#wooo first fic!

[vampiefemme]

𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 | 𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

description: you’ve been getting closer to ellie lately and, unbeknownst to you, your blossoming crush is entirely reciprocated. cue your first smoke sesh together… and a little something more, too. [modern au, ellie and reader are both over 18]

warnings: weed use, oral sex, fingering. this fic is 18+, minors do not interact.

author’s note: my first ellie fic and my first fic on this blog! pls be nice :) let me know what you think <3

The first few times you hung out with Ellie, she’d offered you a joint. It’s no secret that Ellie’s the town’s top dealer, a welcome sight at rowdy house parties, her backpack stuffed with ziplock bags of the best bud around. You’d tried weed before, had taken a puff or two from poorly-rolled blunts here and there, but you’d never particularly enjoyed it. Mostly, you’d just coughed up a lung and felt nothing but a vague lightheadedness. So when Ellie rolled up a joint the first time you’d come over to her place, offering you a drag after she’d sparked up, you’d politely declined.

Ellie had arched a brow. “You mind if I smoke? Shit - I can put it out.”

Before you’d had the chance to respond, she was already reaching for the ashtray on her nightstand, ceramic and painted to resemble an eight-ball.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you interjected, reaching out and touching her wrist almost involuntarily. You pushed down the flurry of butterflies that erupted in your stomach at the contact. God, you had to be touch-starved or something. Since when did touching someone’s arm make your heart skip a beat?

Ellie looked at you with a guarded kind of suspicion, like she didn’t believe that you were fine with her smoking. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” you said, lips curling into an encouraging smile. “I don’t mind weed, it just doesn’t do anything for me.”

“Huh.” Ellie nodded. She lifted the joint to her lips again and you glanced away, chest tightening from the sight of her lips pursing.

“If you ever wanna try again,” she paused to exhale a plume of smoke, intentionally avoiding your direction, “let me know. Not to, like, toot my own horn or anything, but I’ve never had someone try my weed and not like it.”

You let out an easy laugh. “Okay, we’ll have to see about that.”

Ellie was smiling at you, those green eyes twinkling like so many stars. “No pressure.”

That was months ago, when the summer heat still blazed from sunrise to sunset. It’s mid-winter now, the chill nipping at your cheeks and the end of your nose. To your agony, it hasn’t gotten any easier to breathe when you touch Ellie - when she greets you with a hug and a smile at her front door, you feel like you’re paralyzed with want. And Ellie’s probably none the wiser, of course. You wonder if she’s ever noticed the way your breath hitches when she stretches out on the couch beside you, leaning her head on your shoulder while some tacky eighties film lights up the television screen. You figure she’s oblivious - she’s just being friendly. She probably doesn’t even know you like girls, anyway. Plus, she doesn’t shy away from talking about the girls she’s been with before. You’ve spent more than a few nights seething with jealousy as she recounted her latest hookup, schooling your expression into one of disinterest or even mild enthusiasm.

It’s been a while since she’s talked like that, luckily. You’re grateful you don’t have to feign excitement about Ellie’s latest conquests anymore.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Ellie interrupts your internal monologue, hands still working at the joint in her lap. She’s got a pile of ground-up weed on a rolling tray, sprinkling it into the perfectly-rolled cone like it’s muscle memory. It probably is.

“Nothing,” you blurt, cheeks warming. “Sorry, just zoned out for a second.”

“Oh, bullshit,” Ellie quips, rolling her eyes despite the smile playing at her lips. “What, you can’t tell me? I thought we were friends, cherry.”

You flush anew at the nickname. She’d picked it out for you after you’d scarfed down an entire jar of maraschino cherries one night, after Ellie had bought them for ice cream sundaes. You’d never live that down… But you’re not sure you want to, because every time the nickname leaves Ellie’s lips, you feel like you’re glowing bright red with admiration.

“We are friends!” You nudge Ellie’s shoulder with yours, rolling your eyes with that same playfulness she’d expressed. “Sorry, it’s just - it’s embarrassing.”

Ellie narrows her eyes. It’s like you can see the cogs turning in her head. “Embarrassing? What, you got a crush on some guy or something?”

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can, she’s prattling on again. “Y’know, just ‘cause I’m gay doesn’t mean you can’t talk to me about your crushes. Swear I won’t be weird about it.”

Oh god.

“It’s not - I’m not…” You sigh, gaze lowering to your lap, where you’re fiddling with your hands. Should you tell her? You should probably tell her.

“I like girls, you know.”

It’s quiet for so long that you need to look up at Ellie to make sure she’s still there, still listening. And she is; her eyes are glued to you, wide in disbelief.

“What?” You feel like a bug under a microscope with her looking at you like that. “Is it that hard to believe?”

Ellie shakes her head emphatically. “No, no - it’s not. I just didn’t expect that.”

She turns away to finish rolling the joint, twisting the very end of the paper until it forms a little point. “Guess you’re just full of surprises, huh, cherry?”

You bite your lip to stifle a smile, but Ellie sees it anyway.

“So who’s the lucky girl?” She asks, rummaging through her pocket until she finds her lighter. You watch Ellie spark the joint, the twisted end catching fire until the cherry starts to glow. Ellie takes a few puffs and the scent of smoke tickles your nose.

“I’d prefer not to say,” you tell her, chewing on the inside of your lip. Your nerves are off the wall; you’re so anxious that the joint in Ellie’s slender fingers is suddenly tempting.

Ellie scoffs. “Boring.”

She looks up at you as she flicks ash off the end of the joint, and when she notices you eyeing it, her brows lift.

“Want some? Will that make you spill?”

You huff a nervous laugh, toying with the ends of your hair. “No… I don’t know. Maybe?”

Ellie whoops, her free hand curling into a fist of victory. “Fuck yeah. Here, take it.”

She offers you the joint and you take it, but not without a moment or two of hesitation. You will the anxiety away with the thought that you probably won’t feel anything. Ellie watches as you bring the joint to your lips and inhale, praying you won’t cough and make a fool of yourself. Especially not with Ellie watching so intently.

By the grace of some kind of divine being, you don’t cough. Your throat tickles, and you feel emboldened to take one more hit, letting the smoke fill your lungs. You imagine your body relaxing, the knot in your stomach unwinding. You hand the joint back to Ellie and she takes a puff of her own, her lips curled into the faintest little smirk.

“So…” Ellie trails off expectantly.

“God, you’re persistent,” you groan. She just peers at you knowingly from behind a veil of smoke.

“There’s not much to tell,” you say. “I’ve had a crush on this girl for a while now, but I don’t think she feels the same.”

“Have you asked her?” Ellie prompts, flicking ash off the joint.

You shake your head. “No way.”

“Then,” Ellie pauses to take another hit, “how do you know she doesn’t feel the same?”

You should be feeling anxious with her drilling you like this - you know you should. Usually, you’d be retreating into yourself with every prodding question Ellie asks. But all you feel now is yearning; there’s an ache in your chest that only she can remedy. And, clearly, Ellie’s clueless about it.

You don’t want her to be clueless, you realize.

The words leave your lips before you can think better of them. “Do you, Ellie?”

Her brows knit together, forming a crease that you’ve memorized by now - like every other freckle and wrinkle on her face. “Huh? Do I what?”

You reach for the joint and she yields it without question.

“Do you feel the same about me?”

The weed has certainly helped with your nerves, you think, watching Ellie’s expression shift from confusion to realization. Her plush lips part, but all that comes out is a series of stammers and false sentence starts: “I—you—what?”

Fuck it, you think. You stretch out to reach the nightstand beside Ellie’s bed, leaving the joint in one of the ashtray’s notches. A steady stream of smoke ribbons upward from the fading cherry.

“Ellie,” you start, settling back into your place on the rug. You look at her to find her already staring at you, blinking. “It’s you. I have a crush on you. It’s been—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ellie interjects, voice softer than you’d expected.

You blink. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, I guess. And you always talked about other girls, so I thought you just… Weren’t interested.”

“Cherry.” Ellie sits up on her knees so she can get closer to you, the sleeves of her oversized flannel slipping down to her forearms as she reaches out and grabs your face. Her touch is gentle but firm, insistent. You can feel the callouses on her fingers against your skin, her thumbs brushing up against your cheekbones, and the air is suddenly so thin you can hardly inhale.

“I have… I’ve had feelings for you for so long. So fucking long, cherry.” Ellie’s gaze is intense, eyes boring into you. You feel exposed, raw, alive with something electric.

You stare right back at her, frozen in her grasp.

“But you were always talking about other girls,” you say. Doubt lingers in the back of your head; this is too good to be true. Right?

“I know, fuck, I’m sorry,” Ellie sighs. “I thought you weren’t interested in me. Thought it was hopeless, y’know? My perfect best friend having feelings for me? Unreal.”

One of Ellie’s hands smooths over your hair; it’s something she’s done plenty of times before, but it feels different now. More intimate, with your shared confessions between you.

“Wanna know something?” Ellie asks then plows on, not really waiting for an answer, “I stopped hooking up with other girls a while ago. I just… Couldn’t.”

You nod in understanding. Your eyelids feel heavy all of the sudden, each blink heavier than the last.

“They weren’t you,” Ellie adds.

They weren’t you, her words echo in your mind.

“Ellie,” you breathe. Her face is impossibly close; you can pick out every detail of her face. Each pore, each freckle, each fleck of brown in her green eyes. You can smell the weed smoke on her breath.

“Cherry,” she responds, voice hushed just as low as yours. “Cherry. Can I kiss you?”

“God, yes,” you practically whine.

When Ellie kisses you for the first time, she tastes like relief.

Her lips are soft and insistent against yours, the pad of her thumb warm against your cheek as you lean in closer to kiss her back. It’s like time has gone still; the hum of the speaker on Ellie’s dresser fades away, as does the sound of the winter winds hissing and whooshing against the window. All you know is Ellie: her hand slipping down the length of your back to grab your hip, her mouth hot and needy against yours. It’s a desperate sort of kiss, one that you’d both been yearning for, and months of pining drain from your mouth to hers, then back again.

You’re not sure if you’d been kissing for seconds or hours when Ellie finally breaks away, gasping.

“Fuck,” she whispers. The tip of her nose brushes against your cheek, then your nose. “We should stop, before I…”

She trails off but you know exactly what she’d left unsaid. And your stomach flips in response; the mere thought of what else Ellie might do with her mouth has your cunt throbbing.

Ellie’s hand leaves your hip and it’s like she’s left a burn there - one shaped like her touch, a scathing outline on your skin.

“I don’t want to stop,” you find the courage to admit.

You’re not sure who makes the first move this time - only that you’re kissing again, swallowing Ellie’s pleased moans as your tongue prods between her lips. You gasp and pant into each other’s mouths, hands roaming on newly discovered skin; Ellie’s hands slip beneath your tee, her palms hot against your abdomen, your hips, your lower back. When her fingers find the clasp of your bra and unfasten it, you practically shiver with anticipation, back arching into her touch.

“Whoa there,” Ellie laughs, nudging her nose against yours. You go in for another kiss, annoyed that she’d stopped, but she pulls back. “You’re sure you want this, cherry?”

“Please,” you say, taking advantage of the moment to pull your shirt over your head and set it aside. You toss your bra into the growing pile, turning back to Ellie to find her gaping at you.

“Christ,” she says, licking her lips, “you’re fucking perfect.”

She gives you one last heated kiss before her mouth moves to your jawline, then the column of your neck, where she leaves a trail of wet kisses. She sucks on a spot right on the crook of your neck, just shy of leaving a hickey, and your toes fucking curl.

Ellie only gives a low hum of approval at your reaction before she’s moving lower, lower. Her kisses cover your breasts, every inch of skin worshipped by her lips until she finally takes a peaked nipple into her mouth. You feel her tongue swirl against the sensitive bud and you nearly cry from the pleasure, one hand flying up to knot into her hair and tug.

Her gaze moves up to meet yours, and your cunt tightens again at the look of unbridled desire in her eyes - her lids are heavy, too, but you can’t tell if it’s from the weed or sheer lust. Maybe both, you’re not sure, but you don’t have much time to consider it before Ellie’s moving to your other nipple, tongue laving against the taut flesh before she closes her mouth around it and sucks. A ragged moan tears from your throat and you tense, tugging again at the locks of Ellie’s hair in your fist.

She leaves your nipples flushed and sensitive, shining with saliva, and you’re suddenly very aware of the layers of clothes separating you from her. Separating the wetness of your cunt from hers, the bony curve of her hips from your needy mouth. You need those layers gone.

“Ellie,” you whine, pulling at the collar of her flannel.

“Shh, I know,” she coos, voice dripping with syrupy sweet lust. “Why don’t you get on the bed for me, hm?”

You nod and oblige, but not without stopping to slip out of your jeans. You leave your panties on because, well, they’re cute. A white lace thong with a tiny, silky pink bow just below your navel - Ellie’s eyes linger there as she stands at the edge of the bed, unbuckling her belt and stepping out of her cargos. You can feel the wet patch on your panties as you press your thighs together and watch her undress. She’s always been on the thinner side, but as she slides off her flannel and pulls her sports bra over her head, you realize that she’s much more toned than you’d imagined. Her arms flex with each movement and her abdomen is clearly taut with muscle; every inch of new skin she reveals only adds to the agonizing desire churning in your stomach.

Luckily, she seems just as eager as you are. She’s still in a pair of oversized plaid boxers when she grabs hold of your hips and yanks you toward the edge of the bed, pulling your knees apart so she can see what’s between them.

“Look at you,” she says, eyes wide at the sight of your soaked panties. “I didn’t realize you were so needy, cherry. Should’ve let me take care of you sooner.”

Her words send another gush of arousal flooding from your cunt, your stomach twisting. “‘M sorry, Ellie.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she says, lowering herself onto her knees before you. Her fingers hook beneath the lace of your panties to pull them down, leaving them in a crumpled heap on the rug.

Her face sinks between your legs, and the first stroke of her tongue against your folds makes you shiver with relief.

“Oh my god,” you gasp. Ellie moans against your pussy, tongue splitting through your folds, spreading your wetness with every swipe and lick. Your back arches involuntarily, your toes curling in sheer pleasure.

She laps at your cunt like a woman starving, hot tongue drawing circles around your puffy clit. It’s maddening, the way she knows exactly what you need, speeding up and slowing down in accordance with your moans and sighs and whimpers. You’ve never felt so close so quickly, but you don’t want it to stop - her mouth is magic between your legs, and as you hurtle towards your orgasm, she slips a finger into your clenching hole. You nearly scream.

“Ellie,” you moan shakily, your thighs tightening on both sides of her head. “Ellie, I’m gonna…”

She just moans again, mouth working at your clit while her finger sinks in and out of your cunt. She adds another not long after and it’s hardly a stretch with how wet you are. You’re trembling with every stroke of her tongue against your clit, and soon enough, you feel yourself slipping off the edge into oblivion. Your orgasm tears through you like never before, hot and electric, every muscle tensing as Ellie finger-fucks you through every wave of pleasure. Eventually, you push the heel of your hand against her forehead, too overstimulated for her to keep sucking at your too-sensitive clit. She pulls back and sits on her heels, fingers leaving the tight grip of your cunt as she wipes her mouth with her other hand. Your slick covers her from the nose down, the shining evidence of how good she’d made you feel.

“So fucking pretty when you come,” Ellie tells you, standing up and lifting a knee onto the bed beside you. Her hair is a mess, you’d made sure of it, but she doesn’t seem to notice or care.

“Think you’ve got a few more for me?” She smiles at you, wolfish and wicked, and her hand moves to grope at one of your tits.

“Mm,” you hum, reaching out for her. “Only if you have a few for me.”

When she’s close enough, you slip your hand between Ellie’s legs, your fingers brushing through sparse curls to find the heat of her folds. She’s soaked, you realize with self-satisfaction, your tongue swiping over your lower lip.

This will be fun.

[jadeoru]

LOVER, PLEASE STAY.

𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓: satoru gojo, ����𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: reader.

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄: fluff, comfort -- wc: 3k

𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓: being the strongest has an indescribable amount of pros, but it's outweighed by its cons. with such an honor, satoru finds himself unable to open up to you; thinking it would make him weak.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒: fem!reader (gojo refers to u as gf) hurt/comfort, this is sad :[, pet names (baby, pretty, etc), crying (gojo), gojo being a dumbass and not communicating his feelings, kissing, poor gojo just wants a peaceful life with his gf, probably (definitely) ooc, overall just comfort bc I'm GRIEVING and he needs a hug i think a hug could fix him

you always felt safe when you were with satoru. no matter where you were, or what he was doing, if you called him he’d be there in seconds. maybe it was because he was the strongest, or maybe it was because he truly cared, but you always felt at ease around him. you could tell him anything with no fear of being judged (well, even just teased a little bit). regardless, he was always there for you, and you were so caught up in how he always checked in on you; always making sure you were okay, that you forgot to ask him the same. it wasn’t until when suguru geto left that you realised that beneath it all, satoru gojo was a really fragile man; your realisation solidified when you found him like this. you came home from work earlier than usual, opening the door with exhausted gratitude to finally be home, but, you were greeted with silence. huh. usually, when you got home you were bombarded with affection from the moment you stepped inside; barely one step through the door and he was at your heel like a dog that had been waiting for its owner to return. but now was different. It was eerily quiet compared to every other day. was he even home?

“satoru?” you called out into the hallway, it lingered in the air, until it faded out with no response. ‘weird, maybe he’s asleep or something.’ - it’s a stupid thought, considering how at this time, he’s usually (always) going through/recovering from a huge sugar rush, but it was the only thought that made sense. you took your coat off and placed it on the coat rack, quickly discarding your shoes and placing your bag on the counter before beginning the hunt for your boyfriend.

as you went from room to room, hallway to hallway, you couldn’t help but notice the unsettling feeling of emptiness that replaced his absence. as your search dragged on, you struggled to adjust to the growing pit in your stomach. did someone get him? no. there’s no way. he’s the strongest. you shouldn’t have to worry about that; he said so himself. but, still, you couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that maybe something did happen. you were so caught up in your thoughts, you almost missed the sound that came from your shared bedroom. almost. it stopped you dead in your tracks; prompting you to quietly make your way to the source of the sound; pressing your ear against the door.  that’s when you heard it again. a quiet; muffled noise. it sounded like sniffling. you almost crashed through the door and face-planted into the carpet when you realised what was happening. was he crying? your hands hesitated around the doorknob, before pulling it open. luckily, you regained your composure the moment the door flung open.

there he was: sitting on the edge of your shared bed, his hands gripping the bedsheets with some sort of desperation; a futile way of grounding himself. his head was down, looking at his knees. almost instantly, his head snapped back to yours. if it weren’t for the blindfold obscuring half of his face, you could’ve probably identified what was happening. or at least, you would’ve gotten a brief idea. for now, all you had was a theory; a thought, that maybe, just maybe, your boyfriend was crying. but how could you make sure of it? hell, you’re talking about satoru gojo; the most stubborn man alive. out of all the years you’d known him, never once had he opened up to you; let alone expressed feeling anything about being even the tiniest bit weak.

“you’re home early.” his voice interrupted your thoughts. it wasn’t as enthusiastic as it usually was, most signs of genuine joy were nowhere to be heard; instead it was laced with faux-optimism. shutting the door behind you, you walked towards the bed and took a seat next to him -taking note of how he didn’t attempt to get his usual ‘welcome home kiss’. while, yes, it’s strange, satoru always made sure to kiss you whenever you got home. treating the act as if it were some sort of ritual, or tradition. but now? he didn’t even try. yeah, he was looking at you, and smiling-(fakely), but there was no way he was actually happy. “yeah, my boss finally freed me from my office. he was complaining about always letting me off early, but i was too busy packing my things and getting the hell outta there to listen.” you chuckled, trying to lighten his mood, even if only by a bit. “yeah? old man finally stopped making you his personal servant?” his voice sounded weak, as if the act of speaking was one of the hardest difficulties he had to endure. you nodded, “yeah, finally.” the room fell silent after you spoke. you could hear the cars driving by outside, and the rain pattering against the window, dancing rhythmically in the air.  there was nothing else to be said. it was unsettling, if anything. silence was something long forgotten when in his presence. you almost had to double check to make sure that was actually satoru beside you, and not some sort of alien. the situation was so… awkward? conversation was attempted, but it didn’t flow as easily as it always did. it was so unlike him, and it was tearing you apart from the inside. your heart panged with distress; slowly unravelling from within you. there was no denying it anymore, the man that sat beside you, who suddenly found staring at the blank wall very interesting, (or at least, in that direction. - blindfold, and whatnot) your satoru, needed help.

and now, you accepted the task that was getting satoru gojo to open up about his emotions. you shifted in your side of the bed, fiddling with your fingers as you searched for something to say, silently hoping that the right words would come to you if you tried hard enough. "you okay?” - not the most poetic and comforting thing, but it was tried and true. “ you know you can talk to me about anything, right?" you asked, your voice soft and caring; each word laced with pure love. he chuckled, "what makes you say that?" he asked, blissfully unaware of how obvious he was being. you noted how he avoided your gaze, instead continuing to focus on the wall in front of you. "you've just been acting a bit distant lately, and you seem upset. I know how you hate talking about your feelings and stuff.. but I've just been worried." you said, leaning into his shoulder. he smiled, without a trace of cockiness. "I'm fine, pretty. you don't need to worry about me - you never do." he added the last part with a bit of hesitancy. because, deep down he knew he was lying. he was lying to you, and to himself. he knew he should open up to you. he knew that if he did, you'd be there for him, supporting him with open arms. but he was scared, petrified. he didnt even know why. it was as if the act of letting out each feeling and thought, releasing the growing balloon of responsibility and insecurity into the open air, would enervate him; make him weak. he was washed away by a wave of shame. if he wasn't constantly the strongest, the bravest, never sad, never worried, perfect boyfriend, then who was? who would take his place? there was something about opening up to you that made him feel weak. like, if he let his confident, fearless facade down, you would turn your head away in disgust.

he knew that he needed help. but the act of letting out each and every vulnerability that he held delicately within him was bordering the line of impossible. he clung onto his title as ‘the strongest’, as if it were the one thing that defined him.

"satoru." you almost whispered, "not a single person on earth lives their life without a voice in their head bringing them down." you began. your hand slid across the white bedsheets until it met with his; resting your hand on top of his. "feeling sad doesn't alienate you from others. it's a normal thing. 

you slowly hovered your other hand above his face, nervously, before you pulled his blindfold down. his eyes were as enchanting as they had always been, but now, they were decorated with tears.

you were right, he was crying. although this was exactly what you had expected to see, the reality was a lot harder to process than you thought.

shockingly enough, that was the first time you had ever seen him cry.

behind the teasing and flirting, all the cocky, boastful comments, was a man full of fear. while, yes, being the strongest had its perks, it was outweighed by an indescribable number of cons; because of his status as the strongest, he always had a bunch of expectations that he had to meet at all times. perfect people couldn't have flaws - that's why they were perfect. he also had to deal with the fact that due to his role in life, eyes on him at all times, you were the second target. when being tasked with the goal of taking down the satoru gojo, their target was always either him or you. everyone with common sense could see how much you meant to him, which meant you would also fall victim to the attempts of taking down the honoured one. he hated it; how he never had a say in the matter - how he was born into greatness. all he wanted was a quiet, safe life with you; a goal he could never reach. it's not like he regrets dating you, it’s just that he hated to have to put you through this.

his cheeks shimmered from the wetness pooling around his eyes, a sight so unlikely you felt overwhelmed by sympathy. it hurt you, both physically and mentally, to see him like this. you felt ashamed of how you hadn’t questioned him sooner, that you hadn’t helped to put the problem at ease before it got out of hand. without saying a word, you scooted closer to him, and pulled him into your chest. he remained perfectly still at the action. the hand that was on his own quickly moved to his hair, running your fingers through it just the way he liked it, the way only you knew how to do. 

“even if you don’t wanna talk, i’m here for you, ‘toru.” the tone of your voice was similar to that of honey; a syrupy sweet kindness, that gojo was sure would rot his teeth if he had too much, but he had a sweet tooth unlike no other.“- i just want you to know that it would be so much easier if you let me know what was going on in that pretty head of yours.” you continued. he nodded, knowing that you were right. he nudged himself closer to you, burying his face into your chest, once again concealing the sadness he had spiralled into. “take all the time you need, ‘toru. i’m not going anywhere.” if that wasn’t enough support, you continued, “even if we stay like this till the sun comes up, if you still aren’t ready to talk, i’ll keep waiting.” you pressed a kiss to the top of his head, to which he let out a strange choking sort of sound in response. It sounded like an exasperated chuckle. “what did i do to deserve you.” he muttered, turning his head as he spoke so his words weren’t muffled by your chest. you held him even tighter, if that was even possible. with a smile as soft as your hold on him, you burrowed your face in his hair, mumbling a quiet “i love you,” which didn’t  land on empty ears. he heard every word, and clung to each syllable that left your lips like they were a lifeboat, and he was lost at sea. you scooped him up like an angel and he found himself replaying those three words over and over again in his mind. he realised that, despite his strength, you made him the strongest. your constant love and support, like water to a plant, helps him achieve his full potential. how could he ever repay you for all that you do to him? 

you hear fabric rustling as he shifts around, tilting his head to the side yet again. “i’ll do anything for you , so… um.. promise me that.. you’ll always stay..” he hesitated. saying those words out loud made him painfully aware of how utterly pathetic he was being. A moment of brief silence passed, and then he continued, “i’ll always be here to keep you safe.. I-. i’ll kill for you if i have to… just please.. please don’t leave me.” his voice cracked at the end of his sentence.

you wanted to speak up, to individually pluck all of these fears from his mind, to allow him to live freely, without carrying the weight of guilt that follows him everywhere; a looming shadow that never seems to leave him no matter how much good he does, or how much evil he removes from the world - none of that can fight away the burden of superiority; the cold, lonely view from the summit. he watches non-sorcerers living their normal lives every day, and behind the blindfold of arrogance that he wears with pride, he’s jealous of them. that’s all he wants in life. - a normal one. despite them being the reason he existed, what he lived to fight, he found that he, himself was the true curse. he was chained to sorcery whether he wanted to be or not. he could never quit, he was needed. he is the best. he saves thousands of people constantly, and does (mostly) nothing but good. and yet, nothing he does will ever bring back his friends - he knows that. but god, he has tried everything to move on.

he continues speaking, a low chuckle leaving his throat. “i’m being really pathetic right now huh? so much for being the stronges-” you cut him off abruptly, your eyes matched his now; glassy and decorated with tears. “satoru.” you began, gently cupping his chin and tilting it upwards, holding eye contact with him. “quit it with that ‘strongest’ bullshit. you have a name. a beautiful name, and you have an incredible personality, and you care for others more than you’d like to admit. having incredible power is just another addition to what makes you such a wonderful person. stop clinging to the title as if it’s a shackle, it’s just another layer to the sweet cake that makes up satoru gojo - and everyone loves cake!”  you flashed a dorky smile at him, cupping his cheek with your hands. he remained speechless, staring into your eyes with almost heart-shaped pupils. he looked like a sad little kitty cat. you sucked in a deep breath, waiting for the right words to come to you before continuing. “i love you. I love you so much that it hurts me to see you hurt. you never have to worry about me leaving you, okay? because, i firmly believe that we were put on this earth to be together. you complete me, baby.” for the first time that night, you saw a genuine smile spread on his face. even though it was small, barely there, you noticed it. “that’s corny.” he mumbled, and you laughed. “i guess it is, isn’t it? but it’s true y’know! you’re everything to me ‘toru. i adore you with every fibre of my being.” you placed a kiss on his forehead, immediately taking note of how he leaned into your touch. “i understand what you feel like right now, or at least i think i do. i know you’ve lost most of the people you love, and nothing i say will fully fill the hole they left with their losses. but, i promise you that i will always be here by your side no matter what. i will always be here for you, okay? so don’t ever forget that. and- and don’t you dare try to hide your sadness from me! i get that sometimes you don’t wanna talk about your feelings, and that’s okay. but please, know that you can talk to me. i don’t want you to ever think otherwise. even if it’s something i can’t help with, i’ll always be here to listen. “ your words were like a sweet relief to his aching mind, alleviating most of his worries by the mere promise of comfort alone. god, he was enamoured by you. he moved his hand from your waist, and placed it on top of your hand, which was currently caressing his cheek. he lifted it to his lips, and pressed a firm kiss to your knuckles. you smiled, your cheeks filling with warmth. “I’ll try to be more open ‘n honest from now on.. I promise” he said with an honest expression on his face. you could tell that he was slowly coming back to his former self. “thank you baby.” you kissed him again, this time on the tip of his nose. “no”, he started tracing delicate circles onto your hand. “thank you for bein’ so sweet. you’re too good for me.” his lips curved into the biggest smile you had seen that evening, the sight was almost enough to bring you to tears. you mirrored his relieved expression.

“c’mon, we still have some mochi left over in the kitchen. let’s get some sweets and cuddle up with a movie, i’ll even let you pick this time! or, if you’d prefer, we could keep talking? sound good?” you asked, slowly standing up. you held your hand out to him, and he grabbed onto it in seconds, allowing you to pull him up. he wrapped his arms around your waist, and nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. “best girlfriend ever.” he whispered into your skin; his words quickly replaced by goosebumps. you don’t think you could ever stop loving this man.

[dehydrated-turtle]

Champagne and Marble

//warnings// +16, mdni

//contents// Bruce wayne x transmasc!reader, vaginal sex, squirting, semi public ig??

//synopsis// Bruce had not seen his husband in too long, his lewd thoughts lingered around in his head during one of the Wayne galas and he couldn't contain himself when he saw you. based off this ask from @blueberrymori <3 - wc: 1.9k

//on ao3//

The infamous Wayne gala charity event where Gotham’s elite have an excuse to flaunt their riches and pretend to be good people by donating to a cause they couldn’t care less about. Bruce only hosts these things to continue on a tradition that is older than himself and to please his conscience which always tells him to continue on his parents’ legacy. Normally, Bruce is better at these things, faking smiles and pretending to have rousing conversation with his guests and the press. This night was different however, his answers were short and pithy and he didn’t start a single conversation because his mind was elsewhere. On you. He had not seen his husband in so long, being away on “business” for weeks and not being able to touch you drove him up the wall. He wondered the first hour of the party where you were, looking among the crowds for you and soon giving up, assuming you hadn’t gotten there yet. This was his first chance to see you since before he left and he was going to make the most of it. 

He let his mind wander as he sipped his champagne, thinking about what he could do to you once the guests had left. He thought about how you would look underneath him, his tie in your mouth muffling the sounds of your moans, his hand around your neck, keeping you down as he slammed into you. His lewd thoughts were rudely interrupted by a twitching feeling in his restricting dress pants. He looked around to see if anyone had noticed then frantically walked away. On his way, he saw you standing on the grandiose stairs, talking with another socialite, smiling and laughing gently. His mind started to wander again once he noticed how you looked in your suit, the jacket hugging your arms and laying flat on your chest, the dress pants laying gently along the skin of your thighs. He saw that you were gleaming as always and he couldn’t help but smile. Bruce sauntered his way toward you and this nondescript socialite and butted into the conversation. 

“I’m so sorry but I am afraid I’m going to have to steal him from you, Mrs. Henning,” he said, voice smooth as velvet and placing his hand on the small of your back, “Honey, would you help me find some more glasses in the back?” 

“Of course, my love. My apologies, Mrs. Henning.” you apologized and walked through the crowd with your husband. “What a lame excuse, you must be desperate.” 

“I haven’t seen you in weeks, darling, of course I’m desperate.” he remarked, looking at you with a certain glint in his eye. You entered the kitchen as promised but instead of looking for glasses, “ALRIGHT EVERYONE OUT, CLEAR OUT I NEED THE KITCHEN CLEAR, YOU ALL CAN GO JOIN THE PARTY IF YOU WANT YOU JUST CAN’T BE HERE. THANK YOU.” 

He held you close as he waited for the last of the cooks and wait staff to leave before pushing you against one of the cold marble countertops with a heated kiss. He lifted you from the back of your thighs so you were seated on the counter, legs wrapped around Bruce’s waist, pulling his hips closer so you could feel his throbbing cock against your swollen clit. He started to grind into you, pulling you as close to the edge as possible without falling off. His hands trailed up and down your back, stopping only to take off your tux jacket and throw it somewhere in the kitchen. He broke the kiss with a soft moan to hastily undo your shirt buttons. His speed and agility at undoing your buttons turned you on just a little bit more, but it was the eye contact that made it even better. You moved your focus to the front of your shirt, looking at Bruce’s fingers work your buttons but before you could, one of his hands moved up to your chin and lifted it so you were looking back at him. 

“Ah-ah, look at me… good boy.” You could feel your cheeks go red as the words processed in your head and you looked directly into his piercingly blue eyes and adoringly dilated pupils. He untucked the rest of your shirt and pulled it back over your shoulders, exposing your chest. Bruce’s hands traveled up your back before bowing his head to the crook of your neck, pressing his lips against your newly cold skin. You held the back of his head and let out a breathy moan into his ear as you felt his tongue graze your collarbone. His lips left wet and sloppy kisses along your chest and down your sternum, trailing all the way down to where your waistband lay against your skin. He looked back up at you before breaking a sly smile and working on undoing your fly. 

“Lift.” He less than asked, instructing you to lift your hips off the counter so he could slip your pants under them, which is exactly what you did and exactly what happened. He slipped your boxers along with your pants so when your ass hit the marble, you flinched, not thinking it would be that cold and let a gasp escape your lips. 

“Shh shh, It’s ok…” there was an obvious and titillating contrast between the chill of the counter top and the welcoming warmth of Bruce’s hands, drawing pretty patterns along your neck and jawline. 

You just now realized that you were stark naked on a countertop in a kitchen where anyone could enter from the bustling party going on just a single door away. You glanced quickly at said door with some slight concern on your face until you realized that your clit was throbbing at the thought. Bruce saw where you were looking and reassured you that ‘no one would think to come in here’ and ‘all the cooks left’ with soft whispers against your skin. 

His lips trailed along your skin, moving ever downwards and looking up at you occasionally with those piercing blue eyes. His hands settled on the inside of your thighs, keeping them open as he admired your dripping cunt for a couple of moments before resting his head on your thigh with a soft moan. Your fingers interlaced themselves in his hair, scratching his scalp gently as he closed his eyes briefly. Once he lifted his head back up, he left some peppered kisses along your inner thigh before softly placing a kiss on your clit making your breath hitch. The very minimal contact was driving you up the wall. His tongue licked a sling stripe through your folds and to your clit, taking none of the salty taste for granted before pushing his tongue into your hole. Reaching all the right spots, you let out a loud moan and pulled at his raven hair. He lapped quickly and vigorously, moaning into your cunt, the vibrations sending a shiver throughout your whole body. 

His hands kneaded the flesh of your ass and your thighs, making you feel somehow calmer and more aroused at the same time. His three day old stubble scratched gently on your skin as he buried his face into you, smacking his lips and sucking your clit. Two of his fingers found their way to your cunt, slowly pushing in and curling up into you, ensuring maximum pleasure. As his fingers grazed the walls of your pussy continuously, you felt a familiar sort of pressure build up in your lower abdomen. You could barely get out a coherent sentence but you said enough blabbering gibberish that Bruce understood what you were getting at. He sped up the pace with his fingers while still being diligent and skillful, trying to tip you over the edge. You let go with a high whimper, spraying rivers of clear liquid onto Bruce’s face and clothed chest, some dripping down his chin, some falling into his mouth. He lapped up the remains of your orgasm from your pussy before standing back up and gripping your jaw then pulling you in for a heated kiss. You could taste the salty remains of your juices on his lips as he kissed you sloppily. 

“You always taste so fucking good.” he whispered against your lips, still groping your thighs and holding you close. 

Your own hands started to meddle with his fly, unzipping it and pulling down his pants and taking his briefs with them so they rested just under his ass. His red, throbbing, and hard cock sprang free with a slap against his abs leaving a string of precum connecting the two. You ran your thumb over the tip, sliding the slick around a little bit, earning a low moan from the large man. With one hand gripping the fabric of his shirt and the other on his cock, you pulled him closer to you, sliding his tip along your slick. He got the hint and slid gently into your cunt, making sure you were comfortable before starting to thrust. The girth of his cock definitely made a stretch in your pussy but it was nothing if not pleasurable, the tingling sensation put a layer of added lust to it. You felt his cock reach your cervix as his hips met yours repeatedly, a perfect fit. 

The once bustling kitchen was now only filled with the sounds of skin slapping and gentle moans along with the faint sound of the party still going on outside, sans host. Every time his balls smacked against your ass, you could feel yourself coming closer and closer to another orgasm, still sensitive from the last one. Bruce’s pelvic bone hit your clit repeatedly as his hands wandered along your back, gripping whatever flesh he could and moaning into your ear, his hot breath tingling against your skin and whispering sweet nothings with his low gravelly voice. 

“Mm, my husband, so good for me… taking all of this, all of me. Such a good boy.” You clenched around his words, getting somehow more wet, gripping and clawing at his back. “Getting close, honey?” your head lolled back and your eyes rolled, he took that as an answer, “Cum on my cock, baby boy… Hm, just like that.” His hips thrusting faster, brows furrowed and about to cum as well. 

Your climax came with no surprise but an unexpected intensity, your moans became loud and shaky as you tipped over the edge and your juices trickled down Bruce’s cock and soon after, his thighs. He kept fucking into you as he was so close, balls slapping against the wet skin and cock still pushing into all the right spots. His cock twitched before the hot cum poured into you in long white streams ebbing and flowing along your walls, filling you up proficiently. Your head rested on his shoulder, nuzzling into the crook of his neck and kissing it ever so gently as he slowly gave a couple more thrusts before pulling out and watching his cum drip out of your folds. The thought of his cum sitting in your boxers for the rest of this party flooded his mind, so he grabbed your pants and slid them back on to your legs. 

“All that cum just sitting in there, no one will know but us, darling.” he remarked as he buttoned your shirt back up, “It might keep you lubed for later tonight too.” 

Just the thought of it got you wet again and eager for what he had in store for after the party.

[tvwebs]

hellooooo!!!! Hope you’re doing okay! May I request a Wade Wilson x GN! Reader where they’re both sparing (or training with each other) and the reader passes out from exhaustion? The rest of the fic will be just focus on Wade taking care of the reader (and slightly scolding them for not taking care of themselves). I hope you don’t mind this, don’t rush pls and thank you ^^!

SICKNESS

Plot: You and Wade were training for the funsies, even though you weren't taking care of yourself properly.

Warnings: gn!reader, no use of y/n, the reader here is quite good with Hammers, quite short, brief usage of Y/N, 4th wall breaking, I'm bad at writing fighting scenes

"Uzi time baby!" He said right before he starts shooting his bullets at you. Wow, already? Also did he steal that line from ladypool?

"Hey! You promised no guns!" You shouted as you avoided the bullets. He Snickers as he shoots, shoots and shoots.

"uh, no I didn't!" He said acting much more dumber then usual. "Sigh, maybe you're just off balanced." He said tauntingly, and then you pull off your magical hammer thingy and hit Wade like he is a baseball.

"Never knew I was." You mockingly replied to his comment, while hearing Wades whines and grunts of 'oooww...' , you hold the hammer over your shoulder, almost balancing off but still standing.

"That's cheating!" He whined and you just mockingly stuck out your tounge at him and then you charge at him with full confidence and he managed to dodge your attack at him, making your weapon stuck to the wall.

"ugh, damn it!" You said as you tried to get your giant hammer out before Wade 'playfully" hits you. As you were pushed away from your weapon you hit the ground, you groaned in pain. "Ow.." you said sarcastically.

"no more weapons for you, baby! Just according to my plan!" He said as he moves Infront of you. He didn't plan shit. You tried looking at him but your vision was kind of blurry and it gave you a bit of a headache. You shake your head.

Wade slightly shifts his position to a more guard down type of way, he is a bit worried. "You alright babe? We can stop if you want." He reassures you.

"what? No! I'm not finished with you yet!" He laughed a bit, rubbing your eyes trying to stand up but alas your body failed you and you passed out (how convenient). This shocked Wade, he drops his gun and rushes towards you.

"Y/N? Y/N!" He nervously shakes your body. He checks your pulse. 'a heartbeat ..that's good.' he sighs. He picks your body up in bridal style and carries you.

TIMESKIP

You wake up on Wades bed, you were covered in a blanket and Wade out of suit is right beside you.

"My word! My love your awake!" He dramatically commented on your arrival from your land of dreams. "I was worried that the author would make this an angst story." He jokes, you just look at him confused.

You rubbed your eyes and you look at Wade. "What happened?" Your head still hurts.

"You passed out." Wade said sternly but still somewhat silly. "And vy circumstances, I figured you weren't taking care of yourself as much." He give you a tray of chicken noodle soup, a classic! Medicine and.. WATER

Your mortal enemy.

"So from now one you better drink your water!" He huffed, you groaned at that request "Ah! Ah! No complaining, you bought this upon yourself babe." He said before he kissed your cheek teasingly.

"this stupid liquid is my worst enemy." You said frustrated as you look at the liquid Infront of you, Wade pats you on the back reassuringly.

"one way to destroy our enemies is with love, so let this liquid into your heart." He said sarcastically, you rolled your eyes at him

"But seriously I was quite worried there." His tone with a tinged of worried, obviously. You chuckles a bit at that

"what? Worried?" You said as you softly punched his arm.

"yes."

You kisses his cheek aswell, "well, my apologies for worrying you." He responds with the 'gah~' thing type of 'sound effect'

He was a very caring person, no matter how much of an idiot he can be. "Wanna watch my little pony..?" He asked you intently.

"obviously!" You shouted. He chuckles and he brings out his phone and logs onto Netflix, mean while you drink your chicken noodle soup.

the my little pony themes starts playing.

[rodolfoparras]

Thinking about all the ways you can be intimate with Price that doesn’t involve having sex

One thing about Price is that he’s known for his love for hats. But very few people know the reason as to why he wears them in the first place.

Truth be told, more often than not, he will let his hair grow past the length that’s stated in haircut regulations. Curls will start forming at the back of his neck , unruly strands will stick to his temple as he sweats and if it’s a particularly windy day, wisps of hair will fall into his eyes and obscure his vision. So to cover up the fact that he’s clearly breaking regulations and to keep his hair in check, he’ll wear a hat on his head.

He always tells himself he’ll cut it short. Hell, he even goes out his way to take down the box of clippers from the shelf where they’ve been collecting dust for God knows how long. But every time he intends to cut it something comes up and he opts for wearing a hat instead.

However this time around, it’s a different story since inspection week is coming up and you’re the first to notice how long his hair has been getting lately.

As you lean in for a kiss, you feel the unruly strands of hair wrap around your fingers tips. You smile as you twirl them in your grasp, lips still kissing Price’s.

He pulls away, mirroring the smile on your face as he says “what are you smiling about?”

“Your hair’s been getting so long lately” you say as you run a hand through his hair, tugging lightly at the long strands as if to empathize your point.

His brows furrow, before a look of realization crosses his face “I guess it has, hasn’t it? I’ve been meaning to cut it, just haven’t gotten around to doing it,”

You nod as you continue to play with the hair at the back of his head, already aware of the box of clippers that’s been collecting dust on his desk “when’s inspection now again?”

“Next week. Cut it for me?”

The bathroom connected to his room is rather small, barely fits two people but you make it work as you sit down on the toilet seat while he sits down on the floor.

He sits so close you get a whiff of his cologne. The scent’s a familiar one, one you know not only by smell but also by name. It’s a cologne you’d spontaneously bought one day and had managed to use once or twice before it somehow ended up in Price’s hands. Now it’s a scent solely associated with him.

You can also smell the cigars he smokes. The scent is sickly sweet but also earthy- reminds you of mahogany much like the mahogany curls he's sporting at the moment.

You gently grab onto his shoulder, forcing him to shuffle closer. He’s now perfectly slotted between your legs, as you go to inspect his hair.

“Any special request ?” You ask as you card your fingers through his hair, carefully inspecting the length. The man lets out an appreciative sound at your gently touch before he shakes his head in response to your question.

“Just want it short?” You ask again, fingers still carding through his hair.

“Yes, please”

“What if I mess up ?” You joke as you continue to inspect the length.

“Don’t really care, I’ll wear a hat either way” he shrugs, and flashes you a smile over his shoulder.

“Alright” you say, before you reach down and gently grab onto the edge of his shirt “May I?” You ask, lips brushing his ear as you lean down to ask for permission.

He shivers at your touch, but nods his head at your question.

You gently pull the shirt off of him, leaving him in just the undershirt that he’s wearing. The sudden exposure to the chilly bathroom air has goosebumps raising on his skin and your hands quickly find his arms as you attempt to warm him up.

“Sorry” you say as you plant a kiss on his shoulder. He just smiles and shakes his head “it’s okay, not your fault yeah?”

You grab onto the box where his clippers lay and take out the one you needed for his hair. You quickly adjust the settings on it before bringing it to his head.

As you turn on the machine you feel the familiar buzz coursing through your fingertips. You try not to let your nerves get the best of you as you get ready to cut his hair for him. However, sweat still trickles down your spine, the clippers almost fall out of your hand and you have to take a deep breath and apologize beforehand in case this doesn’t go as planned.

You do the first swipe with the clipper and watch as strands of hair fall to his bare shoulders. You quickly take the brush that came with the kit and gently brush the hair away from his skin. He hums in content as he relaxes into your embrace

“Good?”

He nods with a giggle “tickles”

You chuckle at that as you continue to cut his hair, tufts of it steadily falling to the floor and sprinkling across his shoulder. You even see the loose strands of hair sprinkling onto the undershirt that he’s wearing. However Price doesn’t seem to mind it, seemingly relaxed as ever.

Nothing can be heard except for the steady buzz coming from the machine, along with the soft noises Price will give in response when you ask him something. He’s long given up on talking, mind and body too relaxed to bother with it.

Your hands are gentle as ever as they grab onto his chin, cheeks and temples, turning his head in whichever direction is needed at the moment. His eyes, although closed, flutter at the touch, as he chuckles at the ticklish feeling that comes from your hands.

However you still check up on him to make sure that you aren’t hurting him.

“Am I hurting you?” You ask as you bring the clipper a bit closer to his ears. “Is this okay” You ask again when you fear you’re holding too tightly onto him. You even drop a “you tell me if I’m doing anything to hurt you yeah?” when you notice the flush on his skin.

Sometimes Price responds with a hum, sometimes with a nod and sometimes with the shake of his head (You almost have the mind to scold him for his careless movements but you allow him to do so anyway)He even chuckles at the last sentence as if saying not you, never you and that’s all the reassurance you need to continue cutting his hair for him.

At some point he does talk - asks if he can go for a smoke and of course you allow him to do so. If you smoke he’ll let you take a couple of puffs of his cigar. However he’ll use this as an excuse to steal a kiss since every time you lean in to put the cigar between your lips, he’ll place a kiss on your lips. If you don’t smoke he’ll have you light his cigar for him. He’ll playfully pulls you closer by your wrist, as you go to light his cigar for him, callused thumb mindlessly stroking it while you light it for him.

He stays in your embrace while smoking his cigar, enjoying your presence and your gentle touch.

From the bathroom window you can see that the sun is starting to set and the clouds of smoke that whirl around in the air become more prominent.

Price hooks his arm around your leg and mindlessly drags his hand along your thigh while he smokes his cigar.

“Thank you for doing this for me, love” he says and despite the clouds of smoke that swirl around in the air, you can still see the grateful smile on his face.

“No need to thank me ” you chuckle as you continue to cut his hair for him.

Once it’s done, you hand him a small mirror so that he can take a look at his hair. He takes a brief look in the mirror before he turns to you with a big smile on his face.

“It looks great,”

Truth be told he barely looked at his hair, didn’t see the crooked line or the uneven patches around his head (not that he would mind if he were to notice it anyway). All he saw in that very moment was your reflection in the mirror, the way you nervously chewed your lip, and the hopeful look in your eyes as you waited for him to comment on his new haircut.

Once it’s inspection day you’re back in that very same bathroom with him. He’s looking at himself in the mirror while you’re standing behind him with a comb in hand. His hair is still short and will surely pass inspection but you still want to comb and style it for him, claiming he needs to look professional and well groomed, seeing as he’s the captain.

“There, all done” you say with a smile on your face, finally feeling satisfied with the look of his hair. All of sudden he turns around, hands gently grabbing onto your hips before he pulls you closer to him. You’re still looking at his hair, searching for any imperfections that need to be corrected while he’s watching you with an adoring gaze. Once you spot a strand out of place, you lick the pad of your thumb before gently slicking it back with the rest of his hair.

You go to pull your hand away but before you can do so he gently wraps his hand around your wrist and brings your hand closer to his lips before he kisses it.

“Thank you again, love”

[ickmick]

more tma art bc the brainrot returned with my depression except i got more tired as i went and also gave up on watermarking properly lmaooo

also available for viewing on twitter and tiktok :3

(links to be added bc i almost always post tumblr's first <3)

[romance-rambles]

[modern] cael | should've said it to my face

After reading Cael's response to your comment, you eventually give into your impulsive thoughts and call him. It turns out to be a misunderstanding

2k, takes place during qixi event [minor spoilers for the card], misunderstandings + fluff, reader is mc, series: none

DINNER TIME SEES YOU SCROLLING aimlessly through Lofter, in search of something to do.

You're sprawled across the couch on your back, knees bent, with a plate—stacked with airfryer dino nuggets and french fries—balanced precariously in front of you. The hand not occupied with your phone holds onto a half-empty soda can. When you remember to eat, you stick it in the gap between you and the sofa's backrest and pray it doesn't spill over again.

In the background, a movie you'd seen multiple trailers for in your spare time runs on the TV. For the first thirty minutes, it was rather entertaining, actually—for reasons beyond the absolutely stellar writing. It was, and is, filled with so many cliches, all dragged out and played entirely straight, that it makes you wonder if the writers had a checklist.

Then, your editor texted you around the time the couple had their first date and—well.

Though it turned out that the phone call she was asking for had nothing to do anything that would make a perpetually tardy artist quiver in fear, Beanie can attest to what a disaster the fifteen minutes before said phone call were.

Your shirt is still sticky from the spilt soda, and worse, the water you splashed on the stain has left you soaked. And on top of that, your shirt wasn't the only victim in this mess. Now, some of your nuggets carry with them a hint of sweetness—one that can't be attributed to the ketchup.

They're still good, you think stubbornly, glaring at someone imaginary sitting opposite to you.

You pull your legs closer, clearly disgruntled, and sit up straight. The artifacts of your makeshift party for one change positions with you, making you look less like a slob after work hours—even if that is what you were going for.

Because that someone imaginary looks suspiciously like Cael, with that close-mouthed smile that reeks of barely-disguised amusment. A menace with good publicity, though you'd take this Cael over the "old" one any day.

After all, this one is yours—to have, and to hold, for as long as you live.

You think of the characters in your latest manga, and of those last few pages; of the red dress the painter had picked out, and of where the spirit's—and yours—thoughts had gone. The ones you'd added as a bonus after dicussing a much happier ending with Cael. Frankly, it's the most self-indulgent thing you'd written since In Passing, except this time, you didn't bother holding back on your fantasies.

"Wait," you mutter, squinting down at an artwork from one of your mutuals on your phone. The poor dinosaur that gets offered up to your hungry belly this time is thankfully not one of the soggy ones. "Has he seen it yet?"

The answer to your question, once you regretfully pull your gaze away from the beautiful man you drew, and pull up your latest post on Lofter is yes.

hubby: This drawing is great.

A simple compliment, yet your spirits soar to never-before-seen heights. With your free hand, you cup your cheek; your pinkie finger can only partially hide the curved end of your lips. Then, like a thick veil, your hair falls over half of your face, prompting a small laugh from you.

As you tuck your hair behind your ear, you can't help but think it adds to the scene. The lovesick smile. His comment. The affection swelling in your fluttering heart.

You imagine the soft smile on his face when he saw your post and wonder why he isn't here to tuck your hair back for you.

Truth is, you'd never learned how to stop missing Cael, even after he'd returned to being a permanent fixture in your life. The only time you don't miss him is when he's in front of you—when you can wrap your arms around him, in a carefully struck balance of spoiled and loving, and hear his exasperated chuckle as he pulls you in closer.

Maybe that is why the words you write in response lack any double meanings.

you: @hubby But I feel that the person in the drawing is better than the drawing itself.

Tracing the silhouette of his hair, you think this is the Cael that comes closest to showcasing his ethereal beauty. All that practice through drawing the Silver Knight has left you as the most qualified person to make that judgement. It is with this thought in mind, and a puffed chest, that you wait for his response.

And Cael could be busy, for all you know. It could take a while for him to respond, for all you know.

Still, if you play your cards right, when you tell him how long you waited, he'll pat your head. And on your forehead, the heat from his loving kiss will linger for long after he pulls away.

You grin at the thought and scroll down.

hubby: Me too.

At first, you can only blink.

Me too, you repeat dumbly, tilting your head to the side. You must look like quite the catch, with three nuggets and countless fries stuffed into you face. ME TOO?

The vision of his faint smirk transforms your previously lovesick demeanor in an instant. Swallowing your food down, you glare at the snarky comment, thumbs hovering over the digital keyboard without a reply in mind.

It would've been better if he'd said it to your face. You could tackle him—maybe kiss the smirk off his face. Countless letters are typed out and erased within seconds of each other, simply because you can't settle on anything to say. The scowl on your face deepens as you swipe out of the app.

And you're not sure what happens after that, but when you come to, you find yourself staring at half of an objectively terrible selfie you'd taken with Cael—

And Ringing... written underneath.

When he picks up, the first thing Cael says is your name.

"What a coincidence." Your boyfriend chuckles softly. "I was thinking I wanted to hear your voice."

You fear the psychological damage is irreversible. Why did you call him again?

Oh, rig—wait a minute.

"Did you miss me?" you ask, not so much curious as you are delighted. "Wait."

Never let it be said that you don't have your priorities straight. You're sure anyone in your position would do the same thing. So, with a giggle—both at your snarky comment and at the prospect of being missed by Cael—you pull your phone away from your ear and make your earlier wish of seeing his face come true.

"Let me—" You adjust your bangs, knowing well the futility of doing so. "—Let me turn my camera on."

When you finally catch sight of his beautiful face, as the camera turns on, Cael is smiling gently.

Upon catching a glimpse of your current, haphazard appearance—the pile of hair tied up in some kind of half-bun, half-ponytail, the ratty old t-shirt that's simply too comfortable to part with, and, you realize embarassedly, the ketchup stains and nugget crumbs plastered all over your mouth—he shakes his head. Out of habit, his free hand hovers in the air for a moment before he puts it down. Even before he shoots you a helpless look, you can tell he's wishing for the same thing.

"You should—" Gesturing at his own mouth, free of crumbs, he tries to help you out. "Mhm, you got most of them."

For a party of one, you didn't find napkins to be a necessity—so, instead, you have to make do with your oily hands. It's hardly the most elegant side you've shown him, but you also know he's seen worse. And if he can still watch you fondly, frankly, you don't think you have a need to be concerned.

With a grimace, you brush the fallen crumbs off of your lap and onto the couch. You're going to have to vacuum it, unless you want it to be teeming with ants. The thought makes you shudder.

Cael's lovely voice cuts through the horrific visions of an ant takeover and replaces them with much more pleasant imagery. "What are you thinking about?"

"Ants," you say, without skipping a beat, then laugh. "Well, that and I have a bone to pick with you."

He blinks, looking as though he's desperately trying to surpass a laugh. "Alright. What is it?"

Upon studying his expression, you find that it's rather reminiscent of the one that'd pushed you over the edge. This time—perhaps because of the way the amusement glittering in his violet eyes makes them pop—you smile softly. Laying back down on the sofa, with your head comfortably resting against the armrest, you grin and start describing your dilemma.

"The truth is, I was fishing for another compliment," you tell him, as if offering him a carefully-guarded confession.

Your voice is suitably dramatic, with a sliver of faux mournfulness coming through. Unfortunately, you're not particularly good at faking tears—so it is all you have in your arsenal.

Cael looks down at you from the phone's screen, clearly exasperated. You bring your arms down to a more comfortable position and adjust some of your bangs. With the plate of nuggets still on your lap, you can't bend your knees as you'd like. As a compromise, you cross your legs over one another.

Finally, he breaks the silence.

"I'll make up for it, but—" Your boyfriend hesitates. "Nevermind."

Even though the hamsters in your brain have started sounding the alarms, even though you're certain he's messing with you, you still fall for it—hook, line, and sinker. It leaves you incapable of saying anything beyond but.

With an elegance you might've admired at any other time, he ignores your minor break in coherency. But the smile on his face is, for all intents and purposes, a grin, genuine but unfortunately tinged with amusement, and you can't find it in yourself to be too upset. You still remember his lighthouse comment.

You wonder if he'd notice if you took a screenshot. He did say he didn't like to use his deduction abilities on you.

Humming a song you'd texted him without explanation, he begins to ask, "How would you like me to make up for—"

"But."

"I was talking about the girl in the painting," he relents finally, softly smiling at you. You like to think your glare broke him down.

But the person in the drawing...

True, you'd never specified who you were talking about. Neither had he. It really is true what they say about assumptions, you think, aware that you can't quite think of an accusation that won't backfire on you.

So, like a gaping fish—maybe one swimming in warmer weather, if your warm cheeks are any indication—you gawk at him.

"Is that surprising?" he asks.

Deliberately, you turn your head away. To make yourself feel like a productive person, you pretend you're searching for your beloved cat, who must've slinked away at some point. Then again, you're pretty sure bribery goes a long way with Beanie—and no one's better at it than Cael.

Maybe Beanie would side against you instead.

"Maybe I haven't said it enough. That you're the most beautiful person I know."

As your mind slowly registers the words, you blink. Clearly, Cael hasn't spent enough time staring at a mirror. If he'd said woman, you might've debated for a bit before folding. You might've even seized the opportunity he's presented you with immediately.

Instead, you squint at him.

Surely, he hasn't forgotten how the students of St. Shelter Academia hold his beauty in high esteem. Or the many, perhaps unnecessary, compliments to his beauty in In Passing, even after you'd returned to Godheim. Sure, he might not have registered your unsubtle crush on him back then, but surely, now—

Surely.

Maybe I'm the one who hasn't said it enough.

"That's right." You nod your head solemnly—as if you're unbothered by the thoughts running through your head—and hold up your pinky finger with a smug grin. "You should say it more. Pinky swear."

Despite the distance, he still holds up his pinky finger for you.

[steveharringtoy]

bruises on your thighs like my fingerprints | Explicit | 10k words 

Author: cinderblockgarden (twitter) (tumblr) Artist: hawkinsleather (twitter) (tumblr) Podfic Artist: 3blackhearts Beta Reader: audacity_of_bluejays

The low chatter bouncing around the hall dies down when the speakers crackle on and a person with large, curly hair and a shit eating grin rolls up to a table by the bleachers, picking up a microphone.

"Welcome, welcome, dear friends." Their voice booms out, echoing, dark and enticing. It scratches something familiar in Steve’s brain. "On this fine summer day, the Hawk Town Rollers make their debut into the world. My name is Cunt Dracula, and I’m your team captain. If you would like to join us… you’ll have to impress us."

or: Robin wants to join a roller derby team. Steve comes with her for moral support. Written for the Steddie Big Bang 2023!

fic  | podfic to come!!!

Pairings: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Nancy Wheeler/Robin Buckley, Steve Harrington & Robin Buckley Characters: Steve Harrinton, Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley, Nancy Wheeler Tags: Alternate Universe - No Upside Down, Alternate Universe - Sports, Roller Derby, Trans Eddie Munson, Gay Eddie Munson, Bisexual Steve Harrington, first hints of punk steve, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Steddie Big Bang 2023, Bruises, Nicknames, steve harrington has a type

[catinasink]

finished my silly danganronpa dnd fic,,,,,,,,,,,,

[cauldron-of-oddities]

link

[macbcth]

meet me on high

sashisu, rated E, 5k words of satoshoko smut and banter, satoru’s sweet tooth, overstimulation and butt plugs, shotgunning, suguru’s absence being a character unto itself, and shoko almost succeeding at earnest conversation

[8ripecunts]

happy anniversary to me deciding to rewatch mindhunter (ft this redraw of my very first bill tench sketch 🥺)

[veliseraptor]

A Different Fit | Kinnporsche

Summary:

Vegas makes an offhand proposal. Naturally, actually going through with it is a little more complicated.

Notes:

I'm pretty sure this one is @ameliarating's fault, but then she did go and beta it for me too. Sometimes you set out to write smut and it ends up being about unresolved issues. And by that I mean mostly that's what happens, at least to me.

After spending most of its lifetime simply titled "bottom vegas fic" this almost ended up titled "shredded lettuce" after the Tumblr post reading "call my man shredded lettuce because he be a sub topping." Just so you know.

[timetodiverge]

Beware the Phoenix Squad-Room (Part 1 of 2)

In which Commander Wren is promptly punished for sneaking into Phoenix Four’s bunk (again) when the whole squad gets stuck in lockdown.

***

Shin Hati was many things, depending on who in the New Republic fleet you asked: a grey Jedi, a rumoured Sith; a deadly weapon or a useful asset. The best and the worst pilot in Phoenix Squadron. My so-called girlfriend (apparently).

Putting all that aside, what she truly was, was a blanket hog.

Once again I’d woken up in the freezing-cold Phoenix squad-room, shivering while she had the whole blanket tucked cosily around her; bare and cramped into the tiny space she’d graciously left for me in her bunk. True, there wasn’t much space for both of us in there, not with our combined pile of armour and weapons at our feet and scattered around the pillows. …still.

She doesn’t even need any blankets, I thought to myself. Shin always ran hot.

Read more on Ao3

[verecunda]

Three-sentence prompt: Keith and Ewen, wildcat.

Yay, thank you! :D

-

Once, when he was a boy, Ewen's dog had cornered a wildcat upon the moors: a magnificent beast, which had arched its back and shown its teeth, hissing and spitting, and fetching the poor hound a great weal across his nose with its claws, so that he had turned tail with a yelp and fled.

It was this same wildcat which came into Ewen's mind when he first faced the English officer on Loch Oich side. Beneath the formality of his red coat, the man showed the same fierce, splendid spirit of defiance - a spirit which would not have shamed a Highlander, far less an Englishman - so that Ewen's heart warmed to him at once, even before they crossed swords. Three sentence ficathon!

[what-aboutno]

Alternative wriochiluc dynamic where Diluc is exs with both of them and Wriochi start dating years later. They all meet again and it becomes really awkward. And Diluc realises oh I still have feelings for them and tries to avoid the pair. Wriothesley and Childe seem determined to talk to him though

Diluc can't imagine why theyd want to talk. Wriothesley and Childe try to talk to Diluc because both of them after seeing him again talked and realised they're both still in love with Diluc and want to at least figure out what happened in the past

Diluc has always tried to run away from his problems. He left during at night leaving Wriothesley. He suddenly left Childe to return to Mondstadt. So when he's confronted with both of them he can't help but want to run again. He runs because he's scared of what it means to love someone again.

They had really messy breakups which makes Diluc feel even worse when he's like oh... Since he doesn't think he deserves to love them again

They do end up talking after making sure Diluc can't run away again and some angst.

Here are some more notes and scenes if I ever write this fic

They meet again when the traveler brings Wriothesley and Childe to Mond to help out with a few things. End of the day the traveler brings them to angels share for a drink and to catch up with Diluc. So their first meeting is really awkward when the traveler introduces Diluc to not one but two of his exes who he ended things with no explanation.

Wriothesley and Childe do try to talk to him in the bar but Diluc just puts on the customer service persona so it doesn't go anywhere. They try again after he's locked up the bar and corner him but Diluc just ignored them and runs away. Since neither Wriothesley or Childe know the city very well yet Diluc gets away very fast and they lose track of him.

Now over that period of time Wriothesley and Childe stay in Mond they try so hard to talk to Diluc. Anytime they do see him they'll plead to just chat for even a second and he runs away. Those words to eventually get to him but here's where It gets messier.

Diluc doesn't know the two are dating until he thought he was ready to talk to them. Only to catch them kissing in some alleyway. And he's so confused on these feelings he has that he just apologises and leaves again.

When I say they corner him I literally mean one day Wriothesley and Childe went to angels share after closing and forced Diluc to talk.

The sound of the front door opening gets Diluc attention "We're closed"

He turned to see what drunkard would be waiting for him only to see Wriothesley and Childe.

"Diluc"

"We're closed please come back tomorrow"

"We just want to talk"

"I've told you before I'm not interested. Please leave..."

"What are you so scared of"

Everything. Diluc thinks to himself

"Nothing"

"Then why won't you talk to us"

Damn he's got him there... There really was no way out of this situation.

They have a long chat after this and become somewhat friends. But Diluc feels really guilty because he comes to the realisation he's fallen in love with both of them again...

It doesn't help that Wrio and Childe are so in love with each other because it means Diluc sees it all the time. And he can't bring himself to say anything because he thinks he doesn't get to be in love after being the one to break up with them before. And that same fear of love only to lose it again.

After talking for a while Diluc and Wriothesley eventually have a chat when Diluc was looking over the city.

"Aren't you needed back in Fontaine"

"I'm sure the Prison of Meropide will be fine for another week" Diluc only hums in response as he looks over the city again

"What's on your mind"

"Nothing..."

Wriothesley gives him a pointed look and Diluc can almost hear the plea to open up more. But he ignores it. They joke around for a bit before Diluc asks

"Can I be selfish just this once?"

This is where Wriothesley and Diluc have their first kiss after their breakup

This version is just wriochiluc but they're worse