#what do i have to give to somewhere new? what does it have to give to me?

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

please please please something inspired by Coincidence by Sabrina Carpenter with rafe. The bridge is so rafe going back to his ex who moved to Charleston…while still dating sofia (sorry girl, you don’t deserve that)

I have not written for Rafe in a moment! This song does give Rafe vibes XD

Warnings: 18+, cheating, Rafe being an asshole,

—

Sofia knew it was wrong to spy on your boyfriend, but she had a gut feeling when Rafe ignored her texts and calls all weekend. On the first day, she thought he was golfing with his friends and that he had turned his phone off, but he was not with Kelce or Topper. They came to the country club for lunch and Rafe was not with them. In fact, they hadn’t heard from him in a few hours.

On the second day, she thought he went on a boat trip with his family? Ward recently bought a new boat, maybe they were on a little trip and Rafe forgot to tell her? But she saw Wheezie getting ice cream on Sunday. If Wheezie were on the island, the Camerons were not on a boat trip. 

That’s when Sofia began to get worried. Where was he? 

After long hesitation, she opened the ‘find my friends’ app and checked his location. 

‘’Charleston?’’ she said out loud, a frown forming on her face. Charleston was over four hundred miles from here — a seven hours drive. ‘’What is he doing in Charleston?’’ 

Maybe his dad sent him there for business? But it was the weekend. No one was working on the weekend at Cameron Developpement. 

Her sixth sense was suddenly triggered when she remembered that Rafe’s ex-girlfriend moved there after college. Sofia was not ignorant of her man’s reputation. He was not known to be the most loyal boyfriend. In fact, he was known to fuck girls left and right.

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

All the way in Charleston, Rafe was sleeping soundly under your soft duvet when you returned to your apartment. You showered, and when you returned to your bedroom, Rafe was stirring. 

‘’Where were you?’’ he asked, his voice hoarse from sleep. ‘’I thought Sundays were for morning sex and bottomless mimosas.''

A small smile curled on your lips. He remembered. 

‘’I had a pilates class at 10am,’’ you explained. 

‘’Pilates? Oh, you mean exercise for lazy people?’’ He shifted, his eyes trailing over you as you walked around in your silk robe. To Rafe, this damn robe had the same effect as gray sweatpants to girls. 

You shook your head at Rafe’s jab. ‘’Call it what you want. That’s where I get my great ass from.’’

He smirked, thinking of your ass as he pounded into it last night. ‘’Then, I fucking love pilates.’’ 

A soft laugh left your lips and you strided over to the bed, joining Rafe. ''If you get dressed now, we can make it to brunch. I know the best place to get waffles — if you’re in the mood for something sweet.’’

‘’Does your pussy count as something sweet? Because I’m definitely in the mood for that.’’ Rafe moved you closer to him, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you onto his lap. He pressed a soft kiss onto the side of your neck, and pulled your robe off your shoulder to trail kisses there. 

You hummed under his tender touch. ‘’What time will you be heading home?'' you asked, not looking forward to him leaving. 

You didn’t think you would get attached to Rafe again so easily, so quickly. In fact, you don’t think you ever stopped loving Rafe Cameron. The feelings had just been sleeping somewhere, waiting to be awakened again. 

Two weeks ago, after almost a year of not speaking, Rafe commented on you Instagram story, saying how fucking hot you looked in your bikini and how he wished he could hit it again. You responded with ‘come hit it’ and have been texting — and sexting — since. 

You knew from stalking his social media that he had a girlfriend, but if Rafe truly loved her, he would not have commented on your Instagram Story. He would not have made the long drive to Charleston.

‘’Not until I get a taste of you again,’’ he replied with a soft smirk, running his fingers up your thigh and under your robe. 

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

Sofia stood behind the bar at the country club, her mood sour as she saw Rafe walk in. He approached with an apologetic look.

‘’My phone died, I’m really sorry, babe,’’ he said, giving her his best sorry eyes. 

It was a shitty excuse, but it actually was not a lie. When he packed for Charleston, he  had been so caught up in the idea of seeing you that he forgot his phone charger. It hadn’t even crossed his mind to borrow one or buy a new one. It was nice to have a little break from life for a few days. 

Sofia rolled her eyes. ‘’And your bank account is so full you can’t afford a charger?’’

‘’I asked one of the sharks, but they were sold out of phone chargers.’’ His attempt at a joke fell flat with her. You would have laughed. Rafe sighed. ‘’I was on a boat with my dad and possible business partners. It was a last minute thing—’’ 

‘’Save your saliva, Rafe,’’ Sofia cut in, not wishing to hear the rest of his lie. ‘’I know you were not on a boat, you were in Charleston. You…you were with her, weren’t you?’’  She was trying to hold back her emotions, being at her workplace. 

Rafe froze, his heart sinking as he realized he had been caught. He hadn’t expected Sofia to put the pieces together so quickly. How did she even find out? He hadn’t told anyone about Charleston — not Topper, not Kelce, and definitely not Wheezie, who always knew where he was.

‘’Did you fucking track my phone?’’ he snapped, his voice sharp and defensive. That had to be it. 

Sofia didn’t even look at him. She turned her attention to a customer, smoothly taking their order, then poured another Jack on the Rocks without missing a beat. She didn’t want anyone to complain to her boss about how she was having private conversations during her working hours. 

‘’Rafe, I’m working. I don’t have time for this," she said, her tone icy.

‘’You did! You fucking did!’’ Rafe was fuming now, his anger bubbling to the surface. How could she track him? Not only was it intrusive, but it was a blatant invasion of his privacy. ‘’And you were the one who came to me about how trust is important in a relationship—’’ 

‘’You don’t get to tell me about trust when you spend your weekend between another girl’s thighs.’’  

Sofia clenched her jaw, her hands gripping the edge of the bar as Rafe's laugh hit her like a slap in the face. That smug look — the one that said he didn't care, that he had no regrets — burned a hole through her chest. She wanted to throw the drink she had just poured straight at him, but she wasn’t going to lose her composure here. Not at work. Rafe was a member of the country club, she would get fired on the spot.

Rafe leaned in, his voice low but dripping with arrogance. ‘’You were a fun time, but did you really think it would last?’’

He was being mean, and he knew it. But that’s Rafe. That’s who he is. He hurts people and only cares about himself. 

He checked his expensive watch, seeing his lunch break was almost over. ‘’I’m gonna get going. See you around, Sabrina.’’

—

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[itz-pandora]

Guys watch this before clicking read more

I have so many thoughts

THE PARALLEL BETWEEN MARIA'S WOUND AND THE DESTROYED MOON?!!! OH MY GOD!!!! OH MY. MY GOD. That's the entire reason I started writing my thoughts down because that's way past important. Where's that post about the symbolism and correlation between Maria's name and the moon because that's all I can think about

AND I LOVE how they're choosing to portray Maria recently, excited and eager for everything, even though it hurts her. Also how fascinated she is with earth makes me happy. I love the idea she'll just endlessly ramble to Shadow about Earth. Also her VA does a good job at letting you know how out of breath she is and how she's still all upbeat even tho she's literally about to pass out

Also ?!!! I AM GOING A BIT CRAZY AT SHADOWS PORTRAYAL!! I'm so hyped to see how he's interpreted in Generations. He seems so confused, and like each time period he's in impacts his personality heavily, like he's still with them on the ARK. He wants to save everyone even though he knows he can't and I'm SCRATCHING AT THE WALLS because of it. I think the way that they'll try to portray him going into the past is with him being only half-aware of everything, OR, HE'S TRYING TO LIVE A LIE TO MAKE HIMSELF FEEL BETTER. Ohmygod the second one makes me feel ill because he just wants to be happy, he wants to keep his little family together and safe, but he knows that the fate is inevitable, just wondering if he could've stopped it. It's haunting to him. The feeling of not being in control is present throughout the entire episode, where he's constantly dragged through each event, each one being more exhausting than the last. Everything is happening to him, he's not the driving force, and that's the sad part, he had an entire game about defining his identity, and still, he's always been a puppet to someone else, bent to their will.

I'M SO CURIOUS ABOUT WHAT THEY'RE PLANNING WITH GERALD BECAUSE ITS DEFINITELY SOMETHING. SHADOW WHAT DID HE DO TO YOU??? Shadow had to PHYSICALLY CLASP HIS HEAD BECAUSE OF THIS. I NEED TO KNOW.

Dude is this supposed to be Shadow's second traumatic flashback regarding the ARK, since in the hero story of SHTH, there's an entire level about the ARK where he plays with Maria as his sidekick, and it was triggered by hearing the sirens of the ARK (which I LOVE btw. Of COURSE he'd associate the noise with events since it's been drilled into his psyche before the amnesia)

I LOVE how scared he is at the end. He's sooooo panicked. I love how they give him the sparks when he's overwhelmed, it makes me feel so happy.

Who is HE?! It can't be Shadow before his memory loss, that guy did NOT SURVIVE. Also idk if they're going to return to the "pre and post amnesia Shadow are different people" thing they implied, because I think it'd be best to have it be like his memories are fragmented, and it's all about remembering, and THEN WE GET A NEW INTERPRETATION OF SHADOW?? Pls? Like not new but somewhere in between SA2 and after that, but with more little brother energy because MARIA IS HERE!!!!

GUYS WHAT ARE THOSE FLOWERS AT THE END AND WHAT DO THEY MEAN. PLEASE TELL ME SINCE THEY PROBABLY HAVE SYMBOLISM

This is so disorganized sorry I'm not normal at all

And ofc Eggman's piss was still on the moon. We love continuity

[tgmsunmontue]

Never knew I was missing you 2/? WIP

Jake is just trying to find a connection. Shame the guy he connects with the most is lying about his identity online; because he sure as hell isn't A-list Hollywood star Bradley Bradshaw.

ONE

CHAPTER TWO

                Despite everything, PinballWizard is funny, dry and sarcastic with his humor, but definitely a nerd of the highest order. As well as being able to talk about pinball machines, he also knows a lot about naval aviation, can rattle off facts that even Jake hasn’t heard before but when he goes and looks them up, they check out. Jake assumes it’s how it ties into the model plane making. Obviously the guy is a fan of Bradley Bradshaw, imitation being the highest form of flattery or whatever it is, but Jake is wondering whether he can get an actual photo of him.

                He’s not too proud to admit that he’s a little vain, or a lot vain depending on who you ask. They’ve been chatting for a week now and Jake can’t believe how much he’s actually been enjoying it. Getting to know him, learning that he apparently lives with his two closest friends that he’s known since high school, enjoys swimming to keep fit but will do other things if he really has to. Grew up in California and has been coerced into doing all sorts of things because he loves his friends and would do anything for them. Jake has talked about being in the Navy and flying, both of which he seems incredibly knowledgeable about, which just makes him more convinced that it’s definitely not actually Bradley Bradshaw. Because while Jake doesn’t consider himself a huge fan, he’s pretty sure he’d have remembered if Bradley Bradshaw had any ties to the US Navy.

>>If you don’t believe me then why do you keep talking to me?

>>Well, even with your weird hobbies I find you more interesting than the people who are just sending me dick pics or only want to fuck.

>>Great to know what your priorities are.

>>Hey. Just telling it like it is.

>>Just be glad I’m not reporting you to the police for pretending to be someone you’re not.

>>I’d like to see how successful you are with that.

>>More successful than you.

>>Why are you talking to me when I don’t believe you?

>>Because I enjoy talking to you.

>>Yeah well, ditto.

>>What would it take for you to believe me?

                Jake sighs, because they’ve gone around this in circles once already, PinballWizard sending a new photo which Jake is pretty certain is simply stolen from the deep recess of the internet, somewhere like Pinterest or something. And sure enough another photo comes through and it’s definitely a candid shot, the stubble isn’t something he’s used to seeing in pictures, just the moustache, which he’d grown for a part and then found he liked it enough to keep it. Jake’s glad, he’s a fan of the moustache for sure. It does disappear for some parts, but Jake is always relieved when he sees it growing back. This photo though has an almost beard, and not a closely trimmed one, patchy in places and he wonders if maybe PinballWizard actually has access to Bradley Bradshaw’s private Instagram account or something.

>>You just grabbed that off the internet. It’s fine. Whatever.  Don’t send me a proper photo. You’re probably some pot-bellied guy in his 50s living in his parent’s basement mending your little machines…

                He knows he’s being an asshole, but he’s hoping to provoke him into at least something real. Knows what he’s typed out is at least half lies, PinballWizard talked about his friends too easily to make Jake think that they weren’t real, and he’d have to live with other people given the cost of rent. Then his phone chimes and the next photo that comes through makes him choke and cough, because holy shit, definitely not pot-bellied or in his 50s. There’s no face this time, but written on a piece of paper, very clearly, is Fuck you Brad2lover andif he’s not mistaken it looks like the guy is trying to give him the finger. His arms are nicely muscled, and his stomach is flat and there’s a hint of abs and he doesn’t think PinballWizard is even flexing. Holy shit.

>>Holy shit PW, why are you lying about who you are when you have a body like that?

>>Not lying, but you won’t believe me so we’ll just have to agree to disagree.

>>Damn you’re stubborn.

>>Yeah.

>>With good reason.

>>So are you.

                Jake laughs and shrugs, despite the fact that no one can see him.

>>My name’s Jake.

>>Share your name at least.

>>Call me Brad.

                Jake rolls his eyes.

>>Fine.

>>Brad it is.

…            …            …

                “Your flyboy checks out,” Ron says, taking a sip of coffee and Bradley looks up.

                “What?”

                “I did a background check. Plus I asked Ice to have a look. He’s squeaky clean.”

                “I didn’t ask you to do that,” Bradley states, even though he understand the necessity of it, he doesn’t have to like it.

                “No, you didn’t. You shouldn’t have to because it’s part of my job and I’m not letting your delicate sensibilities of wanting to find out about the person organically put you at risk again.”

                “Yeah. Fine,” Bradley says with a sigh.

                “I’m not telling you anything else. Just… you can trust him. Open up and share things.”

                “Well, he doesn’t believe it’s me he’s talking to anyway, so it doesn’t even matter.”

                “Huh. That’s not a problem I thought we’d have.”

                “Yeah well. It’s the problem I have.”

                “You like him?”

                “Uncle Sli, it’s hard to like a guy who thinks I’m lying to him.”

                “Taking that out of the equation, do you like him?”

                “I’ve been talking to him every day all week.”

                “Am I meant to extrapolate my own answer from that?”

                “Fine. Yes. I like him. Happy now? He makes me laugh. I don’t think he’d care about the fame, if he actually believed it was me. But he doesn’t.”

                “Hmm,” Sli hums, his eyes narrowing and Bradley shakes his head.

                “No. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but the answer is no.”

                “I wasn’t going to do anything.”

                “Do? Maybe not. But you can’t say anything either. Not to Mav, and not to Ice.”

                “Well, too late. Ice already knows, because he wanted to know why I was asking.”

                “Of course he did,” Bradley says, rubbing his forehead. God. This is going to turn into a huge mess. Maybe he should just cut his losses and stop chatting with Jake. “Please tell me you haven’t mentioned it to Mav at least…”

                “Nope. I haven’t. But you really want me keeping secrets from my husband?”

                “I want you to remember who pays you and that you’ve got a confidentiality clause you’re meant to stick to.”

                “You know very well he’s exempt…”

                Bradley sighs, because he’s right, because Mav decreed that he should know everything. Which of course has led to Bradley trying to keep even the smallest thing from him, and Ice lording it over him if he ever finds out something first.

                “Please. Don’t share anything with him. There not yet anything to share. He has no self-control, so please don’t tempt him with it…”

                “You know him so well.”

                “My whole life,” Bradley mutters, used to this refrain between them and prepares himself for the sappy rejoinder, ready to pull the face Sli expects him to make despite the fact that he wants what him and Mav have.

                “And the rest of mine.”

                “Gross. Go visit him. I’m not going anywhere.”

                “Don’t need to tell me twice.”

…            …            …

                Jake isn’t sure why he’s persisting with Brad, and he wonders if he should maybe do a little digging, but isn’t sure whether he can do about Bradley Bradshaw, or about Brad. He isn’t tech savvy enough to hack into anyone’s account, but he can ask harder to answer questions. Maybe see if he can get something concrete.

>>So, real talk.

>>Worst relationship?

>>Creepy stalker woman.

>>Any relationship that ends up having to involve the police is the worst.

>>Well shit, I was just going to say getting broken up with while deployed.

>>Yeah. That would suck.

>>Yeah. But still better than getting cheated on. Cause that sucks worse.

>>Ouch. Yeah. Been there too.

>>When did dating or finding someone get to be so hard?

>>I know my parents didn’t have it this hard.

                Bingo. Jake knows that Bradley Bradshaw is an orphan, his father dying when he was young and then his mom when he was a teenager. How has never been covered, questions deflected away carefully, but Brad is talking about his parents.

>>I mean, I can’t ask them, because they’re dead. But even my godfathers seem to have had it easier.

                Well shit, the guy clearly knows Bradley Bradshaw pretty well. Back to the drawing board it is.

[artsygirl0315]

"Soooooo, the Rebellious Kids have crawled out of their little space in my brain again, and are TERRORIZING it rn, so here are 2 questions about them and caramel cursed Reyna [who am i gonna nickname "Ravyn"]"

1. Who would crush on eachother first? Like who would develop feelings first and who would confess first?

2. And what would their first date belike? [together and individually]

(I missed drawing these a-holes but at the same them screw 'em cus I love them!)

The first one to get a crush on Ravyn is definitely Alex because I would imagine she stumbled upon the gal around the neighborhood while on a patrol for new victims, It was love at first sight, surprisingly!

Her siblings followed after noticing her looking out the window from time to time and decided to be introduced after a very VERY rugged mission.

But the first to actually confess to Ravyn individually was Leon until his siblings caught wind that he went behind his back and now they all went out of their way to confess as well!

Next we have date wise...

Does going out to wreak havoc on poor unsuspecting kids around the park a kind of date? I mean, They did get her ice cream!

Ravyn's well taken cared for in their hands while doing so anyway, She first didn't show much offence about it but the longer she stayed with them, she definitely toned them down a little bit.

Individually, it would be less hectic and would give Ravyn enough time to actually get to know them properly.

It would go as followed;

Brutus could take Ravyn to the zoo more so because he thinks it would be fun to piss off the animals.

Alex would definitely take her to a concert of sort, She at least puts effort in who she thinks Ravyn would like to hear.

Connie would take Ravyn to a Roller Derby rink and teach her how to skate, Surprisingly both would make a great team!

Leon could take Ravyn somewhere that actually would provide food like a Diner or something, He likes to stress eat so I would imagine he was in a bad mood prior and wants to spend time with her then.

Davis, I would imagine take her to the mall so they could browse on clothes and stuff, He would definitely steal some but if she would really like a certain item then he'd get it for her with some money.

[That's all I got for them, Thanks for mentioning my little dumbass blorbos!!]

Ravyn belongs to @numbuhinfinitys💙

[fangirlingfromdownunder]

A Sweet Mishap - Chapter 24

Pairing - Jensen Ackles x Reader 

A/N: I just want to start by thanking everyone for all the love on this story so far. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. This chapter is a lot heavier, so please read the TW below and only read on if you feel comfortable doing so.

Potential Trigger Warnings: heavy violence, mentions of rape

A Sweet Mishap Masterlist | Main Masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Just as I’m about to drift off, a loud banging makes me shoot upright. In my half-asleep state I run to the door hoping that Jensen changed his mind and came up for a final goodbye. But instead of his warm embrace and a passionate kiss, when I open the door I feel a cold hard sting on my cheek as my ears ring with the sound of a slap. Tears burn as I blink and try to make sense of what happened. I take a step back but the unfamiliar man follows and snatches my wrist and pulls me to his chest harshly.

“Where is she?” he spits out. I recoil at the feeling of specks of his saliva hitting my cheek. I keep my lips sealed and fight back tears. I know I need to stay strong. I gather up all my courage and elbow him as hard as I can in the ribs and try to pull away but he digs his nails into my wrist as he yanks my other arm around my back before gripping my hair and pulling me into a tight headlock. I scream at the pain but also in an attempt to wake someone. He pushes me further inside and slams the door behind him. “Where is she?” he spits again harshly near my ear. 

I try to pull away again but his grip on my hair is tight and I wince at the pain. Despite the pain I manage to spit out just as harshly, “Like I’d tell you, you abusive son of a bitch!” He yanks my hair again and twists one of my arms back to the point where I’m terrified it’s either going to pop out of its socket or the bone’s going to snap completely. I refuse to give in. “This what you did to her? Pin her in place and force her to have sex with you?”

His grip tightens and I brace myself for the snap and unimaginable pain, but it doesn’t come. Instead he leans down, takes my earlobe between his teeth roughly and pulls back ever so slightly and growls, “I bet you’d like that. Nice and rough.” He trails his lips down my neck where Jensen’s had been not an hour earlier. “You won’t tell me where she is, I’ll take you instead. All I need’s a nice wet hole anyway.”

He manhandles me until I’m laying face-down on the couch, both hands pinning tightly at the small of my back with one of his hands. I try to kick out but he sits on my legs. I lose the fight to my tears as I feel one of his hands reach around to undo the button and zip on my jeans. I feel helpless and scared in a way I never have before. But instead of worrying about myself, I wonder how many times Anna had to endure this treatment and for how long. He slips his hand into the waistband and tries to pull them down but struggles with one hand. Obviously only thinking with rage and his dick he lets go of my hands briefly to pull my jeans and underwear past my hips. As he does, I quickly scramble around reaching for my phone which I know is amongst the cushions somewhere. My fingers briefly stab and glide across the cracked glass but I don’t get a hold of it before he’s roughly yanking my arms back. I feel the vibrations under me, sparking some hope that I managed to do something. Luckily it’s silenced by the sound of him undoing his belt and jeans. I have no way of knowing who called, whether I got the emergency function or just a random person from my contacts, and no way of answering anyway. He grips my hair and yanks me upright so my bare ass is touching his front. I scream out again and he slaps me. 

“Last chance bitch, tell me where she is or you’re becoming my new plaything.”

“At least use a condom, you pig. I’m not on birth control. So unless you wanna pay me child support.” Feeling his erect dick against my ass I fully start to panic. Seeing as it’s been ages since I last slept with anyone I let my script lapse. And as much as I don’t want to be raped by this abusive psycho, I also don’t want to be forced to carry his child. I pull against him with all my strength and scream at the top of my lungs. He slaps me across the face again and covers my mouth with one hand effectively muffling my sounds. This gives me better access to lick and bite at his disgusting skin. He recoils as my teeth sink into his palm. With his weight on my legs I can’t move, but I use the opportunity to free my hands and reach for my phone again. I manage to swipe across and return the missed call, but I don’t see who it is. He snatches my phone from my hands and pegs it at the tiles causing the screen to shatter completely before switching to black. I continue to scream myself hoarse as he crushes me into the couch. I can feel against my back that the pain had an impact but he’s now even more irate. With all of his weight holding my front against the cushions, he takes his free hand and slaps — not sexual spanks, hard, bruising slaps — my bare ass countless times.

My head is spinning, overrun with fear and pain. I can’t move my body. I can’t roll over, pull my pants up, reach for my broken phone, I’m completely petrified. I block out everything as I accept my fate. I can’t even tell if I’m crying or screaming anymore. I can’t hear myself. I barely even feel the lasting sting of the pain he’s inflicted. I just feel numb.

When he speaks again he sounds like I’m underwater. It’s muffled and slurred and I can’t focus on the words. I just lay there completely numb letting it happen. I have no fight left. He’s got me completely pinned and I have no mode of contact. I tell myself it’s over.

I don’t feel him pull away or stand up. I don’t hear the door breaking down. I don’t notice when a group of people enter the apartment. I’m too far removed. I can’t even pull away when I’m wrapped in a blanket and pulled into someone else’s arms. My limbs are too stiff, my mind is too numb. When my chin is tilted up to meet the person’s eyes I can’t focus, everything is blurred. But as numb as I am, I know it’s someone else. I feel warmer, safe. And my body shuts down.

When I can finally open my eyes all I see is white. There’s a dull, steady beeping from somewhere behind me. As my senses slowly return I feel a weight on my right hand. I instinctively squeeze, but am shocked when the feeling is reciprocated. I furiously blink my eyes and try to sit up.

“Hey, Hey, Darlin’. It’s okay now. You’re safe. Take a breath for me.”

I look towards the voice and can’t believe my eyes or ears. I must still be asleep or hallucinating. My mind starts to race. Am I still on that couch? Is that rapist still here?

The beeping speeds up and I feel a squeeze again as the deep voice continues. “You’re safe now. I’m right here. You’re safe. Deep breaths.”

I try to hold onto his words. Real or not, they’re grounding and comforting. I’m just shocked that the voice of my subconscious is not Stella or my parents. It’s a man that I’ve known for two and a bit months. But when the weight in my hand disappears it all starts to feel real. My eyes fly open and I finally manage to survey my surroundings. There’s an IV in my arm, a clip on my finger and monitors to my sides. I sit up quickly and look around for my things. There’s no way I can afford this treatment. As I swing my legs off the side of the bed I hear footsteps behind me. 

“Ms. Y/L/N, it’s good to see you’re awake and doing better but we need you to stay in bed while we run a few more tests.” I reluctantly turn around to face the voice. “I’m Doctor Matt, the paramedics brought you in after you passed out from what at this stage seems like a panic attack, but we want to be sure…Especially considering the circumstances under which they were called.” He takes a few steps closer to the bed with a tablet in his hands. “There’s a few questions I need to ask you, but let me know if at any stage it becomes too much.”

I nod but then my eyes drift past the doctor to the man standing in the doorway. His arms are crossed over his chest, a look of worry etched on his face and his emerald eyes look bloodshot. He nods at me, “I’ll be in the waiting room.” I nod back as he turns and disappears behind the curtain.

“We’ve checked your physical injuries and they appear superficial and will heal in time, but you can take anti inflammatories for the pain. However, given the circumstances I wanted to offer for one of our psych counsellors to speak with you before we discharge you and let the police do their questioning.”

I look at the doctor and hesitantly ask, “Did you do a rape kit already?”

He shakes his head. “We wanted to wait for your consent. But also, as the man responsible is already in custody there may be no reason to put you through that. But if you want to be sure, I can ask someone to come down and run one.”

I nod. “I need to know. What if-What if I’m pregnant?”

“Unfortunately there would be no way of knowing this soon. If you take the test we’ll know if there’s any signs of ejaculate, but regardless we can also provide emergency contraception.”

I nod. “I want both. I need to know. I’ve been through too much to not know.”

“Okay. I’ll ask someone our sexual assault unit to come down.”

I nod again, but then ask, “How much extra will all this cost? You should already know I don’t have health insurance. I can’t afford-”

“We can see if we can register you for NYC Care to try and bring the bill down. In the meantime, did you want me to send your boyfriend back in to wait with you?”

“My boyfriend?” I shake my head in confusion and then it clicks. “Uh, sure.”

He notices my hesitation. “I can tell him you’re resting?”

“No it’s okay. I should talk to him.”

“You coud wait until after you speak with psych. I know this must be a difficult situation.”

“Thanks, but no. I should talk to him.”

Doctor Matt nods and walks out of the thin, paper curtain. A few long minutes later, the curtain rustles again and Jensen walks in. I want to fight with him and tell him to go to Vancouver, that he shouldn’t have skipped his flight for me, but instead I burst into tears. He rushes to my side and sits on the edge of the bed. He hesitantly takes my hand and pulls me into his arms.

“You’re safe. I’ve got you now.” He rubs his hands up my back as he hushes and soothes me. 

“Y-You shouldn’t-”

“Hey, hey. I’m exactly where I should be. I’m just glad I was here. I can’t imagine…I’m so sorry.”

I continue to cry into his shoulder while he holds me close. “Y-you t-told … boyfriend…”

“I’m sorry. I know, they wouldn’t let me in otherwise…it doesn’t have to mean anything. I don’t expect anything from you right now. You just need to heal, but I also wanted to be here for you.” I can tell there’s so much more he wants to say but is holding back for me. 

“Jens…H-How d-d-“

“You were typing for ages. Those bubbles were there for ages and it seemed off and then when I called you didn’t answer. And the second and third time it went directly to massagebank. And then I realized…” He hugs me closer. “I’m so sorry. I should have told Clif to take you to your friend’s.”

Hearing him blame himself breaks me further. I try to hug him back. “Thank you for saving me,” I manage to get out between sobs. 

“I wish I could’ve gotten there sooner or got the emergency services. I’m sorry you went through so much.”

The curtain shuffles again and a female doctor steps inside. I pull slightly away from Jensen to look at her. “Hi Ms. Y/L/N. I’m Dr. Julie, I’m a sexual assault examiner, Dr. Matt said you wanted to get a rape test.” I nod and Jensen stands up but I grab his hand. 

“Please stay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Please…”

Dr. Julie looks at both of us. “He’s welcome to stay if that’s what you want as the patient, but if he does, I need to warn you both that if it comes up positive and you decide to report this crime to the police he could be asked to be a witness.”

Jensen nods. “That’s fine by me.” He looks at me, “I called the emergency services in the first place, I’m already a witness. I’ll do whatever you need me to. Whatever makes you feel comfortable.”

I nod. “Stay.”

He helps me lay back down on the pillows before sitting on the edge of the bed and facing me. He keeps holding my hand while the doctor gathers all the supplies. She then helps pull the blanket down and checks over my whole body while taking some swabs and samples.

Jensen squeezes my hand comfortingly as he keeps his eyes on my face, not straying once.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Taglist: @stoneyggirl2 @hobby27, @n-o-p-e-never, @deansimpalababy,

@winchesterwild78, @kr804573, @chriszgirl92, @smoothdogsgirl

@speakinvain, @deans-baby-momma, @1967winchesterimpala

@lmg14, @superrey

[andr0nap-wf]

rereading albrechts notes and the duviri fragment on scholars landing, having a lot of thoughts and no clue how to word them

[brittlebutch]

it's actually so fascinating to me that Brennan has created a character that maintains a pretty relaxed and mild-mannered demeanor and has said multiple times that the absolute Core of her is "FEAR" and how often we see this Fear manifest specifically in Avoidance; it really nails a relationship to that mentality where your brain fully Stops recognizing the emotion properly out of like, sheer self-defense from the stress of having to carry it all the time

I think this is also perfectly showcased in the way we tend to see Tula swing so suddenly from 'level and steady' to 'snarling Panic' and then back again - Just because your brain has detached itself from the Conscious Recognition of the emotion doesn't mean it can Actually stop itself from experiencing it. So the Fear is always there and always acting as a stressor, but because of that inability to Identify it there's no way to recognize or address it before that final straw hits and your bodymind jumps Straight into Full Meltdown Mode; but then once again, once you drop even a Little bit below that Peak Terror your brain ceases to process the emotion; it's like the most exhausting form of Poor Object Permanence in the world

And even if Tula is aware of this happening to her, that doesn't really make it any easier to deal with / address. Even if you're able to spot the symptoms Around the emotion -- chest pain, irritation, nausea, whatever -- because the Emotion Itself is basically impossible to find, you can't really Successfully Pin Down what the problem is OR a way to cope with it. If you can't figure out That You Are Anxious, then figuring out What Is Making You Anxious is impossible, which makes Find A Way To Make Peace With That incomprehensible. That's where the Avoidance comes in: you can no longer identify what might be a Dangerous Situation, which means that Anything New has a big potential to be Really Bad in a variety of ways (ranging "I don't Feel Good" to "Fully Lashing Out bc you've entered Fight/Flight and can't get out of it" to "Actual Outside Danger This Time") and that means the Only Way you know how to be Safe is to just Avoid Doing Anything New and Only stick to Familiar Situations, because anything unfamiliar is a monster of a gamble you don't know how to prepare for or cope with

[maximus-gluteus]

nothing to see here

[creatediana]

A half-assed whiteboard imitation of Evelyn de Morgan’s The Love Potion (1903), done in a few minutes in Expo marker on 12/05/2022

[lemondropletters]

I know I’m making a joke but you really don’t understand how angry I am at the recent news.

[Video Captions: “Why are you the way that you are? / Honestly, every time I try to do something fun or exciting, you make it not that way. / I hate so much about the things that you choose to be.”]

[willowfey]

i love waking up with an anxiety bellyache every singe morning for months on end why wouldn’t i i’m having so much fun ❤️

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐔𝐏 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔 !! ❞

❝ WHEN YOUR EX HUSBAND FINDS OUT YOU'RE DATING AGAIN, HOW DO YOU END UP FUCKING HIM IN YOUR BED ?? ❞

✧ pairing: ex-husband!satoru gojo x f!reader

✧ summary: satoru gojo is the man everyone wants, except you -- well you married him and you wanted him, but when he pushed you away after you had your daughter, you had no choice but to divorce him. so what happens when he comes to pick up your daughter for his weekend, and he finds you ready for a date? and how is it you always end up under him?

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, so much smut, exes to lovers, modern au! (no curses), gojo is a CEO of a company, gojo has a daughter with you, divorced, some angst, switch! gojo, nipple play, oral (f + m), fingering (f! receiving), handjob (m! receiving), semi public sex (near entryway), semi exhibitionism, sex (p in v), creampie, swearing,

✧ wc: 8,271

“You were supposed to be here at 6:00 PM,” 

Satoru Gojo stood in your doorway, as opposed to splashed on the covers of magazines and countless front page articles — you would think it would be business magazines, but you would only be partially correct — he made the covers of business, fashion, health, entertainment, and even a few women’s magazines. 

And what every single one had made apparent in their colorful print was that Satoru Gojo was anyone’s ideal man — the CEO of the wildly successful Six Eyes Corp, a philanthropist in his free time spent mentoring children and teenagers through establishing proper programs, and he was flawlessly beautiful — ocean blue eyes you could drown in, porcelain skin seemingly without a blemish or scar, and pretty lips that were a weapon when curled in a smirk. 

Just as they were now. 

“Well,” he smirks, leaning against your door frame, “I’m sure it’s 6:00 PM somewhere,” 

“Well, I’m not concerned with somewhere else since you daughter exists here, not elsewhere,” your words lacked their usual bite, only tinged with annoyance rather than cutting anger, “but good thing I told you to be here an hour and half earlier than I needed you,” 

Needed him as just as you did before you had divorced — just as you asked him to be. But he only grew more distant by the day — and soon he was already out the door when you had served him with divorce papers. 

And now, you can almost forget how it used to be — your eyes catch sight of the picture on your mantle of the two of you with your daughter, Satoru’s lips pressed to your cheeks as yours were pressed to your little angel — almost. 

He gapes at you as you walk inside, as he follows behind you, the click of the door closing overshadowed by the sound of his voice. 

“How could you lie to me, sweetheart? Thought we had a bond of trust,” you don’t have to look back at him to know he has a pout on his lips that would quickly melt into a grin if you conceded. 

“Bond of trust ended when you showed up two hours late to pick up our daughter,” and he grumbles, cheeks tinged with pink. 

“That was one time! I’m never that late. And it’s only on a Fridays when I have—“ 

“Meetings all day,” you finish with a sigh, “I know, Gojo, I know it’s not on purpose — but I know you’re always late on Fridays so I found a solution,” your lips curl, “anyway, our girl is napping still, so give her a bit before you wake her, but you can stay here until she does,” you’re shrugging off your bathrobe, littered with flecks of makeup, only to have a gorgeous black dress underneath. 

One that he very much hadn’t seen before — and he would know, he’s explored every centimeter very intimately of each one of your dresses, but this is new. His eyes skim down the exposed skin of your thighs — very new, but very familiar. 

He’s running fingers through his hair, not bothering to hide how his gaze rakes over his body, “Special occasion? Don’t tell me your birthday suddenly moved months, or I forgot our anniversary,” 

You scoff, as you pick out earrings from your jewelry box,  “Does an anniversary count when you’re divorced?” you can’t hide the hint of bitterness in your voice, and he’s stepping closer as you look in your vanity to put your earrings on, only to meet his gaze in the mirror, deep blue sucking you in as it always does. 

“But you’ll always be mine,” and you roll your eyes, expecting a cheeky grin, but find genuine longing in his expression, before it's hidden away behind a frown, “but you still haven’t told me where you’re going, sweetheart,” 

A sigh stuck in your throat, ignoring the use of your usual pet name that he had lost the rights when the ink dried on your divorce, as your teeth graze your bottom lip, “I have a date tonight,” 

He tilts his head, “A date?” and you can already hear it in his voice — ice creeping over usually still waters, “who’s the lucky guy? And do I get to meet him?” 

“And have you scare him off?” And he only grins in reply, hands slipping into his pockets. 

“If he’s intimidated by me, isn’t that more on him than me, sweetheart?” His footsteps only grow closer, as you turn to look at him, his hand on the wood of your vanity, nearly caging you in on side, “after all, he may be your date, but I’ll always be your husband, and the father of our daughter,” 

You didn’t know whether you wanted to kiss him or slap him — slapping him was self explanatory, but the want to kiss him was a lingering feeling, one that you couldn’t shed — no matter how much time passed. But that was the thing about Satoru Gojo — it was easy to fall in love with him, but even harder to fall out. 

And a part of you could never admit to yourself that you never did. 

No matter how hard you try.

“You haven’t been my husband for a year and half now, Gojo — a year legally now,” 

And he’s changing tactics, “You still haven’t answered my question, who are you going on a date with?” And you already can feel the beginning of a headache throbbing in your forehead, and you know why no one could say no to Satoru Gojo — because you’re sure he’s never understood it. 

“Why do you need to know?” And he's tilting his head, a small scoff parting his lips. 

“I need to know who you're potentially bringing home, don’t I?” and he’s far too close, and you don’t know why you’re not pulling away — his breath warming your skin, as he drags a finger down your cheek, “The man who might step foot in our home, might meet our daughter,” and his thumb brushes over your lips, “might kiss my wife—“ 

“Gojo—“ 

“Satoru,” he corrects you. 

You rub at your temples — yup, you definitely have a headache now. You brush past him, heading to the living room to pick up some of the mess, hoping your ex would somehow fall and hit his head on the doorframe and forget this conversation.

“And this dress?” Ah, no such luck, “did you buy it for the date?” 

“Do you keep a catalog of my wardrobe?” you scowl as you pick up the strewn about toys and things to collect into your daughter’s toy bin, and he’s bending down too to pick up your daughter’s things in his hundred thousand yen suit. 

“So you didn’t deny it,” and you sigh again, but grit your teeth all the same, his sharp words finely grating on your nerves. 

“This isn’t a business negotiation, you don’t win just because you use my words against me,” you stand up after picking up the last of the things, “yes it’s a new dress, and yes I bought it for the date since this is my first date in years, happy?” 

“Thrilled,” he says flatly, and you know it’s not the end of the discussion, “remember our first date?” 

And how could you forget? But you decide to humor him, if only for a break from the interrogation. 

“Which one? Because one was a date, and the other—“ 

He raises an eyebrow, “It was a date too, I asked you out—“ 

“You asked me to hang out—“ 

“And we kissed—“ 

“Only because I told you how I felt first—“ and he smirks again and you know you’ve dug yourself into a hole, cheeks burning at his stupidly smug face, “shut up,” 

“And what did you say again?” He slips the things you have in your hands into the toy box, his fingers brushing yours, and his touch is the same as you remember, even the barest brush was enough for your traitorous soul to yearn for more. 

“You know what I said,” his lips curl, the same smile he had given you all those years ago that made you fall for him in the first place, but his raise of his brow tells you he’s not going to let it go until you say it, “I told you that I liked you for a long time, and I was tired of waiting for you to make the first move. Because maybe by then it would be too late,” and his fingers brush against your cheek, featherlight — just as the bunches of butterflies that bloom in your stomach. 

“And you say that wasn’t a date,” and you scoff, biting back the small smile on your lips, “will any other first date compare to that?” 

“Gojo—“ 

“Satoru,” he corrects, and you know his brow is furrowed without having to look at him, “do you have to call me by my last name—“ 

“I do, because Satoru was my husband, and Gojo is my ex—“ 

“I’m still your husband—“ and you give a bitter chuckle. 

“In what world? We’re divorced, it’s over,“ 

“It doesn’t have to be,” 

“But it does. This isn’t me confessing to you on a movie night curled up on my twin bed. This is my ex-husband asking me to give him another chance far too late,” you slip past him, but he follows behind anyway, as you stand near the entryway to your home,  “it’s time to move on,” and you’re stepping from your bedroom and only reach the doorway when he speaks. 

“How can I move on when I never wanted to?” You still yourself in your tracks, fingers curling into a fist. 

Not this right now. Not now. “Gojo—“ you sigh. 

You’re so tired. You were hoping you wouldn’t have to have this conversation. You never had expected to have this conversation, not when you wanted to only marry one man your entire life was the one to break your heart. 

“It's almost two years too late for this conversation,” you willed your voice not to break — not when your heart was long broken by him, and you wouldn’t allow him to do it again, “you should have had it with me before I filed. When I asked you to spend your time with us, when I asked you to take time off, when I asked you to be present in our lives—“ 

“Sweetheart-“ and you snap. 

“Don’t call me that,” your quiet words hang in the silence, the wedding bells he heard in his head were nothing more than the sounds of bells drowning out the mourners screams, “don’t call me that when you don’t get to anymore,” 

“I’ll always be yours, sweetheart, a few papers don’t change that,” and he’s stepping towards you, but you’re rooted to your spot, and you want to say it’s stubbornness, but you know what it really is —weakness, because Satoru Gojo was your one and only weakness. And even now, walls raised and erected against him came tumbling down with one touch. 

Because he knew exactly where to touch and what to say. 

“Do you think any other man could please you the way I can? I know every place, every sound, every inch of you — inside and out,” he’s nearly against your back now, “are you going to let a stranger do that? Let them learn how to please you, but knowing your husband knows how to do it better,” 

“Ex-husband,” and he’s leaning down to press a kiss to your bare shoulder, “we shouldn’t—“ 

“And yet you’re letting me,” his nose brushes against the soft skin of your neck, warm breath sending a shiver down to the tips of your toes, and his words sending a wave of need right to your core, “because you know it’s true,” his hands tentatively brush against your hips and when you don’t resist, he squeezes, drawing a gasp from you, lips curled in a smirk, “more sensitive than usual, Princess? Been too long?” 

“I swear to god—“ he’s cutting you off with a bruising kiss, a rubber band snapping back against your skin, and now it’s taut against you, ensnaring you in its grasp. And yet, his kiss is so sweet, affection dripping from the slide of lips to the caress of his fingers against your cheek, and it reminds you of just why you don’t want to let go. 

“You don’t have to swear yourself to me, but I’d appreciate it, Princess,” and his mouth reminds you of the reason you (and that you don’t). 

“Gojo—“ and he’s placing more kisses along your jaw now. 

“Shouldn’t you at least call me Satoru now that we’ve kissed?” 

“You’re impossible—“ 

“And yet I’m here,” his teeth nibbles at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, tongue flicking over the blooming love bite, “almost forgot how sweet you taste,” he’s humming, as he kisses along your shoulder before he toys with the strap of your dress, “almost,” his large palms slide down your body, skimming your bare thighs as he’s pressing you against the walls, “but your skin isn’t what I want to taste,” 

You gasp, “we can’t—“ but why were you letting him? Irritation overrode by lust, and he knew the spots to make you bend to him, his hands squeezing your hips, “fuck you,” you wonder if his touch are phantoms engraved against your skin and muscles, forced to repeat the same patterns again and again — and a hand slides back up to cup your cheek. 

“That’s what I’m trying to do, sweetheart,” his lips find yours again, his tongue dragging against the seam of your lips, before slipping inside. His hand is lifting your thigh around his waist, as his lips part from your own, eyes raking over your pretty, bitten red lips, “do you know how much I missed you?” 

“No, I don’t,” and his smile slips from his lips, as he cups your chin, “Satoru—“ 

“Even all the days I was gone, there wasn’t a second I didn’t think of you,” you waver a moment at the sadness rippling through his gaze, “I know I wasn’t there—“ his lips press a kiss to your forehead. 

“Why weren’t you?” 

And that’s when there’s a knock at the door that makes your heads snap over to stare at the door a good four or five feet from you, the shadow of feet visible through the crack at the bottom of the door, and you were sure it was your date. 

“Fuck,” you whsiper under your breath, “you have to go—“ your palms pressed flat against his chest, but Satoru doesn’t budge, “please, I have to get the—“ 

And his hand is slipping up and under your dress, hiking the material higher, “do you really want to go on your date like this, sweetheart?” His fingers graze your soaked panties, a gasp pulled from your lips, lithe fingers rubbing and pinching your clit through the thin fabric, “gonna go see him when you’re this wet?”

“Please—“ and his fingers snap the elastic of your underwear against your skin, drawing a squeal from your mouth, “fuck—“ 

“Any louder, Princess, and he might hear us,” he’s leaning down to press his forehead to yours, forcing your gaze to meet yours, “but maybe I should let him, let him know who’s the only one who can make you feel this good,” his words only make your cunt flutter, as if your body was in agreement, even if your mind was still in denial, “you’re much more honest down here, Princess, but you always were,”

Another knock as your attention is being tugged only for him to yank it back as his finger slips inside you. You’re burying your face in the crook of his neck to stifle your moans — his fingers were so much longer than yours, reaching places you could only have dreamed of — when you had dreamed of him. 

His finger squelches as he fucks you open, walls squeezing around him as your molten insides cling to his touch desperately. Small whines and pants are muffled against your hand as you clamp it over, your phone vibrating uselessly with your date’s messages inside your purse. 

“Please, Satoru let me—“ and he’s ripping your underwear, as he’s forcing your dress higher, “I have to tell him—“ 

“Tell him what?” His eyes are nearly glowing in the dim light of the fluorescents leaking in from the living room, “tell him you’d go on your date with him but you’re too busy being finger fucked by your husband?” And he’s sinking another finger into you, making your head loll back against the wall, “tell him that you’d let him fuck you in our bed, but you’re too busy letting me?” 

“Sa-toru—“ you’re biting back your whines, glancing at the door, but he’s forcing your gaze back to him, his thumb pressed against your chin, “just let me—“ 

And he’s turning you in front of the mirror near the entryway, forcing you to look at yourself — your lips kiss bitten and ruined, your dress hiked up and mussed, and underwear tugged down to your ankles. 

“Do you want him to see you like this?” His breath is hot in your ear, a soft murmur that makes your knees nearly buckle, “want him to see you how much of a mess I’ve made you?” His fingers sink into you again, a third finger with the other two. The lewd squelch of your cunt rings in your ears, your eyes catching sight of your own moans and pants in the mirror, your walls squeezing around them, “I’m the only one who gets to see you like this, sweetheart, and now you can watch too,” he’s guiding your gaze back to watch yourself, watching him knuckle deep in your sweet cunt, “gonna make you watch your tight pussy break my fingers,” he spreads his fingers inside you, letting you watch your slice drip down his fingers and wrist and splatter on the floor.

And your head falls back against his shoulder — he’s thrusting into you faster, your walls working deeper and deeper into you — fingers curling against your molten insides, until he’s finding that one spot that has your lips falling open, “I’m so—” your voice is a broken whisper, and he’s pressing a kiss to your jaw, “Please—“ 

“Cum f’me baby,” his thumb rubs at your clit, and you do, walls clamping down as you cum, his fingers relentless as they fuck you through your orgasm, a wordless moan of his name on your lips. He’s holding you up as he does, your body buckling under the pleasure, blood roaring in your ears that slowly ebbs away, as his fingers slow, and you’re shuddering under his touch, “good girl,” and your walls flutter as he pulls out as if they want him to stay, and he’s tilting your gaze, “watch,” your eyes open reluctantly, a small moan on your lips as you watch him carefully each one of his fingers clean, pink tongue darting out to lick at the trails of your juices that had dripped down his palm and wrist, “still the sweetest thing I’ve had, princess,” 

And there’s another knock, as he clicks his tongue, “Doesn’t give up does he?” and he’s pressing a kiss to your neck, “must have really done a number on him and he’s willing to wait this long for you, huh?” he hums, nuzzling the hollow of your throat, “but I can relate. So, should I let him down for you?” 

Your eyes fly open, meeting his cheeky gaze with a glare, “Don’t you fucking dare,” 

“What? You still want to go out with him? Be my guest, but,” and he’s pulling at your ruined underwear until they rip under his touch, “can’t wear these, can you?” you gape at him as he pockets the ruined panties with a shit eating grin, “for later,” and you’re scoffing, and you hear a call of your name through the door. 

And you take a better look at yourself — completely disheveled and marked up along your neck from his kisses and nips, your skin shiny with a sheen of sweat, and your lips obviously bruised and bitten from his treatment. 

“Fuck,” you can’t go out like this — it looks as if you’d spent the morning before getting ravished, panic sets in as you hear his voice through the door. 

“Want me to send him on his way?” Satoru’s hands curl around your waist, “our angel’s still fast asleep, and that means we can spend some time together—“ 

“Fuck off,” you hiss, walking over to the door, “Atsuya, I’m sorry I can’t go out today. I’m not feeling well,” 

“Eh? Are you okay? Do you need anything?” And Satoru steps forward to speak but you cover his mouth with his hand. 

“No, I’m fine, but I have the flu and I’m still contagious, so I don’t want to get you—“ Satoru drags his tongue between your fingers — this fucker, “sick,” 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay and take care of you?” Satoru’s hands are dragging over your sides, squeezing your far too sensitive hips. 

“Hear that?” Satoru’s whispering to you between the gaps of your fingers, “He wants to take care of you. Should you let him? Maybe he could fuck you better in the home we bought together and in the bed we shared,” 

“No, I’m fine, really, I-I—“ and Satoru’s sucking at your finger, tongue curling around the digit, and you grit your teeth, “I’m going to rest. I’ll text you later, I’m sorry—“ and you don’t get to hear the rest of what he says, as Satoru’s pulling your hand away, and finding your lips in another kiss. 

You hate how good this man is at kissing, his lips and touch must have the ability to leech sense from your brain, and leave lust in its place. 

“What’s wrong with you?” you mumble against his lips, as his lips burn a trail of kisses down your jaw, a smirk against your skin. 

“Nothing’s wrong with me, except that I love you,” he’s pouting again, “you think that guy could please you the way I could?” 

“No, but maybe he would actually be there,” you bite back and his kisses pause, smirk slipping into a frown. 

“I know I’ve made mistakes—“ 

You give a bitter chuckle, “Mistakes? You left us,” 

He opens and closes his mouth, “you’re right I did, and I’m sorry,” his words are slow, but so is the anger building inside you, “but I’m asking for a second chance, begging for one more chance—“ 

You finally turn to face him, and you can only hope the tears welling in your eyes weren’t noticeable, “You don’t get to beg, when I already did,” your voice finally breaks, as your clenched fist shakes, “where were you? After our daughter was born, you were gone. You kept saying you would make time for us, you would be there for us, but you just busier and busier, and the only time I’d see you were the nights you made it home to crawl into bed,” 

“I—“ 

“No, I’m tired, I’m tired of waiting and being upset, I’m so done—“ and he’s pulling you into his arms, and the familiarity of his grasp is nearly enough for your defenses to crumble, but you can’t, “Satoru” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know I did wrong. I know I don’t deserve you or our baby, not after all I did,” he’s murmuring, “but it was never because of you or her,” 

Tears spill from your eyes, streaming down your cheeks, “I used to cry, thinking that not only that I wasn’t enough, but your daughter wasn’t enough either—“ 

“You weren’t the ones that wasn’t enough,” he cuts you off, “I am,” the last words come out a whisper, as he runs fingers through his hair, “I’m the one who wasn’t good enough,” 

You stare at him, “What do you mean?” 

He’s scrubbing a hand down his face, “I don’t know how to be a husband, much less a father. I didn’t think I even wanted to be either, until I met you,” his voice softens, “and then I wanted it all if it was with you,” 

“Satoru—“ and he’s shaking his head. 

“I thought I could handle it — but when I saw you two — the two most important people in my life — how much you were counting on me, how much you needed me to not fail — I threw myself into work,” he’s swallowing, “I thought if I could support you both, things would get better. But it only made things worse because I pushed myself away,” 

“Why?”

“Because I thought I’d mess it up — I don’t know how to be a father. I didn’t even know I wanted to be a husband until we got married,” and you swallow, “I thought I never would after watching my dad neglect and abuse me and my mom,” you knit your brow together, “and there were so many nights when you were sleeping, I got so frustrated with our angel. She wouldn’t sleep, she screamed for hours, and I just felt like I had failed her. And I would just fail you too,” he scrubbed a hand down his face, “so—“  

“So you ran away,” you finish, voice caught in your throat. 

He gives a curt nod, “And when you filed, I knew it was coming, but I thought you both would be better off. I thought even if I was miserable, it would be worth it to see you two happy—“ 

“Satoru, do you think I would be happy without my husband?” Your sigh stuck in your throat as your fingers find his cheek, featherlight, but he crumbles and melts against it, as if he was a statue made to wait for your touch, “you’re nothing like your father. I see you with Satomi, I see how much you love her — you dote on her, you know what she likes — she gets a cut and you’re panicking,” you chuckle as he huffs, a cute blush settling over his cheeks, “and you were a good husband, when you talked to me and didn’t run away,” 

“I know,” and the question unspoken hangs in the air, “can I be again? Your husband,” and your instinct is to pull him into your arms, where you wanted him to be, where you always wanted to be, but your instinct is tangled in fear, barbed wire dragging you down and digging into your skin. 

“I want you to be,” his eyes light up, hope flicking across his gaze like a comet tail, until it burns out with your next words, “but I’m scared,” you swallow, arms crossed, hoping if you physically hold yourself maybe you could hold yourself together, “I don’t want to get hurt again,” 

“I won’t, I promise,” he’s cupping your cheek again, and you find yourself leaning into his touch, “every night I only thought of you and Satomi — there’s no one else that matters,” he’s drawing closer again, it makes you want nothing more than his touch again — it had been too long — too long without him. 

And your lips find his again, it’s a chaste kiss at first, a breath shared a centimeter apart, as his eyes find yours, brow furrowed, “We have a lot to talk about,” you murmur, as your lips graze his again, and he’s chasing your lips, “but it’s going to take time,” God, you want to kiss his knowing pout away, as you drag a thumb down his lips, “a lot of making up to me and our angel,” He’s nodding obediently, a complete puppy under your touch, as he shivers as your fingers run through his hair before tugging, “are you ready for that?” 

“Yes, baby,” he’s biting his lip, fingers twitching wanting to touch you. 

Your lips curl, “Good boy.” 

“All that big talk and now look at you, Toru,” Satoru’s white knuckled fingers fisted at the sheets of your shared bed, as your own fingers teased the head of his leaking cock through his boxers, “such a mess for me,” 

You kneel at the foot of your bed, settled between his thighs, and though you were on your knees, you were the one who held the power. Fingers tracing the trigger right within your grasp, his cock twitching against your hand. 

“Please, sweetheart, fuck,” he’s hissing when your lips lean down to press a kiss to his clothes weeping slit, the wet heat of your mouth seeps through, making him twitch against your touch — a spark of need that burns against his skin and boils his blood underneath with need, “please, don’t tease me,” 

“Well that’s not fair,” you hum, as your fingers toy with the elastic of his boxers, snapping the elastic against your skin, sending a shiver up his body along with an ache that reaches his bones — and he wondered how he had let your grip on him grow this deep — and how he had ever let it go when it felt this good, “when you’re being teased I’m supposed to relent, even though you made me cum downstairs in my entryway?” 

And he’s swallowing thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing just as anticipatory as the rest of his body, a bow string drawn tight just waiting for you to release it. But you wished to toy with the arrow more. 

“I have half a mind to make you clean my cum off the floor with your tongue,” you click your own tongue as a taunt, but that only makes him squirm, “but maybe I’ll spare you since you’re being so good for me,” you’re dragging your fingers down his boxers, freeing his cock— already far too hard, flushed and dripping with precum as it slaps against his stomach, the flared head nearly begging you to touch it, “tell me what you want,” his cock is far too gorgeous, you thought that from the first time you saw it  — long and curved, and the veins that ran along it were so pretty— just like the man himself. 

And a whimper escapes his lips, “sweetheart, please, touch me—“ 

“With what?” you thumb his tip lightly, smearing the cum down his shaft, “my fingers? Or my mouth,” and your lips lick the pre that clings to your thumb clean, dragging your thumb down the flat of your tongue. 

“Y-Your mouth,” and you’re smiling, your lips curling as his pretty gaze pleads with you, “please,” 

“Imagine your subordinates saw you like this, begging your ex-wife to blow you, nearly ready to blow your load already just from fingering me,” your fingers toy with his balls, while you leans down to trace the tip of his tongue up the bottom of his cock, “what do you think they’d say?” And your lips part to let his engorged tip enter, as his head falls back with a groan, the wet and warm mouth, as you start to bob your head up and down his length. 

“Fuuuuck, pretty,” and you’re pausing as you wait for a reply to your question, his own tongue tying itself in knots, “think I’m down bad for my wife,” he’s grunting, the words ‘my wife’ and his groans sending white hot arousal to your needy cunt, “think I’d let her fuck me anyway she wants and they would be right, sweets. I’d let you use me,” your tongue is wrapped around his length, as his dick sinks deeper into your mouth, nose brushing against his pubes, his hips held taut as he forces himself not to face fuck you. 

And his eyes flutter down to meet yours, only to find your eyes drowning in lust, molten with need that nearly burned him with want, lips sloppy and dripping with a mix of precum and your spit out of the corners of your mouth, and your fingers —buried deep in your cunt as you sucked him off. 

Fuck. 

With the nasty way you slurped at his length, the noise ringing in his ear as your fingers begin to squeeze and stroke his balls, he wasn’t going to last much longer. His hips bucked against your mouth, and he’s muttering apologies but you let him, moaning as his tip hits the back of your throat. 

“I’m close—where—“ and you’re sucking hard, tongue flicking against his slit and when he fucks your mouth once, twice — he’s gone. He’s cumming down your throat, hot spurts of cum painting your lips and mouth, his head falls back, fingers gripping the sheets as his eyes flutter open. And he watches you pull away from his cock, sticky strings of cum and saliva connecting you to his length still, “fuck, sweetheart,” his softening dick already twitching at the sight of you — your pretty tongue darting out to lick his cum from your lips. 

“You taste as good as I remember, Toru — always so sweet,” and you’re pulling your own fingers from inside your tight pussy, and he snaps. 

You’re on your back on the bed now, flopped down against the mattress as his hand closes around your wrist of the hand that was just inside you. Your words are lodged in your throat but come out a shiver when he brings your soaked fingers to his lips, he kisses each one before sucking and licking them clean. 

“Toru—“ and he pulls away from the last finger with a pop, eyes clouded with need, “I—“ 

“And you say I taste good?” he’s humming, as he leans over you, “wait until you taste yourself, Princess,” and his mouth is insistent on giving you an entire course of your taste on his tongue, mapping out a detailed cartography of very crook and crevice of your mouth, “aren’t you so much sweeter?” He’s pulling away from your bitten red lips, spit connecting your lips still, “and that taste is all mine, just like you, wifey,” 

The pet name sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through your veins, stoking the burning need already threatening to consume you both, “Toru—“ and he’s already stripping your dress away, pulled away up and over your head, thrown away like every thought of why this was a bad idea. Your nipples perk in the cool air of your bedroom and under his hot gaze, standing at attention as if they’re begging for his attention. And he’s more than happy to oblige. 

His fingers toy with the buds, rolling between your forefinger and thumb, until he’s bending down to take one in his mouth, and you’re arching into his touch, your fingers finding purchase on his shoulders. 

“Bet Atsuya would love to see you like this, huh?” He’s switching to the other side, teeth dragging against your nipple to draw a gasp from your lips, “Would love to see you such a mess like this, spread out and needy,” and he’s spreading you with warm palms, his half hard cock brushing against your thigh, “Were you gonna let him fuck you on this bed? Our bed?” 

He doesn’t allow you an answer as his fingers spread your dripping walls, “Gonna let him taste you like this?” His lips warm your fluttering pussy, nearly begging for his touch and to swallow you whole, “when I already said this pretty cunt was mine,” he clicks his tongue far too close, making you whine, “g’nna have to answer my question first, Princess,” 

“No, I wouldn’t,” and he presses a chaste kiss to your dripping pussy, making you whimper, your walls spasming around nothing, “Toru,” 

“Remember when we moved into this home?” his lips are teasing your inner thigh, teeth dragging against your hot skin, “we broke the bed in all night long,” he’s looking up through half lidded eyes, “think he could please you like that? Make you moan his name?” 

And you’re growing desperate as his lips draw close to your clit, tongue dragging against it, only to pull away to your thighs again, “no, no, only you, Toru, please—“ 

“Only I what?” oh you know he’s goading you, but your want is drawn taut like a stringed instrument, tweaking your strings when you’re dying for him to play you — “c’mon sweetheart,” 

“Only you make me feel this good — fuck, Toru, I swear to god—“ your head falls back into the pillow as his face buries itself in your cunt, his laugh vibrates against your walls, pleasure rising faster than smoke from a burning building. His fingers dig into your hips as he holds you in place now, settled between your legs. 

“You swear to me what?” and you swear his god complex gets worse and worse, and the way you moaned with his head between your legs wasn’t helping, “sorry, Princess, I have my mouth full,” and his tongue as silver as his words were, parting your folds with ease, as his lips slurped at your folds messily. 

Fuck, he was too good at it, and he knew it, smirk on his lips as the wet, nasty noises of his mouth wrapped around your cunt and your bordering pornographic moans filled the silence. Pleasure ribboned up your body, mixing with the sharpness of his fingers pressed against your plush thighs to keep you in place. 

“Gonna make me cum before I even fuck you, Princess,” and you hear the telltale squelch of his hand around his weeping dick — the shudder of your groan making him moan all the same, “taste so fucking good, never gonna go a night without tasting you again,” he murmurs far too reverently with his tongue dipping back into your folds for more of your juices, “you know how many times I fucked my fist to the thought of eating you out again? Never gonna spend a second without burying myself in this cunt,” 

“Toru, I’m close—“ and you are, greedy tongue flitting over your clit, his nose bumping against his folds, and the practiced ease of his touch — he knew just what to do to make you cum. And he did, his mouth closing around your clit, before sucking harshly. 

You cum on his face, swallowing your slick with the thrust of a desert weary man, his eagerness apparent on his soaked face, as you finally came down your high. He doesn’t waste a drop, only pulling away with a pop when your orgasm ebbs away, licking his lips clean of your juices. 

“Still dripping even after I licked you clean?” He clicks his tongue as he watches your slick soak the sheet, “gonna have to find another way, maybe you need something bigger,” he hums in fake contemplation, “what can we use?” 

“I have some sex toys that might do the trick,” and he scoffs, as he kisses up your body, before pressing his hard erection against your thigh. 

“Don’t think any toy you have compares to me,” and you’re gasping as he drags the head of his cock against your puffy clit, “nothing can fill you up like I can,” and he groans as he watches your releases mix, “just for that, g’nna make you beg for it,” 

“Toru,” you’re whining, but he’s only teasing your entrance with the head of his dick, your walls fluttering, already begging for him to sink into you, but he’s waiting for your mouth to do the same, “please, fuck me, I need you inside—“ 

He grins, “Well how can I deny my pretty wife when she asks so nicely?” And he’s splitting you open with his thick cock, balls deep with only a thrust of his hips. Your hands are grasping at him for purchase, needing to hold onto him as his cock stretches your walls out. It’s as if you remember him, walls sliding to accommodate him as they always did, but clinging to him desperately, a grunt parting his lips, as if they never wanted him to leave again. And you didn’t. 

“So fucking tight, Princess,” he’s groaning in your ear, a swallow roll of his hips drawing a chorus of moans from both of you, “don’t have to break my dick off to keep it — I’ll take you anytime you want,” and he’s pressing your thighs forward, slinging one over his shoulder, as he presses himself even deeper. 

A whine leaves the back of your throat, “too deep, Toru,” and his cock twitches inside you at that, “fuck,” and it takes everything in him not to blow his load there and then, 

“You love it when I fuck you like this, Princess, or do I have to remind you?” And he does, beginning to piston in and out, the lewd slaps of skin and moans filling the air of your bedroom, “be careful or our daughter might wake from the sounds of her mommy getting fucked,” he clicks his tongue, “maybe we should give her another sibling?” He’s watching the way your cunt eagerly welcomes his cock, sinking in and out with ease, “fuck another baby into you, hm? Would you like that princess?” 

“Toru, ngh,” your walls flutter at the thought of a kid, of his seed filling you up, “please—more—“ 

He gives a chuckle, “I’ll give you everything, sweetheart — fuck you so full that you’ll be dripping with my seed for days,” he’s grunting, legs trembling as his thrusts grow more sloppy as his orgasm begins to build, “fuck, you feel so good for me, “gonna give you another baby, make sure everyone knows you’re mine, my wife—“ 

“G’nna cum, Toru,” you’re falling back against the mattress, as he bends down to press a messy kiss to your lips, all tongue and teeth, before his fingers reach down to rub at your clit. Your eyes finding his, face flushed a pretty pink, eyes shrouded in a deep lust that was reserved only for you, and as he bucks into you even deeper, he brushes against that spongy spot that has the taut string snapping as you fall apart. 

“Cum on my cock, sweetheart,” he’s grunting, as he grazes teeth along your neck before biting. And you cum hard, toes curling as your mouth falls open with only moans of his name on your lips. The way your walls squeeze around him has him only rutting into you harder, deeper, messier — as he watches the ring of cum pool around the base of his cock, fucking you through your orgasm, “g’nna cum—“ and you’re pulling him into another kiss, legs wrapped around him as he falls over the edge with you. Hot cum spills in ropes inside your walls, his hips rolling as he does, if only to fuck his cum deeper inside you. 

“Toru, s’good, I—“ you’re incoherent nearly under him, soft kisses pressed along your jaw as you both come down from your highs, cock softening inside you only him to pull out, another groan of your name on his lips when he watches his cum drip from inside you, staining your thighs along with the sheets. 

And you whimper when he’s gathering his spilled cum on two fingers only to push it back inside, “can’t let you waste a drop, can we, sweetheart?” 

He’s finally pulling away, his other hand cupping your cheek, as he finds your lips in a lazy but far too sweet kiss, “Toru,” you mumble, “I never stopped loving you, because I don’t think I ever could,” 

His eyes grow glassy, his fingers finding the back of your neck, “I know nothing I’ll do will make up for what I did — to you and Satomi, but,” he presses his forehead to yours, “if you both let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you,” 

And tears burn at the corners of your eyes, “Just stay with us, and promise to never leave — that’s enough,” and your lips brush his, “you’re more than enough for us, Satoru,” and he kisses you again and again and again, nearly climbing on top of you again, when you both hear a tiny gasp from the door. 

Your heads both snap over to your baby daughter leaning against the door, badly hidden behind it, as she pokes her head in, “did mommy and daddy make up?” 

Your cheeks burn as you cover your face — you both had checked on Satomi before but she was fast asleep still, and now — you checked the time — 9:30 PM, you were sure she’d be up all night. 

“Yes baby, mommy and daddy had some stuff to talk about,” Satoru grabs your robe for you, handing it over as he pulls his discarded boxers on under the sheets, “come here,” and she squeals as she runs into her daddy’s arms, Satoru scoops her up before pressing kisses all over her face, her giggles and his grin nearly too much for you. 

“Now she’s gonna be up all night,” you murmur to Satoru, and he’s smiling. 

“I can tire her out,” he grins, and then he adds with a whisper, “and then I’ll tire you out,” and you flush, shoving him playfully, “come on, my love, let’s go play for a while and let mama rest,” and he’s sliding out of bed, carrying her out of the bedroom, and you watch him, lying on your side, with a smile on your lips.  

Maybe it wasn’t so bad having a husband — especially when it was Satoru Gojo. 

Satoru lets you and Satomi sleep in the next morning, making a smoothie for himself, as he starts to prepare breakfast. He did tire you both out last night, especially you — and you did some exhausting of your own, his fingers running over the hickies you left all over his neck and collarbone with a slight hum. He tied your apron on himself, only boxers and a sleeveless tee on. 

He started to crack eggs into a bowl with one hand. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes again — he meant what he said. He would make it up to you, or at least he would try — and he would spend the rest of his life treasuring you and his kid — and maybe another if you let him have his way, he thought, biting back a grin. 

You had turned him down last night when he asked, 

“Don’t you think it’s time we try for another one?” His arms are winding around you, half hard erection already pressing into you, as the two of you stood right outside your daughter’s doorway, watching the angel sleep, “we did do well with the first one,” 

“Toru, we just got back together, we’re not having another kid,” and he’s already pouting, you know without looking at him, “but that would be nice — for our daughter to have a sibling,” and god, it made him to take right there (which he did), but he couldn’t wait until all three of you were ready. Because he wouldn’t dare to miss a second of it — never again. 

And then a knock at the door pulls him from his thoughts, and his brow furrows. Who could it be this early?

He walks over, checking through the peephole, a grin growing on his lips, oh, perfect timing. Satoru opens the door, leaning against the doorframe, “Yes?” 

Atsuya Kusakabe frowns, jaw nearly dropping as he attempts not to gape at Satoru Gojo standing in his date’s doorway, nearly dropping the bag of medicine and soup he had packed up for you, “Uh, sorry, I was looking for—“ 

“My wife?” He raises a brow, and Kusakabe’s face blanches, as Satoru only smiles with a shrug, “sorry I should say ex-wife, we did get a divorce,” and Kusakabe’s mouth opens and closes, “but you know, she never stopped being mine,” 

Kusakabe clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck, “where is—“ 

“She’s sleeping still,” Satoru’s lips curl, as he sighs, “she wasn’t feeling well yesterday, but I think I made her feel better last night,” and he’s rubbing the back of his neck, movement drawing his attention to your marks littering his body. 

A flush crawls up his neck and ears and he clears his throat, “I-I see,” he thrusts the bag into Satoru’s hands, “could you please give this to her and let her know—“ and he’s shaking his head, rubbing at his temples, “tell her whatever you want.” 

And he’s gone, door slamming behind him, click of the lock. He holds the bag behind him, only to walk forward to see you peeking from the bedroom, his button up shirt thrown over your head, as you rub your eyes,  “who was it?” 

He only smiles at you, dropping the bag in the trash, “No one important,” and he’s finding his way to your side, arms winding around your waist, “I made us breakfast,” 

“Oh really?” You hum, as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, pressing sweet kisses that only makes you sigh contently, “what’s the occasion?” 

“Oh, just the first day of the rest of our lives, nothing too big,” he hums, and you laugh, his favorite noise that only makes him fall deeper in love with you, if that was even possible, “have to treat you right don’t I, wifey?” 

“Yes, you do,” and your lips find his again, “my husband,” and the word sticks in his chest, a missing piece that fits right back into place, and fixes a hole that had been aching for far too long, “should we go wake up our daughter?” 

He presses a kiss to your forehead, “Together.” 

✧ a/n: so i didn't think i'd finish this week with being at my sister's and having a con this weekend but i found the time! i hope you enjoyed this one. this is my reality for gojo i'm living in :) fun fact, satomi and satoru both mean enlightenment! :)

✧ taglist: @jasminelee324 , @forest-hashira , @spider-fan72 ,, @rougebrainsludge , @theshylittleelfgirl , @ririchurl , @johannakhalafalla , @hanlay , @fawnlikelore , @vickkysthings , @dead-kats , @hantaslittlearsonist t , @being-me-is-not-a-sin , @augustwinesworld , @forest-fruits-jam , @kirashuu , @catsgomurp , @daddytojji , @notgoodforlife , @hyori2 , @shrimpy109 , @goddess-ofthe-godless , @i-spilt-ink-on-my-phone , @sunamatic , @rougebrainsludge , @redmangotango , , @psychxbby , @nakariabnrb , @mua-for-now @dazailover1900 , @alwaysfreakingout , @yamaguccitadashi , @equikaz , @gojosatorubrainrot

[2024skin]

Also I may be cranky but I find it insanely frustrating that day 2 of getting billy, I told my parents how to take care of her and then they totally ignored me once I was out of the house.

And Then today I started feeding dust in the hall outside of her room to start the Jackson galaxy introduction method, and my mom came out of her room 10 minutes later to be like "I don't think it's a good idea to put his food there, you should have them eat separate" (NOT how the JG method, which I explained to her, works) because her room is within eyesight of Billy's door, so now when the dogs try to steal dusts food, she can actually See them doing that and feels obligated to stop them.

Even though no matter where I put his bowl, if either dog can reach it, they will steal from it. and they Do that every day. And I'm the only one who gets onto them. Like it's an ongoing issue but it doesn't bother her that her dogs steal food, it bothers her that She has to intervene to stop it now.

[deadsetobsessions]

Sea Cryptic! Danny AU- Pt.3

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.6] [Pt.7] [Pt.8] [Pt.9] [Pt.10]

“Aquaman.” Batman swept into the room, beelining straight for the suddenly apprehensive Atlantean king.

“Batman. What can I do for you?”

“Phantom. Does he pay taxes?”

“Pardon?”

Batman makes a low noise that had Aquaman’s danger senses buzzing.

“Does Phantom have to pay taxes. Towards Atlantis.”

“No…? Why?”

“He wanted money, in exchange for… information, of a delicate sort,” Batman said, diplomatically avoiding the topic of Phantom bargaining for the identities of corpses in exchange for a measly $100 dollars per identity. Like a flea market dealer, that one was.

“You encountered Phantom again?” Aquaman perked up.

“Yes. Gotham’s bay is… polluted.” Batman paused. “With victims. Of murder.”

The entire area quieted as heads turned towards the Dark Knight.

“Yes, I am… distantly aware of Gotham’s waters.” By that, Aquaman gets green around the gills whenever he turns his awareness in that direction. There’s a reason he doesn’t enter Gotham, and the Dark Knight’s ban is only half of that reason. “Ah, but you’re correct. For what purpose would Phantom need mortal currency?”

“Hn.”

“Maybe he needs some stuff?” Flash zipped to a stop next to Batman, feet tapping as he dug into the pile of snacks cradled in his arms. “Us mortals are always coming up with new things, maybe he wants to try some games or something?”

Batman tilted his head down, seriously considering Flash’s suggestion. “It’s plausible.”

“Barry, Barry, Barry. He’s old as hell, right? He probably wants to try the new booze!”

“Hal, my man!” Flash fist bumped Green Lantern, who came up. “You’re back! What happened to John?”

“Dunno. He got called somewhere that way,” Green Lantern waved a vague hand towards the left. “Had to deal with a politician or something from that area.” He shrugged, swinging an arm over Barry’s shoulders to put him in a headlock and stealing a chip.

“Huh. Anyways, would our mortal alcohol even work on a demi-god or something?”

“We should ask!” Hal turned towards Batman. “You should ask if he wants to go for a drink, spooky!”

“He’s a child.”

“He’s been around for more than a millennia, Bats.”

“Informational gathering, right, Hal?” Flashgot out of the headlock, quickly munching on his snacks to stop Green Lantern from stealing them.

“Totally. Yup.”

“…Fine.”

“Wait, are we just gonna ignore that Gotham’s waters are full of bodies?”

“Yes.”

——

“What?” Danny asked, mind half on the bags he’s dragging out of the water and the other half on the essay he has to submit in about four hours.

“Green Lantern wanted to invite you out for a drink.”

Danny turned to the stoic Gotham knight, who had his wrist computer out to log the bodies’ info the moment Danny gave him the information. Some of them even told Danny who murdered them, so Batman could start building cases with solid leads.

Danny’s only twenty. He’s not legal yet but he doesn’t want to give any clues to who he is. How is he supposed to…

Ah!

“Can’t.” Danny shrugged. “I’m not legal. I died when I was fourteen so…” Danny trailed off, speechless at the drowned puppy face Batman was giving him. What the fuck.

“Anyways, fork over my payment.”

Batman wordlessly hands him a wad of hundreds.

“What do you need cash for?” Batman suddenly asked.

“Huh? Isn’t it obvious?” Danny tucked it in. “Material things, obviously. I need a blanket,” because holy shit, Gotham is damn cold this time of year. “Anyways, see you same time next week, litterer.”

“I don’t litter.”

“Tell that to the batarangs I found under the water,” Danny grumbled. “But I’ll stop calling you that if you get a signature from Poison Ivy. I have a friend who loves her.”

“An alive friend?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, weatherboy?”

Danny snickered and disappeared. He’s gotta cram that essay.

——

“There’s a possibility Phantom might be homeless.”

“Batman, I mean this in the nicest way, but for the love of Atlantis, please stop giving me headaches. It’s time like these I wish I stayed a lighthouse keeper.”

[torubeth]

degradation taken too far (mature content 18+)

context/warnings : it’s smut, so kids shoo! hell of a lot of degradation. they’re so mean i hate them. (swearing, words used : slut and slutty) angst to i have no idea what. pls do lmk if i missed any tws. and as always, its not proofread :p gojo ver.

ryomen sukuna ‘is that all you can do? all your yapping earlier about ridin’ me was just talks? answer me’ his sudden shift in demeanour has you feeling really small. sure he is a rude ass prick but not to you. never to you.

‘no- i can take it. i really can ryo’ tears sting at your eyes as you struggle to take in his full length. his hands giving your waist a small squeeze.

‘yeah and that’s all you’ve been saying for the past goddamn fifteen minutes. either you take it like a good girl or i’ll just have to find someone who will. trust me, i can’ he eyes held no remorse of the words he just spewed and that’s when you break.

correction, you shatter.

somewhere in the back of your head you knew he’ll never leave you but him wording it out makes it seem like it’s bound to happen.

and so tears stroll down your cheeks, your hands and legs giving out on you, your body going limp against his and you whisper the same thing over and over again.

‘don’t leave me ryo. i’m sorry. didn’t mean to upset you. i’m so sorry. don’t leave’

quickly his arms wrap around your body protectively, your face between his shoulder blade and neck, wetting the area with fresh batch of tears.

‘i could never leave you. you’re-’ you’re it for me. ‘you’re always the one that keeps me sane. there’s no way i’ll ever leave you. i’m sorry baby, forgive me. i didn’t mean a word of what i said’ he says.

when he didn’t get a response from you ‘look at me’ he whispers. slowly you leave the comfort of his neck and meet his eyes.

‘i didn’t mean it. you could leave me on deathbed and i still wouldn’t mean it’

‘i can’t leave you ryo. i love you way too much’ you sniffle, new tears threatening to spill so you go back to huddle against his neck.

god. he knows you mean it. and that’s what makes him feel like a dickhead.

‘me too, i- i lo-’ he struggles, just as your palm reaches up to cover his mouth.

‘i know ryo, i know’ you whisper, placing your forehead against his, both of you basking in the quietness of the surrounding.

geto suguru ‘fuckin-! ah shit! some insane grip you have on me baby. can’t move if you clench and lock me up like that’ he smirks against your neck.

‘and a bit quiet today ain’t ya? you sure had a lot to say to satoru earlier heh’ he remarks.

‘we were just catching up suguru, nothing-! nothing more’ you whine.

‘catching up you say? does catching up require smiles and touches? do they angel baby?’ he raises his eyebrows.

‘no..’ you avert your eyes away from his.

‘that’s what i thought. so for that, now you pay’ he pulls out suddenly, and pushes all the way back in making you yelp out loud.

‘sugu! ah fuck, i don’t think i can go another round baby. s’too much!’ the pressure was starting to get to you and you were starting to lose stability.

‘hah, i know you can baby, this slutty pussy’s all you’re good for anyway. fuck, doesn’t matter whose it is, as long as you’re filled. am i right?’ his words pierced straight through your heart.

since when did he-?

out of reflex, your hands reach out to touch his face to make sure that this was a dream nightmare. otherwise there’s no way he-

‘don’t touch me with those filthy hands’ he spits but makes no effort to push your hand off.

‘do you really think that’s all i’m good for?’ your voice is soft, filled with pain, and suddenly it’s like he’s broken out of his trance.

what the fuck am i doing, he thought.

slowly he pulls out, all whilst holding your hand against his cheek.

‘absolutely not. no. fuck, did not mean it angel. i promise. i- i don’t know what came over me-! didn’t mean it. please i’m sorry. next time if i ever lose my shit with you, i want you to take the nearest sharp object and plunge it into my chest’ he heaves out a guttural sigh.

‘you were really mean you know..’ you wipe your eyes.

‘i know baby, fuck. i didn’t mean it. i did not mean it. i’ll never do it again princess, ever’ he repeats.

his face lands on your chest, thanking all the gods and the stars out there for giving him another chance.

he’ll never screw up again and that’s a promise.

nanami kento ‘you really couldn’t wait for a few hours? just had to go and think with your cunt, right? have you no- ugh! no shame?’ his thrusts were sloppy as his hands were placed around your hips.

‘kento- slow down baby, i- i don’t think i can last’ you whine, hands clutching at the sheets.

‘no. you asked for this you little slut. so shut. the. fuck. up. and take it!’ each syllable was accompanied by a harsh thrust.

the usually composed, sweet and calm nanami was nowhere to be found. he’s never once called you a ‘slut’ and what caused this? you rubbing him through his pants and riling him up at his office dinner earlier tonight.

he warned you off multiple times but did you listen? no.

‘why are you so quiet now? i thought this is what you wanted’ his voice comes out raspy and cold.

a quiet but audible whimper escaped your lips, making him halt his actions.

slowly he pulled out, gently laying you on your back as your body shook with each sob.

‘sweetheart…? why are you…’

you look up at him, eyes puffy and swolllen ‘i’m sorry kento, it’s just that, you’re never home these days and i missed you so much’ a cry that’s sure to crack his heart leaves your lips.

‘i just wanted you all to myself for tonight but i didn’t mean to be a bother-’

his warm body hovers over yours, ‘you’re never a bother baby. always know that. you will always be at the top of every and any list i make. there’s nothing more i want than coming home to you everyday after work. and i didn’t mean to lash out at you. you didn’t deserve that, i’m sorry’ he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead.

‘you will always have me sweetheart, never forget that. now let me make it up to you yeah?’

[moondirti]

can i say something crazy? cw: piss. nasty stuff

simon who has absolutely no respect for his bird's privacy.

comes back home from work; all sweaty and churlish and dour, soot caked on his face and hands, welder boots announcing his arrival in heavy, lazy footsteps. he doesn't call for you, but your gentle hey babe sounds from the bathroom anyway, half-distracted by the videos on your phone. the idea of you coddled at home since he left at dawn that morning — cushioned in bed until late, one hand in a bowl of cherries on ice that still drips condensation over your nightstand, the other pushing a new record for screen time on tiktok, the lengths of your legs all soft, bitten, exposed in set of flimsy shorts, cooled by the fan overhead, all ready evidence to why he puts up with as much shit as he does — drives him a little mad to think about. stokes a hunger in him, a mix of pride and masculinity and possessiveness that has him pushing into the room. despite the fact that his needs aren't urgent, not pressing enough to justify this.

this — standing right before you, so that your manicured toes kiss his leather soles. saying nothing as he unbuckles his belt, gruff, quiet, completely uninterested in addressing your concerns when you look up at him with those squinted eyes. it isn't above simon to make you suck him off while you're on the toilet, and really you wouldn't mind, but you get the sense that isn't what this is when he knocks your legs apart with his knees. little fuss to the action, little reaction to your spread pussy.

his cock bounces out about eye level with you. soft. nonetheless hefty and thick and large, bowing down even as he wraps a rough palm around its base. he can see the revelation find you in real time when he places his free hand on the wall behind you. the cresting arch of your brows. the grimace mangling your cheeks. the prissy pout of your lips. if he weren't so exhausted, he might have it in him to take your face right there. it's just the right combination of horror and fascination to get him going.

"simon noooo," you whine, throwing your phone somewhere, scrambling back until you can't anymore, porcelain tank pressing flush to your back. "just wait your turn. please!"

"'nuff of tha'. shush now." he huffs, chuckling a bit when he realises that you only made things worse for yourself by leaning away. your hips now jut out, cunt propped centre of the bowl.

there's no shyness, no stall on the release. his piss comes out in one, hot stream, washing right on target to hit your little clit. you shake your head, so disgusted with him he knows he'll have to make it up later. still, you do nothing to discourage it, sitting in place like a good pet, only occasionally tensing your legs against the steaming shower. some splashes on your belly, some on your thighs and the rim, yet it's never ending. you wonder if he planned this all day, held in the four cans of san pellegrino you packed for his lunch, just so he could give them back to you.

you just don't realise that not all of it is his.

"sad t'be missin' out on th' fun?" simon mocks, finally pulling away. he shakes the last of it off his cock, swiping a hand over his tip, before tucking himself back in. you blink, look down, and realise that somewhere along the lines, you started peeing too.

and have yet to stop.

"it's natural!" you wail, squeezing your pelvis floor in a last ditch attempt to save your dignity. it's no use. having started, it's near impossible to stop. your necks discovers a new type of heat in the humiliation, burn licking its way up your face. your ears tuck into your shoulder.

"yeah, yeah." he patiently waits for you to finish, cupping a hand under your elbow to keep you upright as you stand on fawn legs. his lips are paper thin, fleeting, when they press fondly to your temple. "now off to th' shower w'ya."

your nose crinkles. "you know you need one more than i do, right?"

"and wha's a shared bath?"