he hated that word. you weren’t his friend, you were something more. he knew how he felt about you, he had an inkling feeling you felt the same. so what’s stopping him?

satoru shakes the question out of his head, focusing instead on the tv. the end credits are rolling but you’re not looking away, eyes unfocused and your mind elsewhere.

“should we go to sleep?” satoru whispers, a feathery touch to snap you back to reality. you nod with a small smile, the two of you making the familiar walk to your bedroom, satoru turning off any lights and closing the bedroom door behind him before slipping in next to you.

you’d always liked having your head on his chest, you were able to hear his heartbeat this way. the rhythmic pitter-patter never failed to make you smile or help you relax. it also gave away anytime he was nervous.

“your hearts beating real fast” you state, not looking up, instead continuing to draw circles in the palm of his hand. “what are you thinking about?”

there’s too many thoughts in satoru’s head, so many that he can’t begin to process a single one of them. so instead he blurts out what had been on his mind all night.

“i love you.”

you never thought people were telling the truth about time stopping when something like this happened. you’d always figured they romanticized their life a little too much.

but you felt time stop.

your fingers faltered and you felt your breathing hitch in your throat. your stomach erupted in butterflies, face hot and your eyes wide as the three words landed on your ears.

there was a million thoughts in your head, memories flooding in. spring nights around a fire pit, hot summer days at the beach, cool autumn afternoons carving pumpkins and cold winter mornings drinking hot chocolate. and in every one of them you bit back three words while staring at the white haired man.

“you don’t have to say it back” satoru begins, his heart beating even faster than before, “i just- I’ve been think-” you sit up quickly and cut him off, shaking your head and finally looking him in the eyes.

“I love you too,” you smile, letting yourself enjoy the the moment of euphoria the two of you felt upon hearing the other say the three words you’d dreamt of.

there’s only a second of silence before satoru’s blue eyes are looking at your lips, flickering up to meet your eyes momentarily. all it takes is you leaning in ever so slightly.

his hands are cupping your cheeks, crashing his lips against yours, a sense of urgency as his lips move against yours. he tastes like his vanilla lip balm and toothpaste, smiling as the words replay in your head.

“what’s funny?” he mumbles against your lips, laughing softly, not bothering to pull away from your lips. satoru’s cerulean eyes are fluttering open, completely focused on you.

you pull away a couple inches, staring into his eyes, you can see the emotions swimming in his eyes, love and excitement written over his face as he takes in your beauty.

“just happy” you reply, “never thought you’d put the end in friends” satoru pouts comically at your words, shoving his face in your lap and groaning softly.

“‘m sorry” he grumbles, “new to all the relationship stuff” there’s genuine frustration and remorse in his voice, it makes you smile as your run your fingers through his hair, tugging softy.

“‘s okay” you say, “thought technically I’m not yours since you haven’t asked me” he knows you’re poking fun at him, not rushing him into anything.

“don’t worry,” he says, sitting up and adjusting himself to lay down next to you, smiling when you lay your head on his chest, “gonna make you mine as soon as i can.”

the words make your heart flutter again, a sheepish smile on your face as your cheeks and ears burn.

“alright smooth talker let’s get some sleep.”

funny enough satoru feels the weight on his shoulders grow lighter with your body weight pressed against him. he feels a sense of serenity running his fingers up and down your exposed skin.

you can see goosebumps rise where your fingertips touch, smiling softly and holding back a giggle as your fingers ghost over his abs, causing him to shiver.

it’s different from before, more intimate.

satoru wonders why he was so afraid of baring his heart to you in the first place. he can’t find an excuse as he watches the golden ray of sunshine hit your face softly, causing you to stir. he’s still as he watches you immediately nuzzle your face into his side, falling back into a deep sleep in his arms.

it doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep too, a smile on his face when he feels your grip tighten.

lovers, he thinks, it has a nice ring to it.

taglist (send an ask to be added): @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @gojoshooter @beautiful-is-boring @sweetheart-satoru @luna0713hunter @torusmochi @kentocalls @sadmonke

[hyperballart]

taking aphrodisiacs with patrick as a joke…

being at his place and both of you being bored out of your minds. you’ve been hanging out with him for a couple months since he came up to you one day after class asking for notes. now youre on his couch half listening to a movie he put on the dvd player while eating the remnants of the pizza you ordered. you turn to him, “i need something sweet, got anything here?” he murmurs something about you looking through his pantry and you get up, dusting off small crumbs of bread from your skirt. as you’re rummaging through all the junk stored in there, you miraculously spot a bag of kit kats on the top shelf. you’re about to call patrick to help you reach for it when a sudden tug of your fingers is enough to bring it to the floor. you curse and pick it up but next to the bag you find a few chocolate bars from a brand you’ve never heard of.

you pick them up and examine the black packaging with gold detailing and read the contents in the back. you come to the realization that you’ve found your friend’s stash of sex chocolate edibles. you hold them behind your back and walk in front of him with a shit-eating grin. he looks up to you annoyed, “what? do you mind? you’re blocking the tv.” you pull out the boxes and giggle, “why do you have these?”

you see him slightly blushing and stutter something out about them actually belonging to his roommate and telling you to put them back. you don’t listen, instead suggest something that you’ll probably regret later.

you don’t know why or how exactly everything came to be, but now youre both giggling and surrounded by all four empty chocolate boxes on the couch. it’s been about forty minutes and you feel a bit airy, patrick no doubt does as well. the previously neglected movie suddenly becoming hilarious as you’re both fighting tears and holding your stomachs. you come to the realization that you haven’t yet checked how legitimate those treats were so you ask your friend, “how are you? like, do you feel anything? i’m not sure these did their job.” he turns to you as his laughing dies down, “god i’m so fucking hard right now,” he leans his had back and keeps eye contact and brings a hand down to cup himself through his sweats, “it’s been like this for a bit—mm fuck,” your eyes are growing lidded and your starting to notice the effect on you as well.

for about thirty seconds, you look between his face and where his hand is softly petting his dick through his clothes, his mouth parts a bit and he’s quietly panting when he reaches down and squeezes his tip. he notices how unusual it is and quickly mutters a sorry, i’m a little high before picking his hand back up but you stop him. your own palm reaches out to touch him and he’s dragging it under his sweats and letting out a shaky sigh when you touch him bare. he’s hard, harder than you’ve ever felt a man and you almost feel bad. how long has he been like this? you pull him out and he fucking moans in your ear, his tip is steadily leaking and he won’t stop throbbing. “oh my god, yeah—touch me please”

you don’t think you’ve ever been so turned on in your life, you let him know this and hes quickly begging you to sink down on his cock—“c’mon baby, sit on it,” he roughly handles you to straddle him, “cum on me, i need it” your panties are still on but you’ve soaked right through them, they’re basically transparent and the feel of patrick desperately humping your cunt through them is enough to bring you to an orgasm within a minute. “oh holy fuck, yeah—“ patrick is shaking under you, he’s trying to push you down harder on him and he looks like he’s about to cry.

you don’t even need to hold him, he’s hard as steel, but you do anyway. you press him at your entrance through your panties and he squirms, pushing his hips further so they poke at your covered entrance, wanting to get inside you. both of your eyes roll back at the sensation, and you’re starting to drool. you keep going until he groans a shit, i’m coming on you and you decide you need more.

he’s coming back slowly, and you’re lifting up your skirt to reveal where you’re both connected. he glances down and the sight is enough to be engraved in his brain forever, he’ll jerk off to this memory until he fucking dies. your white cotton panties are soaked and soiled, they cling to your pussy and outline your lips in a way that makes patrick twitch under you. his cum is still dripping from your pussy and your thighs keep twitching, he can’t wait anymore.

he groans—almost angrily—and in one moment, he has your panties pulled to the side and pushes up into you in a single thrust. both of you release disgustingly obscene sounds at the relief and there’s no time before you’re fucking each other like rabbits. he’s in your ear, “you’re getting everything wet, messy fucking girl,” he moans when you clench down on him hard, “that’s it, milk this fucking cock, i’m gonna come in you—that’s what you want.” he doesn’t phrase it as a question, he knows you do.

after a couple minutes he’s doing just that, and you follow right after. even as you’re spent, laid down next to him, you still ache and he’s still hard. you don’t even wait until his cum stops dripping out of you until you’re going at it again. and again, and again.

art is gonna be pissed when he comes home and sees you two got into his stash.

[wasteddmoondust]

little family || remus lupin

pairing: remus lupin x reader 1,258 words, single mom! reader, established relationship, FLUFFY FLUFF, kid fic, maybe i just crave domesticity a/n: back to back fics like who is she... (had this in the drafts for a WHILE) omfg guys this was soooo crazy indulgent I'm gong crazy no i did not proof read but i hope you like it anway

Remus is just about to leave work when he gets the call. He sees your contact name pop up on his screen, Y/N <3.

"Hello?" he says when he picks up the call.

"Hi, Re," you reply. You voice sounds rushed and anxious. "Do you happen to be free today?"

"I am, love. What is it?" he asks softly, stopping in his tracks to listen to you.

"Something came up at work today that I have to stay and handle, could you pick up Lyla from daycare?"

Lyla, a little girl equivalent to a ball of sunshine. Though you had only been dating for over a year, he sees her as his own.

"Of course I will. I'll bring her back to yours?"

"Yes please, thank you so much. I'll buy takeout for dinner when I'm done. You okay with that?"

"Yeah, sure. I'll go pick her up now."

He hears you heave a sigh of relief over the phone. "I appreciate you so much, I love you."

He smiles. "I love you, too. I'll see you later."

Remus reaches the daycare and realises he doesn't know what he's supposed to do. He walks by the window and sees Lyla colouring in her classroom. She notices the movement and looks up from her drawing. He can't hear her through the window but she's jumping around and cheering at the sight of him, waving excitedly.

He waves back at her, smiling, then notices one of her teachers gesturing to meet her at the entrance.

She gets past the gate to the classroom, leaving Lyla behind. "Hi, I know you're here for Lyla but since you're not her mum I'm going to need your ID," she says pulling out a file from one of the shelves.

He pulls out his wallet and gives it to her and watches her scan a list of what seems to be names of parents of the children.

She takes a few seconds and finally says, "Ah yes, Remus Lupin. You're on her list. I'll get her for you." He watches the teacher look into the classroom and call Lyla.

And then he realises. He's on the list. He's on the list of people who can pick Lyla up from daycare. You put him on the list of people who can pick Lyla up from daycare.

He's snapped out of his thoughts when he hears Lyla's voice. "Remoose!" she yells, running up to him.

"Hiya, angel," he says and picks her up. His heart melts as she immediately wraps her arms around his neck for a hug. "Mummy will join us later, but for now it's just you and me, okay?"

"We can watch TV?" she asks. "And then- then play toys?"

"Mhm, that sounds like a good plan," Remus replies, and they head to your home.

Later, you turn your key to your flat and open the door. You can hear the television playing a movie and the sound of your daughter's laughter. You kick off your shoes and walk into the living room.

Remus is covered in the fake makeup from Lyla's child-friendly kit. His hair is also adorned with little flower hair clips. He sits cross-legged on the floor while she sits in his lap.

"Looks like you had a lot of fun without me, hm?" you say. Lyla jumps at the sound of your voice, immediately running to you.

"Mummy! Remus fetched me today!"

"I know, darling," you kiss her cheek. "I asked him to. Did he take good care of you?"

She nods aggressively. She runs back to Remus, who is already walking up to you.

"Well don't you look pretty today," you tease. He smiles and breathes a soft laugh.

"My makeup artist is talented. She's very serious about this," he presses a kiss to your forehead. "You hungry? I can heat up dinner."

"That'd be great, and then it's time for this bug to go to bed," you pick up Lyla. "Isn't that right?"

She lays her head on your shoulder, visibly getting sleepy as it gets closer to her usual bedtime.

"Say good night to Remus?" you turn your body, so she faces him.

Remus bends down to kiss her hair, "Good night, angel."

Lyla slowly closes her eyes, "G'night..."

Putting your baby to bed goes smoothly, and she easily winds down as she is tucked into bed. She snuggles into her blanket and looks up at you.

"I like it when Remus fetches me from school," you hear her mumble.

You smile at that. "Really?"

She nods. "I really like Remus."

"I really like Remus too, darling."

"I think you get very happy around him, Mummy," she whispers. "You were not very happy last year, but now I see you be happy with him. So I'm happy."

You feel your heart do something. Jump? Lurch? Lyla was right, being a single parent comes with its challenges and you can admit a lot of late nights were spent biting your nails and wiping tears from your cheeks. You tried your best to prevent her from seeing you in that state, but you know she's observant enough for her age.

And that's why you're so thankful to have met Remus. He accepted you despite the fact you had a whole child. He saw you not only as you but also as the mother of your child. He understood that Lyla would always be a priority to you over romance (unlike most men you've met). Despite all its complications, he has been able to fit into your lives as if he's already meant to be there.

A prime example could be taken from today. Surely he could've said no to picking up Lyla from daycare, he's just her mother's boyfriend, after all. But he agreed and handled the rest.

"He does make me really happy," you say to her. "Does he make you happy too?"

"Mhm! He always plays with me and watches shows with me. He also hugs me and kisses me. He makes me happy. He's like my Daddy."

You chuckle, trying to hide the way your heart is going crazy at that. Somehow, you take the leap. "You want Remus to be your Daddy?"

"Can I call him my Daddy?" she asks, her eyes hopeful.

"You'll have to ask him tomorrow," you say, and you wonder what his reaction would be.

"Okay, I'll ask him tomorrow. Good night, Mummy."

You kiss her forehead, "Good night, darling."

You walk out of her room to see Remus placing your plate of food on the table for you. Without saying anything, you approach him and hug him. He hugs you back.

He is silent for a while, swaying your body slowly as you hug. "You were in there for a while, what were you talking about?" he mumbles into your hair.

You take a deep breath and look up at him, chin resting on your chest. "I love you," you say.

He furrows his brows but nods anyway. "I love you, too."

"Lyla wants to call you her dad."

Remus stops swaying. What is he thinking?

"Okay," he says, simply.

You jerk your head back, "Really?"

"Of course, I love her too, you know. I'd be honoured."

Chuckling, you bury your head into his chest and squeeze him. You feel him press a kiss into your hair.

"We're like a little family," he whispers to you. And you can see it too. You, your daughter, and Remus altogether as one.

And there's honestly nothing you want more than that.

a/n: SO LIKE UM this has been in the drafts about the same time as the james one like i said this is just very very indulgent brainrot i still have plans for the james series!!!!!!! ty sm for your support <3 likes and reblogs are always appreciated.

[mapis-putellas]

My clingy girl

Pairing: Leah Williamson x reader

Words: 1392

Warnings: swearing

Summary: Leah is sick, and as a result, very clingy. You do what you can to make her feel better.

Notes: Thank you to the sweet anon who requested this <3 [Request a prompt here]

"Baby!"

You exhale deeply through your nose as you discard the clothes you were in midst of putting into the washing machine before making your way through to the living room where Leah was currently taking up residence on the couch. The blonde was sick. Or well, you assumed she was anyway, but her stubborn ass was refusing to even admit she was the slightest bit unwell. She was sprawled out beneath a pile of blankets, clad in just your hoodie and some underwear as she stares absently at the tv.

"What is it, lee?" You smile, crouching down next to her and tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear. Her hand rises to grasp your own, and you give the appendage a soft squeeze as you place a kiss to her too warm forehead. You watch the way her eyes flicker shut in content.

"Cuddle me." She all but demands, and you shake your head playfully as you trail the pad of your thumb over the back of her hand.

"I'm doing laundry, baby. I'll come cuddle you when I'm done, okay?"

"No!" She whines, and you laugh softly as you attempt to rise to your feet anyway. "What are you doing?" She futilely tries to tug you back. "Come back here you cruel woman."

You huff out a laugh as you give into her wants and crouch back down in front of her, "Lee, baby, I will literally be ten minutes, max. If I don't do the laundry now, you won't have any clean kits for training, and then you'll nag me about it for at least the next week."

"No I won't," she grumbles, and you stare pointedly down at her. "I won't! Stop looking at me like that." She whines.

Your hand slips beneath the material of her hoodie and begins tracing gentle circles across the warm skin of her back. She shudders at the feeling, tired eyes threatening to close at the sensation of your skin against her own. "I love you, darling, but we both know that's not the truth. The longer you keep me here, the longer you're gonna have to wait for a cuddle."

"But..."

"But nothing. Ten minutes, okay?"

Leah grumbles something undecipherable underneath her breath before huffing quietly with a short nod, and you smile softly as you once again kiss her forehead. It was warmer then it had been earlier, and you make a note to bribe her into taking some medicine as you rise to your feet with the intention of finishing the laundry before she inevitably called for you again.

In fact, it never quite managed to get to that, because no more than three minutes later, you feel a familiar pair of arms settle tightly around your waist. You sigh, but can't help the smile that appears on your lips.

"Lee..."

"I know," she whines quietly. "But I want cuddles. Please."

Knowing she hardly ever allows herself to become this vulnerable with you; despite the fact you had encouraged her to do so several times, you bend down slightly and reach back to pat her thigh. She gets the hint and jumps up onto your back, allowing you to bounce her up slightly so she was able to wrap her legs properly around your waist to keep herself supported.

"Better?" You squeeze the thigh pressed against your hip a few times, feeling the way Leah nods her head against your shoulder. "Five minutes darling, and then I'm all yours." You assure, and you hear her hum in acknowledgment as she watches you continue with the laundry.

It takes a little longer than she likes, but soon enough, you were settled on the couch with her sprawled on top of you. Her bare thigh was pressed against your hip as she tucks her face into your neck, hands up your shirt and resting on the bare skin of your side. And you hold her just as close, breathing in her soothing scent as you lazily trail your fingers over the small of her back.

"You're warm." You murmur, lips pressed against her forehead, and Leah does no more than hum. She knew you were right. You knew she knew you were right, but stating that out loud wouldn't do either of you any good.

So with a sigh, you decide it would be best to change the subject. "What do you want for dinner?" You slide your hand further up her hoodie to trace over her shoulder blades.

Leah nuzzles the tip of her nose against your throat as she takes a deep breath. "Smiley's please." She murmurs, and you grin knowingly as you nod your head.

"Sure darling. Chicken nuggets too?"

"Mhhh. Please baby."

"Okay," you muse, pressing your lips against her warm forehead in a tender kiss. "You know you're going to have to let me go when I get round to cooking them, right?"

"No." She mumbles, her hand suddenly gripping tightly to the sports bra beneath your shirt.

"No?" You raise an eyebrow playfully, and she simply grunts in response as she clambers further on top of you on a futile effort to stop you from moving.

You can't help but laugh softly as you wrap your arms around her waist, nose buried into the crook of her neck. Gentle hands graze up and down her bare sides, and you smile at the pleasant shudder you receive in response.

"Your smileys won't be able to cook themselves, Lee."

"They will." She grumbles, her voice muffled against your neck.

You shake your head in mind disbelief. "Yeah? You got some magic smileys or some shit?" You can't help but laugh softly as you manage to sit up beneath her. Leah whines again as she was forced upright, legs straddling your hips as her arms loop around your neck.

With a gentle squeeze to her waist, you reach up and cup her face in hopes to gently coax it away from your neck. She fights you for only a second before giving in, and you all but melt at the pout on her lips before reaching up to gently kiss it away. She exhales softly, eyes fluttering closed in content at the feeling of your lips against her own.

"My clingy girl," you murmur as you pull away, trailing the pads of your thumbs against her lightly flushed cheeks. "So adorable."

Leah frowns, gently taking your hands and pulling them a way from her face. You don't let that deter you and instead place them on each of her thighs, giving the flesh a soft squeeze. "No, I'm not."

You raise an eyebrow, "You're not? I'd beg to differ."

"Babe, stop." She whines as she falls forward and buries her face into your neck, and you knew then that she must be a lot sicker than she was letting on.

Any other day, Leah would argue with you until you gave in and agreed she was right, so for her to give up before really getting started, it just confirmed your earlier suspicions.

Deciding that you would forgo getting up for a little while, you lay back down pulling the blonde with you. She sighs heavily as she settles back against your chest, hand rising to cling to the material of your shirt. Your own sneaks back beneath her hoodie, resting against still warm skin.

You don't suggest taking a nap knowing she'd only fight you on the subject, instead settling on humming softly under your breath as you begin tangling your fingers through her hair. You set a gentle rhythm, twisting a thin strand around your pointer finger before gently pulling away and allowing it to slip through your fingers. Fingertips graze against her scalp each time, and you feel the way she grows increasingly limp against you as the careful ministrations continues.

When you're sure she's asleep; her breathing soft and steady and the hand once clutching your shirt now limp, you crane your head forward and press a lingering kiss to her warm forehead. She stirs a little as you pull away, and you gently cup the back of her head trailing the pad of tout thumb over the shell of her ear.

The white noise it creates instantly soothes her, and it was only seconds before she stills against you once again.

"My sweet girl."

**

Tags:

@simp4panos @goldenempyrean @girlgenius1111

[alygator77]

♬♪ ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : beat of my heart ♬♪

♬ pairing. college au // drummer! gojo x psychology major! reader (f)

♬ summary. being a psychology major with a passion for music, you're no stranger to chaos—between juggling school, caring for your mother, and working at a local music shop, you've learned to keep your cool. but when a cocky drummer pushes your patience to the limit, a chance encounter with satoru gojo—an enigmatic, sharp-tongued musician—turns your world upside down. as you're drawn to his dangerous charm, an unexpected connection deepens, but so do the secrets you've both been running from. will you get caught up in his rhythm before you realize it’s too late?

♬ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, slow burn, smut, angst with comfort, some fluff, readers mom has dementia, mentions of suicide, alcohol/weed usage, unresolved trauma, commitment issues

♬ words: 7.3k

♬ a/n. hi lovelies, welcome to the debut of this fic :) very excited to explore this dynamic between satoru and y/n, thanks for reading ♡

♬ taglist: open

series masterlist ♬ next chapter → pending...

ch 1 // the first measure

“Emotional regulation is defined as the process by which individuals influence the emotions they experience, when they experience them, and how they express them in response to different stimuli.”

Staring at the neatly printed words in your psychology textbook, your mind automatically begins to dissect the concept.

Emotional regulation. The holy grail of human behavior, wrapped neatly in clinical terms. It’s the ability to keep yourself in check, to craft a perfect mask that hides what’s boiling beneath the surface. The world only gets to see what you allow. If it were as easy as the textbook made it sound, half your classes wouldn’t exist.

Letting out a breath, you sink deeper into your chair.

People aren’t simple equations you can balance, after all—people are… complicated.

Emotions, even more so.

They ebb and flow like unpredictable tides, swelling when you least expect them, crashing down when you think you’ve regained control. They are messy, stubborn, and relentless—especially when the brain stops following its own rules.

Your mothers face comes to mind—uninvited. Her once-bright eyes are now dull with confusion, emotions flickering in and out like static on a broken TV. Dementia has stolen the filter that once kept her reactions in line with reality. It’s as if her mind is betraying her, one piece at a time.

You press your fingers against the pages of the textbook. Will any amount of psychology truly prepare you to untangle the complexities of the human mind? Can it allow you to help her—or at least understand her—before she’s lost entirely?

Before you can sink further into that thought, an ear-splitting crash reverberates through the store, jolting you back into the present. Glancing up with a sigh, the peaceful hum of the music store is shattered by the clumsy cacophony of someone abusing a drum kit like it owes him money.

Clearly, emotional regulation isn’t on that guy’s radar.

Yet, somehow, you’ve grown used to it. Working part-time here has taught you how to tune out chaos, as if the dissonance of the store has become its own kind of background music.

It’s chaotic, but it’s your kind of chaos.

The strings of guitars being tested, the pounding of drum kits, the chattering of customers—it all blends into a rhythm you no longer notice.

You’ve been working part-time in this quaint little music shop for so long that silence has become unsettling. If it’s too quiet, your mind starts wandering, spiraling into places you don’t always want to go. And so, the chaos is your anchor—it helps you focus, keeps you present.

Studying in silence feels foreign.

“Ugh… I have such a headache,” Utahime’s voice breaks through your thoughts, her hand pressing to her temple. Standing a few feet away, she shoots a glare towards the drum section. “He’s been at it for practically an hour now. Like… come on. Is he trying to destroy that kit or learn how to play it?”

Glancing up from your textbook, you eyes land on a brawny guy with jet-black hair, slamming away on the drums with no sense of rhythm, no control—just brute force.

“Has it really been that long?” you ask, blinking at the scene. The noise had faded into the background for you, becoming just another layer of the store’s soundtrack.

Utahime gives you a look that screams disbelief.

“You didn’t notice?”

You shrug.

“Guess I’ve learned to tune it out.”

“Tch… wish I could do that,” she rolls her eyes, rubbing her temples like the sound is physically burrowing into her skull. “That guy is killing me.”

Oh, shit. Now that your attention is focused, you notice just how bad it really is. It’s not just noise—it’s borderline offensive to music. He’s not even playing the drums—he’s assaulting them—completely unaware of the sonic devastation he’s unleashing on the store.

Utahime lets out another long, exasperated groan, her entire body sagging as she leans forward in defeat.

“I swear, if he keeps going, I’m going to snap,” her elbows rest on the counter, and she presses her forehead into her hands. “y/nnnn,” she whines, lifting her head just enough to glimpse at you. “Can you please do something?”

Glancing around the store, you catch the irritated looks of other customers—one guy near the synthesizers is glaring openly at the drummer, his hand gripping a set of headphones so tightly you half expect him to snap them in half.

It’s like the whole store is holding its breath, waiting for someone—anyone—to make it stop.

A sigh escapes your lips as you close your textbook. It’s one thing to tune out the chaos when you’re focused on studying, but now that you’re paying attention, the noise feels like an assault on your senses too. You can’t blame Utahime for losing her patience—though she’s never been one to take matters into her own hands.

“Fine, I’ll handle it,” you mutter, pushing yourself up from your seat.

“Oh, thank God,” she breathes, finally peeling her hands away from her temples. “Please, work your magic. Before we all go deaf.”

You roll your eyes internally, though you can’t help the grin tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Magic. Sure—that’s one way to put it.

What Utahime calls ‘magic’ is really just years of learning how to manage other people’s shit without losing your cool.

It’s not magic—it’s survival. A skill you’ve honed out of necessity, not desire. And sure, maybe your love for psychology helps—you’ve got the theories to back up the practice—but most days it feels more like wrangling toddlers who never learned how to grow up.

Taking a steady breath, you step into the fray, weaving through the store’s labyrinth of instruments and displays. As you get closer, the vibrations from the drums rattle through your bones, crawling up your spine. The sound is unbearable, like nails on a chalkboard amplified through a megaphone.

The guy doesn’t even look up, his head bent low over the drum kit, raven hair falling in messy strands across his forehead. His arms move with the rhythm of someone who has no idea what rhythm actually is, and the muscles in his forearms ripple with each heavy-handed strike as he slams the sticks down like he’s personally offended by the drums.

You stand off to the side for a moment, watching him have at it. You’ve dealt with a lot of difficult people working here, but this guy? He’s so oblivious to the fact that the rest of the store is on the verge of mutiny.

Clearing your throat, you raise your voice, hoping to break through his focus.

“Excuse me!”

Nothing.

Another crash of the cymbals, loud enough to rattle your skull. Your jaw tightens as you try again, this time louder.

“Excuuuuse me!”

Still nothing. He’s completely in his own world, bashing away with reckless abandon. It’s like he’s in a vacuum, utterly disconnected from the chaos he’s creating around him.

Jesus this guy… your patience thins and you step closer—close enough now to feel the heat radiating off him from his overexertion. His shirt clings to his back with sweat, and the muscles in his arms continue to ripple with each reckless swing of the drumsticks.

He’s not just playing hard—he’s playing like he’s got something to prove.

As you reach out to tap his shoulder, you try to keep your touch firm but not aggressive, although, the moment your fingers make contact with him, his entire body jerks—drumsticks freezing mid-air as he whips his head around to face you.

His dark eyes lock onto yours, sharp and filled with a flicker of annoyance.

“What?” he snaps, voice dripping with irritation.

Keeping your expression neutral, you try not to let his attitude get to you.

“You’ve been at this for a while,” you begin, as calm as you can manage. “We have a limited selection and there are other customers who may be wanting to try this kit.”

His eyes narrow, clearly unimpressed.

“So?” he drawls, waving the drumsticks lazily, like your request is beneath him.

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you press your lips together in protest. Stay professional, you remind yourself. Shifting your weight slightly, you square your shoulders and look him directly in the eyes.

“So,” you continue, voice firmer this time, “store policy is thirty minutes per instrument. You’ve been playing for over an hour.”

A low, sarcastic laugh bubbles from his chest, the sound filled with mockery as he tilts his head back slightly.

“And… what are you gonna do about it?” leaning forward, he rests his elbows on his knees like he's settling for a show—eyes glimmering with amusement as his lips curl into a smirk. “Throw me out?”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek—every fiber of your being is itching to knock this guy down a peg.

Ugh. What a tool.

The condescension in his voice grates on you like sandpaper, but you force yourself to stay composed.

“Look…store policy is pretty clear,” you reply evenly, nodding towards the sign behind the counter. “You either give someone else a turn, or I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Your words seem to pique his interest—his smirk widens, eyes flicking over you slowly, appraisingly. Suddenly you’re more interesting to him than this drum set. He pushes himself off the stool in a slow, deliberate movement, and you hold your breath the moment he towers over you.

He’s by no means, a small guy.

The light behind him is blocked from his broad shoulders, and there’s a new edge to his gaze now. The moment he invades your space, it is just a little too close for comfort.

“Oh yeah?” your stomach turns from the low suggestive timber of his voice, “And what if I don’t feel like leaving, sweetheart? You gonna make me?”

Ick.

This guy might take the cake for being the most difficult prick you’ve had to deal with here, and that’s saying something. Working in this music shop, you’ve come across a lot of full of themselves wannabees, praising themselves like the next big thing—acting like God’s gift to music when all they want to play over and over again is ‘Stairway to Heaven,’ and ‘Wonderwall.’

A surge of discomfort ripples through your body, but you stand your ground. You know how this goes—he wants a reaction, and you’re not about to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flinch.

“Look dude, I’m not asking,” your tone sharpens, leaving no room for argument. “This is your last warning”

His eyebrows shoot up in mock surprise, and a low whistle escapes his lips, as if he’s impressed—but it’s the kind of faux admiration that makes your skin crawl.

“You’re a tough one, huh?” he muses, chuckling softly.

Leaning in, the heat of his breath brushes against your skin as he invades your space once again—far too close for comfort—and you feel his gaze sweep over you slowly, lingering in a way that feels slimy and unwelcome.

“I like a girl with a little fire,” he adds, voice dropping lower. “It always makes things more fun.”

Gross.

Your hands curl into fists by your sides and you fight the urge to recoil as a surge of revulsion twists through you like a knife.

But before you can respond—before you even have the chance to formulate the sharp retort already forming on your tongue—the air shifts and a new voice cuts in.

“Wow, did I just walk in on the world’s worst pickup line, or are we about to throw hands over a drum kit?”

Turning your head towards the source of the voice, your eyes land on a tall figure standing a few feet away—his hair is a striking shade of snowy white, messy and untamed, falling in tousled strands that almost brush against the black sunglasses obscuring his eyes, and even with his face partially hidden, there’s no mistaking the mischievous glint tugging at the corners of his mouth—like he’s watching the scene unfold for his own amusement.

Despite the casual nature of his appearance—jeans slung low, a loose-fitting hoodie—there’s something undeniably striking about him. It’s the kind of presence that demands attention without asking for it

Who the hell is this guy?

Clearly irritated by the interruption, the drummer straightens up—his smirk faltering as he sizes up the newcomer.

“This doesn’t concern you, man,” he growls, tight with irritation. “I’m just having a little conversation with her.”

The snowy stranger’s grin turns sharp, though his voice remains light.

“Yeeeah, see, that’s where you’re wrong,” he steps up beside you, and without hesitation, his arm slips around your waist, pulling you smoothly into his side like you’ve always belonged there. “Everything concerning her concerns me.”

Your heart skips a beat, caught off guard by the sudden, possessive gesture. Part of you bristles at the boldness, but another part… feels oddly safe in his grasp—like he’s been by your side forever.

There’s a shift in the atmosphere as the drummer's eyes narrow—like the balance of power has tipped—the presence of this stranger throwing him off.

“Oh really? And just who the hell are you?” he snaps.

Your mysterious stranger doesn’t miss a beat—he chuckles softly, his sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his eyes—brilliant, vivid blue, and gleaming with a spark that teeters between playful and dangerous. It’s the kind of look that makes your heart flip.

“Oh, me?” he feigns innocence with a nonchalant shrug, like this whole thing is just mildly amusing to him. “I’m nobody special.”

Sliding his sunglasses back into place, he casually pulls you in a bit closer, and you are met with the warmth of his body as he leans into you just slightly.

“Just here to make sure my girl doesn’t have to deal with assholes. Y’know how it is.”

Your mind scrambles to catch up.

Your girl? You blink, heat rushing to your cheeks as the words rolling off his tongue begin to register. You barely know this guy—hell, you don’t know him at all—and yet here he is, acting like the two of you are something.

But…maybe it’s working? Because the drummer’s eyes narrow further, his expression twisting as a furrow darkens over his features. Ah…but then you realize he’s not focused on the claim your stranger just made—no, his attention is locked on a different word entirely.

“Asshole?” he echoes, voice rising with indignation, practically spitting the word back. Clenching his fists, he steps forward with a scowl twisting upon you face. “You calling me an asshole?”

“Well, yeah,” your stranger remarks casually, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He shrugs again, utterly unfazed by the tension mounting between them. “When the shoe fits…I mean, you’re acting like one, aren’t you?”

Pure rage flashes across the drummer’s face, and you can visibly see his fists trembling slightly.

Uhh… on second thought, is this guy even helping?

Now you’re not so sure if your so-called rescuer is making things better or worse, because clearly, the drummer is on the verge of snapping.

“You better watch your mouth man,” the drummer snarls, fury simmering beneath the surface.

But the stranger’s grin only widens, and he exudes a confidence that makes it clear he’s not worried in the slightest.

“Heh. That’s a warning I get a lot,” he muses, tilting his head slightly. “But y’know what? I don’t usually listen.”

It's a wonder the drumsticks the drummer is fisting haven't cracked under pressure, given how tightly he clenches them—his knuckles turn white.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” he growls through gritted teeth.

A low hum rumbles against your strangers’ lips as he ponders the question thoughtfully.

“I mean, I’ve been told I’m pretty hilarious,” he scratches the back of his head, like he’s seriously considering the statement, then, glancing at you, his eyes gleam with amusement as his sunglasses slide down the bridge of his nose slightly.

“Whatcha think babe? Am I funny?”

The question—and that pet name—catches you completely off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless.

But the drummer isn’t interested in the little game your stranger seems to be playing. His jaw clenches—teeth grinding audibly as his face hardens into something feral.

“I’m about two seconds away from wiping that stupid grin off your face,” he spits, taking another aggressive step forward.

Fucking hell, is a fight really about to break out at your work?

Your pulse quickens, and for a split second, you think he might actually swing at him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” the stranger says, still grinning like none of this phases him.

He releases his hold on your waist and steps forward with a smooth, almost lazy movement, placing himself between you and the drummer. His hands slip casually into his pockets, posture relaxed, but the air around him shifts.

“Let’s pump the brakes, big guy,” he tilts his head slightly, a dangerous edge creeping into his tone. “You’re welcome to try. But I’ll tell ya right now—” his teasing lilt diminishes, replaced by something colder, more commanding, “you’re not gonna like how it ends.”

His words—a warning and a challenge wrapped in one—hang heavy, and for a moment it feels like the entire store is holding its breath, waiting to see what happens next. Glancing around, you notice a few customers watching the scene unfold.

Fucking hell—this has gone from bad to worse.

And yet…the drummer doesn’t swing. He doesn’t move—doesn’t even flinch.

He’s seething—rage evident in the set of his jaw, the clenched fists at his sides—but something about the stranger’s calm, unwavering demeanor is throwing him off balance. It’s almost impressive, really.

No, scratch that—it is impressive.

You misjudged this guy. He might have walked in here like a cocky troublemaker, throwing out cheesy one-liners and pushing your buttons, but now? Now, he’s cool under pressure, defusing a situation that could’ve easily escalated into violence.

Body language often says more than words ever could, and his is completely in control—relaxed, hands in his pockets, not a single muscle tensed for a fight, yet there’s a sharpness beneath the surface—an unspoken control that demands attention.

It’s brilliant in a way. He’s defusing the threat without lifting a finger—a textbook example of how to manage tension without aggression. This guy is winning a psychological game the drummer doesn’t even realize he’s playing.

Their silent standoff stretches, until finally, the stranger breaks the silence with his smooth and almost disarmingly casual voice.

“Look, man,” he shrugs one shoulder with a nonchalance that seems almost practiced. “This is me giving you a chance to walk away with your dignity intact.” Tilting his head slightly, he gestures toward you with a subtle nod. “She asked you politely to stop. This is a store, not your personal garage. So maybe it’s time you pack it up and go before you make things worse.”

There’s a moment—a pause that feels like it stretches just a beat too long—where you can practically see the drummer’s gears turning in his head, weighing his options, trying to hold onto whatever’s left of his bravado.

Then, finally, he mutters through gritted teeth,

“Whatever.”

The word is spat out, dripping with frustration and barely-contained rage, and with a sharp movement, he tosses the drumsticks onto the kit—the wooden sticks clattering against the drums in a final act of defiance.

“You’re not worth it, and this place sucks anyway,” he mutters, full of aggravation, but his heart no longer in it—it’s clear his fight has deflated.

Turning sharply on his heel, he shoves past both you and the stranger with a forceful shoulder, storming toward the exit, and once the door slams shut behind him, the sound reverberates through the store with an unmistakable finality.

Just like that, the tension breaks. It’s like the whole store exhales at once—the weight lifting from the air as the distant murmur of customers resumes.

Before you can fully process what just happened, the stranger beside you turns his attention back to you.

“Well, that was fun,” he remarks, “Could’ve gone worse though. I mean, I didn’t even get to throw a punch. Talk about anti-climactic, huh?”

You barely manage to take a breath as he closes the space between you just a little more, his movements slow and intentional, and your heart flutters the moment his sunglasses slip down slightly, just enough for you to get a direct glimpse of his eyes. They lock onto yours—those bright, vivid blues—and for a second, everything else around you fades into the background.

“Seriously though,” he murmurs, voice softer now. “You okay?”

There’s something undeniably genuine in his tone, something that cuts through the playful exterior and lands right in your chest. You weren’t expecting that—this tenderness from someone who moments ago had brushed off a near-fight like it was nothing.

His eyes—soft but still burning with intensity—hold yours captive, and for a second, you forget how to speak.

“Uh… yeah,” you manage, “I think so.”

“Good,” he says with a nod, pushing his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Because I think you owe me a ‘thank you’ for that stellar rescue.”

You blink out of incredulity.

Thank you?

So much for tender—who does this guy think he is? You nearly scoff aloud. He wants a 'thank you' for a rescue that, truthfully, you weren’t even sure you needed?

Unsure whether you’re amused or annoyed by his arrogance, you open your mouth to respond—but before you can say anything, he cuts you off with a wink.

“Kidding,” he says with a chuckle, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction. “Always happy to help.” His hands settle into his pockets and he pauses, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. “Especially when it means I get to rescue a pretty girl like you.”

The compliment lands harder than you’d care to admit as you feel the warmth creeping up your neck and into your cheeks—betraying the fact that—against your better judgment—you’re not entirely immune to his charm.

A flicker of something stirs in your chest…

—nope. Let’s not go there.

Pushing it down before it can grow into something more, you refuse to let that feeling root itself.

You’re not looking for attention, especially not from a guy like this—a guy who flashes a cocky grin like he knows it works. The kind of guy who acts like the world bends to his whims.

Romance? No thanks. You’ve got bigger things to focus on. He’s exactly the kind of distraction you don’t need.

“Rescue might be a strong word,” you mutter, finally finding your voice again as you cross your arms over your chest. “I had it under control… mostly.”

“Oh, you did? My bad,” leaning in slightly, his voice lowers as if sharing a secret. “But trust me, that guy? He was one wrong word away from turning this into a full-on disaster. You’re lucky I stepped in when I did.”

You can’t help but raise an eyebrow at his comment, refusing to let him rattle you this time, and there’s a flicker of amusement creeping into your voice as you challenge him.

“Lucky, huh? So, what now? You expecting a medal or something?”

His grin widens—a grin that’s undeniably magnetic, but you resist being pulled into its orbit.

“Naaaah, I’m not that high maintenance,” straightening himself, he regards you with a slight tilt of the head. “But… I’ll take a coffee if you’re offering.”

You blink, momentarily thrown off by his response.

Did he just… ask you out?

“Wait, what?” you stammer, not quite sure you heard him right.

“A coffee,” he repeats smoothly. “Y’know, like a reward for my heroic efforts.” He pauses, just long enough to make it clear he’s toying with you. “Or is that too forward? I can settle for your number instead.”

You can’t help the scoff that escapes your lips—a sharp exhale that’s part disbelief, part amusement. This guy is unbelievable.

Nope. You’re not going to let him get to you that easily.

“I don’t even know your name,” you shoot back, lifting your chin just a little higher, “and you’re already angling for a reward?”

“Ouch, y/n,” he replies, placing a hand dramatically over his chest as if you’ve wounded him deeply—his grin, however, never falters. “That stings.”

You stare at him, your brows furrowing in confusion.

“How do you…?”

“How do I know your name?” he finishes for you, clearly enjoying this a little too much. He tilts his head. “Well, for starters, your nametag.”

Oh.

You glance down quickly and—of course—there it is, printed neatly on the tag pinned to your shirt, and now you are mentally kicking yourself for not realizing sooner.

“Right… of course,” you shake your head in mild embarrassment. It’s infuriating how easily he’s messing with you.

An amused chuckle dances on his lips and he leans back ever so slightly—hands in his pockets like he has all the time in the world.

“But that’s not the only reason I know you,” he adds, voice taking on a more playful tone, almost like he’s daring you to figure it out. “You really don’t recognize me, do you?”

You blink, trying to piece together where you might’ve seen him before. There’s something vaguely familiar about his voice…have you heard it before? Do you know him?

“I don’t…” you start, trailing off, searching for any spark of recognition, but you come up blank. “Uhh… should I?”

Flashing you a toothy smile, he's clearly delighted by your confusion.

“Ouch again. Double whammy,” with a dramatic sigh, he shakes his head in mock disappointment as his crooked grin curves up. “I guess I’m not as memorable as I thought.”

Your eyebrow quirks up at his theatrics, and despite yourself, the corner of your lips do too. Ugh. You want to be irritated with him but somehow, he makes it incredibly hard to be.

“Right… well,” tilting your head, your voice dips with playful sarcasm, “maybe if you told me your name, it might jog my memory?”

With a soft chuckle, he slides his sunglasses off and rests them on top of his head, and just like that, you’re greeted with the full, unobstructed view of his eyes—striking, electric blue, so vivid they almost don’t seem real, and they lock onto yours with an intensity that sends a flutter through your chest.

“Satoru,” he says smoothly, as if his name alone should be enough to make everything click. “Gojo Satoru.”

The name floats in your mind, like it’s circling around something, but still, nothing concrete surfaces. He seems so confident—so sure that you should know who he is—and it only adds to your frustration.

Do you know him?

Generally, you keep to yourself, both at work and on campus—with your moms condition you don’t really have time for the exciting college life. Tilting your head, your eyes narrow as you study his face—surely, you would have remembered someone like him... wouldn’t you?

“Gojo Satoru…” you test the name on your tongue as if saying it aloud might unlock some hidden memory. But still—nothing. “Sorry, not ringing any bells.”

Satoru laughs again, rich and unbothered, like this is the highlight of his day.

“Wow, I’m really striking out today,” he shakes his head in mock dismay. “I guess I’ll have to try harder next time.”

Before you can muster a response, he reaches out casually, plucking a pair of drumsticks from an endcap display nearby, twirling them between his fingers like it’s second nature. He examines them for a moment, then looks back at you with a raised brow.

“So, since we’re here and I’m feeling generous… how about you check me out?”

You glance down at the drumsticks in his hand, then back up at him—his expression is unreadable, that signature smirk lingering as if he’s waiting for you to catch up.

“...you mean ring up the drumsticks, right?” you clarify, though your voice is uncertain.

“Sure, let’s go with that,” he murmurs, and then, with a sly wink, he adds, “But I don’t mind if you do both.”

For a beat, your breath hitches, and you fight back the urge to roll your eyes.

Okay—this is guy is definitely a flirt. You’re not falling for his trap.

“Wow… you’re really not subtle, are you?” reaching out, you snatch the drumsticks from his hand. “How many women actually fall for that?” you turn on your heel towards the counter, and he follows in step.

“Hmm…I’m not exactly keeping score,” he admits. “But let’s just say I don’t hear too many complaints.”

Glancing back at him, you arch an eyebrow as you approach the register—fingers automatically moving to unlock your cash drawer, and he leans casually against the counter beside you, propping his elbow on it—like he owns the space.

“Will say though,” he adds, voice dipping lower, “I don’t usually have to try this hard. You’re pretty special.”

You scoff, your fingers hesitating slightly over the keys, though you refuse to let him see how his words make a tiny flutter bloom in your chest.

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” you mutter under your breath, trying—and failing—to focus solely on the transaction.

Satoru hums, watching you with that same playful gleam in his eyes.

“Nah,” his tone drops to something almost conspiratorial, “you’re definitely one of a kind.”

Yup. He’s a smooth talker—and without a doubt, bad news.

Pressing your lips together, you force your gaze to remain on the screen in front of you. He’s playing a game, and you’re determined not to lose.

As you scan the barcode on the drumsticks, he casually pulls out his wallet to pay, and that’s when something catches your eye—a student ID peeking out from the clear pocket inside his wallet.

Narrowing your eyes slightly, your fingers hover mid-air as you get a better look. The ID is familiar—yet you can't make out the school’s name plastered right across it, but the logo and the colors are unmistakable.

Wait a second…

“We go to the same school?”

Satoru looks up, his grin stretching even wider and the glimmer in his eyes practically daring you to catch up—he’s been waiting for this moment.

“Took ya long enough,” he teases, playful but with a hint of smugness. “Yeah, we do.”

You blink, the pieces clicking together a little too late.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” you demand, unable to stop the half-accusatory, half-embarrassed tone that underlines your voice. A groan slips past your lips and you shake your head in frustration. “I swear…you’ve been messing with me this whole time.”

With an amused chuckles, Satoru lifts his shoulders in a casual shrug.

“Hey, it’s more fun this way,” he leans in a little closer, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. “Besides,” he pauses, tilting his head just slightly while his lips curve into a sly grin. “I like watching you piece things together. You’ve got this cute little furrow in your brow when you’re thinking hard.”

The intensity in his eyes makes your breath hitch, and no matter how hard you resist, there’s that undeniable flutter in your chest, warm and unwanted.

“How come I’ve never seen you around?” you ask, trying to steer the conversation back onto safer ground.

“Oof. You’re killing me, y/n. I pass by you every day, actually.”

You frown, narrowing your eyes.

“Every day? Where?”

“The water fountain,” he says smoothly, tapping his fingers on the counter rhythmically, just a light touch. “Y’know, where you sit and study. Every afternoon, without fail. I walk by almost every day.”

Ah. That’s why his voice must’ve sounded familiar. You probably heard him—another voice blending into the background while you were studying.

“Really? Guess I never noticed you.”

Resting his chin in his hand, a dramatic huff falls from Satoru's lips as they form into a pout.

“Jeez…you don’t quit. I can’t believe I’m that forgettable.”

You can’t resist the soft laugh that escapes you, despite yourself—it’s hard not to find his antics at least a little amusing, and though you’d never admit it, the way he’s so desperate for your attention is almost… cute.

“Maybe you just blend into the background too much,” you shoot back, raising an eyebrow while extending your hand, silently gesturing for his payment.

“Ouch...” he winces dramatically, pulling out his card before placing it in your hand. “Okay, that one stung a little.”

“Yeah, well… I’m sure your ego will recover,” you quip, glancing up briefly before focusing back on the transaction. But there’s a brief pause as you swipe his card—a silence that suddenly feels charged with something else.

You can feel his gaze lingering on you, heavy and expectant, and you try your hardest not to give in to the pull to look at him again—but the heat of his attention is unmistakable, almost like a gravitational force pulling you in, and you can feel your pulse quicken under his scrutiny.

“I gotta say, you’ve got a sharp tongue—I like it,” he murmurs.

Your fingers freeze for just a second, your breath hitching slightly as his tone shifts, and you can’t resist—your eyes flick up and he holds your gaze captive yet again.

“But it’s a bad habit, y’know,” he continues, his voice dropping, growing more intent as his eyes flicker over your features. “Not being aware of your surroundings like that...” leaning in just a fraction, his words become a quiet murmur between the two of you. “What if some creep tried to take advantage of you?”

The gentleness in his demeanor… is he genuinely concerned? It’s hard to tell—harder than you’d like to admit—and it’s easier to convince yourself he isn’t—that this is all part of his charming routine, because that makes it easier to ignore the subtle pull he has on you.

“Well,” you keep your voice steady, despite the flutter in your chest, “lucky for me, no one’s tried. Unless…” tilting your head slightly, a teasing smirk tugs at your lips, “you’re secretly admitting to being a creep.”

Satoru’s laugh spills out, rich and warm, breaking the moment just enough for you to catch your breath.

“Nah, I’m not creep,” his voice lightens as he straightens up just a little. “Just a concerned citizen looking out for someone who’s too absorbed in her textbooks to notice the world around her.”

You huff, though the corners of your mouth twitch upward against your will.

“I can handle myself, thank you very much,” you quip back, determined to maintain control over the situation. In a quick, defiant motion, you grab the receipt and shove it into his hand, a small victorious gesture.

“Right, right. You definitely proved that today when I swooped in for the rescue,” he teases, and his hand brushes yours ever so briefly as he takes the receipt—a touch so light is sends a tiny spark up your arm. “But hey, what if you don’t show up at the fountain one day? I’m gonna have to file a missing person’s report.”

You can’t help but laugh at his ridiculousness, the sound escaping before you can stop it.

“A missing person’s report? Seriously?” you roll your eyes.

“Yup,” he grins, emphasizing the ‘p’. “You’re there so often it’s practically routine. Same spot. Same time. Every day. It’s kinda predictable, y/n. If I don’t see you there one day, I’ll just assume some creep finally got to you.”

You narrow your eyes at him, though you can’t help the faint heat rising in your cheeks.

“Predictable?” you retort, trying to sound indignant. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh, you are,” he counters, clearly reveling in your reaction as he slips the receipt in his pocket. “But hey, that’s not a bad thing. It makes you easier to find if you ever disappear.”

Shaking your head, you roll your eyes, a snappy reply ready on your tongue, but he’s already raising his hands with a dramatic flair, like he’s about to paint the scene in vivid detail.

“I can see it now: ‘Missing: Cute girl who spends way too much time by the water fountain. Last seen buried in a psychology textbook. Answers to y/n.’”

It’s impossible not to laugh again, the sound bubbling up as you watch him weave his ridiculous scenario with such confidence and flair. His eyes flick to yours, and a satisfied grin tugs at the corner of his mouth—clearly pleased with the effect he’s having on you.

“Wow,” you manage between chuckles. “You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?”

“Mhm,” he hums in agreement, leaning slightly closer. “Gotta be prepared. I don’t want anything happening to my favorite water fountain girl.”

Your heart flips—and for a second, it feels like he’s given you some kind of title you didn’t realize you wanted. You try to brush it off, to ignore the warmth spreading across your cheeks, but it’s not so easy with the way he’s looking at you.

“Riiiight… well, lucky for you,” you manage, attempting to sound nonchalant, “I’m not planning on disappearing anytime soon.”

“Good,” he murmurs, low and smooth. “Because I’d miss seeing you.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep the upper hand, though the small smile that tugs at your lips betrays you.

“Uh-huh. Sure you would.”

There’s a brief moment, just the two of you—his gaze still locked onto yours, when—

“Ahem.”

You jump slightly at the sound, turning to see Utahime standing beside you, arms crossed, a knowing smile pulling at the corner of her lips. She gives you a look—a very knowing look—that sends heat rushing to your cheeks all over again.

“I’m taking my break,” she says, her tone casual but her eyes dancing with mischief as they flick between you and Satoru. “So… don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone.”

Suddenly hyper-aware of the tension in the air, you swallow hard and offer her a tight smile.

“No promises,” Satoru quips, that cocky grin returning to his face as he leans against the counter slightly—clearly unfazed by the interruption.

After Utahime saunters off, he continues smoothly, picking up right where he left off.

“So...” he starts again, “What do you say? How about you give me your number? Just in case I need it, y’know, for emergencies.”

He’s relentless, isn’t he?

Heat creeps up your neck as you blink from his boldness—with a soft, incredulous laugh, you desperately try to find your footing again.

“You really don’t give up, do you?”

That familiar and confident gleam glistens in his eyes as his grin widens.

“Not when it comes to someone as interesting as you.”

There’s a flicker of something in your chest—a flutter that you’re quick to squash.

“Mmm… sorry,” you murmur, tone sweet but firm. “But I don’t think you’re ready for that kind of disappointment. I’m really not interested in players.”

For the briefest moment, his grin falters, and something unreadable flashes behind his eyes—a momentary crack in his facade. It’s so quick, so subtle, that you almost miss it. But there’s just enough time to wonder if maybe you hit a nerve.

Still, Satoru recovers in an instant, his playful charm sliding back into place like nothing happened.

“That’s cold, y/n,” his voice light and teasing, though there’s a trace of something deeper, almost wounded, lurking beneath. “You really think I’m that kind of guy?”

Tilting your head slightly, you cross your arms over your chest as you study him—gaze sharp but not unkind.

“Yeah, well, I’ve met enough guys like you to know how this works.”

With a soft chuckle, and a smooth, almost lazy motion, he lowers his sunglasses from where they’re perched atop his head—resting them back on the bridge of his nose as the dark lenses now obscure his eyes from you.

He’s hiding behind them—letting them do the work of shielding his real thoughts. Huh. Typical behavior for someone who enjoys the chase but avoids real vulnerability.

“You’re quick to judge. I’m just a guy who knows what he wants. And right now? I just want your number.”

Classic deflection—you think. He’s not even denying it. Still... something about the way he says it makes that familiar flutter stir in your chest, and you hate it.

“Yeah... that’s not happening,” crossing your arms more tightly, you try to maintain control of the situation.

His hands come up in mock surrender as a small, amused sigh slips from his lips.

“Bummer,” he concedes, though there’s no real disappointment in his tone, only amusement. “But hey,” he picks up the drumsticks from the counter, “offer’s on the table if you ever change your mind.”

“Right... I’ll keep that in mind,” you dryly reply, knowing full well that you won’t.

“Please do,” he shoots back with that infuriatingly confident grin. “Besides, I’ll be seeing you around, water fountain girl.”

The familiar nickname brings an unwanted warmth that you attempt to shake off.

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up, Gojo.”

But Satoru just steps back toward the door, exuding that same unshakeable confidence. “Oh, I’m not worried,” he says with a cocky smirk. “You’re predictable, remember? I know exactly where to find you.”

You open your mouth, ready to fire back with something witty, but before you can, he’s already halfway out the door, twirling the drumsticks between his fingers with effortless ease.

“See ya around, y/n,” he calls over his shoulder, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft jingle before you even have a chance to respond.

And just like that, the store feels quiet again, as if the air shifted back to normal now that he’s gone. You stand there for a moment, blinking at the closed door. You should feel relieved that he’s gone, that the exchange is over, but instead, you’re left with this strange, restless feeling you can’t quite shake.

What the hell just happened?

Shaking your head, you exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. There’s a part of you that’s frustrated—frustrated at how easily he slipped under your skin, how effortlessly he managed to unsettle you with nothing but a grin and a few flirtatious remarks.

You hate that you’re even thinking about it. About him. He’s just another guy with too much confidence for his own good.

But something about the brief crack in his facade sticks with you. That fleeting moment where his grin faltered, and something else—something almost vulnerable—flickered behind those cocky blue eyes.

What was that?

With another shake of your head, you push the thought aside. He’s a flirt. A player. The kind of guy who never takes anything seriously.

That’s all there is to it.

You don’t have time to psychoanalyze every flippant guy who crosses your path, even if there’s a part of you that’s still curious.

Just as you’re about to shake off the thoughts entirely, your phone buzzes in your pocket, snapping you out of your daze. You pull it out, glancing down at the screen.

Kyoko: Hey sweetie, just wanted to let you know your mom's been having a rough day today. She’s more confused than usual, keeps asking for you. Maybe you could visit soon?”

Reality crashes back in—grounding you in the weight of your responsibilities.

With a sigh, you run a hand through your hair, already mentally preparing yourself for the evening ahead.

You: Thanks for the update, Aunt Kyoko. My shift is almost over, I’ll be home soon.

Focus. There’s no room for distractions—not right now.

Not with Satoru Gojo. Not with anyone.

a/n. thanks for reading the debut of bomh (or i guess the re-debut since this is a rewrite? hehe). i'm excited to explore a lot of topics in this fic, and rewriting it definitely helped rekindle my passion for this story. so, i'm looking forward with whats to come! hope ya'll enjoyed 💕 → you are currently all caught up ♪

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[tradgedyinwaves]

First Choice - Part 5

Part 5 of this Poly!141 x fat!reader tw: blood, medical shtuff, hints at spicy time

The loud noise of the three men essentially falling through the door startled you into dropping the glass, gasping when the shards splinter over the tile. Ghost immediately bent to start cleaning it up, picking up the larger pieces first with his scarred fingers. It made you swallow and bend as well, narrowly avoiding smacking your own head into his.

"Sorry to startle ya, lass. We were discussing the game and it got a little heated," you hear Johnny call from the living room where the other two have taken over the seats available. John immediately drops into the oversized armchair and Kyle lays across the loveseat opposite him. Johnny planted himself in the corner of the couch, leaning back and spreading out like he was right at home.

You and Ghost get the bulk of the broken glass cleaned up, depositing the pieces into a cereal box atop the trash. When you glanced at the oversized brute, you noted the red staining his fingers. "Ghost! You cut yourself!" You frowned and grabbed his wrist dragging him into the hall and then the bathroom.

He glanced over his shoulder at the other three and rolled his eyes at the thumbs up he got from Johnny and the knowing smirks from Kyle and John.

You sat the man on the toilet, where, even though he was sitting, his head now only sat a few inches above your own. With a frown, you kneeled on the tile of the bathroom, the top half of your torso disappearing into the cabinet while you looked for your first aid kit.

Ghost couldn't keep his eyes from the way your ass wiggled around in the tight jeans adorning your lower half and he flexed his good hand as he fought the urge to dig his fingers into the fat of your hips.

"Aha!" you exclaimed from under the sink, reappearing before him with a handful of gauze and tape for his hand. Carefully standing up, you moved over to stand between his legs, your focus solely on cleaning and bandaging him up. Biting your lip, you concentrated as you cleaned the wound with a wet paper towel, gentle and patient as you slipped the glass from his palm. 

If you’d expected any reaction from pulling out the glass, you didn’t get it. Ghost was too busy watching your face as you worried over his hand, eyes flicking between your own that were focused on his hand and the plump bottom lip you had caught between your teeth. 

He couldn’t ignore the sting of the alcohol as you poured it over the wound and his hand shot out to grip your hip, fingers sinking into the plush flesh there. You winced at his grip, trying to avoid the rush of arousal it sent between your thighs, but otherwise, you just kept apologizing and letting him know it was almost over. You were sure he knew this, based on the amount of scars, but you couldn’t help but to try and soothe him. 

Once the wound was clean, you took the gauze and carefully began wrapping his hand, wondering how he’d not even noticed the injury in the first place. (He had, but figured he could hide it and get it cleaned up later. Stupid really.) 

“And done,” you announced, smiling happily at your work before your eyes lifted to meet Ghost’s dark pits. “F-feel okay?” you asked, suddenly stammering as he held your gaze. He grunted in response with the tiniest nod and stood from the porcelain, crowding you against the wall with his large frame. 

“Ghost?” Your voice cracked, looking up at him with a mix of fear, intrigue, and arousal. You heard laughter and your TV running from the living room, but your focus remained on the behemoth of a man in front of you. 

He leaned the arm with the bad hand on the wall over your head, easy to do with his height and your shortness. Your back pressed to the wall and you’re not sure if you want out of the situation or not. Your thighs squeeze together and his eyes flick down where he watches the jeans grow somehow tighter around your thick thighs before raising them back to meet yours. 

His pupils are almost completely blown out and you’re sure yours match. Tentatively, you bring your hand out to lay against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie and begin pulling him towards you when there’s three distinct raps on the door. 

“You two alive in there?”

They really just keep getting cockblocked don't they? Oops.

<- Part 4 Part 6 ->

[cheynovak]

Soft Touch

Jensen Ackles x Y/N f/reader

Summary: Jensen and Y/N are secretly dating, when Y/N sees Jensen having a rough interview she finds a way to calm him down, right on the spot.

English isn't my first language.

Did not proof read, mistakes are possible

Please do not copy my work. likes/sharing/comments are appreciated

The studio was buzzing, the usual organized chaos of production day filling the air. Jensen, the charismatic star of Supernatural, was gearing up for yet another interview, his last one had a difficult and not to please interviewer, this time it was all about the upcoming season and 'Dean's love life' Dean was more than just a pretty face to the show, Jensen wanted to clarify that, but the interviewer didn't seem to want to hear it.

As he sat in front of the set, adjusting his shirt and chatting with the reporter, Y/N watched him from the sidelines.

She was supposed to be packing up her makeup and hairstyling kit for the day, but her attention was locked on Jensen. His posture was just a bit too stiff, his hand running through his hair—a telltale sign of nerves.

"He's overthinking again," Y/N murmured to herself.

Grabbing her comb and a small bottle of texturizing spray, she made her way over, slipping through the crew with practiced ease. She caught the tail end of Jensen laughing at a question, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Excuse me for just a second,” she said politely, flashing the reporter an apologetic smile. Jensen turned his head at her voice, his green eyes softening instantly.

“Hey,” he said, his voice a mixture of relief and surprise.

Without a word, Y/N stepped close, reaching up to fix his slightly mussed hair. She knew her touch would ground him. As her fingers slid through his locks, gently brushing and smoothing, she let her nails lightly graze his scalp.

Jensen’s reaction was immediate. His shoulders relaxed, his tension melting under her gentle ministrations. He let out a soft breath, trying to stay professional, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward in a small, private smile.

“Better?” she whispered, her voice low enough for only him to hear.

“Much,” Jensen murmured back, tilting his head ever so slightly toward her touch.

Her hands lingered for a moment longer before she stepped back, giving him an encouraging smile. “Knock 'em dead.”

Jensen nodded, his confidence visibly restored. As Y/N walked away, she glanced back over her shoulder, catching the way his gaze followed her.

Later that evening, Jensen came home to the soft hum of the TV. The smell of lavender and something sweet lingered in the air, the kind of comforting scent he associated with her.

Y/N was curled up on the couch under a thick, cozy blanket, her legs tucked up beneath her. A mug sat on the coffee table, half-forgotten as she watched a rom-com unfold on the screen.

Jensen shrugged off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor, and walked toward her.

“Rough day?” Y/N asked, not looking away from the screen but patting the space beside her.

Instead of sitting, Jensen sank to his knees by the couch, leaning his head against her thighs. Y/N immediately shifted, lifting the blanket to cover him as he sprawled against her lap.

“Rough interviews,” Jensen muttered, his voice muffled against her leg.

Her fingers instinctively found their way to his hair, combing through it softly. She knew just how to soothe him, her nails gently scratching his scalp in that way he loved. This time, Jensen didn’t fight it. His eyes fluttered shut, and he let out a long, contented sigh.

“You have no idea how much I needed this,” he murmured, his voice filled with warmth.

Y/N smiled down at him, her heart swelling. “I think I have an idea.”

Jensen reached up blindly, his fingers finding her thigh and giving a gentle squeeze. "I love you," he said, his words quiet but filled with conviction.

“I love you too,” she whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple.

As the movie played on, Jensen relaxed completely in her lap, feeling safe, loved, and utterly at home.

--

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[bigboysfalldeep]

Time for a change - Male Body Suit

My life was kind of boring.

Working 9 to 5 every single day of the week, while being exhausted and restless on the weekends. I had basically no time for myself, and all I could think of was how much I needed a fresh start in life.

I talked to a friend online, and he told me about the body-suit serum. It would turn anyone into a body-suit, to take over their life.

He assured me it would work perfectly, and I had nothing to lose.

A few days later, I received the kit, including the serum, a few syringes and some sort of inhaler.

He said there are three steps to obtain the body suit.

1st: the injection, it will flatten the subject and create the suit.

2nd: the fitting, putting on the suit like a usual neoprene suit.

3rd: the inhaler, once you inhale the spray, the suit will be complete.

It seemed way to complicated to be false.

But there was still one question left; who did I want to be?

i was lazily skipping through TV channels when I ended up hooked to a football game.

That's when I saw him, Enzo Fernandez.

He was everything I desired in a man; a body of a god, so much money and most importantly, the exciting life of an athlete. I loved latinos so much, and was envious of his effortless beauty.

Every fiber of my body ached to be him, and I spent every waking moment fantasizing about it.

It took me two months to come up with decent plan.

I saved all the money I could, quit my job right before traveling to argentina.

One night, during an official friendly match between argentina and france, I disguised myself as a random worker, no body asked any questions even though I could barely communicate with anyone.

I watched the whole match, my mouth watering anytime I saw Enzo, my future body.

I felt my dick press against my jeans, my mind was in a haze, all I could think of was becoming him.

But I needed to focus, and not let this desire overwhelm me.

I stood inside the tunnel, as the argentina players walked passed me. One by one, wearing their sweat-soaked jerseys, shorts, socks and boots. They were so hot. But I waited for the special one.

I didn't know what I did to be that lucky, but Enzo was one of the last players to show up.

I swallowed hard, feeling the syringe in the palm of my hands, hidden inside my jacket.

"E-e-enzo," I stuttered, my throat tightening quickly.

He turned his head, raising an eyebrow, when he noticed I was holding a picture of him in my other hand.

"Quieres un autógrafo?" He smiled, pointing toward the picture.

I nodded, as he came closer. Quickly, I looked to the left, then to the right, no one in sight.

I was standing there for a reason, a blind spot, no cameras, and very close to a utility room, basically just behind me.

Enzo looked down, and before he knew what was happening, I injected him with the serum.

My heart pounded so hard in my chest, my muscles were trembling. If it didn't work, I would just get sued and end up in prison.

He let out a soft whimper, his eyes rolled back as he slumbed forward into my awaiting arms.

My body was moving on his own; I steadied him and pulled him into the utility room, locking it behind me. There was barely enough room for two people, let alone one unconscious footballer and a nervous mess.

I sat down and held him in my arms. His breathing was shallow, steady, as I ran a hand down his chest, feeling his firm muscles beneath the damp jersey.

It felt so good. Heat was radiating through the shirt, his muscles reacted to my touch and his scent, the musky, earthy smell of a man running around for 90 minutes, drenched in sweat and exhaustion filled the air.

His face was serene, yet his eyes were unfocused, his lips parted slightly, with him sighing contentedly from time to time.

I kept stroking him, running my fingers across his chest, his arms, and even lower, feeling his member through his tight shorts. Damn he was big.

My breath hitched in my throat as I felt him firmly.

That’s when the second stage of the process kicked in.

His body deflated, more and more until his tight clothes slipped from his skin. It looked weird, but the serum really was working.

It took me a second to take the next necessary step: putting him on.

It felt like a neoprene suit, like a diving suit, and I didn't hesitate any longer.

I put him on, his skin was tight, damp, yet a thrill coursed through me.

It was an ill fitting suit, tight suit, so tight, firm and uncomfortable.

I was shaking when I grabbed the inhaler, and at the count of three, I took a deep breath.

It left a sour taste in my mouth, my throat, but the effect was immediate.

My mind spun, my body quaked and I was barely able to steady myself against the wall.

Subconciously, I felt my chest, the skin tightened around my muscles, all of me was moving smoothly. Still, my insides were burning, my vision blurry and I let out a low groan.

Then, it all stopped.

It took me a moment to catch my breath, and my eyes fluttered.

I ran a hand across my skin, and I felt my muscles tense under my touch. I looked down, and was surprised.

I had abs, a toned chest, thighs and a huge throbbing cock.

"What the fuck happened?" I moaned, but it wasn't my voice- it was Enzo's.

In a hurry, I looked for my phone, unlocked it and turned on the camera. There I was, the beautiful Enzo Fernandez.

"Damn, it actually worked," I growled, running a hand through my damp, messy hair before I caressed my cheek and ran two fingers along my jawline. "Fuck."

His beautiful eyes, still slightly glazed over, looked back at me.

"Is this really me?" I said, and again, hearing his beautiful voice.

I instinctevly grew hard, and grabbed myself firmly, trying to prevent me from nutting right there, barely holding it in.

I closed my eyes, this had to be a dream, and I pinched myself. When I opened my eyes, I looked down and saw the toned body I had now.

Unable to process it fully, I ran a hand across my chest, along my arms, my thighs and back to my cock.

This was me, the new me.

I took several deep breaths, inahling something else; my new, musky scent. I lifted my arm, and buried my nose in my armpit, taking a deep sniff.

"Oh my god," I exhaled, the scent intoxicating my mind. "Fucking good."

I was unable to stop myself from leaking now, as I took another sniff.

My eyes rolled back quickly as I let out a rough, husky grunt.

That’s when I heard voices outside the room, people were looking for Enzo- for me.

I rummaged through the discarded pile of clothes on the ground, and put on the damp jersey, shorts, socks and lastly, the boots.

The jersey's sticky, damp fabric clung to my skin, and it made my breath hitch again. I could see my taut muscles through the wet fabric, nothing left to the imagination.

The shorts were even tighter, accentuating my big thighs, and the bulge at the front.

My hands brushed over it, and I pressed my palm against my length, eliciting another low moan from my throat. Then I felt my thick ass through the shorts.

"So tight," I growled, licking my lips.

I pulled up the socks to my knees, and put on the boots. So, so good.

I leaned against the wall, relishing in that moment, taking so many deep breaths.

The smell got even more intense, but I had to focus for now.

I pushed my old clothes aside and stepped outside. This body was strong, all the muscles moved just the way I wanted. I ran a hand through my tousled hair and across my firm chest, when some guy spotted me.

"Enzo, ahí estás." He said, approaching me with a shy smile.

At first I didn't know how to react, my spanish sucked, but some how, I had no issue understanding him like it was english.

"We were looking for you!" He said, placing a hand on my shoulder, leading me toward the locker room.

"Sorry, got hold up by a fan." I smiled, but hearing my new voice made me so heart, and I felt my cock straining my shorts. There was no hiding my erection, but nobody seemed to care much.

"Okay, okay." The guy waved it off, "The other's are already in the showers. We need to be in the bus in 20 minutes. Can you handle that?"

He looked at me, and I nodded.

"Sure, no problem." I said, confused when I learned to speak perfect spanish, but I didn't care.

We were right in front of the locker room, and I heard the other players snickering inside.

i opened the door and stepped inside, hit by the smell of a dozen, sweaty men.

I held back a low moan, as I felt myself leaking again. This was simply overwhelming. A few others were getting changed, and they spotted me, patting me on my shoulder, my tummy and my ass. Damn that felt good.

I now stood in front of the mirror, and looked at my reflection. Damn, I was hot.

I ran fingers along my arms, feeling my biceps flex firmly. Those beautiful tattoos, those firm muscles, felt so good.

The soccer gear fitted my body perfectly. The fabric, even damp with my own sweat, flowed along my firm muscles, accentuating my athletic frame.

My shorts were tight, yet extremely comfortable. The enormous bulge inside them was undeniable, and looked so good.

I lfited my arms, flexing at myself, and subtly, I took another deep sniff of my armpit.

The soaked jersey intensified my own scent, and I bit ny lip, trying to hold back several quiet moans.

Instead, a low growl escaped my lips, rumbling deep within my throat.

"So good," I said, stroking my chest, my tummy and even lower, feeling my tenting dick.

Another guy approached me, Julian was his name. He was in his boxers, showing off his beautiful body, and I couldn't help myself but drink in the sight of him.

"Good job out there," he giggled, patting my ass through my shorts.

"It was so good." I licked my lips at the sight of this beautiful man, taking in his scent as well.

His eyes roamed over my upper body, and he noticed my nipples piercing through the damp jersey.

"Don't look at yourself to much, cabrón." He teased, pinching my sensitive nipples. "The Coach will be pissed, when you are late, again."

I raised an eyebrow.

"He should be lucky we play for him, that fool." I smirked, and he mirrored me instantly.

"Ecaxtly, but still, don't be late." He tilted his head playfully and I nudged him with my elbow.

"Okay, bro."

Julian stepped into the showers and I took another, long look at my reflection.

I ran a hand down my chest, feeling the warmth of my body through the jersey.

My hand landed on my twitching cock, and I fondled me for a few moments. This felt so good; the clothes clinging to my skin, the scent of myself, and all the others mingling in the air and the excitement of wearing this professional athletes skin.

I took my clothes off, inhaling the scent of my jersey, before stepping into the showers as well.

Amidst the sound of my squadmates snickering, laughing and speaking to one another, I enjoyed all of it.

The feeling of my new body, the firm muscles, the smooth skin, the sound of my own muffled moans- fucking good.

This was the first time I came inside this new body. No one noticed, and what if they did? I didn't care.

Again and again, I shot a load into the shower, getting lost in the moment.

That was a fantastic start.

From that day on, I was Enzo Fernandez.

I went to training, got used to it all pretty quickly, and adjusted to this excititing life.

I wore his shorts every day at home, and used any given opportunity to jerk off. This body was a fine-tuned machine. And even though it took work to maintain it, it was way better than my old life.

[night-night-stories-before-bed]

The sins of our fathers

Warning ⚠️; Mention of child abuse, alcohol

Pairing; Billy/Male Reader (with an accent xD)

Summary; You were supposed to study with Billy for an upcoming test. You didn't expect finding the bully half-naked under the rain trying to stay warm.

PS; sorry for not posting in a while, I’m working on like 5 stories 😂

~~~~~~~~

Everyone knew what a problem magnet Billy Hargrove was. Violent, racist and always up for a beer, he wasn't the kind of person you kept around you. Yet, you couldn't help but notice chilling similarities between the two of you. Only a fool wouldn't see them.

The little flinch each time a door was slammed, the tension in Billy’s shoulder when something would pass close to his face during sport or how quick he was at ducking and protecting his face during a fight. Yes. Someone was abusing Billy Hargrove just like your father did.

The realization had been like a slap on your face. Painful and stunning. You couldn't see the bully the same way anymore, knowing he acted like that just to protect himself and gain some control over his own life. You still couldn't stand his actions, but you also couldn't just turn your back on him. No one deserved to go through what you did alone and unlike Billy, you were free from your father.

He wasn't.

So little by little you got closer to him. Like with a wounded animal, you won his trust with food and drinks. Contrary to your beliefs, Billy wasn't stupid and quickly caught on to what you were doing. Yet he said nothing when he saw you shirtless, showing the gifts your father had given you.

At first, things were awkward between you. No matter the similarities you were also drastically different. Billy was like a loud pomeranian while you were a discrete black cat. Yet, your friendship only grew and you found yourself spending a lot of time with Billy. Many evenings and nights that you shared in the car, at your place or even at some parties that Billy would force you to attend.

Then you became his safe place.

Each time something would happen with his father he would either call or come to you. Shaking, silent and sometimes bloody. You always kept a first-aid kit full and a big bottle of brandy for those cases. Each time you would see Billy’s beaten body you would have to fight the urge to give Billy’s father the same treatment you gave your own.

And slowly, you began to fall for Billy Hargrove. Never before did you question your sexuality until then. Your eyes had always been on the girls, but now your attention was only on Billy just like you could feel his eyes on you. You noticed how he barely went out with girls and women anymore and instead stayed around you more. His favourite, and yours, excuse was to study while drinking. It both allowed you to spend some time together and also kept Billy away from his father.

That night was supposed to be one of them, but oh Lord were you up for a terrible surprise.

The rain battered your car as you drove, lights barely illuminating a few feet in front of you. Outside you could hear the cold autumn wind howling angrily as brown leaves danced around. Somewhere in the distance, the thunder rolled, letting you know that the storm was getting closer.

You stared at the road, squinting your eyes as you tried to stay focused. If a cat or dog jumped in front of your car it would end badly for it. Thankfully you arrived at Billy’s house without hitting any animal or person. You frowned seeing the absence of any light, which was unusual. Normally Billy’s stepmother would be in the kitchen preparing the food, Neil’s would be in the living room watching TV and yet…

Stopping the car you stepped outside after lightning a cigarette. You had to cover it so the rain didn't extinguish it. You hurried toward the porch before frozing on place had you spotted something moving.

Pressed against the door, only in his underwear, Billy was shivering and shaking. He was soaked to the bones and even in the dark you could tell his skin and lips were changing colour. How long had he been outside?

- “Billy? What the…” Your cigarette fell from your mouth as you all but jumped on your friend.

Taking out your jacket, you wrapped it around Billy’s shoulder. You cursed as Billy pushed you away, hitting your jaw as he whimpered in fear.

- “Oi! Billy, it's me. Its me, ya safe mate. Ya father is such a cunt, I bet he’s the one who threw you out, right?” You sighed, watching Billy calm down and lean in your embrace as you helped him up. “Aye, c’mere. The car is hot and dried. Should have a blankie or something in the back for ya.”

It had never crossed your mind that Neil could take things this far and put Billy in so much danger. Under your hands, you could feel Billy’s cold shivering skin and hear his little sobs. He was clearly fighting the urge to cry, which broke your heart even more.

You helped Billy to the car and quickly got in, turning the engine on before raising the heat to the max. Your eyes lingered on Billy, taking in his state. Under the car’s light, you could see the bruises turning almost black all over his ribs and thighs. Billy’s lips were split and his nose was still slightly bleeding. Seeing that, you tried to push Billy to lean down, but your friend flinched and jerked away, his shoulder hitting the car’s window with a loud thud.

- “Oi! Easy dickhead, ya nose is pissing red you idiot. Lean down before you choke on your own blood. Forget about the car, a bit of red ain't going to make me mad.” You said, hand gentle on Billy’s shoulder.

You could feel how tense he was, but he did listen to you. After he leaned down, still a shaking mess. You turned to search the back seat for the blanket you kept there. You found it under an empty box of beer and grabbed it. You slowly wrapped it around Billy, keeping your friend in a tight embrace and resting your chin on his back.

- “It's okay Billy, ya can cry your heart out. I get it. Been there, done that and I ain't gonna think less of ya for it.”

And it doesn't take more for Billy to just break down. You feel him shake as ugly sobs leave his lips and he sinks his fingers into your arm. You can feel his nails digging in your flesh knowing it will leave some pretty nasty marks, yet you don't care. You just hold Billy tighter against you, nose buried in his soaked hair. There is nothing more to say, nothing more to do but wait.

You can't stop thinking about Neil Hargrove, about how you hate and despise the man. This time the fucker took it too damn far. If you hadn't come Billy might have passed due to exposure. God! He could still get sicker than a rabid dog. No. Neil Hargrove had crossed the line and you couldn't let him continue because next time he might just kill your friend.

You closed your eyes as you felt Billy press himself against you, sinking your warmth and comfort. You gently stroked his hair and kissed the top of his head, showing him the care he deserved. Letting Billy know he was loved, and wanted by at least one person and that you weren't going to just leave him there. After what seems like an eternity, Billy slowly calms down, yet you don't dare to let go until he does. You grimaced as you felt his nails unstuck from your arms, the feeling a bit weird. You gave Billy a few tissues and as he wipe his face to face just wrap the blanket tighter around him.

- “Sorry. It's my fault, I deserve…” Billy tried to say, but you stopped him, your hand gently grabbing his chin and forcing him to look at you.

- “No. Fucking not your fault, Billy. Whatever ya did, ya didn't deserve any of this. Fuck your father, fuck that bitch of his for letting him do all this.” You said, curses rolling on your tongue more than ever as you gesture, showing the bruises. “Swear I’m about to fuck him up good like I did my old man. Could bury him in the same hole too, trash should stay together after all.”

You heard Billy snort and you pressed your forehead together. You closed your eyes, breathing deeply as you tried to calm your own anger. Yeah, you really were serious about killing Neil Hargrove. No one would miss him but his wife. Fuck! Maybe the police wouldn't even be looking for him, who knew?

- “Please, I wanna leave. Take me the fuck away from here.”

Billy’s voice snapped you back to reality and as you opened your eyes, you saw the tears silently rolling down his cheek. Billy’s blue eyes were puffy and red but also filled with fear and so much despair. You nodded, moving away from him.

The drive back to your place was quiet except for the radio. You didn't even turn off the light, knowing it would help Billy to feel safer, almost like a child. For all the drive, Billy sat in a ball pressed against the door and fully wrapped in the blanket with only his hair and eyes coming out. He looked like a kid scared of the storm.

Thankfully your mother wasn't there for the night and you took Billy in. Since he was coming around so much you had a few of his clothes on hand and, after drying him, you helped Billy put them on before letting him rest with you in bed.

It took half a bottle of whiskey for him to stop shaking in your arms and by then you were both a bit tipsy. Billy was nuzzled against you, head under your chin as you had wrapped your arms around him. The covers were keeping you both warm, warming Billy up, but his skin still felt cold to the touch. You heard him mumbling something and rested your chin on his head.

- “Hush, I ain't letting ya back there. Fuck it, I think I'm gonna send him rest with my dad. Cunt can eat the flowers by the roots.” You said, closing your eyes as you felt Billy move to take a new gulp of whiskey. “That or I could tie the fucker to his car and send him flying down a cliff.”

- “You would really kill him?” Billy asked, resting the bottle on your chest as he sat and looked down on you, his blue eyes still puffy.

- “Ya. In a heartbeat. Fucker went too far, what if next time he fuck ya too bad and you die? I ain't letting him, ain't give him a chance. Ya going to stay with me and I won't let him touch ya ever again.”

For what felt like hours Billy just stared at you, judging if you were telling the truth or not. You never lied to him before and the alcohol always made you spill everything that you had on your mind and heart. His eyes were filled with so many emotions, that you could pinpoint every single one of them; surprise, sadness, doubt and then acceptance. You both knew you were serious and this went too far. You took the bottle and put it on your night table before Billy laid back down in your arms. You said nothing and just held him.

In the morning you will make a better plan and wait for the right time. Before the first snow, you would make sure that Billy was free from his own father. It would take time, but you knew that Billy would heal, you would make sure of it. But for now, you smiled as he felt Billy’s body relax before you heard his soft snores letting you know he had fallen asleep.

[callme-holly]

what about 20.bandaging/stitching up an injury paired with 10.hiding their face in the other’s neck with darry? (please❤️)

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡�� [𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐥 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - this took me way too long to get out so sorry y'all. my mental health has kinda gone on a silly little rollercoaster so my posting might be a little all over the place i'm still taking requests from both this prompt list and this one!!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 579 words

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - brief mentions of fighting (i think)

The living room is unnaturally quiet, not a single word being said amongst the boys, the only sound being the muffled drone of the TV and the occasional sharp intake of air from Darry as you clean the cuts and scrapes littering his knuckles.

His already patched up hand rests lightly on your hip, keeping you steady in his lap as you work on his other hand,  his thumb gently rubbing circles into your skin under your shirt, a small gesture that you have become increasingly used to since you’ve known him. 

You run the wet cloth across his beaten knuckles once more, mumbling a soft apology when he winces slightly at the sharp sting. 

“It’s fine,” he mutters quietly, squeezing your hip briefly in reassurance, his gaze drifting to the rest of the boys. 

It’s never this quiet after a rumble; everyone is usually bursting with energy, waiting for the adrenaline high to wear off. But it’s been over twenty minutes since they returned home, and hardly anyone has spoken, the air in the room filled with a heavy sense of exhaustion, which is only further confirmed by the way everyone is slumped against one another. 

“Are you gonna stay the night?” Darry asks suddenly, his voice rough from disuse and tiredness, hushed so that only you can hear him. 

You glance up from where you were wrapping his injured knuckles, giving him a small smile in response before dropping your gaze once more.

“If you want me to,” you reply, nodding your head in response. You know he’d probably benefit from you staying; although he’d never admit it, you can sense his built up stress, how tensely wound he still remains despite your best efforts to calm him down, and you know it’d do him the world of good to be in the presence of someone perhaps a little more grounding than the other boys. 

Darry nods slowly in response, shifting you ever so slightly in his lap before leaning forward and pressing his lips to your forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling back with a sigh. A fresh bruise is blossoming just below his eye, and you frown slightly at the sight of it, cupping his cheek tenderly before placing a quick kiss there. He leans into your touch easily, closing his eyes as you pull away. His arms tighten around you, a sure sign that he wants to keep you close, and you don’t fight it, settling yourself more comfortably into his lap, his hand sliding slowly along the fabric of your top.

You decide now is the best time to pack away the first aid kit, all of the boys cleaned up and taken care of. You set the box aside, letting out a small sigh of relief as you sit back once more, tucking your face in the crook of his neck. He hums softly in response, his fingers combing through your hair absently, removing any ounce of worry and stress you'd built up over the rumble. 

You’re content to stay just like this, listening as the boys finally begin to relax, one by one succumbing to exhaustion, the hum of commercials on the TV becoming quieter until it’s nothing but background noise. 

You stay like that a while longer, eventually lulled to sleep by the comforting weight of Darry’s arms wrapped securely around you, and the sound of his gentle breaths that match yours.

[messylustt]

could u pls pls plssss do a smut where ethan finds all of the readers “toys” (iykyk) in her drawer so he gets some ideas😏

yes pls

late night toys — ethan landry + reader ( scream ) : ethan finds your ‘toys’ hidden in your drawer

contents : sex toys. remote control. kinda dub con. ethan snoops around. wc 1.8k

You had been out, texting Ethan to just wait in your apartment. He had wandered in, gazing around at the newly furnished living room. He always thought you bought too many things that could be considered unnessisary.

With you being out, and the new items he had yet to see, he began to snoop. He wouldn't consider it snooping. You were friends and you would have showed him around anyway.

He started in living room, seeing the generic cushions, couch and tv. Then went to the kitchen. He began to notice a running theme of randomly placed little hedgehogs. Tiny enough not be too noticeable at first glance.

Ethan chuckled as he picked one up that you had placed by the hallway mirror. His gaze then lead him to your room. He had been in there once, when you were studying together.

He made his way under the doorway, gazing around at your half made bed, and large clothes drawer. He noticed another little hedgehog right by your makeup kit. He wondered if you kept them everywhere, even in hidden small places.

Of course you were one to unintentionally make a fun treasure hunt for him. You always found ways to make even the most boring tasks enjoyable.

Ethan checked in your top drawer, only spotting folded and unfolded clothes. Then he bend down to open the bottom draw. He paused, eyes widening at the contents he found inside.

He really should shut the drawer, forget he saw anything, forget he saw toys he didn't think you owned. But he found himself taking one out.

His eyes seemed to expand even more as he stared at the rather large dildo. Jeez it was big. And of course the thought of 'what you could handle' crossed his mind. He gulped, beginning to feel his pants strain.

He looked back inside the drawer, spotting a smaller vibrator with two remote controls. Ethan's mouth had begun to salivate as more erotic thoughts filled his head.

Slowly a devious plan formed. What pushed him to do it was the thought of you squirming by his control. He just had to wait until tonight.

When you had gotten back, suggesting that you study in the living room, your bedroom door was shut as if Ethan had never been in there in the first place.

Once night had befallen, Ethan asked if he could stay, saying that the trains were supposed to be unreliable tonight.

"Sure, the guest bedroom is just down the hall." You say, as you dump the leftover pizza boxes in the bin.

"Thanks." Ethan smiled, as he made his way to the room.

You shut your bedroom door, changing into comfortable loose pajamas. You had at first been reluctant in letting Ethan stay over because you wanted to try out your new toy. But it was selfish letting him go home in the dark when the trains might not even be running.

Your old remote control vibrator had gone dead, no use in just buying new batteries, so you decided to buy a whole new set. You opened your bottom drawer, thinking on how far down the guest bedroom was. You could easily be quiet if you didn't put it on a high volume.

Pushing past the slight shame of someone else being in the apartment you grabbed the remote control and the vibrator. You positioned yourself against your pillows, shutting the lights off and removing your pajama pants.

You were also ashamed at the fact that you were already turned on. And not by the fact of trying out your new toy, but because of a certain someone. Lately your mind had wandered to Ethan, the dorky kid who helped with your assignments. And the thought that he was so close made your thighs clench together.

Biting your lip, you widened your legs, turning on the remote control, as you kept your eyes shut. Your head leant back as you pushed the vibrator inside you, pressing the button to slightly quicken the speed.

Your back arched as your mouth began to open, silent whimpers leaving your lips. You kept it on a low volume, really not wanting to wake your guest. But then you felt the toy inside you quicken, without the touch of your fingers. There's a flash of confusion before pleasure clouds your mind. "Shit." You mutter before biting your lip harder.

Maybe you had shifted your finger on the remote by accident. You slightly shifted, choosing to stay on this setting. But just as before it quickens, finally making you gasp. Your hand was nowhere near the remote control. When you finally looked down in the dark the familiar light on the remote was switched off. It wasn't even on, so why—

You choked a gasp when the vibrator again picked up speed, making your hips jolt. Your brows were furrowed, body wracking with pleasure. How the hell is it working?

The speed then picked up to one almost ungodly, making your entire body buzz, your hips thrusted into nothing. You whimpered, chest heaving.

"Fuck...look at you." A breathless voice spoke. You whipped your head to the right, to see Ethan walking out of the shadows. You blanch, eyes wide. "E—ethan?"

Ethan grins, tilting his head as he nears you. You look down to see a remote control in his hand, one with the light on. You quickly go to shut your legs, embarrassed, but Ethan turns the volume up, making you moan, and your legs shudder.

Ethan was hypnotised by your bodies movements, and as he played with the settings, picking up and speed and slowing down, his cock throbbed. The moonlight shone through your slightly open curtains, streaking across your sweating body. Ethan gulped, reaching to stand over you.

You gazed up at him, wide eyes, heavy with pleasure. "How did you—where—where did you find...that." You manage in between pathetic whimpers.

Ethan crawls onto the bed-you being in the center. "I was looking around at all the new things you got." Ethan says, making sure your legs stayed open as he changed settings. "I was surprised to see something like this." His smirk hadn't fallen.

He then leans down, just hovering over you as he kept the controller in one hand. Your mouth was opening, as his breath hit your lips. Your cheeks were a rosy colour, and they seemed to only brighten as Ethan continued talking. He hadn't really touched you yet, and you were embarrassed at how much you wanted him to.

Your hips had begun to slightly jolt and thrust. And Ethan had to hold down the want to press his strained cock against your core. "I just couldn't help myself." He confessed. "That remote control you were "using" was apart of your old set, the one without batteries."

You moaned as the vibrator continued to hum inside you. Ethan breathlessly chuckled. "I wasn't sure if this was going to work." He adjusted himself over you, liking you being this close as you whimpered and moaned, the sounds caught in repeat in his brain.

"But look at you...a whimpering mess, all because of this." He holds up the remote as he switches the volume higher.

"Oh, god." You moaned as your head sunk further into the pillows as you shut your eyes tight.

"Look at me." Ethan breathed. But you felt beyond embarrassed, keeping them closed.

"I—i shouldn't have done—done this when you were here." You managed as you can feel your impending orgasm approaching.

"No, no. I'm glad you did." Ethan's words hit your lips making you squirm even more. "Now open your eyes."

You finally do, meeting his lustful gaze. "Have you always had toys like this?" Ethan asks, licking his lips.

Your breathing stutters, intense pleasure nearing. "I'm—I'm gonna-"

"Not yet." Ethan lowers the volume making a whine leave your lips.

"Please." You breathe, staring up at him.

Ethan had never been more turned on in his life. He stared down at your pleading eyes, and nearly orgasmed right there. His breath hitches as his gaze begins to darken. "What was that?" He whispered.

"P-" You began before gulping. "Please?" You sounded so innocent as your big eyes kept him captivated.

"Fuck." He hisses, turning the volume up a fraction higher. You moaned, chest heaving up and down as you had begun to grind your hips into the toy.

"Christ, your so turned on." Ethan practically praises. "Why do you look so...pretty like this?"

Ethan's chest had begun to heave just like yours as he watched your form squirm and shake. "Have you always used this kind of toy?" He asks.

Your mind is practically just pleasure at this point as you nod. "And you've always used the remote yourself?"

You again nodded. "You didn't let your past boyfriends use it?"

"I wasn't sure if they would—shit—would've been into it." You breathe out as you catch Ethan's gaze.

Your eyes dart down to his lips. They looked so kissable in the dim lighting. You reached up, placing an almost gentle kiss to his mouth. Ethan was shocked at first, as he felt your smooth lips press to his.

As you leaned your head back down, Ethan quickly followed, harshly breathing into your mouth. "Oh, but I'm into it." He whispered, before capturing your bottom lip. He sucks, letting his tongue drag across the flesh. "Mm. I'm so...into it. Seeing you squirm under me, as all I have to do is run my finger along this remote..." He does so, making you whine into his mouth, as he smiles against your lips. "...I like it a lot."

Ethan kisses you again, hard, as he laps at your tongue, groaning as you kiss him back, your own tongue dancing with his. "Oh fuck. Ethan I'm gonna- I'm so close." You moan out, as you open your mouth against his.

"Yeah?" Ethan asked, as he made the virbator quicken, making your back slightly arch into him.

"Ethan—oh god." Your tone was growing higher pitched as you whimpered out incoherent words.

Then the pleasure hit, your body shuddering as your mouth hung open. Your chest heaved in sweat, as you grasped as Ethan's shirt, your body jittery. "Shit."

Ethan's mouth had opened too as he lustfully watches you orgasm. He gradually slows the virbrator inside you, as your body slumps into your mattress.

"Holy shit," Ethan mutters before kissing you, this time a little gentler, just slowly licking your lips. "If you ever use this alone, I'll keep it going inside you until your begging for me to stop." Ethan says, kissing your cheek.

"But it's my toy." You say, your usual attitude returning now that the pleasure had ceased.

Ethan shakes his head, removing the toy from inside you, making you slightly jolt as it brushes against your sensitive walls. Ethan puts the remote control in his back pocket as he settles himself further onto you, his lips brushing across your neck. His hand had weaved into your hair as he kitten licked your still rapidly beating pulse.

Ethan chuckles. "Don't worry, you can keep the vibrator." Then he hovers over your red lips again, whispering. "I'll keep the controller."

© messylustt.tumblr please don’t steal, copy or translate my work onto other platforms.

[tootiecakes234]

Katsuki taking care of sick Y/N:

“Kkkaaaaaaaaattttttt…… katsukiiiiii…” you called out from your burrito roll in the bed.

“What?” He shouted from the living area.

You didn’t answer but peaked your head out to look at the door for his inevitable arrival.

This is your 3rd or 4th time calling him today and you knew he was starting to get annoyed with you but you couldn’t give a rats ass.

You were stuck in this room, on your death bed because that asshole refused to let you be more than 5 inches away from him while he was sick.

You knew it would turn out this was and now he was back to 100% but you were running fevers and hacking up lungs.

He barged into the room with an exasperated look on his face.

“What do you want now? And so help me god if you ask me to hand you the remote one more time I’m gonna blow the whole damn tv off the wall.”

He was currently wearing sweats, no shirt, and the apron you bought him for Christmas that said “ No idiots in my kitchen”. He loved that damn apron.

“What are you doing” you asked followed by a sniffle.

“I’m TRYING to make your soup because you haven’t eaten anything in 2 days. But you seem dead set on making sure I never get to finish making it.”

“But I’m lonely, and I’m not hungry. I want to you to come lay with me…. Hold me.” You say with a little pout forming on your lips.

“Y/N, you have to eat. Also I told your ass to finish that damn glass of water and it’s still half full. You’re never gonna feel better if you don’t do what I tell you.” He says in his stream voice.

“You’re not a doctor. I didn’t do all this when you were-“ then you choke and cough until little tears gather in the corners of your eyes.

“See look, you’re choking because your body knew you were about to spit out some bullshit. You didn’t do all this because I was cooperative.” He says as he sits on the edge of the bed rubbing his hands over your cheeks. “You’re being stubborn and trying to get under my skin by calling me every 5 seconds.”

“Well I wouldn’t be sick if you weren’t such a baby. I told you this would happen and look. Now I’m dying…. Did you do it on purpose? Are you trying to get rid of me??”

“Babe, I don’t have to put in this much effort to get rid of you. If I don’t watch after you, you’ll end up offing yourself before long.” And he chuckled.

“My pain is funny!?!?” You exclaimed.

He chuckles more, “kind of.”

“This! This is what I meant by shitty bedside manner. You’re so mean to me.”

He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead and pulls back with a soft smile on his lips.

“Ok, ok, ‘m sorry. Just let me go finish making the soup and then I’ll come back in here and rock your whining ass to sleep. Do you want me to lay you on the couch while I finish?” He asks.

You nod your head yes and then he stands and sweeps you up quickly into his arms.

When you get to the living room he sets you down gently on the couch.

“Now you can see me slaving away for you in the kitchen. Are you satisfied?”

And you nod again.

He straightens up and starts heading back to the kitchen.

“Wait Kat” he turns back around to face you. “Before you leave…. Can you hand me the remote?” You ask and try to keep the laugh in that’s threatening to escape at the glare directed at you.

If looks could kill, you’d be a goner😭

Katsuki Masterlist

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[mysteriesmuse]

It all started with Katsuki being dead-asleep and sprawled out and snoring in a way that most people would deem horrendously uncomfortable, and obnoxiously pleasant. Like an overgrown cat.

He was dead to the world until his phone rang. Biceps twitching and flinging awake in the dark Katsuki’s dark red eyes cut across the grey light of his room to catch into the stark blue phone light that was buzzing like crazy. Hands accidentally fumbling as he grabbed it he squinted with a surprised, “fuck.” Why were you calling him? You were 2 years his senior and the resident babysitter/tutor of his neighborhood back in Musutafu. A smart student and pretty girl: one of the only babysitters his parents ever agreed to come watch him. Mostly because your death glare was one that could really rival his own mothers, but also bc Katsuki harbored a little bit of admiration and a crush on you for some time making him actually behave for you.

And as your name flashes across the screen pressed against his cheek he can only remember sitting at the kitchen counters and sharing orange slices as you quiz him for his practical exams. He hasn’t seen you in years. Your voice flits through same as ever, “Hey Katsuki!” He shuffles and sits up closer. His eyebrows peaked — you sound breathy and stressed. “Hey to you too,” he growls. Another whisky giggle, “I know it’s late. I’m really sorry about that! It’s just — well your mother always tells me to call you if I was ever alone at night and I couldn’t think of who else I trust to call. . .” His damn mother did have a habit of telling resident kids to call him in case they were in dangerous situations. A habit she always kept up since he was a kid; always making him walk with you and the other girls when school clubs let out. And now here he was a fledgling hero and Mitsuki was still telling extras to call him — I guess some things never change. Katsuki could hear the faint music of karaoke bars over the phone. Already getting out of bed and rummaging through his drawers for a pair of sweats and hoodie. “S’ okay. Where’re you at right now?” You huff a little sigh, “I’m out at the bar strip on the west side of the city . . . it’s a little chilly.” Katsuki already has his feet in his slides and is heading out his dorm room, “I can hear your teeth chattering from here.” He huffs, “Now what’s the problem?” “I’m just a little nervous . . .” You admonish finally, “Could you just stay on the phone with me, please Katsuki? It’s really kinda sketchy out here.” He grunts, already stepping out the dormitory door and hitting the streets. “I can do that. How’ve ya been? It’s been awhile.” You huff a little laugh, “College is fine pretty mundane to what you’ve been doing. I’ve seen you on the tv and in the news a lot recently. I’m real proud of you Kit-Kat. Your folks are too.” Katsuki can feel his stupid heart leap at that nickname you gave him.

It’s because he used to give you kit-kats every year on white day — which wasn’t really out of the ordinary since you gave him chocolate on valentines, but you gave chocolates to all the neighborhood kids anyways. And despite his parents teasing and his agony you never seemed to think much of it, ruffled his hair and gave him a cute nickname.

He chest swells with pride nonetheless. A particular school event was coming up and he finds himself mentioning it as he spots your form sitting under the bus stop and shouts into the night instead of the phone. “I’ve got my year-three performance showcase coming up next week. If you wanna come watch I can definitely get you tickets next to my folks.” Your eyes go wide and flit over to his figure in the darkness. And the first thing Katsuki can’t help but think is that you look pretty.

Your arms are crossed over your chest and the black corset top you’re wearing. It makes your waist and broad shoulders pop. And as he gets closers he can see that it’s got the lace closures down the sides with cute little bows that you’ve tied. A pair of cream colored trousers and tall peep-toe heels underneath as you rise to greet him. Phone slack in your hand as you stare at him. The black straps of your top dangling over your smooth collarbone as you inhale, “Kats what are you doing here?” Your head of curled hair — he’s never seen you with curled hair before — tilts like a puppy dog. He shrugs hands in his pockets, “Coulda asked you the same.” He says pointedly, you curl in and flush with embarrassment, “How much have you had?” “Only a few. I’m still sober.” You reply with a shiver as you fall into step beside him, “Not as fun as I thought it was gonna be. My friends are still inside.” At this Katsuki feels himself relax he didn’t think this was really your seen anyway. Especially with those friends he knows you’re referring to: the older kids of the neighborhood. “Yeah the rest of them are real pieces of work, babe.” Babe. Did he just call you babe? Dunce face is rubbing off on him. You notice, glancing to look up at him, but he watches you shake your head a little and dismiss it as quickly. “So what’s this showcase that you mentioned Kit-Kat?” He huffs, taking the side closest to the street, “It’s a promotional showcase for 3rd years. Show the pros what we can do, explain our personal philosophy, our ambitions. It’s like a really big resume preview. It’s real important for getting yourself out there to the agencies although I already have good ties to some.” You nod, bumping elbows with him as you dodge a streetlight, “seems really important,” you muse. “I’d love to come if it’s no trouble?” Katsuki’s eyes are glued into your glossy lips while you say that, turning away with the tips of his ears pink as he grunts, “S’ no problem at all. I can get ya’ one tomorrow.” You hum thoughtfully, “it’ll be nice to see you in action up close. I’ve watched your sports festival showings before — it makes me want s’mores.” at this you giggle and lock eyes with him, “I let you do that one time.” Katsuki groans rolling his eyes. “Still the best ones I ever had!” He chuckles nudging you with his shoulder. You beam ear-to-ear and his heart pitters as you loop an arm through his to steady yourself, “I can’t believe we’re both so grown-up now.” And here you go turning sappy on him.

“You know Suki’ I know you’re gonna be a great hero because you’ve always done stuff like this for me. No matter how often others tell you different, you send them to me okay?” And you’re sniffling now, still shivering against his side as you prepare to fight off all the haters he has. He’s matured a lot since his debut, but they don’t say make a good-first impression for nothing. He glances at you intelligent, well-educated, passionate as you are you weren’t gonna put up much of a fight — he still appreciates the sentiment. He grumbles a “thank you” into your hair as he walks you home in the dead of night.