#< Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[spy-light]

I’m sorry, what was I tagged with

[astrolotte]

Sweet dreams, Periwinkle.

[haveihitanerve]

okay i was just scrolling through my shorts and i came across a video that said 'if you're having a bad day just think of him falling down the stairs in slow motion to Johann Strauss's the blue danube waltz' and-

i just had to think of roland and curt in the shout music when theyre walking down the steps and then rolands foot just slips and he goes flying down the stairs, slamming into curt and taking him down too and just-

it did make me feel much happier, thank you

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Gravity Falls was strange, and the townsfolk even stranger, it seemed.

The twins had been unceremoniously dropped off on the side of the dusty road, the roar of the bus engine fading away as the driver wordlessly drove off without fanfare. The poor man had almost seemed close to tears ever since they had entered the thresholds of this seemingly innocuous town, all too eager to speed off and away while leaving the two children coughing and wheezing in its dust.

It had not even been a full minute since their lackluster drop-off before they became well acquainted with the oddly sociable and irritatingly chatty inhabitants of Gravity Falls. A single conversation with a pair of boisterous policemen already told them all they needed to know about the history of the town, as well as the whereabouts of their Great Uncle Ford.

"The Mystery Shack," the townsfolk had called it. It seemed as though their distant uncle had earned himself somewhat of a reputation amongst the locals. He was the town cryptid; the ever elusive mad scientist that lived in the outskirts of town in this so called "Mystery Shack". No one really knew who he really was; but everyone knew exactly who he was.

So, when the twins found themselves stood hand in hand in front of the rickety old shack, they hadn't really known what to expect when door had swung open with a deafening slam.

He was a strange man, their Great Uncle Ford. He seemed nothing like the cackling looney lab-coated madman they had imagined from what meager hushed information the townsfolk had offered them. It seemed as though the tales of a scientist gone mad that experimented on stray children that wandered into his spooky "Mystery Shack" was but a cruel rumor.

He mostly just seemed unhealthy, to be honest. His sickly, pale frame utterly drowned in the thick red woolen sweater that practically seemed to hang off of his lanky body like a second flap of skin. It made him look almost child-like, like a kid trying on their parents clothes; which somewhat diluted the intimidating effects of his looming height.

Although, the townsfolk's apparent fear of their Great Uncle Ford seemed to have some merit.

For one, Grunkle Ford really didn't seem all too human. He wasn't inhumane, per se; just, not entirely himself, if that made any sense. Looking at him was like looking at an incomplete puzzle; or looking at someone who you remember all your life wearing a hat, suddenly coming to work one day without one, and it takes a little too long for you to remember what is missing.

It was like Grunkle Ford had lost pieces of himself. Somewhere, to someone. His eyes seemed... almost empty. They were a little too dull and a little too opaque, lacking the lively shine of life everyone else seemed to have.

Another thing was that Grunkle Ford wasn't entirely alone. There was... someone else. The twins couldn't exactly pinpoint where, but they could feel its stare, whatever or whoever it was. They could almost feel its stare, a non-existent eye trailing a weird prickling sensation across their skin. The twins recalled the words of one of the townsfolk, a tall bestacled man with haunted blind eyes; although unseeing they could have sworn his gaze never seemed to leave them, as all he said was:

"Don't catch IT staring at you"

The twins had an odd feeling that IT was looking at them right now.

They didn't even notice when the pale bony hand of Grunkle Ford suddenly reached into their personal space, barely registering his words at all, much less the extra fingers that adorned each of his rough, worn palms.

They didn't take the hand.

If the twins had thought the outside of the shack looked decrepit, the inside seemed somehow even worse.

Every inch of exposed wall, ceiling or floor were utterly covered by sprawling symbols, summoning circles, and indecipherable words that seemed to be in an entirely different language than any the twins knew. They overlapped and tangled into one another into big, messy, red splotches of clustered nothings.

There were notes, diagrams on ripped pieces of aged looking paper scattered everywhere, with hardly any room for post-it notes squeezed wherever there was room. Lit and unlit candles were placed absolutely everywhere; either hidden in the dark corners or openly stood in the middle of the floor; sometimes in a circle, sometimes not. The melted fallen wax had coagulated into a hard white mess onto the floor; the smell of cheap vanilla scented candles intermingling with the smell of halloween fake blood (and Dipper was convince there had to be some real blood there, too) to create a sour concoction that stung their noses unpleasantly.

The shack was sparsely furnished with rarely any furniture at all. Not even a couch, the tables and chairs simply pushed to the walls to make more space for the endlessly swirling symbols and pentagrams. The twins were hesitant of stepping on any of the summoning circles, carefully sidestepping the candles and walking over the line of the pentagrams.

The attic, where they would be residing, was not much better.

Maybe they did end up in a mad scientist's house, after all.

[sevikasbooyahh]

𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐚 𝐇𝐂'𝐬

Just random random headcannons about my wife <3

She makes lots of noises; grunts, sighs, groans. It’s basically a language that only you can understand at this point.

“Hmph,” she grunted with her usual grumpy expression. “You want cuddles?” She nods her head in response.

Snores but denies it. It’s like when you’re sharing a hotel room with your family and your dad’s snoring keeps you awake; staring at the ceiling. You’ve told her multiple times but she just doesn’t believe it.

“You kept me awake all night,” you said in disbelief as your utterly exhausted eyes met hers. “Uh-huh, how? Do NOT say because I was snoring.””You were snoring.”

But in all seriousness, she started sleeping on her side—the snoring was due to her sleeping on her back.

Doesn’t care for public affection, not that she won’t slip her arm around your waist or have her hand on your thigh once in a while—but it isn’t often.

(Saw someone else say this)—absolutely loves dad jokes. She won’t laugh at anything else but dad jokes.

“Hey babe,” you slid next to her on the couch. “Hm?””What days are the strongest?“ you asked. “I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Saturday and Sunday,” you started to smile. “Why?” She was slightly curious. “‘Cause the rest are weekdays,” she couldn’t even hold it before she burst out laughing.

Takes her mechanical arm off before she goes to bed because she doesn’t wanna hurt you.

Tough with everyone else but you, Jinx and Isha (they’re alive and well).

Isha made a cheerful noise as she raised her tea cup. Sevika sat across from her, hunched over the small table, teacup in hand. She pretended to drink from it, “Mm, nice.”

Perfers actions over words—for example, her version of an apology is by doing more of what she should’ve done in the past. If she wasn’t spending much time with you before, she’d immediately take it upon herself to fix her schedule.

VERY protective, especially when you’re at The Last Drop, nothing escapes her vision.

Once, this guy attempted to flirt with you but before he could get a word out, he was immediately met with a deadly glare from her. She pulled you closer towards her with a raised eyebrow, “You got something to say?” That sent him babbling in fear, “Uh-no, no, of course not!—“”Get out of my sight.”

Claims she’s not an animal person but will come home with a kitten she found on the street.

“It wouldn’t stop following me,” she said while avoiding eye contact with you. You knew she was lying.

Sometimes when she comes back from work she’ll just collapse on the couch. She’s a busy woman, alright?

Jinx cut her hair then made fun of her afterwards.

Jinx cackled after she looked at the final product, “Sweetcheeks ain’t gonna love you now, are they?” The older woman simply grumbled under breath, “You’re the one who cut it.””Yeah and I made it ugly on purpose.”

You ended up loving her hair anyway.

Secretly likes when you lay on top of her; loves seeing how comfortable you are

She’s always warm; your personal heater

Somehow gives the best hugs—bear hugs, but is so awkward with it

Takes the longest showers known to mankind; once she gets in, be prepared to wait about an hour. Meanwhile, half the time it’s just her staring at the wall.

Will let Isha climb her on rare occasions; sometimes the girl gets insanely hyper and is moving all over the place.

Says she’s “not fond of kids” but has a soft spot for them.

A little boy with blue-dyed hair walked up to her while she was outside one day. “H-hi, can you please sign this?” He asked in a soft-spoken manner, showing a drawing, offered with a crayon. She didn’t respond but took the paper and signed her name on the back. Internally, she was in disbelief that this boy looked up to her in some way. “Thank you!” He gave a big smile before running back to his group of friends, happily showing them the signature. A twitch edged at the end of her mouth.

[thekinslayed]

I Come To You A Sinner

summary | Aemond's wife has been made aware of his whereabouts by Aegon.

pairing | aemond targaryen x wife!reader

tags | spoilers to s2e3 ahead! miscommunication, angst, infidelity, aemond can't open up, aegon is the worst, thoughts of fratricide

wordcount | 2.3k

note | sorry to rub salt into the already gaping wound that is ep3 aemond 💔 but that whole scene was unbelievable omfg it is over for aegond i fear

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

“Where have you been?”

She was staring into the hearth when he returned. It was evident she had already been asleep, but had awoken by a disturbance of some kind. It was unlike her to be awake so late, though Aemond could guess what brought her out of bed to fasten on her robe, to wait for him.

He could still hear his cackle, Aegon’s, as the curtain that shielded him from prying eyes was swatted away unceremoniously, revealing his whereabouts. He remembered how his little entourage stared at him, how their stunned gazes brought about prickles of humiliation in the back of Aemond’s spine. They threatened to laugh. He saw it in the twinkle of their eyes, in the subtle lift in the corners of their lips. 

“It is late, dear wife, why have you not rested?” he said. His steps towards her were small, careful. Perhaps she doesn’t know. That would be preferable. He had already been found out once tonight, and if he could save her from the knowledge of his shame, there was naught he would not do. 

“Aegon was here,” she responded, and it was then she finally turned to him. Her eyes were bloodshot, the skin around them was puffed from the tears she had evidently shed. The prickle in Aemond’s spine returned, only now it was coupled by a hammering pang in his chest. He had done this to her.

“At least he had the decency to tell me where you were, after many nights of being left in the dark by mine own husband. Though his delivery of the message was a bit cruel, I’ll admit.” 

The dark chuckle that left her lips held no sort of amusement, but a clear sputter of disbelief and betrayal. Aemond was stuck in his place, unsure of how to speak to her, unknowing of what would happen to them now that his sin was laid out in the open.

“It is not what it seemed–”

“What is it, then? When your brother catches you in a brothel with a whore, what else am I to think, Aemond?” she burst, rising to her feet to look at him. Her chest heaved as she regarded him with a look so different than what he was used to. There used to be such warmth in her gaze, reserved only for him, not the fracturing hurt she bestowed on him now. He couldn’t look at her, and so he settled his eye elsewhere. A futile attempt to escape what had already caught up to him.

“You’ve told me of what had happened to you there, what she made you do, and yet you’ve crawled back to her? After everything that’s happened?” she questioned, desperate. He could hear the break in her voice, and he could only imagine the quivering of her lips into a frown. A scoff left her lips, and Aemond could see her desperate attempt to wrap her around this, but her despair had gotten the best of her. 

“W-why… Why would you even want to go back there? What is it in her that you can’t find in me?”

Aemond couldn’t say it. His mind refused to let him say it. In truth, he couldn’t recall how his feet had led him back there, all he knew was it brought a temporary soothing to an ache that had sprouted in the days after Lucerys’ death. He wouldn’t dare speak his sin into words, to solidify his betrayal of the love for his wife. How ever could he tell her the truth of it? How ever could he admit that the only way for him to find a sense of order in his life, however misconstrued, was to return to the woman who had been a figure of his torment? 

“Do you want me to lie to you?” he asked. 

A fool’s answer. A true coward, he is. Many people would consider him otherwise, but in front of his wife, he was no warrior. Utter shame coupled with his ego prevented him from coming clean. How could he? He had gone too far. He expressed no remorse when he had come home to her, drenched, after Storm’s End, no, he even acted proud. In his heart of hearts, Aemond knew that the one person who could see him as he was was his wife, yet he refused to let it be. He had gone through his whole life a rigid soldier, a scholar, the image of the fearsome dragon of Valyria. He didn’t know how to dismantle the shackles that held him upright.

Yet he had seen his fault now in the face of his wife, his love, who visibly crumbled before him.

“Was I not good enough?” she asked, quietly, as a lone tear streaked down her cheek. He couldn’t bear to see her like this, to have him so far from his grasp as the ever-growing space between them turned the air cold. Aemond approached her, arms lifted open to take her into his grasp, but she flinched away. A shatter in his chest brought about a thick lump in his throat, one he couldn’t swallow. 

“My love,” he whispered, a solemn plea for her to see him. She hugged her arms to her chest, looking away as she blinked away the fat, traitorous tears that beaded down her cheeks. Aemond took hold of her elbow, his grip desperate as she fought to wiggle her way out of his grasp. He couldn’t let her, he cannot. This hellish war, this irreconcilable damage would all be futile if he lost her, he couldn’t let that happen. But she wouldn’t even spare a glance at him. 

“Can’t you even look at me?” he beseeched in despair. 

A sob was her only response. She had slapped a hand to muffle her cries, but it had broken through the barriers that kept him away from her. Aemond descended to his knees, hugging her legs to his chest. His good eye stung with something hot, something wet. He clung to her skirts like a beggar, a sinner praying for retribution.

“Please… please…” he grieved. Her robe was growing spotted with his tears, and her grip on his shoulder was punishing as she pushed and pushed to get him away from her. She slapped him, had pulled on his hair to get him to release his hold, but he never relented. “You have to understand,” he muttered. 

“I cannot even try to begin to do so, Aemond! How can I?” she wept. “How could you even think we could recover from this?”

“My love… my light… I beg of you.” It was pathetic to whoever would witness him like this. The Kinslayer, on his knees, pleading for forgiveness to the wife he had wronged. There was much he had done that was far worse, far more cruel, but to have hurt her was his greatest crime of all.

A shrill cry had pierced through the night air. Her head snapped to her babe. Their babe. With a firmer push on his shoulder, his wife freed himself from his grasp to where their son wailed for his mother. She took him into her arms, soothing the child with her gentle caress and shushes. Aemond could only watch. He watched the babe nestled into the crook of her neck, how she wiped his tears away while hers continued to fall. She pressed her nose into his scalp, the milky scent of his flesh a welcome comfort to her otherwise crumbling sanity. 

Aemond waited in agony, keeping his space lest he aggravated her any further. Every cry of their babe was another sword pierced through his heart, leaving him to bleed out while his family floated away from his grasp.

He had settled after a few minutes, descending back into slumber as his mother returned him to his cradle with a kiss on his forehead. The silence was deafening. The dying hearth was unable to break the cold that sent shivers under Aemond’s skin. He called out to her once more. Another full beat of silence passed through the room before she spoke.

“What did I do wrong, Aemond?” she whispered, turning to him. Her eyes were a painful red from how much she had been crying, but she wanted to know. “Tell me, you owe me that much.”

“I owe you everything, darling,” he responded, moving closer to her. Aemond closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her back into his chest. He pressed kisses onto her shoulder, reverent… repentant. “You have done nothing wrong,” he said into her skin, his voice low. “It is my fault and my fault alone. You have done nothing wrong.”

He turned her around to face him, and she allowed him to do so. Albeit, unwillingly, but his wife was tired. It was evident in the way her eyes had run out of tears to weep, yet she remained broken all the same.

“I have wronged you. Allow me to pay for my sin. Let me make things right. I promise you, I will make it all right,” he pleaded. Perhaps he could make her see, convince her to forgive him. It was a fool’s wish, but the prince could hardly consider himself a wise man now. A flicker of hope thumped excitingly in his chest when her fingertips caressed his jaw, but the furrowing of her brows dampened whatever fire he thought he had stoked.

“I can’t,” she responded, shaking her head. She pulled herself away from his grasp once more, leaving them both cold and alone. Aemond hung his head low in shame. He felt sick to his stomach. The full weight of his doing had dragged him straight into the mud, while the love he could only ever carry for his wife throbbed painfully in his chest. “I can’t stay here. I can’t live with this.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No. You are my wife, you cannot leave me.”

She was starting to step away from his grip, but he couldn’t let her. Aemond tried to cage her in his arms, but she fought back with strong pushes against his chest. There was a desperation in the one-eyed prince no one had ever known, until now. His pleas echoed through their apartments, cut off by a resounding slap on his cheek. The sting on his flesh was warm, keeping him awake in this reality. He could’ve prevented this, had cut off the poison from its roots if only he had the will to do so, but he had not. The stubbornness in his dragonblood and his refusal to acknowledge the rot in him had let it happen. He had let it grow and fester, spoiling everything he had until it took away the one most precious to him.

She regarded him with coldness, detached like a stranger. His wife looked away, sniffling.

“You are no husband of mine.”

Aegon slept like a boar when he was drunk.

The fucker had gotten back before he did, slithering his way back to the Keep with what Aemond was sure was a maniacal look on his face to tattle to his wife what he had found out.

The king’s chambers almost resembled a pigsty. Cups scattered about, along with some phallic wooden figurines that Aemond’s mind refused to imagine what he even used them for. Their father’s model was gone. At least the twat did one thing right.

But the smell. It was almost like Viserys’ rotting stench remained, haunting them all forever. It was enough to have Aemond scrunch his nose in disgust, but it didn’t repel him completely. No, he had come for something.

His brother laid out like a starfish on his bed, pasty flesh bright against the shadows of his apartments. His snores echoed through the vast chamber. Aemond’s presence did not alert the king at all, his sense of danger dampened by liquor. 

The second son watched him, sneering, before turning around in search of something. It glinted like a beacon under the moonlight, beckoning him closer. The Conqueror’s catspaw dagger stood tall, its sharp tip pierced into the wood of Aegon’s side table. Aemond tested its weight in his hand, getting familiar with the feel of its handle. It was heavy, burdened with its importance to them and their legacy. An imbecile like Aegon had no right to wield it. It belonged to someone worthy of power, of glory. 

Putting his brother on the throne had cost Aemond too much, yet he had been rewarded so little. It cost him his control, his sanity. It cost him his wife. His own brother had played a major hand in his torment, and it was high time the second son was granted his retribution.

It was all too easy to kill him now. One plunge into his slumbering form, and this would all end. It would save everyone much trouble and with a better king on the throne. Save the realm from much horror and bloodshed, that was the power Aemond currently held. No, he wanted him to suffer. He wanted to gaze into the elder’s eyes as he pleaded for mercy. The younger longed to feel his brother’s flesh under his boot, just before he crushed him to pieces. There was no honor in killing a sleeping man, yet again, there was no honor in killing one’s own kin either. There was no honor in any of this, and the one-eyed prince found himself uncaring. The gods had already shunned him, right under the thunderous clouds of Storm’s End. Honor will not save him now, nor any of them. That is why they allowed him to lose his wife. 

Perhaps he was too harsh on the gods, they have to deal with this headache of a war as it is. This was no other’s fault but his after all.

But he is owed by his brother. For many, many things.

The second son set the dagger back in its place. He will be patient. He will have his chance soon enough. Aegon will pay for his sins; Aemond will make sure of it. 

[chuulyssa]

──── ★ DRUGS SUCK IT UP LIKE VANILLA ICYS the recruiter x reader ────

starring the recruiter x detective!reader count 2.3k genre 18+ dark themes, yandere, stalking, kidnapping, gunplay, smut

notes I'LL KEEP EDITING THIS AND ADDING MORE SHIT WHENEVER I GET HORNY !!! make sure to keep tapping in lol notes wanted to write smth non horny but gong yoo just had to deepthroat that gun 🙂‍↔️ wrote this at 2am and i have my practicals tmr

You had no idea when you had lost track of him. One minute, you had been following his step through the bustling train station, and the next, your vision had blurred, and a sharp pain had shot at the base of your skull.

You didn’t know how long it had been since then. You opened your eyes, immediately shutting them back due to the sudden appearance of light to them. The scent of cigarette smoke filled your nostrils, and your tongue tasted blood.

You wriggled, trying to move your arms, but your hands had been tied behind your back, ankles tied to the legs of the chair you had been made to sit on. You opened your eyes once more. The room was dim with a single light bulb flickering on and off again and again.

“Detective,” a voice cooed at you from behind you.

You snapped your neck up to see his face smiling gleefully, staring down at you with a predatory glint in his eyes.

“Imagine my surprise,” he continued, moving away to stand in front of you, “when I realized the pretty lady that had been following me all this while,” he leaned against what you could make out to be a wooden table, “was you.”

His smirk was maddening. You remembered it from all those years ago. The handsome man in a suit, way too overdressed to meet you where he had. The man who had approached you when you were hopelessly drunk in a children’s park, crying about an unsolved case. He had wiped your tears back then, kissed your fears away. You still recall his words.

“Since we’re in a children’s park, how about a children’s game?”

Thank god for the polite refusal of yours, or you would’ve been in the same position as your current client. Seong Gihun. For whom you had been trailing this man for weeks now. The Recruiter.

“Hello? Earth to you, miss?” He snapped his fingers in front of your dazed face, making you jump at the sudden sound. He laughed at you. Then, flicking ash from his cigarette onto the floor, he mocked you. “I had such high hopes for you back then, sweetheart. But you said no,” he pouted, then cackled maniacally at your expression. “I got a kiss though!”

“Shut up,” you hissed.

He chuckled darkly, the sound echoing throughout the small room. Your eyes darted around to check for windows or exits, but you couldn’t find any in the pale lighting. “Aw, you want me to let you go? After you’ve been my little shadow for the past month?”

You looked away, and he only smirked, walking towards you. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked it upwards to catch your attention. “You look at me while we’re speaking. Don’t you have manners, love?”

“Don’t call me that,” you scoffed.

“Oh, you don’t want me to call you that? Is that right, love?” He jeered. When you scowled at him, he dropped his smirk. “Oh, come on now. We both know you’re not going anywhere. Come, let’s have a chat, shall we?”

He sat on the floor, his toes lifting him off the ground by themselves. The soles of his shoes clinked, tilting up so that he was mostly leaning onto you.

“It’s so flattering,” he began, “that you spent so much time trying to follow me all this time later. Am I that captivating, Miss Detective?”

“No.”

“Ah, but you are, certainly,” he nuzzled his face into your lap, making you squirm. You tried to close your thighs, but the restraints didn’t allow you to. “I’ve been dreaming of you ever since I saw you that night.”

He hummed, his knees going down to support his stance. He moved his hands to caress the front of your waist softly. “I cried because you were crying. So don’t cry over anything other than me, hm? It makes me so upset.”

He unbuttoned your pants swiftly, and you flinched. He looked up, amused at your reaction. You glared at him, refusing to speak, but the look in your face, the desire in your eyes, even the wetness he could practically smell betrayed you. He tilted his head.

“Still so stubborn,” he murmured, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. You jerked your head away, but the restraint made it futile.

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re in my world now, detective. And in my world, we play games.”

He pulled out a revolver from under his suit. The metallic click of the very much real weapon cocking made your breath hitch.

Where did he get that from?

He always managed to surprise you.

“Russian roulette,” he announced dramatically, spinning the cylinder. “You know this, yes? A game of chance. Just like life.”

“You’re fucking insane,” you spat, trying to keep your voice steady, but you could feel it quaking in fear. You were scared now.

“Maybe,” he agreed, stepping behind you and pressing the cold barrel of the gun to your temple. “But aren’t you curious, detective? I am. I’m so so curious. You make me feel it. To crave it. Don’t you see it?”

You closed your eyes. The pressure of the gun against your skin seemed unbearable now. It was as if the nuzzle could pierce through your brain with how he was holding it against you.

“I want to see,” he kissed the top of your head, “just how far you’re willing to go to solve this case.”

I’ll do anything, you thought.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “Beg me to stop, but there’ll be consequences then. Or take the risk.”

His voice was a low purr. The gun shifted slightly, trailing down your temple to rest just below your jaw.

“Say the word, and I’ll put it all to an end. No more games. No more questions.” His other hand came up, ghosting over your chest. “But then you’ll have to give me something else in return.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to steady your breathing as he groped your breast through the fabric of your shirt. The room felt too small, the air too thin.

“What’s it going to be, darling?” he teased, the nickname twisting in your gut like a knife. His fingers found your hardened nipple through the fabric, and his lips your neck.

“I...” you started, but your voice cracked. His soft chuckle rumbled against your pulse, sending an unwanted shiver down your spine.

“No shame in fear,” he said, almost kindly. The gun tilted up, tilting your chin with it, forcing you to meet his dark, hungry gaze in the reflection of the mirror in front of you. “Little Miss Detective, found dead in a basement room. Your parents wouldn’t like to hear that now, would they?”

Your eyes widened. He knew. He knew from the start you had been tailing him. He had kept tabs on you, more than you had on him.

“Stop,” you whispered. “Please.”

“Ah, is that the best you can do?” He cooed at you, and your hands clenched into fists.

“Please let me go,” you said, almost angrily, and he threw his head back to laugh.

“That’s not how you say it, dolly.”

You took a deep breath in, feeling your pride crush and fall down around you in bits and pieces. “Please, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” He repeated in a child-like voice. “Like what?”

“Anything you like.”

His smile grew. “Will you be willing to play a game with me, then?” His hand reached under your shirt to caress your nipple, and you could feel yourself gushing at the touch.

“What game?”

“Hm, let’s see,” he murmured softly, fingers circling around your nipple. “I’ll count down from ten.”

You swallowed hard. “And?”

“And for every second that passes, I’ll take one step closer to you,” he explained, his lips curling into a sly smile. “If you say the safe word, I stop. But…” He picked up the gun, rolling the cylinder lazily before he pointed it to the side and—

BANG !

You shook, trying to cower and hide yourself, but even that was difficult. The aftereffects of the shot echoed in the silence, until it faded away. It made everything seem realer, if that was even possible. He grinned at your reaction. “There will be problems.”

“What problems?”

“That’s for me to decide,” he said simply, leaning forward, the gun still in his hand. “Do you want to play, Miss Detective?”

You hesitated. There was no way out of this room, no way out of his control. And he knew it.

“Good.” He stood, assuming your answer before you even responded. But the gun was still in his hand, and you didn’t dare disobey. He stepped back to the far wall and bumped into a table on the way. Angrily, he kicked the table out of his way, muttering curses all the while. Then his expression softened as he turned to you. “The rules are clear. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

He began.

“Ten.” The sound of his boots against the floor echoed around.

“Nine.” Another step. His eyes locked onto yours like a predator stalking its prey.

“Eight.” Your hands gripped the edge of the chair.

“Seven.” The gun in his hand wasn’t aimed at you yet, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from it.

“Six.” He was close enough now that you could see the faint smirk playing on his lips.

“Five.” “Wait,” you blurted out.

He paused mid-step, tilting his head. “Wait? That’s not the safe word.” He took another step, closer still. You clenched your jaw, now starting to panic.

He never even gave you a safe word in the first place!

“Four.” He was looming over you now, the barrel of the gun tracing along the edge of the table.

“Three.” “Stop,” you said loudly.

“Two.” The gun was under your chin now, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

“One.” He smiled, satisfied, as he crouched down to your level, his face mere inches from yours. “You didn’t use the safe word,” he murmured, the gun tracing along your jawline.

“You didn’t give me one!”

“Details,” he rolled his eyes. “But now, as per the rules, of course…” He kneeled down in front of you again, head tilting down. His hands went up to grip both sides of your waist.

“Wait—”

“Shut up.”

For a moment or two, you didn’t feel anything. That was until his tongue licked a striped against your clothed cunt.

“Ack!” You jumped, trying to push him off you, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Like that?” He nuzzled his face into the wetness, making you shiver. “I haven’t even started yet, baby,” he mumbled. Then, he sank his teeth into your clothed thigh.

You let out a loud cry, hoping that someone — anyone — would hear you. But no one did. No one came.

“Quiet now, dolly.” His teeth chewed at your waistband for a few seconds before pulling it down completely. “Up,” he tapped your waist, and you obediently raised your hips. He pried your pants off you.

“Oh,” he let out a disappointed sigh when he saw that your panties were still covering you. “We’ve got to take this off, hm?” He cooed at you again. “Come on, taking it off for me now.”

“What?”

“I said, take it off.”

“How?” You were taken aback.

“Wiggle wiggle,” he smiled like a dork. Then he sat up and kissed your ear. “I’ll help you with the top till then.”

He helped lift your top over your head directly. Once it was off, his lips immediately latched back onto your cheek. “Panties off, please. Before I rip them apart.”

You nodded and fidgeted for a while, lifting your hips up and down and trying to get the fabric off you. But it wouldn’t budge at all.

“Pathetic,” he said, though he looked at you fondly, as if mocking your vulnerability. Tugging a finger under the waistband of your panties, he peeled the soaked cloth away from your skin easily, patting your waist so you’d lift them up to get it off completely. 

You were exposed to him. Naked from top to bottom except for the bra he somehow hadn’t removed yet. You felt the sudden chill of air against your bare pussy. Your nipples pebbled further. He tossed the underwear aside.

His hands slid along your thighs, spreading them wider. “Beautiful.” His fingers tightened. A hand snaked between your legs, cupping the flesh of your thighs easily. “So wet. Already? You should be ashamed.”

You flushed lightly, trying to come up with a retort. But he shut you up immediately. His middle finger had found its way inside you.

“Fuck—” you groaned, and he snickered.

He wiggled his finger within you, grinding it against your inner walls, pressing firmly on that sweet spot while watching as your face contorted in pleasure.

Your body bucked as he added another finger, stretching you wide open. Then another. And another.

He pulled back suddenly, and you whined.

“Why—?”

“No,” he whispered, standing up. His large frame towered over yours, his hands reaching behind your neck to unclasp your bra. “Such nice tits, dolly.” He squeezed them in his rough palms as if grateful to God for his creations. His thumb brushed across your hardening nipple, teasing the peak into a tighter bud, if that was even possible.

Then he lowered his head, capturing one between his lips and suckling deeply. His tongue flicked expertly at your hardened nipple, nipping lightly.

You could see stars.

Suck. Nip. Twist. Fiddle. Suck. Nip. Twist. Fiddle. Suck. Ni—

He moved onto the other one and did the same.

Fuck was he good at his job.

He left trails of kisses on your chest. Both of them were red and swollen now, and you were left cursing his name in your mind.

“I’ve been playing nice all this while, don’t you think? Let’s make it rougher.”

[lazy-ahh]

TROUBLE LOOKS GOOD ON YOU

pairing mark grayson x (vigilante) male reader

you’re a disaster wrapped in kevlar and bad decisions. mark grayson? he’s sunshine in spandex. you shouldn’t work. you don’t work—except when it’s 2 am and the city’s quiet, except when his hands find the cracks in your armor like they were made to fit there. except when he looks at you like you’re something worth loving, and for once, you don’t have the heart to tell him he’s wrong.

the crumpled hood of the villains’ getaway van makes a decent chair, if you ignore the broken glass. you’re sprawled across it like it’s your personal throne, watching mark hover nearby like an overprotective shadow. the would-be thieves are zip-tied in a groaning pile, one of them still half-stuck in the dumpster you gracefully introduced him to earlier.

"wow," you drawl, kicking your boots up on the shattered windshield. "you guys really thought this plan would work? even i have higher standards, and i once fought a telekinetic badger with a crowbar."

mark continues to hover near you, arms crossed. "you drop-kicked a guy into a dumpster," he says, like it’s some kind of crime.

"correction: i tactically repositioned him into a dumpster," you counter, grinning as he rolls his eyes. "and hey—" you gesture to the defeated goons. "—no guns, no hostages, just a little creative problem-solving. admit it, vincible. you love having a partner who keeps things interesting."

he opens his mouth—probably to whine about "excessive force" or whatever—but stops when you flick a crumpled soda can at his chest. the way his frown fights a smile? priceless.

mark sighs, defeated, before finally floating down, landing with a stupidly heroic thud. he offers you a hand, and you take it, if only to mock his gentlemanly gesture. except he doesn’t let go. and—weirdly—you don’t pull away either. his thumb brushes over your knuckles, slow and deliberate, and you have to fight the urge to yank your hand back just to spite him. (who does he think he is, melting your edges like this?)

"you wanna come to my house for dinner?" he murmurs, leaning in just enough that his breath ghosts over your ear. "mom says she’s cooking your favorite dish to entice you. her words, not mine."

you can hear the smirk in his voice. bastard. "wow, bribing me with food now? you’re getting desperate, vincible," you shoot back, but your traitorous fingers tighten around his anyway.

he huffs a laugh, warm and close. "is it working?"

(yes.)

"depends," you lie. "what’s she making?"

"pork sisig."

"sisig?" you deadpan, raising an eyebrow. "damn, aunt debbie’s playing dirty. she knows i’d crawl through hell for that crispy pork."

mark’s grin is obnoxiously smug. "yep. she also said if you say no, she’ll save the leftovers for me instead—"

"over my dead body," you snap, already dragging him toward the street. his laugh is stupidly bright for someone who just witnessed you yeet a man into a dumpster ten minutes ago.

(and okay, fine—maybe you like that sound. maybe you’ve memorized the exact way his nose scrunches when he’s trying not to cackle at your bullshit. maybe you’ve even stopped "accidentally" stealing his hoodies because his scent clinging to you is… whatever. not the point.)

"knew you’d cave," mark sing-songs, swinging your joined hands like an overexcited golden retriever. the sidewalk crowd parts around you two—not out of fear (though your rep should warrant it), but because invincible is practically skipping down the street with a guy who once put a batarang through a drug lord’s windshield as a warning shot. the stares burn into your back. great. tomorrow’s headlines will be invincible’s mysterious boyfriend revealed! with some paparazzi shot of mark grinning like an idiot while you glare at the camera like it personally offended you. you think it's funny (and endearing) that mark doesn't seem to care.

you shove him with your free hand. "shut up. i’m tolerating you for the food."

"uh-huh," he says, voice dripping with the kind of smugness that makes you want to strangle him. or kiss him. annoying. "that’s why you also agreed to movie night after. and let my dad teach you viltrumite chess last week—which, by the way, you cheated at—"

"vincible," you growl, "i swear to god—"

he kisses your gloved knuckles, slow and deliberate, just to watch your brain bluescreen. asshole.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

"aunt debbie, i don’t think i can eat anyone else’s cooking of sisig anymore," you say around a mouthful of rice, already reaching for your third serving. "this is illegal. you’re gonna ruin all other food for me."

debbie beams, refilling your plate before you can even ask. "good. that means you’ll keep coming back," she says, flicking your forehead lightly. "mark said you punched a guy through a wall today. again."

"he deserved it," you mutter, shooting a glare at mark—who’s too busy laughing into his soda to defend you. his knee knocks against yours under the table, warm and steady, and fuck, you hate how your body betrays you by leaning into it. like some pathetic magnet. like you’re not the guy who once made one of the most notorious villains flinch.

nolan leans back in his chair, arms crossed. "you know, when mark said he was dating someone ‘intense,’ i didn’t realize he meant ‘frequently commits property damage.’"

"oh please," you scoff, pointing your fork at him. "you literally leveled a city once. i’m tame compared to you."

the table goes quiet. mark chokes on his drink.

then nolan laughs—deep and booming—while debbie shakes her head like she’s already drafting your apology to the mayor. "he’s got you there, honey," she says, patting nolan’s arm.

mark kicks your shin under the table, grinning. "stop impressing my dad. it’s weird."

"make me, vincible," you shoot back—just as debbie slides another heap of sisig onto your plate.

you don’t miss the way mark’s fingers brush yours when he steals your spoon to eat your food, though. or how his thumb lingers on your wrist for half a second too long, calloused and sure. bastard. he knows what he’s doing. knows the way your pulse jumps under his touch, knows you’ll let him take whatever he wants from you—food, space, the last shreds of your reputation as chicago’s most unshakeable bastard.

and the worst part? he gives it all right back. in the way he leans into your space like he’s trying to fuse your skeletons together. in the way his laugh softens to something private when you grumble "fine, take it," pushing the plate toward him. in the way he tugs you into the couch later, his nose buried in your hair like he’s trying to memorize the scent of gunpowder and cheap shampoo.

(you’ll never admit it, but you’d raze cities for this guy. and he knows. he knows.)

you lay there, ear pressed to his chest like it’s the only compass you’ve ever needed, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat. it’s too much. it’s not enough. your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt like you’re afraid the universe will yank this away any second—because it always does. because you’re the kid who crawled out of a battlefield that could've been his grave, the soldier cecil left behind, the ghost who burns too bright to keep. you don’t get this. not soft blankets on your back, not warm hands in your hair, not mark’s stupidly perfect ribs rising and falling beneath your cheek like some kind of prayer.

but for someone who’s never stayed in one place longer than a mission briefing, this feels like home. and that’s the most terrifying part.

the two of you stay like that for what feels like forever, mark combing his fingers through your hair like you’re something precious instead of something broken. your arms lock around his sinfully thin waist, pulling him closer with a quiet huff of contentment. you, who’ve bitten off threats with bloodied teeth and called it a smile, who wear your scars like armor—you melt against him. your usual sharp edges (the furrowed brow, the tension in your jaw, the always-ready-to-bite smirk) smooth out into something peaceful. something safe.

mark’s chest rumbles with a silent laugh beneath you. ha. knew you were a softie. he doesn’t say it out loud, but you feel it in the way his fingertips trace your scalp, in the way he presses his lips to your forehead like he’s sealing a promise.

and damn him for it, because he’s right. damn him for the way his hands fit against the notches of your spine like they were carved to hold ruin. damn him for how easy he makes it—to breathe, to stay, to believe the impossible truth that a heart as shattered as yours could still be something worth kissing.

damn him for the way his stupidly perfect smile slots between your ribs and into your heart every time he looks at you. those soft brown eyes that don’t just see you, but keep seeing you—past the bloodstains and the body count, through every lie you’ve ever worn like armor. his dark hair spills across the pillow like a piece of the night sky you’re allowed to touch, and isn’t that the cruelest joke? that someone made of starlight and second chances would choose to orbit a black hole like you?

damn him most of all for how he loves you. reckless and relentless, like his heart didn’t get the memo that yours is a crime scene. he pours love into you like it’s something you could deserve—overflowing and endless, while all you can give back are jagged pieces and residues of warmth and love, scraped raw from the ruins of you and in-between the cracks of your broken heart.

and the worst part? you’d let him ruin you like this forever.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

it’s 2 AM, that cursed hour your body insists on waking to like clockwork, some leftover survival instinct from a life that demanded you sleep with one eye open. but tonight, the reason you’re awake is softer. warmer. mark’s chest rises and falls beneath your cheek, his breath steady as a metronome. you push up on one elbow, slow and careful, just enough to see his face in the blue-dark of the living room—all the daylight tension smoothed out of his features, his lips slightly parted, his stupidly long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks.

you stay like that, frozen in the quiet, staring with the kind of naked devotion that would’ve made your younger self sneer. pathetic, he’d have said. weak. but here, now, with no one to witness except the moon through the curtains, you let yourself look. let yourself want. your fingers itch to touch, so you do—trailing through his hair like you’re mapping the shape of something holy. his strands are stupidly soft between your calloused fingers, and when he sighs in his sleep, nuzzling unconsciously into your palm, your chest does something embarrassing.

you’re so fucked.

you should stop. you don’t. minutes stretch like taffy, sticky-sweet and endless, your thumb brushing his temple, the shell of his ear, the dip behind his jaw. you’re a thief memorizing the contours of a treasure you’ll never deserve. mark shifts, and for a heartbeat you think you’ve woken him—but no, he just turns his face into your wrist, his lips grazing your pulse point like an accidental kiss.

then his eyes flutter open.

and god, the way he looks at you—like you’re the first thing he wants to see every morning for the rest of his life, like he’s already dreaming and you’re the best part. his groggy smile is a knife between your ribs.

"morning, sleeping beauty," you murmur, your voice rough with something too close to worship. your fingers don’t stop moving through his hair, even as his arms tighten around you, pulling you down until your foreheads touch.

"what time is it?" he slurs, already half-asleep again.

you press a silent kiss to the corner of his mouth. "you don’t need to know." your hand slides down to cover his eyes, playful. "just... go back to sleep."

"no, no... it’s fine." mark’s voice is still thick with sleep, but his grip on your wrist is sure as he pulls your palm to his lips, pressing a kiss to the scar that cuts across it—the one you got the night you two met, back when you still pretended you weren’t impressed by him. he pushes up onto his elbows, his hair sticking up in every direction, and kisses your forehead like it’s a habit. "i know you wanna go for a ride. i’ll come with you."

and fuck. you’ve spent your whole life being looked at, not seen—except by him. your breath stutters, eyes wide as you stare at him like he’s just peeled back your ribs and counted every broken piece. what did i ever do to deserve you? you don’t say it, but your face must scream it, because mark just laughs softly, already tugging you off the couch with that stupidly chivalrous "up you go" grip he’s had since day one.

a year together, and it still hits you like a sucker punch: how easy this is for him. how he knows you better than you know yourself—knows that when the nightmares or the restlessness claw at you, your first instinct isn’t to talk, or fight, or drink. it’s to vanish into the city’s veins on your bike, let the wind rip the thoughts right out of your skull. and mark? he doesn’t ask. doesn’t lecture. just straps on his helmet like it’s the most natural thing in the world to chase your demons at 2 am.

"you’re buying the coffee after," you grumble, shoving his shoulder as you grab your keys off the counter.

mark grins, already toeing on his sneakers like a man who’s done this a hundred times. (he has.) "uh-huh. and you’re not gonna speed just to feel me cling to you like a scared koala."

"no promises, grayson."

wow. 2.3k words of pure sleep-deprived brainrot (are you sure?) at 2 am and somehow... it worked? i was absolutely COOKING while listening to "soft spot" by keshi on repeat - that song basically soundtracks the whole couch scene so please go give it a listen! we all deserve this exact brand of tender love in our lives (manifesting it right now for all of us) cause we know we all need that inVINCIDIH-

[satorusugurugurl]

JJK Men Making Up With You After A Fight

Characters: Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, Ryomen Sukuna, FAB!Reader

Content Warning: sex, makeup sex, fighting, public sex, choking, dirty talk!

Word Count: 5,453

A/N: Hot diggity damn, makeup sex time. Gojo’s had me cackling!! As always, requests are open!! I don’t bite. . unless you ask nicely 😈

Gojo Satoru

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you ignored it, much like the other ten times it rang. You instead headed for the concession stand at the theater. Your boyfriend, Satoru Gojo, had pissed you off beyond all means. He'd forgotten all about your date. The specific date you had been planning for a month. You intended to celebrate at the fanciest restaurant and made reservations two weeks ago. All for him! Because they had world-class desserts.

You got there before him; they took you to your private table. Where you waited, and waited, and waited. Finally, forty-five minutes later, you called him.

“Hey, babe!” He said over the sound background chatter. “What's up? I'm out at the new cafe with Suguru and Nanami!”

“Oh?” Gritting your teeth, you tapped your nails against the table. “Are you having fun?” The tone of your voice was bitter and cold.

Your boyfriend hesitated, “Uhm yeah, the desserts are delicious.” Rage boiled in your gut.

“You know who else has delicious desserts?” He hummed, but you didn't give him a chance to answer. “The restaurant I'm at! You know the one I made reservations for three weeks ago?!”

You could practically see the fear in your boyfriend's voice. “Oh fuck, shit! That was tonight?! Stay there; I'll be there in a couple of minutes.” Your eyes stung with unshed tears.

“No, you can come, but I won't be here.”

You had done just as you said, quickly paying for your tab before hurrying out of the restaurant before Gojo could teleport there. You crossed the street, heading towards the movie theater. There was not a chance in hell he would find you in here. You were heartbroken; all the effort you put into your date was wasted.

You sat in the very back of the empty theater. You were feeling some ease that there was no one here. Then again, they were playing older movies anyone could stream nowadays. You seriously doubted anyone would be joining you to watch Titanic. You could zone out, cool down, and try to figure out what to say to Satoru the next time you see him.

As the opening credits started to play, you heard a door slam open. Peeking down, you choked on popcorn as you noticed your boyfriend scanning the theater. Bright blue eyes seemed to glow as he held his blindfold in one hand. Fuck! Fuck! Fuckin stupid Six-Eyes! Those blue eyes instantly found you, and you could see the relief wash over Satoru. You hid your face behind the bucket of popcorn, internally groaning as you heard him bounding up the stairs.

“Y/N! Why didn’t you wait for me?!” You ignored him, slowly lowering the bucket to stare at the movie screen. “Hey, hello?”

“Shh!” You scolded before stuffing more popcorn in your mouth. Avoiding his questions altogether.

His shoes stepped over the soda-sticky floor, blocking your view of the screen. “We need to talk.” His hand gently reached out, index finger lifting your chin to look up at him.

“Fuck you.” You said, getting up and moving further down the row, plopping down in a seat.

“Y/N baby!” The groan he let out had you rolling your eyes. “Please, I’m sorry I forgot!” He bounded after you, only for you to get up stepping into the lower row. Your action had Gojo stopping in his tracks, the two of you staring at each other. “Are you playing keep away?”

A rich laugh escaped him, one that was full of humor and delight. It had him hunching over as he cackled. You hated it, but you found your smile tugging at your lips. Here he was, groaning and whining like a child, and you weren’t any better. You were running away from him, pouting like a toddler that didn’t get their way.

Gojo’s laughter the tears forming in his eyes, had your heart feeling lighter. God, he was such a cutie. A cutie who forgot all about your date. A date you’d spent time, money, and energy on! All for his benefit. Holy shit, the Gojo charm almost had you forgiving him!

“No!” You snapped, stomping down your foot like the mature adult you were. “Shut up! I’m mad at you.”

Turning to head further down the row, you gasped as Satoru jumped over the row, landing right in front of you. “Look, just give me a chan—“ he started before you threw a handful of popcorn in his face, “okay, and here I thought I was the immature one.” His tongue darted out, licking at the salty butter off the corner of his mouth.

“You are! Toru, seriously! I put all that time and effort into planning that for you!!” You threw another piece directly at his forehead. He allowed the abuse with the popcorn to continue. He was staring at you as you tossed another piece at him.

“Are you done now?” He asked as you hugged the bucket to your chest. “Awesome, cool.” He reached out, ruffling your hair. “I can’t make up for missing the date that I seriously appreciate you planning and paying for. I can, however, make the most out of the night I fucked up.”

“How do you plan on doing that?” You flung one more piece of popcorn at him. It hit infinity before he snatched the bucket from you, placing it in one of the empty chairs.

“You’ll see.” A childlike smile was plastered across his face as he ran down the stairs, grabbing two bags before running back up to you. “We might not be at the fanciest of restaurants.” Your heart soared as he held out a take-out bag from the restaurant where you had made reservations. “But dinner and the Titanic?” He learned by pressing his forehead against yours. “Sounds like a great fuckin’ date to me.”

Taking the bag out of Satoru’s hands, you sighed, your fingers grazing over his longer ones. He didn’t have to pick up dinner from the restaurant you planned to take him to. Satoru didn't even need to try to find you when he knew you were angry, yet here he was—trying to prove to you just how sorry he was. Those were some of the things you loved about him. Cocky, annoying, and charming in more ways than one.

With your free hand, you grab onto Satoru’s wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Has anyone told you that you're a charming asshole?” Seeing your smile, Satoru let out a sigh of relief before intertwining your fingers.

“Nope, that one's new.”

“Don't push it.”

“Yes, ma’am!” He grabbed the popcorn bucket before following you back to the top row. The two of you cracked open the takeout containers, eating the delicious food while whispering as you watched the movie.

Halfway through the food and movie, you hummed, watching the infamous steamy car scene before you turned to Satoru, who yawned. “Hey, Toru.” he tilted his head, turning to look down at you. “Do you think we could recreate this scene?” He perked up. “In a veil?”

“Oh, holy fuck!” You yelled, hand gripping Satoru’s shoulder as you bounced up and down on his cock. “Fuck, oooh fuck!”

Your boyfriend's head was tilted back against the chair. Whines and whimpers escaped his pressed lips as you slammed yourself up and down as hard and as fast as you could. The tiny viel Satoru had put around the two of you was keeping you concealed, and the heat within the small space.

The thick, musky, almost sweet smell of sex was getting to you, making you hotter and hornier. Knowing the two of you were fucking in such an open space, without people knowing, God, it was so hot. You were going to fuck Toru’s brains out as both punishment for forgetting your date and for making it one you would never forget.

“Y/N, please,” Satoru cried out, “please fuck.”

“Please, what, Toru~?” You cooed, rocking yourself back and forth on his dick, making his jaw drop into a wide ‘O’. “Tell me what you want baby~”

“I wanna cum; I wanna cum in your pussy.” He begged, his hands groping and massaging your breasts. “Please, baby~?”

You giggle just before you can respond to the people entering the theater. The cleaning ushers, no doubt. Your body seized up, clamping down on Satoru’s cock, causing him to growl. Your hand flew up, covering his mouth as you listened to the staff talking. While they couldn’t see you, the thought of strangers walking around while you had sex, god, it made you wetter than wet.

Keeping your hand over Satoru’s mouth, you fucked yourself down on him like he was your own personal dildo. His whines grew louder under your hand as he gripped your ass, helping you fuck yourself on him. He was so close, so, so close.

All he needed was a little push. That push is your twitching cunt. You rocked faster, your free hand resting over his chest, as you felt your orgasm coming in fast before your back arched. A silent scream etched your face as you came hard. Satoru gaped into your eyes, eyebrows furrowed together, as one hand gripped your ass and the other smacked into the veil.

Or rather, through it.

A bloody murder scream came from one of the workers as a disembodied hand popped out of thin air. The co-workers followed her out, screaming and yelling. At the same time, Satoru pulled his hand back inside the veil. The two of you were coming down, your bare chest resting against his. You just stared at each other for a long moment before you both started to giggle loudly.

“G-Guess the handprint scene doesn't work well in the veil.” Satoru chuckled, cupping strands of hair behind your ear.

“Guess not.” Was your confirmation, as you slowly pulled yourself off of Satoru’s lap with a wince. “Such a shame. I was hoping for better results.”

“Hmm, it might not work with the veil, but I have an idea where we could try because I’m not done yet. I still haven't apologized to you in the way you deserve.”

“Oh?” You both picked up your trash and readjusted your clothes as Satoru lowered the veil.

“Yeah, I wanna apologize to you in the shower, in our bed, fuck even the balcony.” The two of you ran for the exit door. “It's a good thing that the restaurant you picked out is known for the aphrodisiac desserts.”

“Wait, what?”

“Oooh, sweetie,” Satoru sneered down at you with a mischievous chuckle.“Why do you think I kept bugging you to take me to that restaurant?”

It was going to be a very long night for you.

Nanami Kento:

“Damn!” The soft curse woke you up; you rubbed your eyes, watching your fiancè searching for something on the dresser.

“Kento?” Your groggy voice drew his attention towards you. “Welcome home.”

Your beloved fiance had been gone for two weeks. He'd just gotten home last night; Gojo had picked him up for you. You had been working your ass off for the previous two weeks. You picked up the work of another co-worker who had just walked out without notice. Gojo knew you had been running around for two weeks filing paperwork, assigning missions, and helping Shoko. He was instant on you getting some sleep. He assured you he'd get Nanami, and you were thankful for him doing that for you.

This way, you could spend more time with Kento.

“Where are my cufflinks?” Nanako snapped, his eyes full of annoyance.

His tone had you blinking in stunned silence. “Right there,” you motioned to the box he always kept them in, “was your mission rough?” That would explain his cold, sharp tone.

“Yes, Y/N, it was rough.” He opened the box, grabbing the links before slamming it shut. “You wouldn't understand.”

His words sliced through you like a hot knife. “Excuse me?” You three the sheets off your body, standing to face him. “What the hell do you mean I wouldn't understand?!” Nanami Kento rolled his eyes at your anger.

“I'm simply stating the truth. You don't understand what it's like to go out on missions, fight, and do more than paperwork.” His hand ran through his still-damp hair. “So I'm just trying to understand why you couldn't pick me up last night. Gojo told me that you were burning the candle at both ends. I fail to see how that is even possible.”

The bedroom was nearly silent. The only sound that you could hear over the boiling rage was your heartbeat in your ears. “Get out of my way.” Was all you could manage as you pushed past him, digging through your drawers for clothes.

“Honestly, why are you acting like a child?”

“Why are you acting like a dick?!” Nanako was seconds from snapping back, but his words evaded him when he saw you crying. “You have no idea how hard my job is!” Your hands wiped uselessly at the stream of tears. “My worthless coworker quit. So I'm stuck doing my job and hers!”

“Y/N.”

“Yes! I do loads of paperwork, and I sit in front of a computer most of my day.” You pulled on your pants, stepping out of Nanami’s grasp. “It may not be physically demanding, but in a mental aspect, I'm drained. Paperwork, mission assignments, and death notices!” Honey-brown eyes went wide. “Yeah, that's why my coworker quit! She couldn't handle it!”

“Love, I—”

You held a hand up, silencing Nanami. “So last night, Gojo picked you up instead of me because I was in Kyoto. Telling a mother and father that their eighteen-year-old son died!” Flashes of Yu Haibara flashed through Nanami’s eyes.

He could barely handle his death, imagining what his parents went through. When someone in your position told them that their child was gone, he couldn't even begin to imagine what that must have been like. Emotionally and mentally draining. He had no idea how much your job consisted of because you hardly brought it up. More concerned with him.

“Y/N, I had no clue—”

“No, fuck you.” You turned on your heel, racing for the door. “Welcome home! Kindly go fuck yourself.” With those words, you left, leaving Nanami alone in your apartment.

It took you a couple of hours to cry out your feelings. The exhaustion and stress of the last two weeks hit you all at once with Nanami’s cruel words. He had no clue what you went through without him here. It didn't matter if he was just as exhausted as you were. Both of you had been ground to bones in two weeks apart.

Despite all of those factors, he still had no right to talk to you the way he had.

But as much as you wanted to stay away from him, your apartment, reality, you had to go back. Your engagement ring glimmered as a stupid reminder, even if he had crossed a line today. Nanami was still the love of your life.

The second you unlocked the door to the apartment, you sighed. “I'm home.” Your voice was barely audible.

Just as you finished removing your shoes, you looked up to see Nanami. His cheeks and neck flushed as he looked at the floor. Your fiance looked like a dog that had been scolded, as he should. Despite wanting to throw yourself into his arms and cry out your frustration, to hit, to beg him to hold you tight, you just walked past him.

Entering your living room, your heart lurched into your throat as you gasped. A large bouquet of roses is on your coffee table, surrounded by all your favorite snacks. The words ‘I’m Sorry’ were spelled in rose petals on the floor.

You had thought you were incapable of crying anymore, yet fresh tears spilled over your tear-stained cheeks. Nanami’s body looked over you, his hands hesitantly rubbing your shoulders. To Nanami’s relief, you didn't attempt to pull away.

“Y/N, I'm so, so, sorry.” you leaned back into his chest, sniffling as you wiped at your eyes. “The way that I acted this morning was utterly disgusting. I took my frustration and anger out on you, the last person I should ever hurt.” His fingers began kneading and rubbing at your sore muscles. “Could you ever find it in your heart to forgive me? For being an irrational ass?”

”A major ass.” Nanami’s whole body relaxed at your soft voice.

He turned you around to face him, his strong arms holding you flush against him. “Yes, a total and complete asshole.” Once your arms wrapped around his waist, he fully relaxed. ”Are you okay?” His smooth voice whispered, his chin resting on top of your head. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“No, I just want you.”

Pulling away to look up at him, he noticed the dark circles under your eyes. “Yeah? Do you need me to help you fall asleep?” His hand trailed down, gripping your hips. Your nod was the only confirmation he needed.

Sprawled out over the bed, candles burning, soft music playing, you gasped and whimpered. Nanami’s face was buried between your thighs, kissing and sucking at your drenched folds. Those honey-brown eyes that had been filled with concern and worry earlier were now drowning in lust. His needs could wait until later. This was all about you, making you feel better.

”Fuck Ken!” Your fingers grazed over his undercut before gripping the longer strands of hair. “Don’t stop, please, fuck.” Obeying your wishes, Kento’s tongue moved faster. Sucking and slurping at you. Quenching the thirst he had been craving for the last two weeks. “Yes, yes, yes!’

Feeling your cunt clenching, Kento shoved two fingers inside of you, his tongue focusing on your clit. You gasped, eyes wide as his two fingers rubbed expertly against your g-spot. You swore he nearly sent you to heaven as white spots flooded your vision. You screamed before squirting all over his face. The sensation, the taste of your cum had him rutting his hips into the mattress. His tongue did not once let up. It was your orgasm, the content sigh that left your lips that had him stiffening. His cock spurting cum all within the confines of his boxers and sweats.

Your dazy eyes trailed down over your nude body, focusing on Kento’s rutting form. Humping the mattress until the last waves of both of your orgasms came to an end. Kento hummed, his voice vibrated against your still trembling pussy. When he found the strength to pull away, You smiled as he trailed soft kisses up your thighs, hips, stomach, and chest before finally landing on your lips.

You kiss back softly, his arms pulling you close as he pulls you to lay on his chest. His hands gently caressed up and down your back, a slight frown gracing his face. “Ken,” you kiss his chest, “it’s fine. Please don’t worry about it anymore.” His eyes glanced at you before back at the ceiling, his fingers never once pausing.

“I know, I just, I didn’t know your job consisted of so much.” His eyes shut tight, eyebrows scrunching together. “You do all those reports, help Shoko, inform families of deaths, and on top of that, you take care of our home.”

His words from over, repeated over and over, on a loop. Just a desk job? You didn’t know what he went through. When it was the other way around, he didn’t know what you went through daily. His words were cold and cruel. All because he had taken his exhaustion and frustration out on you. The most important person in his life.

Your slender finger gently rubbed up and down the bridge of his nose. Grounding him, pulling him out of the deep void of his thoughts. Opening his eyes, he was met with your glimmering Y/E/C eyes. Your sleepy gaze and gentle smile had his heart clenching in his chest.

”Ken, it’s okay. You didn’t know, much like I don’t know about all of the struggles you go through.” Your gentle touch had him relaxing against the mattress. “Let’s just agree not to downplay each other again. We both work hard, every day, to make this life for us to share.” Slowly pulling your hand away, you leaned up, kissing his lips. “As long as we come home to each other at the end of the day, that’s all that matters.”

Kento smiled softly, pressing a gentle kiss against your lips. “I couldn’t agree with you more, Y/N.” Your warm, tired smile had him melting. “I’m home.”

“Welcome home, Kento.” You whispered against his lips.

Ryomen Sukuna:

You loved your boyfriend, really you did. But for the last week, he’d been almost insufferable. His younger brother Yuuji was on Spring break. His best friend Megumi had invited him to join him and his family for the week on the beach. Sukuna all but packed Yuuji’s bags for him, ushering the twerp out of the apartment before locking it up, heading to spend the week with you.

It was like his own personal spring break away from his brothers.

Which also was the start of a week from hell for you. At first, the weekend was lovely. The two of you stayed in, had crazy, animalistic sex, and just enjoyed each other. But when Monday rolled around and you left for work, things took a turn.

You came home to find Sukuna’s clothes all around the room, the dishes from breakfast still in the sink, and he was snoring on the couch. At first, you were upset. The poor guy was raising his young brother while their other brother, Choso, was on vacation with some college friends. Sukuna truly did bust his ass for his brothers, so it made sense that he was beat.

So you let it go, picked up, washed the dishes, and made the two of you dinner. It had been somewhat annoying, but it was alright. You wanted to make sure Sukuna got as much rest as he could before he went back to work the following week.

Tuesday afternoon, you came home to a similar situation: clothes everywhere, dishes in the sink, only Sukuna had just returned from the gym. When he got home, he started helping you before taking a shower. Maybe he had just been so interested in getting to the gym that he forgot to do the dishes. That sort of thing happened when you were in a rush, so it wasn’t that big of a deal.

But when you got home today, it was the same damn story. You looked around the apartment, groaning out loud as Sukuna scrolled briefly through Netflix. There were empty soda cans, trash, and, of course, his gym clothes all over the floor. This was not the man you knew.

“Ryomen Sukuna!” Your sharp tone had him turning in your direction. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to find something to watch on Netflix?” He raised an eyebrow as if it wasn’t obvious what he was doing.

“I can see that!” You scrubbed a hand over your face. “I meant all the trash, clothes, and everything!”

“Oooh,” he looked around the apartment, “I’ll get to it.”

You tugged at your hair with an exasperated groan. “That’s not the point! Why are you trashing the place to begin with?”

“I’m on vacation.”

“So?!” Your tone had his full attention now. “When I have a day off, I don’t trash your place.”

Sukuna pinched at the bridge of his nose with a grumble. “Are we seriously going to fight about this?” He narrowed his gaze at you, those eyes you normally adored full of irritation. Irritation that had no right to even be there!

“Yes, we are! How is it fair that I make us breakfast, go to work, come home, and make dinner? On top of that, you expect me to come home and pick up your trash and clothes?”

“Well, I mean, yeah.” The answer that came out of his mouth far faster than you thought. “I mean, that’s your job. It’s what you’re good at.” Sukuna rolled a shoulder as he twirled the remote between his fingers. “I exercise spirits, and you—“ He finally turned, seeing the rage and darkening of your cheeks. “You—are good at caring for the house and cooking.”

Oh, he’d fucked up.

You didn’t say a word. Instead, you scoffed and stormed to the bedroom, slamming the door. Sukuna winced and turned his head to face your room. Perhaps that wasn’t the best choice of words. He had meant to say, well, that you were a good caretaker, wifey material. Now that he was looking around the room, truly taking in the state of your usually well-kept home, your words were beginning to settle in his gut.

Had he been that lazy and messy? The take-out containers, his gym clothes, and empty cans confirmed that, yes, he had. Ever since his brothers left, he didn’t have to move constantly. He didn’t have to take Yuuji to school, helping Choso with homework. He had time to himself, where he didn’t have to ensure everything was in tip-top shapes. This was a chance for him to mellow out and relax.

He’d wanted to spend this mellow time with you, his girlfriend, the most amazing woman he’d ever met. But instead, he’d gotten lazy, stuck in a rut of not having to do such a damn thing. This wasn’t how he normally acted, so why now? Fuck, and to tell you you were nothing but a maid, that it was your job. Yeah, no, he totally fucked up.

You were his girlfriend, partner, and the woman he wanted to spend his life with. Most of his other partners hadn’t been able to handle the fact he was a single dad. He had raised his two brothers, just the three against the world. But you, god, you were an angel. You helped him out, making dinners and teaching him the best ways to cook and stir certain foods, which grocery stores had the best sales. You had made him a better man, a better brother.

And he’d gone and turned himself into a shitty boyfriend, trashing your apartment, making misogynistic comments, hurting you. He had to fix this. Or he might very well end up losing the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Without a second thought, he got up, executing his plan.

You needed an hour and a half to yourself before you had completely calmed down. You glanced at your reflection, whipping at your tear-stained cheeks before entering the living room. All you needed to do was grab something to eat and go back to bed. When you walked out into the messy living room, you stopped.

The trashed room scattered with clothes was completely picked up, and the coasters and books were neatly put back into place. Sukuna was nowhere to be found. So you headed into the kitchen, which was also spotless. No crumbs were on the counters, and the dishes had been cleaned and put away. There was still no sign of Sukuna.

Part of you was still angry and didn’t want to see him. The other part of you wanted to thank him and hear what he had to say. Just as you were pulling your phone out to call him, your door opened. Sukuna stepped in with a bag of takeout. He took his shoes off, placing them where they were supposed to go before he locked the door.

“Suku?” He jumped, startled by your voice. But he slowly turned to you, giving you a remorseful smile.

“Hey,” he put the takeout on the counter, “Y/N, I—“ his cheeks flushed as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “You know I’m not the best with apologies, and I suck at fucking using my words.” With a heavy sigh, he grabbed your hand. “But what I said earlier was fucked up, and I’m sorry. I don’t see you as some maid, I just.” You couldn’t help but smile as he struggled to find the right words. “I don’t want you ever to feel like I don’t appreciate everything you do. You’ve made me a better man, and I unfortunately haven’t been like that this week.”

You hummed, nodding in agreement as you interlaced your fingers with his. “Yeah, you’ve been a manchild. Yuuji would have been more mature than you.” He cringed, dropping his head down. “Then again, you did clean up your mess and pick me some dinner.” Your thumb brushed over his knuckles. “So maybe you haven’t been as bad as you think.” Sukuna was leaning in to kiss you, but you squeezed his hand tighter and tighter until it was almost painful. “But if you ever tell me it’s my job to take care of you or the chores again, I’ll put you in my trunk and help people look for you.”

Your boyfriend winced before nodding in understanding. “Right, yes, understood.” The second your hand softened, he pulled you towards the bedroom. “Come on.” You blushed, watching his back. His neck was a soft, rosy color.

“What are we doing?”

“You’re not doing anything.” He said, pushing you back against the bed. “I’m going to show you how much I appreciate you.”

Oh, and Sukuna did just that. He licked and sucked on your clit until you came. His fingers slammed in and out of you, fucking you until you squirted all over his hand. His smirk was sinister and hungry each time you came. Only when you were fucked out of your mind did he decide to fuck you with his cock.

“Please~ please, Suku~” You panted as he rubbed his cock head up and down your entrance. “Please.”

“Why are you begging?” He grunted as he slid his entire length into you. “You want my cock that bad.” He smirked at your tiny whimpers, his cock stretching you in the most delicious way.

“Yes, yes, I want it.” You grabbed his hand, and he went to hold it, only to watch as you placed it over your throat. “Give it to me.” You felt his cock throb inside of you.

He squeezed without having to be told twice. “Such a dirty slut I have.” He squeezed harder as he pulled out. “Here I’m trying to be romantic.” He slammed into you, the bed creaking under the force. “And my slutty little Y/N wants me to fuck her pussy like I normally do.” You whimpered, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, that’s the best way to show you how much you mean to me, right? Fuckin’ that tight cunt until you can’t walk. Making sure you’re ruined, only I can satisfy you and your needs.” He grabbed your thighs, pressing them to your chest, forcing you into a mating press.

“K-Kuna!” You cried out as he released your throat, his hands fisting the sheets.

“That’s right, scream my fuckin’ name.” He groaned, pressing a searing kiss against your swollen lips. “Scream it, let everyone know how much your boyfriend appreciates you, how good he fucks you.”

His words, the deep thrusts, and your already sensitive pussy clenched. “I-I’m so close.” You cried out, eyes locked on Sukuna’s.

His hips sped up, cock throbbing hard as he growled. “Go on then, cum for me again.” You screamed as he slammed harder and harder into you, sending you over the edge. Your screams were muffled by Sukuna’s growls as he kissed you desperately, fucking you through your orgasm right into his own.

He stilled, lips pressing harder against you as his hit cum filled you. Your soft whines of pleasure had Sukuna’s hips moving slowly until he was sure your pussy was done milking him. Pulling back, Sukuna panted, smirking at the blissed-out look in your eyes—a look he always wanted to see.

“Love you, Suku.” You breathed out, leaning up and kissing him. He didn’t say anything for a long moment. But his large hand cupped your face.

“And I love you and everything you do for me.” Without another word, his lips were on yours, his hips slowly rutting against yours. He intended to make you know just how much you meant to him. Even if that meant you’d have to call out of work tomorrow.

[xoxolaw]

+ HOW TO WIN A HEART

in which her friends challenged her to make the scariest guy in school fall in love with her — and she said, “easy.”

GEUM SEONG-JE X READER

CH 1 , CH 2 , CH 3

RULE 1 - MAKE THE FIRST MOVE

Y/N wasn’t just popular.

She was the kind of girl who made popularity look effortless. She wasn’t top of the class or president of any club. She didn’t need to be.

Y/N had that intangible something—a charisma that couldn’t be taught, only envied. Her walk was lazy but commanding, every hallway her runway.

A resting smirk hinted at mischief, bold eyes daring you to keep looking—and most did.

Boys sat up straighter when she passed. Girls checked their hair, tugged their skirts, though the uniforms were identical.

Teachers? They’d learned it was easier to look the other way. She was too clever to get caught, too charming to scold.She texted in lectures without blinking.

Her Instagram stories were mini-dramas, high-stakes, with dangerously good lighting.

She knew everyone worth knowing—and everyone knew her.

Chaos wrapped in lip gloss.

The kind of girl who’d ruin your life and have you thanking her for it.

The It Girl of Kanghak High.

---

“Y/N-sunbae!” A junior half-jogged up, voice cracking with nerves and too much hope.

She didn’t look up from her banana milk. “Don’t say it.”“Say what?”“That you like me. That I’m different. That you’d treat me right.”

He froze, a deer in headlights. “Wait—how did you…”

She glanced up. Eyes sharp, bored, amused. Then, with the warmth of a mercy kill, she patted his shoulder.“You’re sweet,” she said. “Just not my type.”

Her friends dissolved into giggles behind her.“That’s five this month,” Bora muttered, flipping a page in her imaginary stat book.

“At this point, we should charge entry fees,” Jina snorted. Y/N stretched, feline and unbothered. “Honestly, where’s the challenge? You smile once, and they’re planning the wedding.”

“It’s the way you flirt,” Bora said. “That whole ‘I’ll ruin your life and look good doing it’ vibe.”

Y/N winked. “They should know I bite.”

They laughed, lounging in the lazy hour after the final bell on a Friday. Sunlight slanted through the windows, the halls half-empty but buzzing with leftover energy.

Y/N leaned against the wall, banana milk finished, head tilted back, soaking in the golden calm. Bora leaned in. “Oh, right! Someone left something in your desk.”

Y/N groaned. “If it’s another scented letter, I’m filing for harassment.”

“No, really. Pink envelope. The guy looked nervous.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Boys need better immunity. This is tragic.”

Bora grinned. “If you’re so unimpressed, how about a real challenge?”

Y/N perked up. “Go on.”

“Make the next guy who walks around that corner fall for you.”

Jina cackled. “Bora, you’re a menace.”

“Easy,” Y/N said without missing a beat.

But Bora’s smirk vanished.“Wait—no. Never mind—”

Too late. Y/N turned, lips parted in slow curiosity. And there he was.

Geum Seong-je.

The air shifted sideways. Tousled dark hair. Sharp jaw. Expression unreadable—a mix of lazy boredom and quiet threat. One hand in his blazer pocket, the other swinging carelessly.

Two minions trailed him like shadows. The hallway parted like waves, students stepping back by instinct. He didn’t walk. He prowled.

His gaze landed on Y/N, and something flickered—amusement, maybe, or the thrill of something unpredictable.

Bora’s voice cracked in panic. “Y/N—no. Pick someone else. That guy’s not normal—”

But Y/N was already striding forward.Every student in the hall went silent.

Click. Click. Click.

Her heels tapped the tile like punctuation in a rising melody.

She cut across the corridor, ignoring the stares, the whispers, the secondhand fear. She didn’t break pace.

And Seong-je didn’t move. Their eyes locked. A suspended breath—challenge, curiosity, chaos. She stopped inches from him.

Grabbed his collar.

And kissed him.

Not shy.

Not sweet.

A kiss with purpose—bold, deliberate, a spark to ignite a fire. Gasps rippled through the hall. A water bottle hit the floor. Her lips pressed deeper for a heartbeat, her grip tight on his blazer. His scent was sharp and trouble.

She pulled back — just a little breathless — and locked eyes with him.

“You’re cute,” she whispered.

Then turned like nothing happened.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

how's the setting?? 😋😋 This is going to be fun trust me hehehe

[kxsagi]

HII

can you do bllk boys (specifically sae, shidou and reo) w a reader who is crying over a grade and acting like it's end of the world, but when they look at the grade it's like an 86% 🙏🙏

“𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧 𝟖���% 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐲𝐩𝐬𝐞”

a/n: reader in this one is me i fear

ft. itoshi sae, shidou ryusei, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, isagi yoichi

itoshi sae

sae hears your loud sniffles echoing through the apartment and assumes, logically, that someone died. 

“what happened?” he asks, rushing into the living room with just the slightest hint of concern behind his usual deadpan expression. 

you’re face-down on the couch, curled up in a blanket like the world is ending. “i failed,” you choke out dramatically. 

sae raises a brow. “failed what?” 

you thrust your phone at him with trembling hands. 

he looks. then he blinks. “… this is an 86.” 

“AN EIGHTY-SIX,” you sob like you're starring in a historical tragedy. “I DESERVED AN A!! I DESERVED A NINETY-FIVE AT LEAST–” 

he just stares at you for a solid five seconds. 

“you’re crying like you got a restraining order, not a B plus.” 

sits on the floor next to the couch and flicks your forehead gently. “don’t waste your tears. save them for something serious. like when i retire.” 

but he does bring you your favorite snack and lets you sulk dramatically on his chest while he scrolls through his phone. 

“eighty-six,” he mutters again under his breath, still slightly baffled. “you’re unwell.” 

shidou ryusei

he walks in to find you on the floor, half-buried under a pile of notebooks and sobbing like the apocalypse hit. 

“WOAH. did someone dump you?” 

“NO,” you wail. “I GOT MY TEST GRADE BACK.” 

“damn. that bad, huh?” 

he picks up your phone from where it fell and glances at the screen. “babe. this is an eighty-six.” 

“I KNOW,” you cry, rocking back and forth like a medieval peasant in despair. “I’M A FAILURE. A DISGRACE. I SHOULDN’T EVEN BE ENROLLED–” 

“you know i’ve never scored over a 70 in my life, right?” 

“and that’s why you’re you and i’m failing algebra!!” 

shidou full-on cackles. “yo, you’re dramatic as hell. i like it.” 

flops down next to you on the floor and pulls you into his lap. 

“we should burn your textbook in protest. let’s cause chaos. vandalize the math department. make it personal.” 

“ryu, i just want an A…” 

“and i want abs, but here we are.” 

“but you do have abs!” 

eventually just tickles you until you’re laughing instead of crying. 

he still thinks your breakdown over an 86 is the funniest thing he’s ever seen. 

mikage reo

reo is the supportive boyfriend so the moment he hears you sniffle, he’s by your side in 0.5 seconds with a credit card and a comforting hand on your back. 

“what’s wrong, baby? what do you need? food? a nap? therapy? a yacht?” 

“i got my grade back,” you sniffle, teary-eyed. 

“okay, okay, we’ll fix it– wait.” he checks your laptop. blinks. reads it again. “… an eighty-six?” 

“IT’S SO EMBARRASSING,” you wail. 

reo looks at you like you’ve personally offended his rich-person sensibilities. 

“you’re crying over a B?” 

“A B+,” you correct through sobs. “it’s not even a full A. i’m useless.” 

“babe. be serious. you’re dating me. clearly you’re full of good choices.” 

wraps you in a giant cashmere blanket and orders your favorite dessert immediately. 

“listen, we can hire a private tutor, a therapist, and a hitman if needed, okay?” 

still buys you a ‘#1 smartie’ trophy and makes you keep it on your desk as a joke. 

kisses your forehead. “next time you cry over an 86, i’m billing you for emotional damage.” 

nagi seishiro

stares blankly at your sobbing form from the doorway. “did someone die?” 

you shake your head, sniffling violently. 

“then why are you crying?” 

you show him your grade. he stares. “… isn’t this good?” 

“it’s not perfect,” you say, wiping your nose. 

nagi, who has never tried harder than 50% on anything in his life, just tilts his head. 

“looks like a passing grade to me.” 

flops onto the couch next to you and steals your blanket. 

“wake me up when you’re done overreacting.” 

later sends you a meme that says “you vs the guy she told you not to worry about” with your grade and his 92% next to it. 

isagi yoichi

he rushes in like a worried golden retriever. “are you okay? what happened?? did someone say something to you???” 

you show him the screen. he stares. stares harder. 

“baby… this is an 86. you’re literally doing better than my ENTIRE high school career.” 

you sniff. “but i studied so hard.” 

“and it paid off??” 

you pout. “not enough.” 

isagi pats your head gently like you’re a distressed puppy. “you’re the only person i know who’d cry over a grade like this.” 

then he starts hyping you up aggressively. “you’re so smart. you’re the genius of my life. you’re basically a scholar. you’re the protagonist of my academic redemption arc.” 

kisses your temple. “let’s frame it and write ‘we’re proud of you’ on the bottom.” 

you hit him with a pillow. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[joonipertree]

Imagine being Mikey's girlfriend and having so many teenagers giving you respect as if you're the leader of the number one biker gang in Tokyo.

Imagine how confused everyone in your school is when a group of bulky, testosterone filled, aggressive high schoolers come and bow at a 90° angle. You're staring with reddened cheeks because ???????????

But they're off to go to class without a word, muttering to themselves. Your classmates and friends are like: "dude what the fuck happened?" and you're like "I don't even know."

Then some fuckers come and offer to hold your bag for you? To get you lunch? Someone gave you their bento? And everyone starts noticing how it's only the delinquents that do it. Mostly the ones wearing the Tokyo Manji uniform.

If there's a Toman member in class, you bet your ass they'd threaten the teacher for you. Like "They got that answer right!!" and you're like "no!!! I didn't!!!"

You're so scared your teachers were gonna give you detention. Or call your parents to let them know their child had a gaggle of delinquents doing their bidding.

God, imagine if they call you a title. Like "princess" or something. I can't even think of a title suited for this. But like something cringey that gets you annoyed and the clueless people around you start having even weirder theories.

Biggest one? You're the Yakuza's daughter.

IMAGINE!!!! IF SOME OF THE TOMAN INNER CIRCLE WERE THERE SJSNSNSJKSKWKA

I'm imagining Baji and chifuyu laughing their ass off in the corner, on the floor, gasping for air. And when you notice them, you run and ask if they had anything to do with this.

Baji wishes and chifuyu was growing purple from lack of oxygen. You kicked at them and wacked them with your book. WHICH MADE THINGS WORSE BECAUSE YOUR FELLOW STUDENTS ARE SEEING U BEAT UP GANG MEMBERS. YOURE A RAGING MONSTER IN THEIR EYES NOW.

If the toman members see this, do you think they'd be afraid of you? They'd be shaking in their boots at someone most likely half their size and that couldn't even win an arm wrestling match.

You'd ask Baji and chifuyu to tell them to stop. They would very loudly call you princess and run away cackling.

I'm pretty sure in highschool, the inner circle go to the same school. I don't remember but Takemitchy, Hakkai and Chifuyu go to the same school right?

If you think Takemitchy would help, chifuyu convinced him not to. Anyone else there is just someone you couldn't get a hold of. And you just ended up ignoring the delinquents and going about your day. Which just made you look like even more of a gang leader, walking down a hallway with a blank stare while people around you bowed.

Some non delinquents call you princess and you're telling them that "no, it's a prank. A sick joke that my boyfriend is playing on me."

People realise very quickly why you were being treated like royalty when the school day ended.

Because lo and behold, The Invincible Mikey was standing at the gate, leaning against his infamous bike as he waited for you. People just stopped and stared, not bothering leaving the vicinity, out of curiosity and maybe fear.

You see Mikey and start stomping towards him, everyone holding their breath because 'the yakuzas daughter was going head to head with the captain of the Tokyo Manji Gang.'

But Mikey was smiling brightly, arms open for a hug as he made grabby hands at you.

You came close and kicked him on the shin.

I honestly can't imagine everyone's reaction. Stunned silence. It's a sense of doom I think. A sense of 'rest in peace'. But also, the utter shock and respect you'd just accumulated from your peers in a second. You had some mad fucking balls to do that shit. Even full grown adults wouldn't do something like that to Sano Manjiro. People were ready to join your followers and praise you.

The kick was weak by the way, Mikey didn't even flinch. He just looked confused and then you ranted to him about your day and suddenly he was fully relying on his Babu to hold him up. Because my god, was he laughing his ass off. He couldn't breathe.

If Ken-chin was with him, let's be honest he would be, the man would also be on his knees dying of laughter. Just...imagine every Toman member that's part of the inner circle.... laughing vehemently at you for this.

With grumbles and glares, you try walking home by yourself but Mikey is quick to pull you back into his arms. His laughter hadn't stopped but he was leaning on you now.

The way one sinewy hand was on your waist while the other was tangled in your hair...made it very clear what you guys were to each other.

It was a collective 'oh.....oh' moment.

Mikey peppered many apologetic kisses on your cheeks and you whined about how embarrassing it was and how people were watching. Unbeknownst to you, Mikey had slyly made eye contact with anyone staring and glared daggers at them.

Ken-chin then decided to stand in front of the two of you and throw daggers at the on lookers for him.

And as much as you wanted to push away, you leant into his kisses and let him give you one on the nose and forehead. He tasted sweet on your lips too and your arms were around his neck, pulling away to stop the boy from going overboard like he always did.

"I'll treat you to lunch to make up for it?" Mikey whisperer gently, eyes soft and lovesick.

"Promise to call a meeting and tell everyone to stop?"

Mikey snorted, "Yes princess."

The punch on his arm was a lot harder. Mikey made an exaggerated pained expression, snickering to himself as he pulled you in close.

"It's not like it's a lie, though. You should be treated like royalty and have everyone do your bidding."

The blush that rose on your cheeks made his heart flutter.

"Only you can....treat me like that."

Oh he's not letting go of you any time soon.

Bonus: Later on, when you meet Baji and Chifuyu...they call you princess and burst out laughing. You promptly throw both of your shoes at them.

I also feel like if the Haitani brothers caught wind of this, it'd just be the worst for you. They are the snarkiest motherfuckers.

[ducksido]

Tickling Jade, Floyd, Azul

(Inspired by luxthestrange)

JADE 🍄

You had always wondered how different Jade was from the average human—he was an eel merman, after all. He always seemed so composed, eerily calm, with that ever-present smile and unshakable demeanor. But today… today, you discovered something new.

"You're staring again, dear Prefect," Jade said smoothly, not even looking up from the tea he was pouring.

You blinked. "Just wondering something."

"Oh? Dare I ask?"

You leaned forward on the lounge couch in the Octavinelle dorm. "Do merfolk… get ticklish?"

His hand paused just slightly, the teacup tilting a fraction before he corrected it. "That is quite a curious question. I suppose it depends on the individual."

"Have you ever been tickled?"

He set the teapot down with a clink. "Not in recent memory."

Your grin widened. "So you don’t know if you are?"

His eyes finally met yours. Calm. Neutral. Curious. "I can’t say I’ve felt the need to explore such… frivolous things."

A dangerous glint sparked in your eyes. "Then let’s find out."

Before he could react, you launched at him across the couch. He let out a startled hum of surprise—rare from him—as you pushed him down and jabbed your fingers under his ribs. For a second, there was nothing.

Then he snorted.

It was so un-Jade-like that you paused in shock.

“Pffft—ahaha, Prefect—!” he twisted, still trying to maintain dignity but now clearly fighting it. “H-Hold on—!”

“Oh my seven,” you gasped, laughing now yourself. “You’re super ticklish!”

“You—ahah—fiend—!” Jade finally broke, squirming under your hands, his usual serene mask shattered. “This is—h-horribly undignified—!”

You didn’t let up, especially once you found the spot just under his ribs near his sides—an apparent death zone.

His laugh was breathy and slightly wheezy. “I-I yield! I yield!”

When you finally relented, Jade collapsed against the couch, panting lightly, a few strands of hair falling out of place. You’d never seen him so ruffled before.

He slowly sat up, smoothing his hair with forced calm. "I see now why Floyd chases you around with those grabby hands of his. You're...dangerous."

You gave a smug grin. “Consider it payback for all the cryptic teasing.”

His eyes narrowed playfully, a shark-like gleam returning. "Ah, but now that I know your tactics, I’ll be better prepared next time."

You blinked, and Jade’s smile widened ever so slightly.

“…You don’t happen to be ticklish yourself, do you, Prefect?”

Your grin vanished.

Oh no.

FLOYD 🤪

“Nooo~! Shrimpy’s coming at me with the grabby hands again~!” Floyd drawled, backing up with exaggerated steps and a crooked grin. His long arms flailed dramatically as he nearly tripped over the beanbag in the Lounge break room.

You grinned like a gremlin. “Come here, you oversized eel! This is for dunking me in the Octavinelle pool again!”

Floyd just cackled and darted behind a table. “Hehe~ It was funny! You made the best little splash—like bloop!”

“You think that’s funny?” you lunged.

He shrieked—not a fearful one, but that dolphin-like squeal he made when surprised and excited—and tried to jump the couch. You caught his ankle mid-jump.

Thud!

“Ahaha—wait!!”

“Oh no. No backing out now.” You crawled onto his back like a villain and immediately went for his sides. “Let’s see how you like being messed with!”

The result was instantaneous.

Floyd let out a loud, genuine bark of laughter and bucked under you like a wild animal. “HAHAHA—NOOO~! I’M GONNA BITE YOU—AAHH!!”

“Oh my god, you’re worse than Jade!” you laughed, fingers digging just under his ribs and near the curve of his waist. “You’re howling, Floyd!”

“I’M NOT!!” he squealed, trying to twist and roll, but every time he moved, your fingers found a new weak spot. “Shrimpy’s bullying meee—!! Jadeee~! Azulllll~! SOS~!”

You paused briefly. “You call for help now, but weren’t you the one who dragged me into the tank with a ‘weee~’?”

“...I regret nothing—HAHAHA STOPPP!!” He slapped the floor. “UNCLE!! UNCLE!!”

You finally sat back, laughing until your sides hurt, while Floyd lay sprawled like a winded fish, his eyes watery and his chest heaving. His face was flushed, his hair messed up, and for once—he looked normal.

Well, as normal as Floyd could ever look.

He blinked up at you with dazed, twitching eyes. “…Shrimpy’s a menace.”

You wiped your tears. “You started it.”

Floyd grinned slow and mischievous. “Now it’s on. Next time you nap, I’m dragging you into a tickle war you won’t survive~!”

You raised a brow. “That sounds like a threat.”

“It is~!” he sang, and lunged at you again.

Yeah. You were screwed.

AZUL 🐙

Azul prided himself on many things.

His intelligence. His eloquence. His business acumen. His ability to remain composed in even the most embarrassing of situations.

But you were currently threatening all of that.

“I really don’t see the purpose of this,” he huffed, adjusting his glasses with a flush creeping up his cheeks.

“Oh, I do.” You stalked closer to the couch where Azul sat, nervously straightening his vest. “You’ve been working yourself to death with Lounge paperwork. You need a break. A laugh.”

“I would prefer tea,” he tried, voice strained.

You smirked. “Too bad.”

With that, you dove onto the couch and jabbed your fingers into his side.

At first, Azul froze like someone had just splashed him with cold water.

And then—

“–HhHhf–!” He made this awkward squeak sound and slapped a hand over his mouth as if his life depended on it.

“Oh no, you are so ticklish—!”

“N-Now hold on—!” he gasped, twisting to avoid your fingers. “This is utterly undignified—!”

“That’s the point!” You wiggled your fingers against his stomach now, and Azul broke.

“Pffft—AHAH–!! N-NOOHO—!! H-Have mercy—!!”

His laugh was shrill, surprised, and very real. He kicked slightly, limbs flailing as if trying to backpedal through the couch cushions themselves.

“Is this what you do to your—AHAHA—?!” he wailed.

“I only do this to overworked octopus boys who don’t know how to relax!”

Azul’s glasses slipped halfway down his nose, his face completely red, curls bouncing with every giggle and yelp as your hands wrecked his composure. “J-JADE!! F-FLOYD—HELP—!!”

“They’re not here to save you.” You grinned.

When you finally stopped, Azul collapsed into the cushions like a damp dishrag, gasping and trying to flatten his hair and fix his vest in a desperate bid for dignity. He wouldn’t look at you, but his ears were redder than a fire coral.

“…I will be revising your Lounge privileges after this,” he mumbled.

“You’re welcome,” you said brightly.

Azul glanced at you, lips twitching into something close to a pout. “…Next time I’m stressed, just give me tea. Or a contract. Not… that.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You laughed, didn’t you?”

He adjusted his glasses with a sigh, his cheeks still burning red. “…Unfortunately. Yes.”

[gvshing]

Streamer Vi . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

masterlist

→StreamerVi! started streaming as a hobby. She figured it would make gaming feel less lonely and unproductive. She had friends she would play with occasionally but on the days they weren’t able to game together she feared she was wasting the evening away. Playing with no one, to no one, yelling into the abyss, celebrating a win to herself. It was lonely, and she hated the feeling that made her feel she was being unproductive. Even though deep down she knows that indulging herself in something she enjoys is never a waste or ‘lazy’. 

→When she started gaining traction/viewers she was genuinely surprised. She didn’t think she was THAT entertaining. Her viewers enjoyed her reactions that seemed so genuine. Enjoying her rage, shock, tears of sadness and of laughter. Her overreactions to angering situations within the games made her fans cackle with her creative sling of words she spat at the computer.  "I can't believe you guys like to watch this. I mean I appreciate y'all tuning in, but I do hope you guys are in therapy."

→StreamerVi! mainly plays action games but she enjoys a cozy game every now and again. Finding the stimulation of the fighting and fast paced scenes more enjoyable typically compared to the relaxation of cozier games. Though she finds herself indulging in Animal Crossing and Stardew Valley in her off time.

→StreamerVi! Was bad at Minecraft. Not that she would ever agree with that statement. Her fans aren’t sure why she’s so bad at it. She’s usually amazing at fighting and surviving in games like that. It’s mainly the building she’s not great at. Her houses were made out of dirt, wood if she’s able to obtain that much, and were shittily built cubes. She tries to make more intricate things but her brain short circuits and she’ll eventually break it down and make another dirt cube in its place. As long as her house has a bed, crafting table, anvil and furnace, she’s set. 

→StreamerVi! would have an intricate story line on her Sims game that gets progressively more confusing as it goes on. “God, Shelley is such an idiot. I know I created her but Jesus. How the fuck did she end up burning the house down? I didn’t even know you could do that in Sims! First, she ruins her marriage by cheating on Esteban. Then, she loses her daughter? Still no clue where she went. Lastly, she burns the house down? That’s why I didn’t let her go to college… On second thought, maybe that’s why she’s doing all this.” 

→Her Sims characters are her babies, for sure. She cries for ten minutes straight when one dies. She’ll walk off camera and you can hear sniffling off camera before she walks back in. “Okay, how can I make them haunt the house? I know they can do it. I will pay any amount of money to have that happen.”

→StreamerVi! would put up a poll on what games to play next on her stream and would put a joke game on there that would end up getting the most votes. So now she’s stuck playing some weird simulator game that lags constantly and is crashing every 5 minutes. “Who the fuck would make a dish washing simulator? I’m doing chores as a video game? That’s fucking boring. Why did you guys have to pick this one? Do you hate me? Be honest."

→StreamerVi! is a rage quitter. 100%. She would scream and smack her headset down on the table, walking away from her PC fully. Leaving the stream for almost a full minute to take deep breaths. “I may have overreacted a bit. Maybe. That boss is still a bitch, what the fuck even is that?” 

→She would sit down back at her desk and stare into the camera, hands in a fist resting over her mouth in embarrassment. “Guys, pretend that didn’t happen.” She would boot up the game to retry and be done five minutes later when she still couldn’t beat whatever it is she couldn’t win. “Okay, that’s it. I’m done. Fuck this game. See you tomorrow stream, I’m going to go take a deep breath and touch some fucking grass.”

→StreamerVi! drunk streams... already drunk when streaming or getting drunk on stream. She's done both. It doesn't happen often but when it does it a nice treat of chaos. Slurring, hiccupping and hearty laughter that echoes thoughout her whole apartment. The fans love it.

→StreamerVi!’s desk is probably messy. It’s not overly messy but she definitely has a few cups littered around, and old takeout containers from her 8 hour long streams. She cleans it frequently. She just spends so much time sitting over that desk, hunched over in uncomfortable positions, that it gets messy the second it’s cleaned. She eventually puts a trash can and a tub for dirty dishes right next to her desk to prevent clutter. It takes one time spilling water all over her keyboard for her to implement something to help. 

→StreamerVi! would cackle at her own jokes while everybody in her chat groaned. “That was a good one! I’m such a funny guy. You don’t get it, guys. And that’s fine, you don’t see the vision. Stop calling me lame! I am not lame! I’m hilarious. You guys are the lame ones. You’re watching me, someone you claim is lame, so what does that mean about you? Yeah exactly, lame-o’s” They would also groan at her use of the word ‘Lame-o’. 

→StreamerVi! fell asleep on live one time and has never lived it down. She streams for so long and she’ll just fall asleep waiting for a cut scene to end. Head propped up on her arm, lulling over with every breath. Her hand would slip causing her head to fall and smack against her keyboard, the brand new one she got after ruining the other one with the spilled water. She would jolt awake and stare at her screen in horror, reading the chat coming in faster than normal. “Is she… sleeping?” “She fucking dead.” “Awww, she looks like a sleepy puppy.” “Why is her mouth hanging open like that?? Is she drooling?? Y’all oh my god” “Literally, what the fuck.” She reads her chat and sighs deeply. “Guys. I must go. I’m so sorry.” She would hit the ‘end live’ button and immediately scream out of embarrassment. “They will never let me live this shit down. Fuck fuck fuck.”

→ And her fans don’t. “Waiting for her to fall asleep every time at this point.” “It was one time!!” It annoys the fuck out of her, but she appreciates her fans so she doesn’t mind the stupid jokes. 

→StreamerVi! has a strict streaming schedule and she is ALWAYS on time. She sits at her desk 5 minutes before time, ‘Go Live’ button staring at her. Anxiously scrolling on her phone until the clock hits 5pm. Streaming for the past 3 years has been all she knows, yet the anxiety she feels before beginning is intense every single time. 

→Anxiety melts away within seconds of hitting the dreaded button. Chats streaming in of various ‘hello’s and ‘missed you’s. 

→StreamerVi! probably streams more than just games as well. She enjoys vlogging when she’s out and about doing random stuff, like when she’s travelling and trying new foods. “Okay, what am I about to put in my mouth? If you know, please tell me, because I’m lost.”

→StreamerVi! loved the spontaneous streams sometimes more than gaming streams. They were low pressure and less chaotic. 

→She would do mundane things around her house when streaming as well. “You’re coming with me to dye my hair. I need help doing the back.” While dying it she would turn around and ask chat if she missed any pieces. They were unhelpful, as always. “You suck at this.” “Uhhhh bestie, you missed a few chunks ngl” “Does she have nobody irl who can help her with this?? Wtf are we supposed to do?” She would roll her eyes at her chat’s unhelpful responses. “I can’t even tell if you guys are being truthful anymore. You all hate me. I have friends! I’m just not bothering them with it! You guys could help! You just don’t want to! What parts did I even miss??” She eventually would facetime somebody to help her find the missing pieces. 

→COOKING STREAMS!!! 

→She loves to cook on stream! She enjoys the company when cooking. Although chat has definitely distracted her a few times and she’s burnt things because of it. “FUCK! Guys! Why did no one say anything about the literal pan on fire behind me?” She would run the pan over to the sink, throwing it in and quickly turning the water on. Snuffing the fire out. “The pan was in frame the whole time and we were chatting! I know at least one of you saw it! I even said ‘why does it smell like something burning?’ and none of you decided to say anything? You guys want me to die?” She often finds herself lecturing her fanbase as if she were their father. “Dad Vi back at it again with the lecturing.” “oohh we’re in trouble this time.” “Are we grounded?” 

→StreamerVi! would start streaming less often and get interrogated in her chat. “Where have you been??” “She’s got a girlfriend, guys. Look at her glowing. We’re so cooked.” Vi would scoff at their invasive questions. “I don’t have a girlfriend! I mean… Okay. Yes, I am seeing somebody but they’re not my girlfriend!” She would defend, growing redder the longer she goes on. Not convincing anybody. “Vi lovers. We’re fucked. We lost our chance.” “No offense guys! But none of you had a chance. I’ve just been busy… ANYWAYS! So today’s game…” she would change the subject, afraid she was going to hard launch a relationship that wasn’t even official. 

→StreamerVi! would casually drop the word ‘partner’ every now and again after a while. Accepting that she would never convince anybody that she wasn’t seeing someone. She was and she’s not a liar. 

→Chat would go CRAZYYY. Demanding to meet her partner. “You lecture us like you’re our dad all the time, and suddenly you don’t want to introduce us to your partner??” She gets what her fanbase is saying, but it ultimately depends on what the girlfriend says. Not her. 

→StreamerVi! would beg everybody to be nice when she finally does introduce you to her stream. “Guys, be nice. Don’t be mean like you are to me.” Her fans are offended. “We’re so nice!!” “So this is how you treat people who pay your rent?” “Dad Vi again.”

→StreamerVi!’s fans are nicer to you than to her. “SO pretty!” “How did VI!!! Bag you????” “no offense but she’s out of your league vi.”

→StreamerVi! Is only a little jealous. “So you guys hate me and love them? Well maybe they can just have my channel and I’ll retire since y’all hate me so much.” She’s the ultimate pouter. And pouts even more when chat is seemingly chill with that idea. “Ok! Best idea you’ve had thus far!” “yippee!” She mutes chat after that. 

→You make sporadic appearances on her channel every now and again. Often enough that you’re a ‘recurring character’ on her streams. Her fans love seeing you. Eventually you make your own streaming channel. But you only stream like once a month and it’s usually with Vi there. It’s not your thing as much as it’s hers. And you don’t want to take that away from her. 

→StreamerVi! Doesn’t tell her viewers that she proposed to you. They just happened to catch a glimpse at the engagement rings in various streams over time. “YOO IS THAT WHAT I THINK IT IS??” “Vi and Y/N engagement era”

→StreamerVi! Keeps a majority of her personal life secret from her viewers. It’s not that she doesn’t trust them with the information of most of her friends or family, or what she does for a living outside of streaming. She just enjoys having that still be private. It’s the small things after getting an online fanbase. She appreciates her fans but they don’t need to know anything. Like the day you guys get married. That’s for her, you and attendees. But, she posts photos from that day whenever she can. One of her top favorite days of her life for sure. 

→StreamerVi! Loves this life she’s miraculously gained. The fans that bully her, the friends she’s made, the games she’s played that she might not have if it weren’t for the viewers pressuring her, and you. 

[hpiiker]

hey girliee !! could you pls write about reader being a co-host of fear& and just the dynamics of having two of the hosts dating and obviously moments with hasan in the pod (maybe smth a little spicy) ;)

FEAR& MOMENTS BETWEEN HASAN AND WIFE!READER || HP²⁵ 🎙️ ⋆˚꩜｡

:: HPIIKER’S PROFILE || my inbox is open! 📨

:: thank you so much for this request, i hope you enjoy this honey!! 💖

— hasan has to have his hands on you. are you kidding me??? one of his love languages are physical touch!!!

— austin is in awe about you two, qt is dissociating and will is just being will to be honest.

— there's so many clips of you and hasan having your own converstaions, either about personal shit or you two just straight up shitting on austin LMFAO.

— hasan is definitely sitting behind you cupping your boobs, that one screenshot of hasan doing that to will 😭

— in this week's podcast, you were working with qt on girly pop nation. you were talking about the controversies on influencers, celebrity or other twitch streamers!

— you were talking through the slideshows with qt and instantly hasan is always asking questions before even letting you finish your sentences😭

— "wait-, what did they do again?", "why would they do that???", or "do they lack competence or something?" he said repetitively, over and over again 🙏💀

— you and qt are just fed up at the moment with hasan, will is will-ing to hasan and austin is doing the same as hasan.

— god forbid women talk on a fresh and fit spin off podcast… 🙄🙄🙄

— OH MY GOD, there’s a moment where hasan is getting SPICCCYYYYYY.

— hasan is getting riled up seeing your cleavage… there’s literally a comment saying, “from 27:37 to 29:24, hasan is just staring…”

— hasan, buddy, you’re not slicccckkkk at AAAALLLLL

— and there’s another moment, hasan’s raspy voice picks up on his mic whispering, sweet, sexy nothings in your ear…

— of course, twitter is blowing this up… hasan streams the next day and chat is SPAMMING the link.

— hasan knows what’s up and he’s getting pissed 😭😭

— “CHAT, LEAVE US ALONE??? YOUR HORNED OUT FREAKS??” and there follows a cackle coming from the hallway from you.

— when hasan hears you, he’s instantly calms down and chills out 😭😭

— every week he asking for you to come back, even though you moved into hasan’s house not that long ago

— but chat and (especially) him loves the small cameos of your in the podcasts, wether that was the original podcast or the pateron episode.

— whenever you bend yourself over to peek into the frame, hasan gives a small trail of peppered kisses from the top of your boobs toward your forehead. all the while, burying you into the biggest bear hug everrrr 😵‍💫🥹😵‍💫🥹

[coconutdays]

imagine! ghoul sukuna catching a whiff of you while he's knee deep ravaging in some deserving creep's guts. you've just been dropped off home by a cab directly in front of your apartment, and he's right around the corner, hidden in an alleyway, perfect for perching up and getting a view of you.

what kind of human are you?

sukuna has never wanted to fuck a human. they're weak and incapable of pleasure the way ghouls are, boring.

but the sight of you...

his bloodshot eyes hone in on the sound of your heartbeat from so far, fuck even the way it beats is turning him on.

and, is that, fear? he smells?

you seem to be taking a bit long in tapping in the code to your apartment building.

"you wanna give me a taste cheeky!" a slurred and cackling voice jeers and suddenly sukuna's head reels to the forty some year old cat-calling you from the end of the street. before he can even process the thought, he feels his body tense and get ready to defend you, watching critically as your eyes widen and you fumble with the door again.

and right just when the creep crosses a distance that might get close to you, you quickly zoom inside after a low buzz of your door.

and it's then that the creep is at your door, starting to yell at the building for you to come out. you don't hear it considering your apartment was rather far from where his yells could reach. and you don't hear him stop abruptly either.

the next morning, on your way to work, you don't even pay much attention to the small splatter of blood stains near the entrance of your building.

but what does catch your attention is the large and tall meat stack of a man that walks by you while you're on the way back home that afternoon. he's immensely handsome, scarily so. but he looks so serious and as if he couldn't notice the blatant stare you gave him in awe.

and everyday, you see him again at the same point in time. as if his schedule perfectly lined up with yours. except he never looks at you and you feel as if he's destined to never do so.

maybe its your own small obsession over him, but you start seeing him in your part of town more often. at the grocery store he's always buying packs of instant coffee and and what looks like regular groceries for his pantry. whenever you're on the metro, he's barely just escaping to another destination and off to the stairs. if he's at a cafe, theres a cup of coffee in his hands, black, from the one time you got an intense whiff of it in passerby.

but his obsession with you is anything but small. sukuna prides himself in eating every single piece of scum that has made you uncomfortable. it's worked out, considering his hunger's grown a thousand times more ever since he laid eyes on you and you're such a beauty that a number of men flock to you.

a month of this behavior passes, and sukuna had thought he'd already reached rock bottom until he catches a whiff of you, on your period.

his right eye almost twitches when he passes by you.

and it gets his blood boiling when the precinct's famous sleazy ghoul also passes by you, pheromones screaming that he wants to devour you.

sukuna devours him later that night after he spied on him spying on you the entire day. if anybody was going to devour you, it'd be him. and you were going to scream for only him, pleasure or not.

you belong to him.

this fan art of him on the left corner with blood on his mouth got me bad :(