#AND THE MIND WIPE? don’t even get me started

[girly-girlk]

hiii! i just read your firefighter!rafe blurb and loved it, so can i make a request for him? i had this idea where maybe he and reader just started seeing each other and he comes over and shes doing laundry and then he realizes that she doesn’t clean the dryer vent? i literally had no clue you had to actually clean the dryer vent more than just like wiping the lint off of the little screen pull out thing. maybe some angst because he gets frustrated that shes being unsafe and then fluff? i hope this makes sense lmao

lint

firefighter!rafe cameron x reader

summary: you never knew to clean the dryer vent until rafe told you that it’s unsafe to not clean it

you were humming quietly to yourself, folding warm clothes fresh out of the dryer when the front door opened and closed. you smiled—he had a key now, which still gave you butterflies.

“in the laundry room,” you called out, half-expecting rafe to head to the fridge first like he always did.

instead, his footsteps padded closer, heavy from his boots. he still had his department hoodie on, soot smudged faintly on his jaw. he looked exhausted but lit up slightly when he saw you.

“hey,” he said, voice soft. “didn’t know you were doing laundry.”

“figured i’d knock it out while i waited for you.” you turned back to the dryer, reaching for another shirt. “how was the shift?”

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he came up behind you, leaned over your shoulder… and then suddenly stilled.

you felt it—his body tensed up.

“babe…” he said slowly, eyeing the dryer. “when’s the last time you cleaned the vent?”

you blinked. “the what?”

“the dryer vent. like—the actual vent. the one that goes outside.”

you hesitated. “uhh… i clean the little lint thingy after every load?”

“that’s not what i mean.”

his tone had shifted. still gentle, but now clipped. worried. frustrated.

rafe crouched down, pulling the dryer away from the wall with one practiced motion. he unscrewed the vent pipe and pulled out a literal wad of lint.

your eyes went wide. “oh my god. that came from my house?”

“yeah.” he turned to look at you, jaw tight. “this is a fire hazard, babe. like—seriously. we see this kind of thing all the time. people don’t realize how fast this stuff can go up. one spark and you could lose everything.”

you felt a weird wave of shame wash over you. “i didn’t know… i—i’ve never lived alone before. my mom always just handled it.”

he sighed, rubbing his hand over his face, then shook his head. “i know. i’m not mad. i’m just—” he broke off, standing to face you. “i’d lose my mind if something happened to you over something like this.”

the words hit you harder than expected. you swallowed.

“i’m sorry,” you said softly.

he stepped forward, hands gently gripping your waist. “don’t be. i should’ve said something earlier. it’s just… hard seeing stuff like that every day. makes you paranoid about the people you care about.”

you smiled, even as your chest ached with guilt. “guess i need a fireman to keep me safe, huh?”

he let out a breathy laugh, the tension easing as he bumped his forehead against yours.

“damn right you do.”

[junebuggiezz]

Staring ain't enough! ✦ Jax (TADC)

𖦹—*Rubs hands together like a fly* You already KNOW!!

Gender neutral || Can be platonic or romantic || Censored/Uncensored swearing || Reader has no mentioned features

“Oh, my god... What am I looking at?” You bite your lip to prevent your laughter from spilling out, but the shakiness of your voice doesn’t fail to make Jax squint at you in anger. Pomni sits on his left as she kicks her legs in the air, obviously looking away to avoid any part of the conversation.

There on the bench he sat, dawned in a maid outfit with black slip-on shoes, knee-length white socks, white gloves— Is that a chest window!?

“Yeah yeah yeah, I’m in a maid outfit, look to your heart's content.” Jax then notices your eyes peer up and widen. He realizes what you were looking at and covers the window with his hand. “WELL DON’T LOOK AT THAT!” He yells out angrily. “Can’t even give a guy some decorum! You’re such a degenerate!”

You place the palm of your hand near your cheek. “Oh-ho-ho, no! If this is what I voted for while I was on the field then this may as well be my prize,” You walk over towards the bench and sit on his right side, your eyes not leaving his form, “It’s not everyday you get an outfit change afterall.”

“We literally had four other places where our outfits changed and THIS is the one you decide to fully focus on?”

“Mhm!” You nod. You continue to look at the window without shame, giggling to the point your cheeks started to flush. Jax’s lip tightens and pupils slowly shrink into squares as you continue poking fun at his misfortune. He had the mind to shrink you into a softball and toss you into the sun.

You lean back to wipe the tear that was forming in your eye and look up to the sky with playful longing. “I really wish I had a camera right now—”

“No.”

“—Specifcally a polaroid—”

“NO!”

The voting table pops up and the two of you look down at it; Besides Jax and Pomni, everyone approved whatever request had been placed. To the dismay of the purple rabbit, you were suddenly given a shiny new polaroid camera right in the palm of your hand. The face you made could be comparable to the Devil himself. You’re off the bench in a blur and suddenly in front of him with the camera covering half your face.

“Smile!” You happily laugh before he’s hit with a flash of white. He yelps, blinking his eyelids before covering his face.

“Augh, jeez— Put your [@!$#] toy away!”

SNAP!

“[NAME]!”

SNAP! 

“STOP TAKING PHOTOS OF ME!”

SNAP!

“FOR [%$!#]’s SAKE—C’MERE!” He leaps off the bench with his arms outstretched. His attempt at grabbing you fails as you dodge to the side and begin running towards the end of the benching area. Pomni watches from the sideline as you’re chased for a bit before Kinger stops Jax, telling him it was his turn to bat.

(ᐢ. ₓ .ᐢ)

Walking back into your room after the suggestion adventures, you sadly toss out the polaroid camera that Jax had slapped out of your hand and stomped into mangled oblivion. You walk towards your bed, turn your back to it, and flop onto its soft covers, allowing you to stare at the ceiling for a while. Once you’ve processed the events of today, your mind suddenly clicks again to Jax’s maid outfit fiasco. Your cheeks flush as your chuckling turns to laughter.

You dig into the space in your outfit and pull out the polaroids that had processed by the end of it. A few of the photos were a bit smeared from Jax attempting to launch at you, but the rest were as clear as day—especially of the window.

Your door is suddenly swung open.

Jax’s gloved palm is curled tightly on the door knob, his figure hunched over, and his face flushed pink in the middle. You can see his teeth sneer as he stares you down from the opening, even more so when he locks his eyes onto the photos in your hands. You’re about to question how he got in when you see a key placed in his other tightly-fisted hand.

Well it’s not like you didn’t see this coming at some point.

You laugh tauntingly albeit with a hint of fear, waving the photos in the air. “You’re still not upset about the photos I have of you, right? I can always toss ‘em in the trash if that’ll make you feel better.” You smirk.

Jax’s laugh is anything but nice. He is seething. 

“Oh-ho-ho, no… I don’t trust you in doing that sort of thing, especially when I leave this room.” He takes a few steps into your room, kicks the door closed with his foot, and locks the door without turning away from you. “SO! We’re gonna settle this one way or another,”

Your smile wobbles slightly and you feel sweat begin to form on your forehead.

He smiles angrily and his left eye squints. “‘Cause I’m not leaving this room without those photos.” 

Well shit…

𖦹—Thank you Gooseworx for feeding us Jaxlings

[ivykiss]

bratty beach day

࿐ dom!harry x babydoll!reader

cw: 18+, spanking, brat reader

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ — the salty air and the rhythmic hum of the tires against the road were usually enough to lull you into a peaceful sleep after a long day at the beach, but today every pebble seemed to keep you wide awake and restless. harry glanced over, his eyes meeting yours briefly before returning to the road. he’d already asked you three times what was wrong, and each time you’d offered nothing but a shrug with your crossed arms and a pout. “i know you didn’t wanna go home babydoll but it’s gettin’ late.” his voice soft but warning. you whined, turning your back to him in the passenger seat. harry sighed, a sound just audible enough to let you know his patience was wearing thin. “just try to relax, yeah? we both had a long day.” but relaxing was the last thing on your mind.

with each mile your behavior seemed to worsen. you sighed louder, whined more, and tossed and turned in your seat. finally harry spoke again, his voice dangerously low. “alright, that’s it.” he pulled into a field in the middle of nowhere. “back.” he said undoing his seatbelt, your eyebrows furrowing confused. “get in the back.” his eyes darkened and his voice hardened.

you undid your seatbelt and climbed in the back with a lump in your throat. you knew you had pushed him too far, and now you were going to suffer the consequences. he sat besides you in the back and examined your face as you stared at him like a deer in headlights. he bent you over his lap and you knew what was next. you laid across his lap and let out a sniffle. “don’t cry now babydoll, i haven’t even started.” he pulled your shorts down. “you tease me all day at the beach wearing this.. and then act like a damn brat on the way home.” he tsked pulling down your bikini bottoms. “so wet f’me already and i haven’t even touched you.” you whined and put your head in your hands shyly. “count.” harry said as he started spanking you hard, rough, mean.

by the time he got to five you had tears in your eyes. “look at me babydoll.” he sighed. “are you gonna be a good girl now?” you nodded violently as he wiped your tears. “that’s my girl” he praised as he kissed your forehead softly.

[marigold-hills]

your hands; mine (Stalker Remus AU) Part 6

PART 1 | | PREVIOUS PART

The first spoonful is like silk.

Remus moans. Audibly, aloud. At the taste, at the texture. Bites into a chunk of frozen chocolate and it starts to melt on his tongue - calling it silk is a disservice. He wants to savor, to be slow about it, but he eats like a dog lapping up its favourite meal. Can’t hold himself back until the bowl is empty.

He looks up when Sirius’ milkshake makes a slurping empty sound. The straw is still in between those pretty lips. Sirius is wide eyed and staring, like he’s stuck in some liminal moment inside of his own mind.

Remus feels a trail of melted ice cream dribbling down the edge of his chin. He wipes it off with the back of his hand. Thoughtless, licks it off: tongue outstretched to catch every drop like it’s something holy.

Sirius chokes.

Just like that, Remus is brought back to himself. Feels ashamed. Dirty, ugly display of greed and bad manners. “Sorry,” he says, playing with the spoon to occupy his fingers.

“Looked like you enjoyed it.” Sirius’ voice wavers and he coughs a bit, like he’s regaining a breath.

“I did. Thank you.” Remus’ mam raised him to be a polite man. He knows this about himself. He tries to remember how to be one.

“You murdered someone for me,” Sirius says carelessly and flippantly and so very blunt. “Least I can do, really.”

Remus knows what he did. He sees glimpses of the blood on his hands. Sees the man towering over Sirius like a shadow. But somehow, despite all of this, in the cozy night of Sirius’ flat, amidst the kebab and the ice cream, he’s forgotten.

Now he remembers. Like a tidal wave rising and rising and rising. The memory is more like realisation: he killed a man. He ended a life. This person no longer exists, who they were and who they could have been, gone because of Remus.

It doesn’t make any sense. How can something - how can someone - be and then just not be? 

“Huh,” Remus says, or tries to. “Excuse me,” he thinks he adds as he stands up and walks to the bathroom. Kneels on the white tiles. Dry heaves into the white toilet bowl. It smells like citrus chemicals, sharp and harsh and cloying at his nostrils and throat. His eyes water and he closes them on a cough and remembers the one Sirius let out when the man kicked him.

There must be a bruise. Remus should have checked him over better.

Should have done a lot of things better.

The taste of chocolate turns vile. Shaky legs, he forces himself up and over the sink. Cupped hands under the tap he fills his mouth with water. Washes it out and spits it out and gargles. 

You murdered someone for me. 

These new builds are made in such ways that things echo. In a white-tiled bathroom even thoughts do. 

Sirius’s block of flats was only completed three years ago, nobody else has ever lived there. It’s not like the rows of houses where Remus lives, each of them passed down through generations or through estate agents. Where death and birth have happened so much they become commonplace. 

Here, Remus feels like the moment he stepped over the threshold he brought with him a ghost. Ghosts don’t belong in flats like this one.

Remus splashes water into his eyes and thinks he better take the ghost back with him. Better make space for it in his own narrow life. Underneath the washing machine, maybe, or in the slit between the fridge and the counter, where he can never quite properly clean. 

It will share his bed now, Remus thinks. Drink his tea. Look at him from behind mirrors and across the windows and just over his shoulder, out of reach and out of touch. 

Remus didn’t think he would be inviting someone’s presence to join his life. He’s been living alone since he moved out of the cottage, a decade ago. It’s a long time to make routines and get used to one's own ways.

“Remus?” Sirius calls out from the living room. His voice is far from the bathroom door. 

✨ ✨ ✨ ✨

Tags!

@hoje--aqui

@rae-lune

@wickedcoeur

@shunstanpike

@floretissogay

@remoonysiriusly

@lunalovegoodsgirlfriend

@father-imperator

@brighterthanthou

@a-pine-cone

@tealeavesandtrash

[lilywritingnook]

EVERY INCH OF YOU

Pairing: Idol!wonyoung x gf!reader

Synopsis: Wonyoung came home with a pout and a lot of insecurities. Good thing you were there to kiss each one away.

A/N: i was listening to "Young and beautiful" by Lana del ray,the whole time while writing this,i may or may not have cried(dramatic but true).

You knew something was wrong the second you saw your girlfriend stomping into your apartment, her pout deadly enough to kill—or start a war. Leaning against the doorway, you watched as she flopped onto the couch, arms crossed.

You mentally prepared yourself for the upcoming rant—not that you minded. You loved her yapping. But today was different. Instead of words, there was only silence—grave and heavy.

You waited. Half an hour passed. Then an hour. Then two. Wonyoung didn’t move, lost in her thoughts, but you could tell she was still upset. If only you knew the reason. But your girl was stubbornly silent, so you took matters into your own hands.

Clearing your throat, you approached her.

"Hey…"

No response. She didn’t even glance your way.

You tried again.

"Baby…?"

Still nothing.

Stepping closer, you sat beside her and gently touched her knee.

"Wonyoung?"

That got her attention. She finally looked at you—bottom lip jutting out, eyes slightly red.

"Hey… are you… okay?" You scooted closer, hesitating before running your fingers through her hair.

She immediately hugged you, resting her forehead on your shoulder. Then, quiet sobs escaped her.

Oh no. This was bad.

But you didn’t panic. Instead, you pulled her into your lap, one hand rubbing soothing circles on her back while the other combed through her silky strands.

"I’ve got you. It’s okay. Let go, baby."

You repeated it like a mantra until her sobs subsided and she relaxed in your arms, her fingers clutching your hoodie like a lifeline. The fabric was soaked with tears, but you didn’t care.

When she finally looked up at you, her eyes were glassy, cheeks stained with tears. She looked so small, so vulnerable—your heart clenched at the sight.

Brushing her hair back, you kissed her temple.

"You okay?"

She shook her head, and you didn’t press further. Instead, you pulled her back into your embrace. This time, she didn’t cry—just rested her head against your shoulder and closed her eyes.

---

"Do you think I’ve gotten chubby?"

The question was sudden, her voice muffled against your neck.

"What?" You almost laughed at the absurdity but held back.

"Tell me. Have I gotten chubby?"

Cupping her face, you tilted her chin up.

"No, baby. Who said that?"

"Are you just saying that to make me feel better?" Her brown eyes shimmered under the sunlight streaming through the curtains.

"Huh? No. You’re the same. And even if you had, it wouldn’t matter."

"It does matter. You don’t understand."

"Is this about hate comments again?"

Her silence was confirmation enough.

"Wonyoung, I told you not to read them."

"I didn’t! They just… popped up."

You sighed.

"Wonyoung, you’re not chubby. Those comments are absurd. Nobody can judge you through a screen. These people don’t know you—how beautiful and kind you are. They can’t hate you based on a few seconds in a clip. They’re just bitter, with nothing better to do than spread negativity."

"I know you. I know how hard you work, how much you sacrifice, how you never break under pressure. They don’t get to judge your body, your voice, your kindness. They’re not God."

Tears welled in her eyes again, and you gently wiped one away.

"You’re not chubby. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And I ask God every day—how did I get this lucky? What did I do to deserve you?"

"You’re my person. My home. My beautiful home. And I won’t let you think any less of yourself."

She nodded, too overwhelmed to speak.

You kissed her forehead, and she melted into your arms.

"You’re beautiful. Here."

(A kiss on her temple.)

"Here."

(A kiss on her hair.)

"Here."

(A kiss on her eyes.)

"Here."

(A kiss on her nose.)

"Here."

(A kiss on her lips—once, twice, again and again.)

Tears streamed down her cheeks, and you kissed them away.

"Here."

(A kiss on her neck. She sighed.)

"Here."

(A kiss on her collarbones.)

"Here."

(A kiss on her chest, just above her blouse.)

You moved lower, holding her gaze.

"Here."

(A kiss on her ribs.)

Gently pushing up her blouse, you kissed her stomach.

"Here."

"You’re beautiful everywhere, Wonyoung. And I love you for who you are—not the perfect idol, but you. Messy. Raw. Real."

This time, she let her tears fall freely as she kissed you—soft, desperate, and full of love. Full of everything she couldn’t say.

"I love you too, you know," she whispered against your lips.

Tucking her hair behind her ear, you pulled her closer.

"I know. I really do."

She kissed you again, and you let her—until she finally fell asleep in your arms. You stayed awake, watching her rest peacefully.

Right where she belonged.

[theshiniestgemstone]

adventurous- gideon gemstone x fem!reader

warnings: smut, minors dni

Gideon took a seat at the table beside you. “Can we talk, sweetheart?”

You nodded, setting your napkin on the empty plate from your lunch. “What about?”

“Feel free to slap me at any given moment,” he started, adjusting his posture. He looked nervous. His hands were fidgeting in his lap, fingers twisting the edge of his T-shirt, and he wouldn’t quite meet your eyes.

“The last time you told me that, you drove a monster truck through an outhouse,” you frowned, raising a brow. “What is it?”

“I feel- well. Okay. So… it’s not you. Like, actually not you. I just-”

“Are you breaking up with me?” you asked quickly, your stomach dropping as you glanced down at the ridiculously sized engagement ring on your finger. It glinted in the afternoon light like it was mocking you. A wedding you’d just started planning flashed through your mind- flowers, venues, the white dress you had stored at your mother's house.

“No! God, no,” he said, alarmed, leaning forward to catch your gaze. “No. Not even close. I just think that our bedroom life is a little… repetitive.”

“Oh,” you said quietly, blinking once. You could feel the blood rush to your face, hot with a mix of confusion and embarrassment. You hadn’t expected that.

“I mean, I finish every time satisfied, and I hope you do t-”

“I do.” You said it fast, almost defensive, like it was important to reassure him. It was true. You weren’t faking anything, and he wasn’t exactly lacking in effort or skill.

“But I think we could change things up a little bit,” he continued, more gently now. “Like… I dunno. Try new stuff. Stuff you’re comfortable with, of course. I’m not asking for anything crazy. Just… maybe a little variety.”

You leaned back in your chair, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Why now?”

He winced. “It’s been on my mind for a while, but I didn’t know how to bring it up without sounding like a jerk. I guess I just don’t wanna let us fall into some pattern where it feels like routine, like we’re just checking off a box. I love you too much to let it get boring.”

You studied him carefully, his expression open and vulnerable. He wasn’t trying to insult you. This wasn’t about dissatisfaction. It was about effort. The same kind of effort you both put into making each other's favorite meals or showing up to support each other at dumb work events. He was just trying to tend to the part of your relationship that didn’t get discussed in the daylight.

“Okay,” you said finally, voice soft. “We can talk about it. Set some… rules or limits. Try some new things.”

Gideon let out a relieved breath and reached for your hand across the table. “Thank you,” he murmured, threading your fingers together. “I promise this isn’t some mid-engagement meltdown.”

You gave a small smile. “I know. But if you ever say ‘repetitive’ again while I’m eating, I am slapping you.”

It took a week. An actual, honest-to-God week of flipping through women-oriented magazine articles about pleasure, desire, communication, and more euphemisms than you thought possible for sex. You felt like a teenager cramming for an exam, highlighter in hand, muttering terms under your breath like edging and temperature play. It was ridiculous and kind of mortifying. And kind of exciting.

You’d given Gideon a list. A real, categorized list. He’d asked for guidelines, and you delivered.

You slid it across the kitchen island to him one evening while he was eating peanut butter straight from the jar. His eyebrows lifted in surprise at the thickness of the folded paper.

“I color-coded it,” you said, arms crossed over your chest, trying to downplay the deep vulnerability clawing at your ribcage. “Green is ‘yes,’ yellow is ‘yes with a heads-up,’ blue is ‘maybe with discussion,’ and red is… well. No.”

He wiped a bit of peanut butter from his mouth with the back of his hand and carefully unfolded the list like it was a map. “Damn,” he murmured, scanning. “This is detailed.”

“I didn’t want to be vague.”

He nodded, still reading. His expression didn’t shift to anything teasing or smug. He was just thoughtful, serious, and respectful. “This is really helpful,” he said, finally looking up at you. “Some of this I wouldn’t’ve thought to ask about. And I like knowing what’s off the table. Makes everything feel… safer.”

That word stuck with you. Safe. Even with a man like Gideon, who could be reckless and wild and jump headfirst into danger without a second thought, there was a strange gentleness to the way he handled the intimacy between you. He never treated it like a given, and he never made you feel less for drawing boundaries. If anything, he looked at you like those lines made you more of a person to him, not less.

“What’s this one mean?” he asked, pointing near the middle of the page. “The one that just says ‘crowds = absolutely not.’”

You leaned on the counter, giving him a flat look. “Exactly what it says. I don’t care how adventurous you feel. I’m not doing anything with an audience.”

He smirked a little. “Okay, fair. That’s a red.”

“That’s maroon.” You reached over and circled it for good measure. “Burn it into your brain.”

He grinned but kissed your cheek as he passed behind you, list in hand like it was a treasure map. “I’m gonna study this like it’s the Bible.”

You rolled your eyes. “If you start calling it the ‘Book of Revelations,’ I’m revoking your green-light privileges.”

He paused, then looked back with a playful glint in his eye. “Can I at least call it Song of Solomon?”

“Out,” you said, shoving him with a laugh. “Out of the kitchen. Go do your homework.”

It started slowly that night a few weeks later, like most good things do.

You were brushing your teeth in your shared bathroom when Gideon slipped behind you, his hands warm on your waist, his mouth pressing a kiss to the exposed curve of your shoulder. It wasn’t new. But the way he lingered, fingertips tracing under your sleep shirt, was.

You rinsed your mouth, catching his eyes in the mirror. There was something simmering behind them, something electric and patient all at once.

It carried into bed. The wandering hands. The long, teasing kisses that paused just long enough to make your heart stutter. He kissed like he was rediscovering you, or maybe letting you rediscover him. Every touch built slowly, layer on layer, until your pulse was humming just beneath your skin.

He pulled back slightly, lips barely brushing yours. “Would you like to review the list?”

You huffed a laugh, blinking up at him. “Seriously?”

Gideon grinned, already leaning over to open his nightstand drawer. “Just covering my bases. Legally and emotionally.” He pulled out the neatly folded sheet sat back on his heels, skimming.

You giggled despite yourself, rolling your eyes affectionately. “You know it better than I do at this point.”

“Still.” He looked back at you, the humor in his eyes shifting into something more careful. He reached out, hand grazing the top of your chest over the thin fabric of your shirt. “What do you think about me giving these a little more attention tonight?” His hand lingered, thumb brushing slow, deliberate circles. “And maybe some bites?”

Your breath caught.

He’d never marked you before. Not really. Not out of fear or lack of desire, but practicality. You had always played it safe between family lunches, church appearances, and the ever-present parade of Gemstone-related press.

But now? Now his voice was low and steady, his eyes asking for more than just permission. He was asking for trust.

You considered it carefully, then nodded, slow and sure. “Nowhere visible,” you said, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear. “But yes. I’m okay with that.”

His breath hitched, just slightly, and then his expression softened into something awed and reverent. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, smiling. “Just don’t get carried away and bite through a nerve or something.”

“No promises,” he teased, already ducking down to press a kiss right at the base of your throat. “But I’ll try to be gentle.”

He wasn’t.

Not completely.

But he was intentional. Slow and exploratory, learning your yeses all over again with his hands, his mouth, and the quiet hum of your name against your skin.

After pulling your shirt over your head, Gideon took a second to just look at you like he always did. Like he meant it. Like the sight of you, laid bare in the soft glow of your bedside lamp, was something sacred. Then he dipped his head, starting slow, trailing little pecks along your neck. His lips were warm, careful, fluttering against your pulse point, then behind your ear, then lower. He sucked lightly in some spots. Not hard enough to bruise, but enough to make your skin bloom with temporary color. Just a whisper of pressure that made your stomach flip.

His hands were already roaming, fingertips brushing over your ribs, settling confidently around your breasts. He gave a gentle squeeze, thumbs ghosting over your nipples.

Then he looked up at you. Really looked. His chin pressed just beneath your sternum, eyes wide and waiting. And then, without breaking the gaze, he leaned in and dragged his tongue slowly over one nipple.

Your body tensed, a sharp inhale slipping past your lips. The response was immediate, your buds tightening under the attention.

Gideon chuckled softly, a wicked little sound that came from the back of his throat. You felt the warmth of his breath fan out over your chest, leaving goosebumps in its wake and spreading down your arms, across your stomach.

“Sensitive,” he murmured with a smirk, brushing his nose along your breast. “Good to know.”

You swallowed, fingers threading through his hair on instinct. “You knew that.”

“I suspected,” he teased, his voice low and rich. “Now I know.”

And then he was back at it, tongue, lips, teeth just grazing, but never too much, always checking, always tuned in to the way your breath hitched and your grip tightened and your hips shifted.

You were panting before you even realized it, head tilted back against the pillow as Gideon gave your chest his full, undivided attention. He was relentless but careful, switching between each breast with deliberate slowness. He was sucking, licking, letting his teeth graze your skin just enough to make you gasp. The way his tongue circled, the way his lips tugged, it had your fingers curling into the sheets.

The coil was starting to wind inside you, but you couldn’t speak, couldn’t warn him. You were too far gone, too focused on the way his mouth felt like fire and velvet all at once.

He dragged a hand over your stomach, up to your ribs, then across your skin again, letting the pads of his fingers memorize every inch. Then he paused, his index finger tapping thoughtfully just beneath the swell of your breast, where your bra normally sat.

“Here,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

And then he leaned down and sucked harshly.

The sudden pull made your whole body jolt, hips bucking slightly as your back arched into him. He didn’t stop until he heard the little noise you made, half gasp, half moan, and then he pulled back with a soft pop, eyes fixed on the deep red mark blossoming there.

“Pretty,” he whispered, almost reverent.

Then he did it again.

And again.

He left matching marks just beneath your collarbone, over your ribs, lower still. Each one earned with a warm mouth and firm suction and just enough teeth to leave your nerves tingling.

Your back arched into him, fingers buried in his hair, as if you could somehow get closer. Your chest heaved, heat pulsing in waves through your body with each pass of his tongue.

You weren’t sure how long he stayed there, worshipping you with lips and teeth and open-mouthed kisses, but by the time he lifted his head again, you were trembling, marked, and breathless beneath him.

“Still okay?” he asked, voice husky and eyes searching.

You nodded, mouth dry, eyes half-lidded. “More than okay.”

His grin was slow and satisfied as he leaned down again, kissing a fresh mark with a gentleness that made you ache in an entirely different way.

Gideon finally pulled back, chest rising and falling with each breath as he sat back on his heels between your thighs. His lips were kiss-bitten and swollen, and his hands were still resting against your sides like he didn’t want to let go.

His eyes raked over you, slow and heavy, reverent in a way that made your skin flush hotter than it already was.

“Can I take a photo?” he asked suddenly, voice low but steady. “Just for me. Just… I don’t ever wanna forget how you looked right now.”

You blinked up at him, surprised but not unsettled.

“Your face won’t be in it,” he added quickly, sensing your hesitation. “Promise. Just… from here down.” He gestured vaguely around your chin, then toward your waist. “You can see it after.”

You swallowed, heart thudding, then gave a small nod. “Okay. Yeah.”

His brows lifted slightly in soft surprise, then he reached for his phone with one hand, the other brushing your thigh in reassurance.

He angled the camera with careful precision, fingers steady, then snapped the photo in a single, deliberate motion.

“Here,” he said gently, turning the screen toward you.

Your chin was the only part of your face visible at the top of the frame, and the image cut off just above your belly button. But it didn’t need to show much more. The focus was clear. Dozens of red marks are scattered across your chest, each one placed with intention. Some were dark and already bruising purple at the edges; others were faint and pink, still blooming.

Your nipples glistened, damp from his mouth, the skin around them flushed and sensitive.

It was intimate. Beautiful in a way you hadn’t expected.

You stared for a moment, lips parted, then looked up at him.

“Keep it,” you whispered.

His thumb brushed over your knee as he saved the photo, then locked his phone and tossed it back to the nightstand without looking away from you.

“Thank you,” he said, and it wasn’t teasing. It was tender, almost awed. Like you’d just given him something sacred.

He leaned in slowly, like he didn’t want to startle you. Like your whole body hadn’t already been trembling under his touch for the past however-many minutes. His fingers slid beneath the band of your sleep shorts, thumbs brushing along your hips as he looked up, searching your eyes one last time for a nod.

You gave it.

He peeled them down with aching care, pulling both your shorts and underwear in one fluid motion. The fabric clung just slightly to your skin, and when it came off completely, he stilled.

“Jesus,” Gideon breathed, voice low and reverent. His palms ran up your thighs, then paused to rest there. “You’re soaked.”

You flushed, lips parting as he just looked for a second, like he couldn’t decide where to put his mouth first.

Your arousal glistened, a clear sheen catching the light between your legs, and it took him a second to find words again.

“You’ve been like this the whole time?” he asked, the edge of wonder in his voice making your stomach tighten. He leaned closer, eyes still flicking between your thighs and your face. “Just from me kissing you?”

You nodded, breath catching. “You’re the one who said I was sensitive.”

He gave a crooked, boyish grin, but the heat in his gaze made it anything but innocent. “Didn’t realize I was this good at taking notes.”

Then he slid one hand down, slow and sure, fingers dragging through your slick like he had all night to learn you.

His fingers moved with a reverence that sent shivers skimming up your spine, parting you just enough to feel the way you pulsed around nothing.

"Fuck," Gideon whispered under his breath. He was transfixed. "You’re dripping."

Your hips tilted instinctively toward his touch, chasing the pressure, desperate for more. He caught it and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh. Then another, higher up. His free hand gripped your hip gently, grounding you, as his mouth moved closer.

“You okay?” he asked again, voice softer now, eyes flicking up to yours even as his fingers brushed back down through your folds.

You nodded quickly, maybe too quickly, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak. Not when he was teasing you like that, circling your entrance but never quite pushing in, skimming your clit with maddening lightness.

His breath fanned against you as he leaned in, lips brushing the slickest part of you in a single, warm pass that made your thighs twitch.

Your fingers gripped the sheets, back arching, a whimper rising from your throat before you could stop it.

“Thought so,” he murmured.

Then he buried his face between your thighs.

His tongue was just as thorough as his hands had been, broad strokes, then slow circles, then a gentle suck right where you needed it most. He listened, paid attention to the way your hips bucked, the little sounds you made, how your hand twisted in his curls.

And when he slid a single finger inside you, curling it just right, his name left your lips like a prayer.

You were unraveling, piece by piece, soaked and shaking beneath him. Every flick of his tongue, every press of his mouth, every slow push of his fingers only tightened the coil until it was impossible to ignore.

You were close and he knew it.

“You gonna come for me, sweetheart?” he asked, voice thick with want, his mouth glistening. “Let me have it.”

And you did. Back arching, thighs trembling, breath catching on a cry as the tension snapped all at once.

He didn’t stop until your hips fell back to the bed, until you were gasping, dazed, utterly spent.

Then he kissed the inside of your thigh again, slow and sweet, and whispered, “Still got more for you.”

Gideon lifted himself slowly, sliding between your legs with a deliberate, measured grace that made your breath hitch. The heat of him pressed flush against you, the weight of his body grounding but electrifying all at once.

His hands found your hips, gripping firmly, anchoring as he pushed in with slow, deep thrusts that stretched and filled you completely. You clenched around him, needy and raw, fingers digging into his shoulders as the pressure built.

A soft whine escaped your lips, vibrating straight into his neck as you pressed your face against his skin, breath mingling with the steady rhythm of his movements.

“Gideon,” you murmured, voice trembling with want, ��please…”

He didn’t need to hear more. His thrusts deepened, faster now, pounding into you with a fierce, desperate hunger that matched your own. Your nails raked down his back, desperate to hold onto something real as your body tensed and melted with every stroke.

You were utterly exposed. You rubbed your hands over his back, down his arms, desperate to feel more of him, to keep him close even as your muscles clenched tight with the pull of pleasure.

Your whines grew louder, raw and unfiltered, as your body tightened around him, clinging, urging him on.

“I’m close,” you gasped, voice breaking, lips brushing the skin just below his ear.

He kissed that spot, biting gently before answering with a groan and thrusting harder, deeper, completely lost in the fire between you.

You cried out, trembling beneath him, the world narrowing to nothing but the heat of his body and the relentless pull of your shared need.

When you finally shattered, shaking and gasping, Gideon held you tight, driving through his own release with slow, grinding strokes that sent you spiraling even further.

You both collapsed into the tangled sheets, chests heaving, hearts pounding loud in the silence that followed.

His fingers traced lazy patterns over your skin, soft and soothing now, as he whispered, “You’re mine.”

And you believed him, wholeheartedly. You reached over with a shaky hand, grabbing the sheet. "This is a checklist now," you muttered.

"Works for me," he sighed happily.

[starwarsyeahboi]

Not a fan of acolyte gonna be real, it’s especially frustrating because it had a lot of potential, but it’s writing fell flat at every turn :/

[sixeyesonathiel]

satoru wants praise. constant, dramatic, over-the-top praise. and he’s not subtle about it.

he takes out the trash and comes back in with the air of a man who just saved the world. arms spread, chin up, dramatic sigh. “your husband has returned,” he says, expectant. you’re just trying to wash dishes, mind your business, but he’s hovering behind you like a six-foot-tall golden retriever who craves attention. he nudges your shoulder, taps your elbow, bumps your hip with his, until you finally turn around.

“kiss,” he demands, eyes wide and pouty. you blink. he leans in like it’s his right. “i touched the gross bag. i braved the outside. i faced the raccoon that lives near the bins. i deserve a reward.”

he folds one shirt—badly, you might add—and yells from across the hall, “baby! emergency! come here!” you run in thinking he’s set the kitchen on fire or broken a limb, only to find him standing like a proud peacock beside a wobbly stack of laundry.

“look at this craftsmanship,” he says, holding up a towel like it’s the last supper painting. “behold my glory. where’s my trophy? my parade? my standing ovation? did the mayor call yet?”

he pours water into the pitcher—without spilling it, mind you—and turns to you with the smuggest little smirk known to man. “tell me i’m sexy.”

“...you filled the brita.”

“exactly. domestic and desirable. say it with your chest.”

and you do, because unfortunately for you, you’re hopelessly, irrevocably in love with this ridiculous, praise-hungry man. so you coo. you clap. you kiss his cheeks and ruffle his hair and call him your strong, brave househusband. you dramatically wipe a fake tear and tell him how lucky the world is to witness his greatness. you whisper that he’s the hottest man alive for sorting the recycling. and he eats it up. full sparkling eyes, puffed-out chest, giggling like a schoolboy in love, throwing his arms around you like he’s just scored the game-winning point.

he starts making up tasks just to fish for more. he'll tighten a jar lid and then call for you, chest heaving like he’s run a marathon. “babe. babe. i saved the pickles. tell me i’m amazing.”

you try to tease him—“what, you want a gold star every time you do a chore?”

he doesn’t even blink. “yes. and a kiss. and a snack. preferably hand-fed. preferably while you tell me i’m a gift to mankind.”

“you’re impossible,” you huff, already reaching for the cookies and cupping his ridiculous face in your hands.

and he just grins, because he knows. he knows you’ll give in every time. because it’s only fair—he does praise you like a goddess when he’s got you in bed, murmuring sweet things like you hung the moon and stars and he’s the luckiest man alive. he’ll have your name spilling from his lips like worship, hands reverent, voice full of awe. so why shouldn’t you tell him he’s the hottest man on earth when he unclogs the sink?

he pouts if you don’t. preens when you do. flashes you that pretty smile and says, “i’ll do more chores if you promise to thank me with moans next time.”

you smack his arm, but your face is already heating up. because god, he’s stupid. and charming. and annoyingly good at getting what he wants. it doesn’t help that you’re just as down bad.

ugh. disgusting. you love him so much it’s embarrassing.

[classyrbf]

NOT GOOD ENOUGH! — TOJI FUSHIGURO

SYNOPSIS...after child birth, you don’t feel or look the same as before, brining on new insecurities and anger stirring within yourself

INFO...husband!toji x fem!reader, angst with a happy ending, mentions of child birth, weight gain, stretch marks, feeling ugly, body checking, just very insecure and upset reader, slight jealousy, toji being there for you, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

toji notices how quiet you are when you both arrive back home from Shiu’s birthday party. You didn’t say a word to him on the drive back home and you aren’t speaking to him now that you walked through the door. All you do is head straight to your shared bedroom, heels clicking against the floor. He can’t understand what’s wrong, he’s trying his hardest to piece together what may have went wrong tonight but nothing comes to mind. He was hoping that this night out would be fun and special considering it’s the first time you guys have had alone time since giving birth to Megumi almost a year ago now.

But that frown on your face and the silent treatment makes a pit settle in his stomach because this isn’t you. He follows you to the bedroom where you’re sitting, turned away from him, taking your heels off. “Can we talk?” He breaks the silence, leaning against the wooden door.

“Not right now.” You clear your throat, avoiding any eye contact with him as you throw your shoes in the mess that is your closet. “Can you get out? I need to change.” You’re snatching clothes out the dresser, your tone flat and bored.

“Get out? You always change in front of me—”

“Just get out, Toji!” You walk over to the bedroom door, slamming it in his face and locking it. He stands there, confused.

But behind closed doors, you cautiously remove your dress that you’ve been so excited to wear for months now. Except, it didn’t look how you expected it to. The whole night, the moment you put it on, it just didn’t seem to look right. Your arms had extra fat, your stomach was chubby and everytime you sat down you could feel it hang over your underwear, and your thighs were squeezing against the fabric. But it wasn’t just the dress, it was everything. For weeks and weeks you’ve been feeling like absolute garbage, reminiscing over how you used to look before child birth. The dark circles were new, you the stretch marks on your stomach and thighs that seemed like they’d never go away. The brittleness of your hair, and your mood swings that had you questioning if you’re overreacting or not.

You felt ugly. That’s it. Inside and out. The way you looked and how you acted towards toji and yourself, it wasn’t you. And you would never blame your son over this, no, he was the most precious baby ever, and you loved him with all your heart. You just wish you’d had started taking care of yourself sooner. When you look in the mirror, you’re reminded that your husband can do so much better, thinking of all the attractive women that were trying to talk to him today at the party. You couldn’t help but compare yourself, how much better looking they were and how full of life they looked. Maybe he would enjoy someone younger and happier, instead of having to come home to a miserable, insecure wife who wouldn’t even let her own husband touch her.

You frowned, tears welling up in your eyes as you stared at yourself, the palm of your hand running over your stomach, feeling the loose skin. Your eyes drifted to your sagging breasts, thinking of how they only look good in a supported bra now. Tears. All you felt were the tears streaming down your cheeks, slipping on your baggy shirt and pants to hide each and every bad thing you thought about yourself.

“Mama, open the door. Are you crying?” Toji called from behind the door, twisting the handle back and forth like it would somehow magically unlock.

“I-I’m fine! I’m still getting dressed!” You wiped your tears, a weak attempt at hiding your feelings.

“Bullshit. Open the door, tell me what’s going on with you. Y/n, I swear I’ll break this damn door down. Please, open it.” You shuffled your feet across the floor, unlocking the door for him. He immediately stepped through, concerned eyes scanning over you. “Mama, what happened? What’s going on with you, hm?” He cupped your face, searching your glossy eyes.

You immediately broke, clutching onto him as you sobbed into his chest. “I’m sorry, Toji,” you hiccuped. His arms held you close, wrapping his warmth around you.

“Shh, shh. You got nothing to apologize for.” He kissed the top of your head, caressing his hand up and down your back. “Talk to me.” You shake your head, finding it embarrassing to even talk about, but he doesn’t take no for an answer. He cups your face again and forces you to look at him, wiping your tears away. “Did I do something?” He questions.

“No, no,” you sniffle. “I just…I don’t know how to explain it without feeling stupid.” It frustrates you to your core, having all these bottled up feelings inside of you but finding it so difficult to explain. It’s overwhelming, every single bit of it.

“You’re not stupid. Come here, sit down and talk with me.” He holds your shaking hand while guiding you to the bed, both of you sitting on the edge as you attempt to catch your breath.

“Tonight, I was excited to spend some alone time with you. I got dressed and did my makeup and hair, but…I didn’t feel comfortable or pretty or anything. I haven’t been feeling like that for a good while now, Toji.” Your voice cracks, hot tears brimming your eyes once more. “I look at myself and see how much weight I’ve gained, my stomach, arms, thighs, everything! And I hate it! I hate looking at myself because it makes me so angry and ugly. So, I get jealous and insecure when I see other women near you. Like tonight.” Your lip quivers, hiding your face in your hands. “And I’m sorry I took it out on you,” your voice breaks through the sobs, vision blurry. “I’m sorry that I’m not better.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Mama? Better? You’re already fucking perfect.” He sits up. “Look at me.” And you hesitantly do so, frowning, your eyes puffy and red. “I don’t care about anyone else but you and our son. Our son that you gave life to, birthed him from your own body. You’re fucking incredible for that. So, no, I don’t give a damn about your weight or stretch marks or anything else your pretty little head is making you overthink about.” He grabs your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“Toji…” you trail off. His words only make you more emotional, his reassurance providing you comfort and security.

“You’re beautiful no matter what. I married you. You didn’t marry me. I wanted you the second I laid eyes on you, mama, are you kidding?” He chuckles, making you smile in response. “See, there’s that smile.”

“Stop.” You stifle a laugh, covering your face with your hand.

“Never. You’re stuck with me. You’re stuck with me forever. I signed up for forever, okay? We could be all old and wrinkly together and I’ll still think you’re the most beautiful woman in this world. So, baby, please don’t beat yourself up because you don’t look like some fake ass super model or some random girl you see on the street. From the tips of your toes, to the top of your head, you’re all mine.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, then another and then another, before attacking you with kisses. “I’m so in love with you and so attracted to everything you do, you make it hard not to give you another baby. So incredibly sexy.”

“Toji!” You gasp in shock, laughing at him. “You horndog!”

“Can you blame me, huh?” You kisses your neck. “Seriously, mama, I apologize. I’m sorry that I didn’t realize sooner that you were going through this.” He holds you, pulling you beside him as he lays down.

“It’s not your fault. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you, and explain my feelings. I thought it was something that would go away on its own—”

“I don’t wanna hear any more apologies from that mouth of yours. Next time, just speak to me. Pull me aside, vent to me, cry in my arms. I’d rather you do that than feel like this ever again. I should’ve been more attentive to you.” The pad of thumb brushes over your knuckles.

“I love you, Toji.” You snuggle into him, basking in his warmth. “Thank you.” He knew just how to make you laugh, how to take all those bad thoughts away and lock them up. You should’ve never hesitated to come to him, he’s always been there for you since day one.

“I love you more.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “We still have the whole night to ourselves, let’s not waste it.”

“Oh, can we order some chinese? I’ve kinda been craving crab rangoon.” You raise brow at Toji.

He smirks. “Go and get the menu.”

[cathnospam]

Your best friend Bakugo has a very interesting habit of laying FACE DOWN between your thighs when he comes over.

It’s not often he comes to your dorm since he’s been so busy lately, but when he can, he either takes you away from UA or lock your door and spend the evening there with you if he’s not in the mood with anybody else. Which you don’t mind, next to Kiri and Deku you’re his closest friend. #1 closest female friend he ever had . Probably for as long as you both became self aware.

And when you both do the second option to stay in your room he goes to use your shower, comes out with nothing but his dog tag you got him and black sweats. You’re usually laying on your back reading something on tumblr or playing on your switch when you feel the weight of your best friend spread your legs and comfortably lay between your thighs.

The only slight problem is that once he is completely out of it he shift his head a lot and he lands face first in your crotch.

It’s not THAT BAD, you’re not technically feeling anything seeing as your body is not extremely sensitive to touch, but his forehead on your pelvis, but you’ve looked up at your full length mirror to see how he sleeps on you and if anybody walked in…

well…

it would look like he’s eating rather than sleeping.

You clearly don’t hate it nor complain, you just don’t remember when he ever became this touchy.

Once you started to fall asleep your hands landed in his hair, fingers twitching causing a small scratch to his scalp. He’d wake up before you, a small string of spit on your inner thigh he wipes off and that’s what stirs you awake.

“My bad.” The rasp in his voice makes you blink yourself awake, holding your upper half on your elbows, “We been sleep for 5 hours? the hell.” He got up from his position to stretch and grabbed a water from your fridge.

“Well you seemed exhausted…and comfortable. Didn’t wanna wake ya.”

Your tone made him turn his head at you and glare, “The hell that’s supposed to mean.”

“Nothing,” You already knew this was going to turn into a bickering fiasco, so you debated for a moment if you should indulge him or not,

and you did.

“You just needa start sleeping on your back and not your stomach.”

“Don’t tell me how to sleep.”

“Well if i’m going to be your personal pillow I just want you to know about how badly you sleep on me if someone were to walk in on us.”

“What?!”

You reach out and take his hand, he stares at it before your grab it to pull him down and readjust him to the same position he was when sleeping, but turned his head to face the mirror, “Ya see.”

“I—“

It’s like you could feel his cheek warm up, his hands definitely started to sweat as they gripped your leg, his face was a mix of anger and embarrassment, you wasn’t sure if this was something he may unfriend you for actually.

“Well why didn’t you say anything!?…Pervert.”

“PER-PER-PERVERT?!”

“YES PERVERT?”

“I didn’t wanna annoy you while you slept last time i did you fucking popped me with an explosion! ….And my thighs are soft and smooth I don’t need no bruisers and scars on ‘em!”

“Oh for fucks sake.” Bakugo groans in annoyance to get up and grabs his bag, but he honestly didn’t want to leave, but he’s bakugo of course he’s going to be dramatic, “Just say you liked it and get over it.”

“You liked it too?! I’m not mad or anything you can use me all you want, ‘Suki.”

“Oh don’t make it fucking weird, y/n.”

He did though. He kept sleeping between your thighs because whether he admits it or not you’re the best sleep he’s ever had.

Just this time he sleeps on his back.

[sttoru]

⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. bragging about your oh-so-perfect boyfriend to your friends certainly has its (welcomed) consequences. . .

tags. older bf!gojo satoru x female reader. fluff & smut. p in v -> unprotected. missionary. sweet but also nasty and condescending. creampie. body worship. size difference / - kink. nicknames ‘(little) princess, baby’. name calling once. not proof read bcs im sleepy. wc. 2k+

“right! he’s so thoughtful,” you sigh dreamily as you chat with your friends over the phone. you’re laying on satoru’s bed, kicking your feet up while you remove your make-up. of course, you had to call your girls to tell them all about the little date you just had with your boyfriend.

satoru’s in the shower, so you’re taking the time to relive the experience.

“here she goes again y’all,” one of your friends sighs dramatically, to which the others follow with giggles of their own. they know that you can go on and on about your partner. they’ve heard all of it before.

you grin and roll your eyes, rubbing the cleansing wipe over your lips, removing the light pink gloss you had on. you’re all giddy as you recall what satoru has done and given to you this evening. you’ve been pampered—spoiled rotten.

“hey! don’t blame me,” you retort with a chuckle. your friends laugh and urge you to go on since they’re only joking. the stories you tell are always either adorable or heartwarming, and thus they’re happy to listen. plus, debriefing you on your love life is free entertainment.

it’s not unusual for you to stray from the main story. you ramble about the restaurant you’ve visited, the pretty green scenery you’ve walked past, the museum you’ve visited, the way satoru paid for everything and how he made sure to pick activities you’re interested.

you get an occasional ‘aww’ or ‘cuteee’ when you mention your boyfriend’s loving gestures. from the enormous bouquet of flowers he’s gotten you, to the fact that he carried you back into his apartment the moment you told him your feet were hurting.

walking in heels wasn’t the smart move you thought it was, though luckily you had a thoughtful lover by your side.

“he’s just so handsome ‘n stuff. god—“ you squeal, not even bothering to dampen your excitement. you hide your face behind your hands for a split second, gaining a few fan girling squeaks from your friends as well. they’re happy that you’re being treated like deserved.

you don’t hear the door of the bedroom open since you’re too busy gushing about satoru. you’re focused on your small pocket mirror, careful not to forget a spot on your face. you notice that your friends have gone quiet, but you don’t question it.

“his gentle personality is honestly such a turn-on,” you mumble as you rub off the concealer from under your eyes, “and his subtle yet possessive touches? phew, don’t get me started.” you continue to babble on about how hot satoru is when he gets mad, unable to point out a flaw.

you’re about to comment on your friends’ sudden silence when a hand lands on your shoulder. you freeze and finally make eye contact with no one other than satoru—hovering over you from behind. he’s smiling down at you and mumbles a quick, ‘hey, baby’, before kissing your forehead.

you try to explain the situation, yet have no idea where to start. you can hear a friend of yours snickering and another faintly whisper an ‘oh, girl. . .’

before you have the ability to get another word out, satoru cuts you off, waving at your front camera for a second. his smile reaches his eyes and his dimples show;

“hey ladies, mind if i steal my girl from you?” satoru asks as he puts an arm around you. he places his cheek against yours, awaiting an answer. your friends are left speechless at the sudden turn of events.

the white-haired man appears extremely good on screen. he’s basically blessing them with his handsome looks. the towel hanging over his head indicates that he just came out of a fresh shower. there’s a visible vein running down his neck—nearly bulging out of the skin—as if satoru’s holding himself back.

once your friends snap out of their daze, they greet satoru and nod, exchanging quick ‘see you later’s. your boyfriend thanks them with another one of his charming smiles. he waves at the camera again, “bye bye, thank you.”

the call ends and the bedroom falls quiet. you stare at your screen which fades to black, completely dumbfounded. you quickly sit up—your mind a chaotic mess full of thoughts.

“satoru, i uhm, i didn’t know—“ you attempt to form an explanation, though you realise that it’s likely futile. satoru’s probably heard every word that left your mouth. you look up at him, your voice a quiet whisper, “how much did you hear?”

the sorcerer grins. he’s so enamored with you; everything you do is adorable. he grabs your hands and holds then into his larger ones—thumbs gently rubbing your skin. he pulls them up to his lips so he could place chaste kisses on your knuckles.

“everything, princess,” satoru hums, rotating your hands to place kisses on the inside of your wrists. there’s a subtle blush on his cheeks that even reaches his ears. no matter how calm and collected he may seem, he’s still but a complete sucker to your love, “talking about me to your little friends, hm? how cute.”

a shiver runs down your spine. you feel your tummy turn as you’re slowly guided onto your back. multiple kisses cover your body—from head to toe—like a canvas getting painted on. satoru’s taking his sweet time, admiring the art that’s your physique.

every piece of clothing that comes off is a step closer to the grande revelation. the masterpiece that is you. moving from one empty spot - filling it with his kisses - to another. sighs of content leave your lover’s mouth with each reveal, as if he hasn’t seen the sight of your naked body before.

“does this turn you on, baby? my ‘subtle touches’?” satoru mutters against your breasts, remembering your earlier words. his blue eyes stare up at you through his white lashes. not wearing his blindfold may overstimulate him due to his abilities, but he’ll risk anything if it’s to admire you the best he can.

he chuckles when you nod. your boyfriend kisses your hard nipples—taking his time to swirl his tongue around both of them just to feel your back arch off the mattress. your hands holding onto him for life is extremely thrilling. “it turns me on too,” satoru confesses quietly. his slender fingers reach the hem of your panties, “you turn me on so fuckin’ much.”

your breath hitches when your underwear gets tossed somewhere across the room. you’re dripping, obviously. there’s no way you couldn’t get turned on by the way satoru’s been worshipping your entire being.

you can also see the effect you have on him; he’s sweating. the vein on his neck seems to grow more visible when your cunt is revealed to him.

“there she is,” satoru grins in satisfaction. he seems to be in a daze for a second before he regains composure. he looks at you for a quick check, needing to know if he has your consent before he continues. the moment you nod, your lover separates your legs.

you sniff and try to hide your embarrassed expression behind a hand. satoru’s quick to pin your wrist above your head so you wouldn’t have the chance to do any of that. “keep your eyes on me, yeah?” he leans in to place a swift kiss on your lips.

“mhm,” you nod after returning the peck. the white-haired man utters a small ‘thank you’ and undoes his sweatpants with his free hand. he fumbles with his boxers—unable to keep himself from trembling in pleasure from the view alone.

your small body underneath him is a sight he’ll never get tired of. that face of yours morphing into one of pleasure whenever you’re intimate is one of his favorite things to witness. thus why the missionary is his go to position.

“c’mon,” satoru kisses your cheek as he manages to pull his erected cock out of his underwear. it’s standing tall, the tip pointing right at the place it wants to be buried at—your wet, warm and inviting pussy, “you were so loud when talking with y’r friends ‘n now you’ve gone quiet on me.”

satoru pouts, “it’s not fair. i wanna hear my princess too.”

you almost choke on your spit because of how whiny yet demanding satoru sounds. you feel his fingers intertwine with yours, firmly holding your hand down above your head. you’re still flustered by the entire situation. you open your mouth as tears gather in your eyes, “i’m sorry, i’m jus— ngh!”

you can’t even get your words out. the lewd feeling of satoru rubbing his tip between your folds completely catches you off guard. he grins, as if he planned on doing that the moment you tried to speak. he’s such a tease.

“shh, shh, i know,” satoru coos mockingly, acting like he’s not doing it on purpose. you can’t blame the man; he’s been rock hard ever since he heard you praise him so openly through the phone. your lovely voice speaking so highly of him was driving him nuts.

you’re so appreciative for all he’s doing and it makes the sorcerer want to spoil you even more. to give you the love and affection you deserve because of how precious you are—even if you don’t realise it.

he wants to give you more. more, more, more.

without thinking, satoru pushes his cock right through your tight cunt. he shudders at the sight of your poor, small pussy struggling to take his fat dick. he can’t hurt you, he knows. especially with the amount of times the bulbous head of his cock nearly bruised your cervix.

though, it’s difficult not to go all out. you’re so accepting of everything he does—satoru can see that by the way your eyes stare at him. it’s all love. the light reflecting in your pupils makes them sparkle beautifully. he cusses under his breath, “y’re so pretty, baby. fuck, fuck, fuck. y’re making it so hard.”

satoru tries his best not to plunge his cock all the way to the hilt. he reaches halfway with each thrust, the thwacking sound increasing by the second. your legs automatically wrap around his waist and your fingers squeeze his.

“toruuu, fmhh, so big,” you babble, the drool forming in the corners of your lips threatening to drip down your chin. each soft yet firm thrust seems to resonate within you, evoking a sense of pleasurable contentment.

satoru lets out a haughty chuckle at the sight of you going cockdrunk already. he’s still trying to hold his urges back by focusing on your satisfaction alone. “i’ll give you something else to brag ‘bout to y’r friends,” he pants with a confident smirk, kissing your jawline as he ruts into you,

you’re embarrassed by your current predicament. despite that, you find yourself enjoying every consequence that your actions have caused. your moans echo in satoru’s ears, each slap of your bodies connecting sounding twice as loud.

his thick cock is stretching you out so well. your cunt is working overtime to make space for every inch. your boyfriend gently bites your bottom lip, his breath faltering when you clench around him in response.

“‘re ya gonna tell them?” satoru asks through a guttural moan. his hips move non-stop, aiming to please you until you lose your mind. he’ll live up to the expectations set no matter what. he kisses the swell of your breasts, “are ya gonna tell ‘em how you let your ‘lovely’ boyfriend fuck you like this? how y’re a complete slut for his cock?”

you don’t know how to react to his dirty talk. it’s getting you wetter, that’s for sure. your thighs shake around his waist and your tummy feels like it’s doing flips. satoru doesn’t leave it there, “gonna tell them about how good i fill you up, yeah? dirty little girl telling all her friends about our private life, tsk tsk.”

it’s overwhelming. the sudden increase in dirty talk makes you want to cum on spot. you feel like you’re being degraded, however satoru’s touches make you feel appreciated and loved. his hand holding yours above your head never leaves you—a sign that this is still him making love to you.

“am—am not gonna,” you hiccup. the words simply roll of your tongue without much thought. you’re mindlessly responding to your lover. “am not gonna tell them anything,” you continue before cutting yourself off with a string of whiny moans when satoru plays with your clit.

satoru shakes his head, increasing the pressure and speed in which he’s pumping into you. he loves the view of you being so helpless—succumbing to the pleasure he’s granting you. “sureeee, i believe you,” your boyfriend snickers and pushes his pulsing cock in further. his tone is soft but condescending, “i’ll trust my little princess to keep her mouth shut f’me.”

you’re getting so close. your nails dig into his skin and your noises get louder. you’re right on the edge of euphoria. the clit stimulation along with the feeling of being filled to the brim is enough to make you see stars.

satoru nods at your desperate whimpers that alarm him that you’re close to climax. “i got you, baby. cum f’me—i got you,” he places sloppy kisses all over your face and rams his cock in and out of you in a stronger rhythm. there’s nothing satoru wants to do in this world more than to flood your insides with his cum.

his cock doesn’t stop prodding at your sweet spots and it’s making you approach that peak; the peak of pleasure that’s going to push you over the edge. you hold tightly onto your lover and he doesn’t hesitate to return the embrace. “it’s okay, do it f’me,” satoru encourages you once again through a husky whisper.

you’re thankful that you have such an attentive partner. he can go from teasing you to comforting you and it’s the most reassuring thing ever. you’ve never had a man hold you so intimately while he’s balls deep into you.

“g’nna cum,” a strangled moan leaves your throat when you try to speak. your chests are pressed together and your heartbeats match—like the perfect pair you are. satoru feels his balls clench with an aching feeling, needing to release every last drop they have stored into your tiny cunt.

just thinking about the way you were bragging about him again, is enough. “take it—fuuuckk—take it all, baby,” the white-haired man takes a deep breath in and can’t help but bury his entire dick inside of you, that one last thrust making you yelp.

you reach your climaxes at the exact same time. your fluids mix as you feel satoru’s thick spurts of cum coat your insides a sticky white. your body spasms and your boyfriend instantly soothes you by rubbing your back. his own legs are trembling a little, but you’re far more important.

you don’t utter a word and simply focus on regaining your energy. all that you can say are incoherent babbles. “easy,” satoru kisses the corners of your eyes and relishes in the fact that he’s fucked you full of his cum. it’s a reminder of just how much he loves you.

a few encouraging words and hugs later and you’ve calmed down. you don’t fully grasp the reality of the situation until the adrenaline and other hormones drop down to a normal level.

you’re suddenly reminded by your previous words and this time, you succeed in hiding your face into the crook of satoru’s neck.

it’s certain that he’s greatly enjoyed overhearing you talk about him to your friends, but it’s still a somewhat embarrassing memory you wish to forget. “not a word, please. j-jus act like you haven’t heard anything,” you mumble quietly now that you’ve come down from your high.

satoru laughs softly. he can’t help but tease you after that—it’s a given. you’re still so caught up on what happened and it’s endearing.

however, satoru wouldn’t be him if he didn’t tease you about your little comments. without pulling out, he tilts his head back and stares down at you with a faint grin, “do i have to act like i haven’t fucked you silly just now too?”

“satoru!”

[maskedbyghost]

You always find Simon in the same spot—sitting on his couch with a mug of tea in one hand, the TV on but the volume low, like he’s watching it just for background noise. He barely moves when you come in, just shifts his head a little like he was expecting you, even though you never text to say you're coming.

“And then she rolled her eyes at me,” you say as you drop down next to him, letting out an annoyed sigh. “Like I was the one being unreasonable for asking her to hold the door.”

Simon doesn’t react right away, which isn’t unusual. He lets a second or two pass, like he’s thinking it through, even though he probably made up his mind as soon as he heard your tone. Finally, he hums quietly and says, “She’s not worth your breath,” while reaching over to pat the top of your head in that way he always does.

You don’t even bother hiding how much you like that. You lean into his hand just a little, and for a moment you let the annoyance melt off your face.

It’s always like this between you and Simon. You walk in, already mid-rant about something that annoyed you during training or some dumb argument someone had in the mess, and he just listens. Or, well—he sits there while you go off, mostly quiet, only chiming in with a few words here and there.

But he always makes it clear he’s paying attention. The way his eyes shift to look at you when your voice tightens. The way he’ll hand you a blanket or a snack before you even ask. The way he remembers the tiny details you forget you even told him.

You joke sometimes that you adopted him. That you took in this emotionally unavailable soldier who barely likes people and decided that he’s your best friend now, whether he wanted that or not. He never complains. He never tells you to leave. Even when you steal his cookies or fall asleep on his couch, he just lets you stay.

He’s quiet, sure, but he’s also dependable in a way that makes everything feel easier when you’re around him. You can talk to him for hours and he won’t interrupt, won’t judge, won’t try to fix it unless it’s something he can fix. And when it is, he usually does—without making a big deal out of it.

So when you started seeing that guy from base, Simon didn’t say anything. You thought maybe he just didn’t care, or that he wasn’t the type to get involved in stuff like that. He didn’t ask many questions. Just nodded and said, “He treatin’ you right?” in that low voice of his that didn’t give much away.

You smiled and said yes, because at the time, it felt like the right answer.

He stayed the same after that. Still your go-to person for venting. Still the only one who ever made you feel like you could talk without holding back.

But every now and then, you noticed something shift. He wouldn’t look at you as much when you brought up your boyfriend. He’d change the subject quicker. And when you said something like, “he forgot our plans again,” Simon would just sigh and hand you tea or cookies or whatever he had nearby, like he didn’t want to say what was really on his mind.

You remember one night clearly, when you showed up outside Simon’s door after a long shift. You were quiet, which was rare, and you didn’t even try to hide the frustration in your eyes.

“He forgot again,” you mumbled, pulling your knees up onto the couch. “Said he’d pick me up, and then just... nothing. Not even a text.”

Simon didn’t say much in response. He just handed you the remote and tapped your shoulder once, like that was his way of saying you deserved better without actually having to say the words out loud.

But the breaking point came later. One night, you showed up to his room without even thinking, your eyes red and puffy, your hands trembling a little as you wiped at your face. He didn’t ask what happened. He didn’t need to. He just stepped aside and let you walk in, like he’d been expecting you again, like he knew this was coming.

“He cheated,” you said, and the words felt so bitter and small in your mouth that you almost didn’t believe them yourself.

Simon pulled you into a hug before you could even finish the sentence. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to offer advice or tell you what you should’ve done. He just held you, solid and quiet, with one hand pressed between your shoulder blades and the other smoothing over your hair. You didn’t realize you were crying until your face was already buried in his shirt.

At some point, he moved you to his bed. You weren’t even sure how, but you ended up under his blanket, wrapped in warmth that didn’t come from the sheets, and you felt safer than you had in weeks. His voice was low when he whispered, “Don’t worry about it,” like he was promising to carry the weight of it for you.

You didn’t know it then, but he didn’t sleep that night. He stayed up until you were out cold, then got up quietly, left his room, and came back a few hours later like nothing happened. What you also didn’t know—what he would never admit unless you asked him directly—was that he had counted every single tear that rolled down your face. Every shaky breath, every time your chest stuttered with a sob. He remembered the number. Kept it in his head. Then found your ex and hit him that many times. One punch for every tear you cried.

A few days passed, and word started going around base that your ex hadn’t been seen. Missed duty. No one could get ahold of him. You didn’t ask Simon anything. You just looked at him across the mess hall, saw the way he was nursing a cup of tea with a blank expression and fresh tape wrapped around his hand, and something in your chest clicked into place.

You didn’t smile. Didn’t say anything. You just looked at him, and he looked back, and that was enough.

Later, after things calmed down, you found yourself back in his room. Same spot on the couch. Same blanket. Same you and Simon. But this time, out of nowhere, he said, “I’m in love with you.”

It wasn’t dramatic or emotional. He said it like it was just a fact—like he was finally telling the truth after hiding it for too long.

You blinked at him, not even sure you heard him right. “What?”

He shrugged a little, like it didn’t matter if you believed him or not. “Figured you should know.”

You didn’t know what to say right then. There was too much in your head. But a few days later, he took you somewhere quiet, away from base, with a folded blanket under his arm and your favorite cookies packed in a tin. He made tea and handed you the mug like he always did, and when you sipped it, it was just the way you liked it—strong, with that little bit of honey he adds even when you don’t ask.

You sat next to him, legs stretched out on the grass, shoulder pressed against his. After a while, you turned to look at him and said, “You’ve been looking at me like that for a long time, haven’t you?”

He tilted his head slightly. “Like what?”

“Like I’m your whole world.”

Simon didn’t answer right away, but the look on his face said more than words ever could. Then he reached over, patted your head like he always did, and said, “Yeah. That’s about right.”

--------------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212

[batsandbirdbrains]

I want the entire Justice League to just be so fucking scared of Dick!Robin. He’s like 8-10 when they first meet him, but he’s somehow more horrifying than Batman. He’s teeny tiny and a cross between a fluttery little sprite and a shadowy demon. They’re still not sure if Batman is human or not, but they’re all convinced that Robin is some sort of entity. He’s a ghoul, a spirit, an eldritch horror that must haunt Gotham for some Godforsaken reason. And he either picked Batman to latch onto, or Batman saw him and plucked him up and thought he’d make a good companion.

One day, he gets so mad at Green Lantern for poking fun at Batman that he bites him so hard, Hal’s arm bleeds. Batman had grabbed him by his cape and dangled him in the air, telling him to apologize, but Robin just hung there with his arms crossed and a pout on his face. He did eventually say sorry. They all knew he didn’t mean it. He had blood drying on his lips. He didn’t wipe it away. It wasn’t until Batman put him down that the bat even noticed, then used his cape to clean him up.

The next time they saw him, he was giggling and asking Hal if yellow is his greatest weakness, and if his own yellow cape causes Hal pain. Then he leaned forward and whispered, “I hope it does” before giggling again and skipping away to ask Superman something.

Hal didn’t come to the Watchtower for two months after that.

Dick is enamored by Superman. He loves him. Follows after him all the time, is always asking Superman to take him flying. Clark takes him every so often, but cackling laugh Robin lets out while they’re in the air sends a chill down his spine.

Martian Manhunter admits that he once accidentally brushed against Robin’s mind, but all he picked up was distorted circus music.

That freaks everyone out, and now they hear it in their own heads whenever they catch a glimpse of Robin.

When he starts growing like a real boy? Horrible. Creepy. They don’t like it one bit. He’s acting too human, he’s making them think he’s real.

When he starts hanging out with their sidekicks? Nope. They all try to put a stop to it. The sidekicks all disobey them with a roll of their eyes. Then he becomes the leader of their little group, calling themselves the Titans? Oh God, he must be starting some sort of army.

Then a new Robin appears, and they all meet Nightwing, but they have no idea Nightwing used to be Robin. So when Nightwing becomes a member of the JL, they don’t think twice about him. They think Nightwing is a great guy. Very open. Very friendly. They all consider him a good friend.

Then it comes out after a few months that he used to be Robin, and all the original JL members practically squeak and distance themselves from him immediately. They’re terrified of him.

“You’re the little demon that bit me?” Hal shrieks.

Nightwing laughs, but he’s shrugging and looking so sheepish, so embarrassed.

“You were being mean to my dad!”

And the fact that Batman is Nightwing’s dad just makes them all freeze. Because they never actually considered that an option.

They’re still convinced he’s not entirely human, though. It would explain how he’s so flippy and bendy.

Dick has way too much fun when he realizes they actually think he’s not a human. He torments them just a little bit, in retaliation. Bruce watches from afar, both annoyed with his coworkers and amused by his son’s antics.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Mama, I’m in love with a criminal

Tags: Sukuna x fem!Reader, no curse au, dead dove, violence described including murder, dark romance, use of y/n, descriptions of mental illness.

Synopsis: Sukuna’s talking to his therapist in jail about you. He’s incarcerated because of you, and his obsession is concerning.

An: Yeah idk i thought of this while I was driving to work one morning.

Session one. | Session two. | Session three. | Session four. | Termination session.

His large frame laid lazily over the couch, clad in an orange jumpsuit. He had his feet propped up on one side, and his head was propped up on the other side in a far too casual manner. His naturally pink hair pushed up near the front, messily so.

He was still cuffed and shackled, but the therapist was still afraid of him. To the therapist’s credit, he had read the warrant that went into viscous detail of Sukuna’s crimes.

Normally, the therapist wouldn’t read the inmates warrants due to situations like these. He liked going into sessions with an open mind, but he had gotten warnings about Sukuna… how the man can fly into a blind rage like a switch on the wall.

He was brutal, unforgivable, inhumane.

Simple counseling wasn’t going to “fix” a broken human like Sukuna. The therapist knew this, but the state mandated that Sukuna undergo weekly counseling sessions per his sentence.

Sukuna could taste the therapist’s fear, and he let out an earnest laugh. “You don’t even want to try to fix me, do you?” He asked tauntingly with a lopsided grin. “I don’t blame you. Don’t feel bad~”

The therapist swallowed the lump in his throat, and he adjusted in his seat. “I can’t fix anyone… Counseling isn’t about fixing.. It’s about moving forward and learning how to live.”

“Bullshit.” Sukuna spits with shrug. “Counseling is about focusing on the past and letting shit hang you up for far too long. I guarantee you that you’re going to ask me about how I got here, is that right?”

The therapist is shaking like a leaf at this point. “Our past can help us navigate to a better future.” He murmured out weakly.

Sukuna roars in laughter, causing the therapist to nearly jump out of his seat. The pink-haired felon doubles over as he laughs hysterically. “You’re a funny guy. Fine. You really want to know how I got here? I’ll tell you.”

After a deep breath and wiping away a fake tear, Sukuna goes on, “You know, teachers always believe that pairing the troubled kids up with the good kids will inspire them to act right. That shit never works.”

“I think that’s when my ‘type’ developed. My bitch of a second-grade teacher assigned me to sit next to this frail meek girl after I got in trouble one too many times for terrorizing the other kids. She was a real stick in the mud.” Sukuna laughs fondly, a rare genuine smile on his face.

“Y/n?” The therapist asks, remembering your name from the warrants.

Sukuna’s red eyes snap over to the therapist with an almost predatory gaze. His hands visibly curl into fists. “Say her name again, and I’ll splatter your blood all over this room. The officers won’t be able to pry me from you, deeming you to be a lost cause.”

The therapist freezes as the breath hitches in his throat. His eyes dart toward his panic button, knowing he should probably press it now, but he’s frozen in fear.

“We’ll call her mouse.” Sukuna goes on as if he didn’t just threaten the poor guy’s life in brutal detail.

“Mouse was a real challenge. I for some reason made it my mission to get her to talk to me, but she always stayed silent — only answering me with simple head gestures.” He laughs again, lying his head back further as he’s replaying the memories in his mind. He can remember you vividly and how you looked back then. He yearns for that feeling again. The feeling of seeing you for the first time.

“I can’t exactly tell you when the challenge started to border obsession, but she slowly slithered her way into my brain. Even when I wasn’t in school, I thought about her. I wondered what she sounded like, wondered why she wouldn’t talk to me, wondered why she looked at me like that.”

The therapist furrows his eyebrows. Even though he doesn’t feel safe in this session, and he doesn’t trust Sukuna at all, he has a hunger for knowledge, and he loves solving things that have to do with the human psyche.

“Looked at you like what?” The therapist dared to ask.

Sukuna stayed silent for a moment, and he tapped his finger against the back of his hand. His face hardened as he found the words he was looking for. “She looked at me like she had no preconceived notion of me. Her eyes… were so big and round. Even though she didn’t talk to me, it was like she accepting of my presence.”

The shackles jingled as Sukuna rubbed his face in a stressed gesture. Remembering you was like a double edged sword. He loved thinking about you, but he hated being reminded that he was without you.

The therapist eased in his chair. There was actual emotions underneath all those tattoos, thick skin, and muscle. The media had portrayed Sukuna as a complete narcissistic sociopath, but this was proof that diagnosis was false.

“I bothered the shit out of her for years, continually getting myself paired up with her.” Sukuna grinned, shifting the conversation back in a direction that he was more comfortable with, “I remember those asshole kids always called me her shadow because I followed her everywhere. Jokes on them.”

The therapist shivered as be remembered a chilling detail from the warrants. Each time a victim was found, a message was written in the victim’s blood.

-ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡ

His victim’s - their deaths were like an homage to you.

“Were the kids ever… assholes to mouse?”

Sukuna’s jaw visibly tightened. He loathed this therapist’s questions… thinking he knew everything just because you and Sukuna were misunderstood kids.

“They called her weird for not talking.” Sukuna recalled as he bit his inner cheek. His eyes glared to the wall in front of him. “Now look at who can’t talk.”

Sukuna’s first victim. He didn’t start out with murder. He started out with stapling your bullies mouth shut for taunting you. Everything was for you. Everything.

He held a kid down to the teacher’s in third grade, grabbing a stapler, and he pressed it down one by one into the kids lips, binding them together. The kid couldn’t scream or cry for help, or else he’d risk ripping the flesh on his lips.

The teachers found the kid and immediately knew the only kid sadistic enough to go through with such an act was none other than Sukuna.

“Did mouse witness you do that?” The therapist asked, genuinely intrigued by Sukuna’s narrative. For being a ruthless criminal, he was a wonderful historian.

“No. Why would I scare her like that?” Sukuna’s voice was tense as he eyed the therapist carefully, as if he was waiting for him to say the wrong thing.

The therapist clicks his tongue in surprise, and he looks like a deer in headlights. “Scare? No.. no, I thought you’d maybe just show off what you did for her.”

“I’m not the type to show off.” Sukuna answers flatly, and the therapist wonders if that’s the first time Sukuna’s lied during this session. He knows that Sukuna likes to show off. The warrants prove it.

“Anyways, I wore her down over the years. She didn’t speak to me until we were in sixth grade.” An eerie smile curls on Sukuna’s lip. “I can still remember her first word to me and how she said it…”

The therapist leaned in, curiosity getting best of him.

Sukuna smirks, knowing he has the therapist interested now. “Her first word to me was a plea. A word to show her undeniable want. Her first word to me was please.”

Bang! Bang Bang!

The therapist literally flinches out of his chair from the heavy knocks at the door.

“Ryomen! Your time is up!” The officer yelled on the other side of the door.

“Pity. I was beginning to have fun.” Sukuna remarked as he stood up from the couch. The shackles jingled as he walked toward the door, and the door buzzed, letting him out. “See you next week, doc.”

[r4di0h3ad]

just practice part 2

part 1!

pairings! bsf!jj x reader

in which! you cant stop thinking about the night you lost your virginity to jj…. even though you have a boyfriend

warnings! 18+ smut. cheating. fingering. oral sex (m. recieving) pnv sex. unprotected sex. not proof read.

it had been two months since you lost your virginity to jj and almost a month and a half since you started officially dating your new boyfriend.

he was nice. he took you out to eat once a week, he bought you small gifts, he complimented you and you never argued. but the sex was just…bad. it was always over way too quickly and he never payed any attention to your body or what you wanted. you figured he was just one of those boys who was too scared to go down on a girl, which was fine, but it probably wouldn’t suit you in the long run.

you hadn’t been hanging around your friends very often, usually turning them down to go out with your boyfriend and jj was getting increasingly frustrated with this.

but every time you were around your friends, jj in particular, you couldn’t even look him in the eye. when you talked to him, all you thought about was the way he called you baby when he came on your stomach and the way he made you cum on his face. you felt so completely guilty for these thoughts, but nothing would stop them. you figured the best plan of action was to avoid him. not entirely, but just try not to be around him alone.

but, you did end up alone with jj by mistake one afternoon.

you had just finished surfing with kie as the swell had come in that day. you both planned to stay at the beach a little longer, but you were hungry and didn’t have any food. kie decided to go pick up something from the heyward’s shop and you went back to the chateau to grab a six pack, only to find jj working on his bike, his shirt off and his shorts dirty, probably from engine oil.

you didn’t say anything as you walked up the steps to the porch, but jj noticed you and called out.

“hey, y/n!” he yelled, wiping his hands off on a towel and throwing it on his bike. “thought you were gonna stay at the shore until later?”

you were in your damp bikini top and bottoms and a pair of sandals. you turned around at the sound of his voice and met his gaze.

“yeah..” you said. awkwardly. “i am, i was just grabbing some beers.” you turn back around, pulling open the screen door and stepping inside. once you’re in the kitchen with the refrigerator door cracked, you hear jj come into the château after you.

“what’s going on with you?” he asks, standing in the living room. you shut the refrigerator and look over at him with furrowed brows.

“what do you mean?” you question, although you knew exactly what he meant. you didn’t expect the confrontation to happen now of all times.

“don’t act like you don’t know.” he crosses his arms over his chest. “you’ve been weird around me ever since we..”

you didn’t want to hear him say it.

“jj, i’ve just been hanging around my boyfriend a lot,” you try to defend yourself, hoping he’ll stop questioning you. “i’m sorry i haven’t been talking to you. ‘been busy.”

he nods, biting his lip and looking down at the floor.

“do you regret it?” he asks, looking back up at you.

“what?” you shake your head. “no, i just-“

“you promised you wouldn’t make things weird between us and now you barely even talk to me.” jj said. “you sure i didn’t do something wrong?”

“no jj!” your voice raised slightly. “i-“ you cut yourself off, not knowing what to say. “it’s just that every time i try and talk to you, i think about what we did.” you blurt out, almost making it sound like you both murdered someone and hid the body. you made it sound like a crime, and it pogue rules, it technically was. “i thought that avoiding you was gonna take my mind off it until i got over it.”

he walks closer to the kitchen, tossing his hat somewhere on the counter.

“so you do regret it?” he questions, leaning against the counter and looking straight at you.

you shake your head no.

“i don’t, but it’s kind of wrong of me to think about you while my boyfriend’s fucking me.”

you realized what you said after it had already left your mouth and your eyes widened.

“what’d you say?” he asks, cocking his head a little at your admission, a barely visible smile playing on his lips.

“uh-“

you quickly turn around to open the fridge again, looking for some beers to take and get the hell up out of there.

“no, say it again.” jj pulls your arm, twisting you back around to face him so that your bodies were dangerously close together. your face flushed with embarrassment and your heart was thumping out of your chest.

“jj,” you say, shrugging off his touch. “i really gotta go back to the shore.” you say, but you weren’t moving. jj knew that wasn’t what you really wanted.

“i’m not stopping you.” he pulled back from you and leaned against the counter once again, showing that you had free will to leave, but you still didn’t budge. your feet were glued in place.

you wanted to kiss him so bad and get that ridiculous smile off his lips, but the thought of your boyfriend who did little to please you was the only thing that was keeping you from doing it. you bit the inside of your cheek, nervously. the tension between you two was going to make your head explode.

“he doesn’t fuck you like i do, does he?”

his words were your final straw.

you grabbed both sides of his face and instantly connected you lips with his. he kissed you back without a second thought, wrapping his arms around your waist. he backed you into the refrigerator as his lips moved perfectly with yours.

his fingers trailed down your hips and to your clothed core. he pulled away from the kiss to look at you, silently asking for permission for him to touch you, and you gave it.

still having you against the refrigerator’s surface, he skillfully moved your bikini bottoms to the side as two of his fingers sunk into your entrance. you were embarrassingly soaked already. you fight back a moan as he pulled out of you, just to slide right back in, hitting the spot he knew you needed.

“all this and i’ve barely even touched you?” he mocked, taking his fingers out of you and bringing them to his mouth. he looked you in the eyes as he sucked your slickness from his fingers. your lips were parted as you watched, desperately needing his hands on you again.

he then picked you up, his hands hooked under your thighs. you giggled as he carried you to the bedroom, kicking the door closed.

he gently placed you on the bed and reconnected his lips with yours, his tongue swiping yours. you reached to work on his belt, swiftly undoing it and pulling it off while never breaking the kiss. you slid his shorts down, his boxers barely hiding his desperation for you.

you palm him through the fabric, eliciting a groan from him against your lips that you needed to hear more of.

you sunk to your knees in front of him, yanking his boxers down and allowing his painfully hard cock to spring free. you took him in your hand, pumping a few times before your tongue poked through your lips to lick a long stripe from the base of his shaft to the tip.

he gently grabbed your hair, trying to pull you away, but you licked him again, which loosened his grip.

“you don’t have to-“ his eyes rolled back as you finally took him all in your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks as you sucked his cock. your hands were placed on his knees. the moan you heard from him encouraged you to keep going, although his tip was hitting the back of your throat and you were trying hard not to gag. “fuck- baby, you don’t have to do this.”

you pull him from your mouth, a string of spit connecting your lips with his tip.

“i want to.” you say before taking him in your mouth again. he tries to keep his eyes locked with yours, but his head falls back in pleasure, his fingers lacing into your hair.

you only knew how to do this because your boyfriend showed you. you had to keep your eyes closed the whole time so you could pretend it was jj.

his breathing was getting heavier with each rise and fall of his chest as soft moans and strings of curses fell from his lips. he couldn’t help but thrust his hips forward, forcing his cock farther into your mouth. there were tears brimming your eyes as you tried to focus on pleasuring him.

“fuck- m’not gonna last much longer like this.” he said.

you kept going, desperately wanting to bring him over the edge, but he pulled your hair back, taking you off of him.

“gotta stop you, princess.” he grabbed your hands and helped you up from your knees. you sat on the bed, pouting. he stood over you, brushing your hair out of your face and noticing your change of attitude. “didn’t wanna cum like that.”

as much as you wished you could make him cum by sucking him off, you couldn’t complain now that he was giving you attention.

his hands guided themselves to your waist, where he then told you to turn around so you were now on your hands and knees, your ass facing him. he was still standing as he held your hips from the edge of the bed. you felt his tip at your entrance.

“this okay?” he asked.

you give him a yes, and then you feel him slowly enter you. it felt so much different than when he had been on top of you before. there was a slight pain due to how much deeper he could push into you from this angle, but the pain melted into pleasure within seconds.

he pulled out just to drive himself back into you. his pace was slow until you adjusted to the position, and then he steadily began going faster. his fingers dug into the sides of your ass, pulling you into him with every thrust.

as he went harder, you gripped the sheets and stuffed your face into the mattress under you, trying to keep yourself quiet, but you couldn’t stop the moans that escaped your lips.

“fuck-“ jj cursed under his breath, his grip on you getting even harder. “feel so good, can’t get enough of this pussy”

his words brought you closer and his pace increased. you could feel him getting tenser, his thrusts getting sloppier.

“could have you like this every day if i could- shit.”

you were almost over the edge, the knot in your stomach threatening to undo.

“fuck- m’gonna cum princess” he moaned.

his last thrusts were deep and slow and they led you into perfect ecstasy. you came undone around his cock, moaning into the sheets right in time for him to pull out and finish on your back- your name leaving his mouth with curses and moans.

your body was limp when he cleaned your back with a towel, still in a haze from your orgasm.

“you okay?” he asked, running a hand down the middle of your back, feeling the ridges of your spine.

you nodded and sat up, grabbing your bikini from the floor and slipping it back on.

“kie is gonna kill me.” you say, slipping your sandals on your feet. “she’s not gonna believe any excuse i try to give her.”

“i’ll drive you down there.” jj offered. “i mean- are your legs alright to walk all the way to the shore or-“

you threw his shirt at his face and scoffed at him.

you had agreed to let him drive you to the beach while you fixed your hair in the visor mirror, trying to make yourself look presentable. although the whole way there you could only think about the words he said while he fucked you. you had no idea if he meant it or if it was just a thing he said in the moment. and this definitely wasn’t going to help save your thoughts about your boyfriend.

a/n: don’t know if i will write a part 3 to this, but requests are open for any jj or rafe fic!

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[mrsbarnesblog]

˖˚⊹ i've got you

part 2

➤ summary: after getting a terrifying message from you manipulative ex, you lock yourself in the Camerons’ guest bathroom, spiraling into panic as everything starts to fall apart. what you don't expect is Rafe walking in and completely losing it when he realizes what’s going on.

➤ w/c: 2k

➤ warnings: SA (non-consensual recording and sex while being drunk), blackmailing, panic attack, protective Rafe

masterlist

The guest bathroom in the Cameron’s house felt like the safest place at the moment, and the second you closed the door, you collapsed on the floor, constantly buzzing with your phone still in your hand. 

It’s been like that for the last hour—endless messages from your ex, Ethan, who hasn’t wanted to leave you alone since you two broke up a few weeks ago. But when you were sitting with Sarah in the kitchen while she was cooking something on the stove and your phone lit up with a message, a video of you from him, your heart dropped to your stomach. 

Your hands started shaking violently, tears blurred your vision, as you couldn’t believe what you saw. It was just a preview, just a few seconds, but it was enough to understand. It was you on the bed, the dress from a few months ago when you went out with Ethan and some friends was gathered around your waist. You remember being drunk, barely conscious when he took you home, and then the next morning with pain all over your body. 

You didn’t remember having sex.

Sarah was oblivious to your breakdown, and you quickly managed to slip away from the kitchen, mumbling to her that you needed to use the restroom. 

You sat on the floor, back against the wall, staring at your phone screen with your heart thudding so hard it echoed in your ears. A consuming panic washed over you when messages kept coming from him.

Ethan (1:08 PM):

You really think I won’t do it? You think I won’t show them what you let me record? And i have more

Ethan (1:09 PM):

You looked so sweet in that video. Moaning for me like a slut. I bet Sarah’s brother would LOVE to see it.

Your blood turned to ice.

You don’t remember agreeing to anything. You would never have let that happen. He must’ve taken the pictures and videos without you knowing. You’d trusted him, loved him, been so fucking stupid—

It must be a nightmare. It should be, right? Ethan was bothering you, trying to convince you to go back to him, but straight up blackmailing you? You curled into yourself tighter, digging your nails into your thighs, as hiccups and cries shook your whole body. You couldn’t catch your breath, couldn’t stop your mind from racing because there was nothing you could do. No one who could help. And if those images were released? If they were sent to Rafe? You would be done for. 

The door cracked open before you could even register it, and the person whom you wanted to see the least in that state stood in the doorway. 

“Yo,” Rafe said casually. “Sarah said you were—“ Your head whipped up in panic at his voice, eyes growing wide, before you started desperately wiping at your face to hide the flow of your tears. But he froze when he saw you on the floor, looking so small and helpless. 

“The fuck—“ He muttered, stepping inside slowly, cautiously. “Hey, what the fuck’s goin’ on?” 

“Nothing.” You croak, voice raspy. “I’m fine. Just— just leave, Rafe.” 

“You’re crying. You don’t look fine.” 

“I said I’m—” You started to snap, but your voice cracked halfway through, and then you choked back a sob, curling in again.

“Fuck.” He muttered again under his breath, kneeling in front of you. “What happened?”

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut, as if it would make the situation not real. But you couldn’t hide the way your face scrunched as if you were in pain or hide the bubbling feeling of pure panic, and Rafe saw that. “It’s nothing. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Who hurt you, hm? You can talk to me, I promise.” His voice was smooth and soft as never before. When he raised his hand to softly brush the side of your face, it was slow and cautious to not scare you even more. You open your mouth to lie, to say that it was just stress, or your parents, or your period, but your phone, lying face up on the tiles, lit up with another message, and your whole body went rigid.

Rafe’s eyes flicked down, instantly seeing the name, then looked back at you with curiosity and a hint of defensiveness. He knew the story between you and your ex. He saw how he treated you, saw you struggling to keep it all together, and he was the first one to congratulate you when you finally announced your breakup. 

So seeing you react like that told him everything he needed to know. 

“Let me see.” It was not an order, but his words were firm as he took hold of your wrist. You shook your head violently, wanting to hide your phone and downplay everything. 

“No— Rafe, don’t look!” 

He snatched your phone away before you could even process it, fingers moving quickly to unlock it. 

The heavy silence filled the room when his eyes scanned your screen, seeing the message you didn’t even read yourself. “What. The. Fuck.” He looked up at you, jaw clenched, eyes wide with barely contained rage. “Is this real?”

He suddenly stood up, his actions almost frantic and panicked, and you jump up from the floor right after him as if automatically. You wanted to rip your phone away, but there was no point anymore—he saw everything, and you were way too tired and exhausted to fight anyway. 

The silence that hung in the bathroom was suffocating, crushing, pulsing with the weight of everything that had just been revealed. Rafe stood there like a statue, gripping your phone so tightly his knuckles turned bone white, and his chest rose and fell with each sharp, shaky inhale, like he was barely containing an explosion. His jaw was clenched so hard you thought he might grind his teeth to dust. You could see the way his whole body was vibrating with fury, and when his eyes lifted from the phone to meet yours, they weren’t just angry. They were wild. Dark. Protective in a way that made your throat close up.

“What the fuck is this?” He spat, low and dangerous, his voice barely more than a growl. “What the actual fuck am I looking at right now?”

You couldn’t answer. Your lips parted, but nothing came out. You weren’t even crying anymore, you were just frozen. Humiliated. All you could do was curl your arms around your body tighter as the shame flooded you, soaked into your skin, and made you want to disappear. Rafe’s eyes dropped back to the screen, and you followed his gaze as he was staring at the first image. It was you, lying on Ethan’s bed. Your head turned to the side, half-lidded eyes, a soft expression that you now recognized as tipsy, barely coherent. The straps of your tank top were pushed down around your upper arms. No bra. The thin sheet pulled across your body did nothing to hide your exposed chest. One of the other photos was taken from behind with you on your stomach, bare, the lower half of your body completely visible, the shape of your thighs and your ass captured without any shame.

“I didn’t know.” You whispered, your voice cracking and dry, and it felt like you couldn’t even breathe properly. “I swear to God, Rafe… I didn’t know he took them.” You didn’t look up, feeling shame and embarrassment washing over you. “H-he sent me a video.” You whispered so quietly you weren’t even sure if you said it aloud at first, your eyes zeroing on the floor as your whole doby went numb. But Rafe heard you. He tensed instantly, hands stiffening around your phone still in his hand.

“A video?” He repeated, slowly. Carefully. His voice was like the calm before a hurricane. “What video?”

You nodded, trembling. “Of us. Of me, mostly. I—I was drunk, and he filmed everything. I don’t even remember it, but h-he sent it to me today.” 

You broke again then, sliding down on the floor, helpless, sobbing so hard your body curled in on itself, your hands covering your face, unable to bear the thought of Rafe picturing you like that—not just naked, but used. Taken advantage of. 

For a long moment, Rafe didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He just stood there, chest rising and falling with rapid, shallow breaths, phone still gripped in his hand like he was about to smash it against the wall. Then, slowly, he lowered it on the countertop, and something in him cracked. Your cries, how desperate and sad they sounded, made him lose his mind, made him want to destroy everything and everyone who hurt you. 

His hands ran through his hair roughly as he looked away, trying to keep it together, despite fuming from the inside. But it wasn’t working. His entire body was tense, like a live wire ready to snap. He pounded his fist into the bathroom wall so hard that you heard a crack, and you jumped from the loud sound. The last thing you wanted was for him to hate you or to see you in a different light after those pictures.  

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” He said immediately, his voice breaking. He dropped to his knees in front of you, fingers twitching like he didn’t know how to touch you to not scare you even more. “I’m not mad at you. I swear I’m not. I’m just—I’m losing my fucking mind here, baby.” That word slipped out like it was natural for him, and your breath hitched. Rafe’s hands cupped your cheeks, his blue, wild eyes looking for yours, while he tried to wipe your tears.

“That motherfucker is dead.” He hissed, voice rough with emotion. “I’m not even fucking joking. I will kill him. He touched you when you were barely conscious? He fucking recorded you? Sent that shit to you as a threat? Threatened to show me?”

“He knows what you mean to me. He wants you to see me that way so I wouldn’t have any choice but to go back to him.” You whisper. “I didn’t want you to see me like that. I just—fuck, Rafe, I feel so ashamed. I feel disgusting. I didn’t want you to see this version of me, not through his eyes.”

“You think I give a single fuck about how you look in those videos or photos? About what you did with him?”

You looked down again, shaking, unable to meet his eyes.

“I do care.” He said, softer, lifting your face up again. “But not because you were naked. I care because it wasn’t your choice. That wasn’t you, baby. That was him taking advantage of you. And that makes me want to destroy every bone in his fucking body.”

You finally met his gaze again. His jaw was clenched so tight you could hear it grind, and his eyes were glistening with the kind of rage that came from caring too much.

Rafe leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. His hands were on your thighs now, still shaking slightly. “You’re mine. Even if we’re not together yet. ” He said, barely above a whisper, like it was a truth he hadn’t even realized until that moment. “I wanted you for too long, let that scumbag treat you the way you didn’t deserve. But you’re fucking mine, and I swear to God, I’m not letting anyone hurt you like that again.” You closed your eyes, a tear slipping down your cheek.

“I’m gonna take care of this.” He muttered, so close you could feel his breath. “You don’t have to do a thing. You don’t even have to see that piece of shit again. I’m gonna make sure he never gets near you, never gets the chance to make you feel this way. Nobody will ever see that stuff, you hear me?”

“Rafe…” Your voice cracked again, barely holding together, tugging him closer by the shirt, seeking more comfort.

“Shh.” He whispered, brushing your tear-streaked cheek with his thumb. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you. I’ve fucking got you.”

part 2