#and this is actually a drabble this time

[xlettex]

Kenma’s not sure why he let Kuroo drag him out today.

He doesn’t need more games. Doesn’t want to be recognized. And definitely doesn’t want to watch Kuroo charm every employee in a ten-mile radius. But then they step into the store, and it’s quiet. Cool. Bright but not harsh. A bubble of calm.

And you’re at the register—sorting trade-ins, humming to yourself. You look up when the door chimes. “Hi! Let me know if you need help finding anything.”

That’s it. No double-take. No flushed gasp. No, “Wait, are you—?” Just… normal. Kenma exhales. Relieved. And maybe a little stunned.

Because you’re pretty. Insanely pretty.

Your hair falls messily around your face, but it suits you. There’s a pen tucked behind your ear. Your eyes shone when you spoke. And the enamel pins on your apron—small, colorful characters from games he knows—make his chest feel weirdly full.

Kenma is immediately, irreversibly doomed.

Kuroo leans in, whispering way too loudly, “Wow. A whole thirty seconds and no one’s mobbed you. It’s a miracle.”

Kenma shoves him with a sigh, trying not to fidget.

You raise an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Mobbed? What, are you famous or something?”

Kenma mumbles, “No.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Uh-huh. Sure. Mysterious hoodie guy with a bodyguard and a fear of crowds—totally normal.”

Kenma doesn’t say anything. Just stands there, mildly panicked and already hyper-aware of the way your smile curls at the edges.

You ease off a little, still smiling. “So... you looking for something specific, or just here to be cryptic?”

He shrugs, awkward. “Not really.”

You round the counter and gesture toward the shelves. “Well, we just got a few new arrivals. Depends on what you’re into.”

Kuroo snorts under his breath. “I’ll give you two some privacy,” he murmurs, clearly entertained, and drifts off toward the keychain rack.

You walk with Kenma, asking about mechanics and story preference. He answers in short bursts, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket. He keeps glancing at you and then away, as if he doesn’t trust himself to look too long. And every time you laugh, it knocks the breath out of him a little—something in his chest stutters, just for a second, then settles somewhere it shouldn’t.

He knows these games already. Owns most of them. But the way you talk about them—with love, and that kind of careful attention people don’t fake—has him pretending he’s never even touched a console. Just so you’ll keep talking.

“Since you like JRPGs, you should check this one out,” you say, holding it out. “It’s underrated. Surprising depth. And the bonus content is kinda hard to find unless you know where to look.”

Kenma takes it. He already has two copies—digital and collector’s edition. Played it on stream. Reviewed it. Recommended it to all his followers.

But your fingers brush his for half a second, and his entire internal system does a soft reset.

So yeah. He’s buying it anyway.

At checkout, you ring it up with a smile, slip the receipt into the case, and push it across the counter. “Enjoy. And hey—if you ever want a recommendation again, you know where to find me.”

Kenma nods, barely. His fingers tighten around the case—delicate, almost hesitant. He doesn’t look at Kuroo until they’re back in the car.

Kuroo’s already snickering. “You bought a game you already own?”

Kenma flips open the case, muttering, “Shut up.” Then he sees it—scrawled lightly on the bottom of the receipt in looping pen:

You seemed sweet. Here’s my number in case you ever wanna talk games :) xxx-xxx-xxxx ♡ 

He stares at it, stunned. His chest feels warm, weird, and good in a way he didn’t expect.

Kuroo leans over, reads it, and lets out an unholy sound. “Oh my god, you’re blushing,” he crows, grinning widely. “This might actually be the best day of my life.”

Kenma groans into his hoodie sleeve. “I hate you.” Kuroo laughs all the way home.

Kenma’s still holding the receipt. He’ll deny it later. But that night, he tucks it behind the frame of his second monitor, so it’s visible from where he streams. Then he opens his contacts and saves your number under Pretty Game Store Employee.

[sunsburns]

going to basketball!luke’s game in his jersey and then he fucks you in to after 🤤🤤

ohhh this is over a year old i'm so sorry josie, but i see ur vision. it's giving the opening of 17 again tbh!!! and i’m talking a messy, sweaty, nasty fuck where he’s still running on adrenaline. (18+)

he finds you after the game with that look in his eyes—the one that’s half-cocky smirk, half-ravenous stare. sweat still clings to his temples, jersey clinging to his skin, and his hand slides to the small of your back the second you're close enough.

"you wore that for me?" he murmurs, voice low as his fingers tug at the hem of his old jersey hanging loose on you. it's long enough to fit oversized, but short enough that he can slide his hand up underneath it without anyone noticing as you stand in the back hallway of the gym.

you grin, "thought you might like it."

he doesn't say anything. just looks at you, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, and then you’re pressed up against the wall—fast, messy, urgent. like he's been thinking about this the entire game. like scoring points wasn’t the only thing he planned on doing tonight.

minutes later, you're in the locker room. not even locked. you’re bent over the bench, both of you still half-dressed, the cool wood digging into your thighs. luke’s jersey sways loosely on your body with every thrust, his number on your back bouncing in the mirror in front of you. and he’s obsessed with it.

“shit,” he breathes, one hand gripping your hip while the other slides up the small of your back, palm ghosting over his number. “look at you. y’so perfect like this.”

he watches the way your body moves, the way his name on your back means something. his breath is ragged, hot against your skin as he leans over to whisper, to kiss and mouth behind your ear.

his fingers slide around to your front, slipping under the jersey to touch where you’re already soaked. he runs wobbly, slopping, tight circles against your clit. “all that cheering. screaming my name. standing up in the front row looking like that.”

he’s still got his game shorts on, waistband pushed low, but everything else is gone. skin on skin, sweat-slicked and raw. you can feel his muscles twitch every time he thrusts in deeper, his hand gripping your ass, then sliding over the fabric of the jersey again like he can’t decide if he wants to fuck you or the idea of you in his colours.

and when you finally gasp his name, head dropping forward, he grabs your hair gently and tugs until you’re upright again, so you can see yourself. see the jersey, the flushed heat in your cheeks, the look in his eyes behind you in the mirror.

“say it again,” he pants. “wanna hear it.”

“luke—” it’s broken, almost a sob. your knees are shaking.

“that’s right.” he grins, smug and glowing. “say it like you did when i hit that three-pointer.”

[heich0e]

iwaizumi got a lower back tattoo on his 21st birthday.

if you showed one hundred people in the street a photo of 30-year-old hajime, and then surveyed them as to whether or not they think he has a lower back tattoo, it's unlikely more than one of them would say yes—and even the one who did probably just misheard the question. it's as unbelievable a thought as any, and still somehow it's true.

he was 21, legally drunk for the first time in america, and hanamaki and matsukawa had finally come to california to visit him to mark the occasion. it was kind of a stupid trip, they realized afterwards, because issei and hiro were still only 20 and couldn't even go out to the bars near UC irvine that all of iwa's college friends were inviting him out to for the first time.

but he didn't mind.

he bought them beer and sugary canned cocktails from the convenience store near campus using the birthday money his nanay sent him, silently repenting in his mind as the store clerk in the polyester vest rang the expensive purchase through. then they all got drunk in iwa's tiny student apartment while they played video games, called oikawa, and eventually wandered out into the warm california night in search of food.

the details beyond that are fuzzy, but the lines inked into the little space at the bottom of hajime's spine are not—even after nine whole years.

most people have no idea about the tattoo—and hajime has gone to great lengths to keep it that way. he wears a compression t-shirt at the gym so there's no risk of it riding up and accidentally revealing it. he orders patches to conceal it on the rare occasion he goes to onsens. he never showers with the athletes at work, always either opting to shower at home, shower after the team, or use the staff facilities when available.

but in spite of all of that, he's not embarrassed of it.

he doesn't even really regret it.

it's just not anybody else's business.

the ink on his skin is a secret kept between him, matsukawa, hanamaki, the guy who tattooed him, and oikawa who was screaming on facetime in the background while it happened.

and now you, too.

your hand snakes up the back of hajime's sweatshirt as he stands at the stove preparing breakfast, cool fingertips tracing the curls of ink even without seeing them—having long mapped them to memory. hajime suppresses a shiver, not expecting the contact, as you crowd yourself closer to his back and lean your weight against him.

"i was trying not to wake you," he says quietly, the hand not holding the chopsticks he's flipping his omelette with reaching behind him in search of you.

"you didn't," you murmur into his back, catching his seeking hand in yours and twining your fingers together. "smelled food."

hajime laughs to himself, his eyes crinkling. he squeezes your fingers tightly as his heart thuds in his chest.

underneath his sweatshirt, your nails rake lightly against his skin.

"shouldn't i be making your breakfast?"

hajime transfers his omelette to the plate waiting beside the stove, flicking off the burner and then turning to face you. he wraps his arms around you and holds you properly now, your face burrowing into the collar of his hoodie the way you always do, his nose brushing your temple.

"wanted to let you sleep a bit longer," hajime grunts out, his cheeks burning a bit hot—still shy, sometimes, even after so much time has passed. "thought you might be tired after..."

you snort, your head popping up to look at him. "after you fucked me within an inch of my life into the wee hours of the morning?"

the fire burning under hajime's skin grows even hotter. he splutters a little, and struggles to meet your gaze.

"i'm not tired," you whisper, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips. the incorrigible one he fell in love with. "we were celebrating, after all."

hajime's eyes are burning a little bit, to complement the stinging in his cheeks. you lift your hand up to his face so you can feel the heat of his skin, and he rests his own hand—larger, more calloused than your own—to rest overtop of it. he looks at you, and sees happiness reflected back at him in your gaze. so fathomless he thinks he could drown in it.

hajime turns his face into your touch, and his eyes flutter closed as he noses against your palm.

he presses a kiss there. soft. adoring.

then another, just slightly higher, to the ring he put on your finger the night before.

he peeks at you again, that same heat in his cheeks, though not nearly as unbearable.

he's got another secret he doesn't regret now, one just as permanent as the ink in his skin, but this one won't stay hidden long. eventually he'll call his parents, and his nanay will probably get teary. then he'll tell his friends, who will put his mother's tears to shame. he'll leave the tattoo artist out of it this time, though—wherever that guy is now.

"happy birthday, hajime," you whisper to him with a smile he can't help but return.

he might keep this secret between the two of you today, though. just for a little while longer.

it'll be his gift to himself.

[teddybeartoji]

dazai and soft touches. his fingers are like feathers on your skin, ever so lightly brushing over the apple of your cheek as you ramble about your day. he's staring at you with a lovesick smile (one that would surely make kunikida vomit his heart out)(he is happy that dazai has you now though)(he just wishes he didn't have to see it).

he traces your freckles and birthmarks before pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. you're trying really hard to not show him how much of an effect he has on you but it's hard – you keep stumbling over your words and he thinks you're absolutely adorable.

whenever you have a bad headache, he makes you lay down on his lap. he tells you to close your eyes with a whisper and you do. he drags his slender fingers across your nose, massaging the skin so, so gently. he puts just a tad more pressure into the strokes as he moves down from between your furrowed brows. it works. he can see and feel you relax into him, your fingers loosening their grip on the hem of his sweater.

he then focuses solely on your brows. he pushes up and over them, quite literally smoothing away the pain. he listens to your soft breaths, he observes the way the corner of your lips twitch every once in a while. he loves it when you melt into him, when you allow yourself to relax in his hold. he takes pride in being able to make you feel better with the simplest touches.

ok but if we're talking about pre-relationship dazai... he's just a little more reserved. he's holding back. a lot. moving through a crowd, he doesn't hold your hand – he just links your fingers, or maybe even just your pinkies. and it somehow feels even more intimate than actually holding hands. neither of you comment on it though. he's holding onto you so gently, the tug is almost non-existent and it just feels right.

saw a post abt him fidgeting a lot and i haven't stopped thinking about it. he does it with yout hand, too. you're just standing in a line, waiting to order a cup of coffee when you suddenly feel him taking your smaller hand into his. you don't ask, only merely eyeing him quietly. he hums to himself as he holds it; he compares the sizes but his face doesn't change, doesn't show whether he liked the difference or not. he traces the lines on your palm and tries to count them all. he isn't startled when you take a step forward as the line moves up, he just steps alongside you without ever raising his eyes. you let him do his thing.

i also think he likes to twirl a strand of your hair between his fingers a lot. he seems to be doing this very mindlessly aswell. seems. he literally never says anything about it, he just does it.

ALSO!! seemingly random and accidental touches!!!! he hands you a cup of coffee and his fingers brush over yours, he swipes an eyelash from your cheek with a smile, he boops your nose as he teases you. and whenever he passes by you, his hands linger on your waist or on your lower back. he acts like all of these are not intentional, that they just happened but he knows exactly what he's doing. he's just a little touch starved, okay?? but he doesn't really know how to voice it yet:((((((((

[otaku553]

Ok so I have been stewing this crossover au in my brain nonstop for the past few days and. I am nothing if not committed to the bit, so. Volume cover redraws :)

Here are the originals:

If you want to read more about my one piece spy x family crossover, keep reading!

So the idea is simple! Crossover reincarnation au where ASL is reborn in Spy x Family. They’re each born separately and none of them are born with the same names as their previous lives, and with no way of finding each other, they each find their own thing to do in the world.

Sabo, too used to the dangers of being a spy, eventually finds a cause to devote himself to again, in preventing war from engulfing the country he was reborn in. Ace, drawn to fire as he was in his previous life, used arson as a means to rob rich people for sustenance and survival, and is eventually scouted and hired by Garden as a fire specialist and assassin. And Luffy, though born in perhaps the poorest condition, grows up happily and takes whatever part time jobs he wants to do.

The thing about Sabo is that, as much as he seems like a young man of good repute and high standing within society, everyone in WISE knows that he is a massive nuisance. Nobody knew in the beginning how a child less than half the age of most of their veteran agents could have the same skills and knowledge in their profession. Sabo was— and still is— hyper competent, and by the time WISE figured out just how much of a menace to society he was, it was too late.

Ace forgot for the first few years of his new life that he wasn’t made of fire, and consequently, received multiple accidental burns. This did not deter him, however, from growing up to be a very skilled arsonist, well-practiced in every which way to start a dumpster fire or house fire. As a teenage he would use this often to draw attention as he robbed rich people blind. When he was caught, he was given an ultimatum by Garden: join them and receive payment for starting fires and causing problems under contract, or face the government and authorities for his crimes. Begrudgingly, he joined Garden, but eventually comes to appreciate that he can make substantial money in his element.

Luffy is Luffy. No telepathy or experimentation, no fancy schools, no gimmicks or secret identities. But he has still lived an extremely colorful life in this world, full of fascinating and kind individuals who have helped him grow up healthy and relatively happy. He goes where he is free, and he takes whatever part time jobs he wants in order to make the minimum he needs to survive.

Ace and Sabo find each other first, in their late teens, and neither of them realize that the other remembers their previous life, but both refuse to separate. (Sabo thinks Ace doesn’t remember, because Ace didn’t recognize him. Ace never saw Sabo grow up past 10, however, so he doesn’t recognize older Sabo immediately. By the time he does realize who exactly Sabo is, Sabo has backtracked and pretends to know Ace from a dream, or from somewhere else.)

Sabo’s attachment to Ace, predictably, causes problems between Sabo and WISE, but by then, Sabo is indispensable to the organization, and they make an exception for Sabo to be able to remain with Ace, so long as Ace never finds out what Sabo’s actual job is. Ace, on the other hand, hides his job because he doesn’t want his brother, who he has just found and who does not know Ace well enough yet, to know that he makes a living from killing people.

And they find Luffy sometime afterwards, prior to the beginning of the Spy x Family canon. Luffy figures out, not long after moving in with his brothers, both of his brothers’ secret occupations and the fact that both of them remember their past memories. He thinks it is common knowledge, however, and so he never brings it up.

[into-fiction]

time travel wip

in case anyone was wondering: "glinda time travels but it's from a clueless elphie's POV" was the winner for next fic to write!

---

“Hi,” Galinda whispers, her soft voice impossibly loud in Elphaba’s ears as she steps right up in front of the girl.

“Um,” Elphaba starts, thrown off balance by the way Galinda’s looking at her. Not like she’s something disgusting or even something intriguing. But like she’s something wonderful. “Hi.”

“I’m Gli- uh, Galinda,” the blonde introduces. “Galinda Upland.”

There is some sort of unreadable emotion swimming through the shimmering depths of this girl’s brown eyes, something Elphaba could drown in if given the chance. She has to visibly shake herself and take the offered hand carefully in her own. Galinda doesn’t even flinch at the touch of green skin. 

“Elphaba Thropp.”

The students are starting to whisper amongst themselves, clearly just as confused as Elphaba. Galinda doesn’t even seem to notice. She just smiles, the force of it etching a single dimple into her cheek and leaving her eyes sparkling bright. 

Pretty, Elphaba thinks. It shocks her, how easily it comes to her, but there’s really no other word for it. No one, in all her life, has ever looked at Elphaba like Galinda is right now. No one, in all her life, has ever looked this happy to see her. 

“Welcome to Shiz University, Elphaba Thropp. I have a feeling we’re going to be very good friends.”

[miyamoratsumuu]

he was never the soft lover type. he's never been a "lover" at all. the best peek he got at romantic love was seeing everyone around him fall head over heals. his family, his classmates, almost all his friends are in happy relationships too.

in a typical rom-com, he would be the sad, lonely side character. the grumpy killjoy if you would. he fits the role quite well. that was until he met you. the one person who'd quite literally turn his world upside down.

it hasn't been long but he's already fallen for you. and he fell hard. his tough exterior faltered every time you were even in a meter radius from him. he stuttered in each conversation you had, and his cheeks would turn a hundred shades of red whenever your eyes met.

that would be great if only you were actually in his league. you were sunshine, and he was a literal rain cloud. coming to the conclusion that he never had a chance with you, he gave up. he resorted to completely shut down any kind of relationship he already had with you.

now he was at the farthest corner of the room whenever you walk in. his replies were cold and short whenever you talked to him, and if it was a sport, he'd be a gold medalist at avoiding your gaze no matter what.

he kept that up until you came to him one day with your brows furrowed and tears in your eyes. he was swallowed by guilt when you confronted him. though even when you were mad, you could never find it in you to scream in his face or cuss him out. and he hated that.

despite your tears and pleading, he's never going to tell you how he really felt. someone like you ending up with someone like him will only be a loss on your part. and he knew he didn't deserve the glory of being yours.

iwaizumi hajime, kageyama tobio, kyotani kentaro, suna rintaro (a bit ooc I think but ahaheaha), bakugou katsuki, shinsou hitoshi, leviathan (obey me), satan (obey me), teen nanami

navigation . . . ║ haikyuu masterlist ║ mha masterlist

[cynda-queer]

The unfortunate truth is I am a slave to positive reinforcement, so when I post things, I'm sitting there like a cat scratching at a closed door like "likes?" "reblogs?" "commint?"

[dawn-moths]

thinking about tomura being tenko’s older brother where they’re perhaps ten years apart. you and tomura first meet when you’re both eighteen, start hanging out as friends, but you’re only vaguely aware he has a sibling when sometimes he says he can’t hang out that particular weekend because he has to “babysit the brat”.

after a while, you’re able to convince him to show you a picture of his little brother. you’re curious if they look alike, and other than a few features like their eye and hair color, you can easily imagine how tomura looked at that age, too. him and tenko look startling similar to each other even with that many years between them.

“sorry…” tomura grumbles through the other side of your phone call one afternoon. “tenko’s soccer practice got canceled and now my mom’s making me watch him while she’s at work.”

he sounds annoyed, almost embarrassed by the fact that, even at eighteen, he has to obey his mother’s requests, but is ultimately contrite about his last minute change of plans having to effect you so often as well.

“it’s ok,” you assure him with your usual chipper tone, fully understanding the responsibility he has. “but, y’know…” you remind him, “if it’s ok, i could always come over and we could hang out while you’re watching your brother?”

you try and hide your eagerness the best you can. the truth is, you’ve been wanting to meet the mini-tomura for quite some time now. tomura always describes him as annoying, as a needy little brat that whines until he gets his way, but the words are never spit with scorn and there’s something soft in his eyes that always gives away the fact that he actually does care.

tomura usually just brushes off your offer, promises to reschedule with you, so you’re prepared to be let down, but that time, after a short pause of contemplation, tomura clears his throat and says, “i mean, yeah, ok. that’s fine i guess, if you want…”

“ok!” you beam, already grabbing your keys. “i’ll be over soon then!” you hang up, grab your bag, and jump in your car.

any time you’ve been over to tomura’s house (which has been few and far between, since your place tends to be the designated hangout given you usually have the house to yourself most of the time) tenko hasn’t been there. he’s been at his aforementioned soccer practice or a friend’s house or some other activity that’s kept you from meeting him.

you’re so curious it’s overwhelming, and as you pull up to tomura’s house he’s already perched on the front step, gazing at his phone until he hears your car approaching. you park by the curb and scamper up to greet him, giving him a hug as per usual, and though he’d sounded sort of defeated on the phone earlier, seeing your smiling face now makes him feel a little lighter.

“hey,” you grin, momentarily holding both his hands in your own down between your close bodies. sometimes you're reminded how adverse to any kind of physical touch tomura used to be when the two of you had first met. even something as simple as a light, playful nudge would make him flinch, cause him to keep a bit more of a distance for the rest of the day.

but over time, you're not sure exactly why but, something changed.

and it was actually him who came to comfort you that time. you'd been upset, had planned on staying in your room alone until the ache decided to pass. but then you and tomura had started texting. he'd sensed something was wrong so he'd called. he'd heard the heartbreak in your voice, told you he was on his way, and not ten minutes later he was sitting beside you on your bed with his arm around you as you'd talked to him about what had happened while you'd cried.

ever since then, he'd gotten more comfortable with your casual, familiar touches, though he still found it easier to touch you than to be touched by you.

“hey,” he returns, then adds with that hint of that sarcastic humor you’ve come to love so much, “you ready to meet the little demon?”

you laugh, unable to not be amused by his melodrama. “oh, c’mon,” you say, lightly batting at his arm. “he’s only eight, he can’t be that bad!”

all tomura offers in response is a muttered, “yeah, well…” before inviting you inside.

as soon as you walk through the door, a little dog comes bounding towards you, running in energetic circles and barking as his tail wags with both curiosity and excitement. you proceed with caution around the corgi, wanting to reach down to pet him but hesitating around the unfamiliar animal.

the few times you'd been over before, tomura had let his dog out into the yard so he wouldn't end up jumping all over you, so this is the first time you're meeting him up close instead of catching glances of him through a window.

"ugh, sorry..." tomura mutters as he reaches down and scoops his dog up, the canine's tail continuing to wag even more once he's secure in tomura's arms. "i forgot to let him out back..." he then seems to realize something, his eyes widening a bit as he does a double take back at you and asks with a little more guilt in his tone, "you're not afraid of dogs, are you...?"

you wave off his concern with a swish of your hand and a crooked smile. you tell him you're not, you were just a little surprised is all.

"it's mon-chan, right?" you ask, slowly reaching your hand out for the dog to sniff.

"yeah. mon-chan," tomura confirms, readjusting his grip on the wriggling animal. "he's super friendly. just, well..." he gives a half shrug as a small grin cracks at one corner of his mouth. "he can be a lot."

"hey, mon-chan..." you coo, your tone turned sugary sweet, and the dog gives the back of your hand a few friendly licks. "awwww, you're cute, aren't you? what a good boy..."

but before you can dote over the dog too much, something catches your attention from the corner of your eye, causing you to shift your view towards the living room that sits off to the side of the main entrance.

and, lo and behold, there he is.

little tenko and his sweet little face that reminds you so much of the older brother you’ve become so fond of.

“hiiiii,” you greet the little boy with a soft voice and a smile. you know kids can often be wary when meeting new people, so when tenko just stares at you with those big, dark eyes you’re not surprised.

“hey,” tomura grumbles to his sibling. “don’t be rude. say hello.”

tenko then seems to snap out of his cautious trance, looking at his brother then back to you before saying, “is this the girl you’re always talking about, nii-san?”

tomura feels his cheeks heat and his ears burn as he sputters out something that sounds like half an excuse, half a scolding before telling tenko to go watch tv and behave. tenko obeys without any trouble and as you pass by through the living room you can see a popular superhero movie playing on the screen.

you travel down the short hall to where tomura’s bedroom lays at the very end, and once the door is shut he seems to become a little less tense.

“i’ll need to make him lunch in about an hour,” he tells you. “but until then…” he flashes you a suggestive smirk and you know exactly what’s coming.

it's one of your favorite things about hanging out together, the way it relieves the tension, lets you two unleash parts of yourself that you rarely let other people see. and tomura's been surprisingly good at it from the start. you wouldn't have guessed at a glance how skilled those hands could be, how coordinated given his usually lax, nonchalant nature...

he tosses you a game controller and you catch it with ease. “wha’dya say we pick up where we left off?” he asks, a hint of darkness to his voice that you now recognize as cold, hard competition.

you feel a look of confidence spreading across your face at the challenge and you reply in a tone befitting of a worthy opponent, “you’re on.”

the next hour passes quickly as you play your guys' favorite co-op game together, leaving you just two points from tying with tomura, and amidst your laughter and playful taunting, there’s a slight squeak as the door creaks on its hinges, little tenko peeking through the thin crack and observing, letting out a quiet gasp when he realizes he's been spotted.

���i’ll be out in a sec,” tomura tells his brother, already knowing what that expectant look means. tenko seems to linger, casting you another glance, and you convince tomura to pause the game.

“c’mon,” you murmur, giving him that guilt-tripping stare that he hates you for being so good at. “let’s go make him lunch and then we can finish this after.”

and it’s that suggestion of we, that suggestion of together, that has him pausing the game and setting his controller aside, standing from his bed to open the door to his little brother and following him down the hall to the kitchen, you close behind.

tomura takes out a tupperware from the fridge and has just popped it in the microwave when his phone buzzes from his pocket. "it's my mom," he states. "gimme one sec." he steps out of the kitchen and begins to wander towards the living room, his voice growing more distant as you hear him pick up the call. you hope everything is ok. but, for now, it's just you and tenko standing in the kitchen, the eight-year-old gazing up at you with that big, curious stare while the microwave counts down the seconds behind him.

"can i have lemonade?" he asks once you meet his eyes and give him a friendly grin.

the microwave beeps and you go to take his lunch out of it. "sure," you answer. but then, a little bit more suspiciously, you ask, "does tomura usually let you have lemonade?"

tenko nods, not giving anything away as you finish plating the other items of his lunch while tomura remains on the phone in the living room. from where you stand, if you glance just slightly around the entryway, you can see him sitting on the couch, leaning forward a bit while he continues to speak with his voice low. you just hope his mom won't be mad that he invited you over while she wasn't home.

it's not like you hadn't been over before when his house was empty, but given this is the first time you've met his little brother, you just hope you're not overstepping somehow. not to mention that, unbeknownst to you, tomura's mom had begun badgering him about meeting you before the end of summer. as soon as she'd caught onto the fact that her eldest son had been hanging out regularly with a girl, she couldn't help but become curious as to what kind of girl she might be.

a bit distracted by your thoughts, you just nod and say to tenko, "ok, sure, you can have some lemonade then."

once his chicken tenders and apple slices and animal crackers are promptly arranged on his plate and a glass of lemonade is poured, you carry tenko's lunch to the table and take a seat across from him while you wait for tomura to conclude his conversation, trying to keep your growing anxiety at bay at any possible problems that may be arising due to that phone call.

you try to listen in, though mostly hear the standard, vague, "yeah. uh-huh. alright," responses from tomura until—

"are you my brother's girlfriend?"

you blink at tenko, taken aback as you sputter over a response to that, wondering for a moment if you merely imagined it. then, once your nervous giggling and bashfulness begins to dissipate, you clear your throat and say, "did tomura tell you that?"

tenko takes another bite from one of his apple slices and says, "no. but he talks about you all the time. he says you're his friend, but i hear him talking to his friends at night when he thinks no one is listening."

you stare at tenko with an intensity you don't realize you're wearing on your face at first, the suspense eating you alive. eventually, when tenko doesn't seem like he's going to offer more, you lower your voice to something closer to a whisper, your gaze darting back to where you can barely see tomura sitting in the other room, still on the phone, and ask tenko, "what do you hear him say?"

tenko, his big eyes moving up and to the right, contemplates that for a moment as he finishes chewing and swallowing his next bite, then tells you, "i don't know exactly. i can't hear what his other friends are saying, but one time i heard nii-san say that you were special." you feel your cheeks heat and again glance over at the back of the boy you've become so fond of so quickly. "he said something about not wanting to ruin anything," tenko continues, reciting the words as if he doesn't quite grasp their meaning. but then, tenko's mouth splits into a mischievous little grin that reminds you so much of tomura, it's honestly a little scary. he says, seeming to find amusement in his next words, "one time, i heard him say you were like his guardian angel or something..."

a childish little giggle bubbles up from tenko's lips, almost as if he finds a cruel kind of pleasure in knowing his older brother's biggest secret, but this information just makes your heart all the more warmer towards tomura.

you'd spent the last couple of months suffering inside your own head about it all— about whether you really meant something to tomura, about if he cared for you as much as you did for him or if you were simply just convenient and would be discarded come any significant distance put between the two of you—

suddenly tenko seems to retract, perhaps sensing your discomfort, so you take the opportunity to clear the nerves and giddiness from your throat and change the subject.

"so, tenko," you begin, trying to straighten out your crooked smile. "tomura tells me you play soccer. do you like it?"

tenko gives a shrug at first, taking another bite of an apple slice that's had the skin peeled and cut to resemble rabbit ears. then he says, "i guess so. but i like watching movies more."

you ask him what kinds of movies he likes, recalling the superhero blockbuster that had been playing on the tv when you'd first arrived, and feel a spark of endearment as tenko's face lights up as he delves into telling you all about his favorite characters and their cool powers.

"wow! you sure know a lot!" you commend him with a beaming smile, and at the compliment tenko's face begins to turn a little red. "do you and tomura ever watch movies together?"

"not really..." the younger sibling sulks, pouting as he peels the remainder of the skin from his apple slice. "nii-san is usually playing video games in his room and my mom says i'm not allowed to play them because they're too violent..." then, before you can tell him that's too bad but one day he'll be old enough to play the same games as his brother, tenko perks back up and tells you, "but sometimes... sometimes nii-san lets me into his room on nights our mom works late and we play mario kart together."

you have to force yourself to stifle a laugh at that. i mean, it's just completely adorable, isn't it? the thought of tomura, who tries so hard to play it off like he couldn't care less about his little brother, like he's nothing more than a nuisance to him, a pest, an inconvenience, does actually take the time to bond with him anyway. at least, when no one's looking.

you tell tenko you also like mario kart, then lean in and add in a playful whisper, "but i bet he doesn't tell you about all the times i've beaten him, does he?"

tenko regards you with blatant skepticism. "no way," he says, as if he's never been more sure about anything in his life. "there's no way you can beat nii-san. he's too good! no one can beat him!"

now you laugh openly, causing tomura to glance over his shoulder just to make sure there isn't too much chaos ensuing in his brief absence, but tenko just looks confused.

"well," you reply, amusement trailing off the end of your words, "he is pretty good. i'll give him that. but unbeatable..." you quirk up one brow and wear a slight smirk for a moment before allowing your features to fall back to normal. then you tell tenko, "just give it time. one day i bet you'll be able to beat him. i believe in you!"

"you behavin' in here?" tomura suddenly appears in the entryway, slipping his phone back into his pocket as he casts his little brother a warning look.

"your girlfriend says she beat you in mario kart, is that true?" tenko blurts out, and you have to force yourself not to tease tomura when his cheeks visibly darken at the mention of you being his girlfriend.

"everything ok?" you ask to defuse the situation a little and put tomura back at ease, but then his look of bashfulness morphs into a look of slight surprise at the sight you and his little brother getting along so well.

quickly, he snaps out of it, and replies, "yeah. she was just checking in," before seeming to notice something awry about the picture here, specifically on tenko's side of the table.

"hey," tomura lightly scolds his brother. "you know mom only lets you have lemonade on the weekends." you immediately begin to apologize, saying that when he asked you thought it would be ok, and feel embarrassed that you let yourself be manipulated by a child, but tomura assures you it's fine before returning to interrogate his little brother who, admittedly, looks very guilty now.

"did you lie to her?" he presses, and for a moment you're afraid he'll make tenko cry. tenko denies it at first and you observe with growing anxiety as the argument between them ramps up a bit.

it isn't until you reach over to place a hand over tomura's, which has been firmly planted on the tabletop as he leans in over his brother, that he seems to simmer down a little.

"one time will be ok, won't it?" you ask him, not wanting to ruin the moment you'd just shared with tenko, feeling like you'd gained a little more of his trust. you use your secret weapon, the one thing tomura can never say no to whenever he sees it— that sweet, pleading stare you give as you gaze up at him, the look that makes his stomach flutter and his head haze over with thoughts he'll be revisiting later once he's alone.

"fine," he concedes, some of the rigidity that had captured his limbs leaving him as he steps away from the table. he looks directly at his brother and concludes with a warning, "but just this once."

you're relieved, and tenko appears to have returned to his prior state of unfazed contentment, but tomura still seems impatient about something.

"c'mon," he says, beckoning you up from the table to follow him back to his room. "we still have a game to finish."

you give tenko a parting smile before humming out an amused, lilting little note, trailing after tomura as you chirp out a mischievous remark of, "are you gonna actually help us win this time? or am I gonna have to carry the entire round again?"

he lets out an incredulous, albeit amused, chuckle, surprising you by throwing his arm around your shoulders and tugging you in closer to his side so you almost stumble down the hallway. "oh, just you wait..." brazen, he murmurs in your ear, his voice low and dark, now allowing the butterflies in your tummy to unfurl their delicate wings and take flight, "by the time we're done with this round, the other team isn't even gonna know what hit 'em..."

and, with that, you once again return to the confined space of his only slightly disheveled bedroom, the tv screen still bearing the scores from your last game. although, admittedly, as you continue to sit side by side, knees nudging one another here and there when things start to get a little too desperate or rowdy, you can't help but find yourself a little more distracted and self-conscious than usual.

because you swear you catch tomura glancing at you in between rounds from the corner of your eye, something softer, something warmer than you're quite used to possessing his crimson gaze.

it's a side to him you've rarely gotten to see, but you hope he'll learn to wear it a little more openly around you as time goes on.

besides, when his little brother had asked if you were his girlfriend, he hadn't quite said no, now had he?

[theshadowrealmitself]

He hadn’t seen that glare in years.

Technically, he sees that glare pretty consistently, practically every other week, really. But ever since Victor adorned that mask, he hadn’t seen the full effect of it. The brows drawn down, shadowing his eyes and making them look angrier. The slight upturn of the mouth making it into a barely tamped down sneer (Victor actually tried to be somewhat civil in college, by his standards). And just the overall tenseness of the muscles.

These days, Reed only saw the eyes, and although it’s difficult to tell with the mask in the way, he could swear the glare’s different. Indifferent, really. The glare of someone who thought himself above Reed, above everything.

Reed never thought he’d see that original glare again, not since Victor had taken that plunge into denying his humanity.

But here it is. On the face of an Oscorp employee (intern?). The glare of someone assured of their own intellect, and less assured of everyone else’s. The glare of someone heading down Victor’s path.

But not there.

Not yet.

Not ever if Reed has anything to say about it.

He glanced at the name tag of the potential intern as he passed by.

Peter Parker.

[holidayinhell]

part 1

“What would you do? In order to be free.”

He shifted onto his arms, facing Whumpee.

Whumpee’s eyes flicked up to meet his. There was a telling glint in Whumper’s eye — sharp, playful. He wasn’t being serious. He never was.

“You mean hypothetically.”

“I mean what I said.” The switchblade clicked open in his hand.

Whumpee shook his head, refusing to offer a response. He wasn’t going to play this game.

Whumper grinned devilishly. “Would you suck me off?”

“Uh, no.”

“What? But I’d let you go.”

“Nah. I’m sure whatever is between your legs is worse than death.”

Whumper barked a laugh and leaned back, the sound echoing off the walls in the damp concrete room. The exposed fluorescent tubes overhead buzzed and flickered, casting long, jittering shadows on the walls of the cell.

“So,” he said, coolly. “Are you still holdin’ out hope that I’ll let you go, then?”

Whumpee hesitated. The beer can was almost full, sweating in his hand. He gave it a slow tilt, watching the amber liquid slosh through the opening.

 A lie would’ve been safer.

“Yeah,” he said, just above a whisper. “I hope you might.”

Whumper went quiet, methodically clicking his switchblade open and closed again. A terrifying habit Whumpee never got used to. 

“Hope is a funny thing.” 

Whumper reached out and brushed the hair from Whumpee’s eyes, twirling a blonde lock around his finger like he owned it.

Whumpee stiffened. The stale air suddenly felt heavier.

“Did you think that if you were nice enough to me, I’d change my mind?”

His hand slid deeper into Whumpee’s hair, closing into a loose but possessive grip. He leaned in until his voice was warm against Whumpee’s ear.

“That’s the game you’ve been playing, right?”

He yanked his head back.

“Don’t pretend like you haven’t been trying to butter me up this whole time.” Whumper’s gaze dragged over Whumpee’s throat, watching the way his pale skin shifted with each swallow. 

“I see how hard you try to get close to me.”

“Maybe I just enjoy our chats.” Whumpee said blankly, wrenching his head free. 

Whumper dropped his hold, smirking. “Or maybe you don’t wanna die.”

“I don’t think anyone wants to die.”

Whumper stared at him for a moment before extinguishing his cigarette on the ground. “Fix your hair. And drink your fucking drink.”

Whumpee obeyed, combing trembling fingers through his hair and taking one tiny sip. The beer was lukewarm and sour. Even now — with one foot in the grave — he still hated alcohol. It sat like bile in his mouth.

Across from him, Whumper lit another cigarette.

“You’re not special.” the words blew out in a smoke ring. “I’m still going to kill you.”

Whumpee clenched his jaw, eyes locked on the dirt coating the floor. An ember of rage flickered in his belly. The words stung more than he expected.

“And when I do, I’m going to love every fucking second of--”

“—Fine! I got it!” Whumpee snapped. “You’re going to kill me and you’re going to love doing it. Message received, thanks a lot. Jesus Christ you’re drunk tonight.”

Whumpee stood, backing toward his cot to put distance between the two of them.

“It’s time for you to leave.” 

Whumper blinked and stood. He looked confused. Offended.

Whumpee’s eyes brimmed with tears and spilled over, rolling down his cheek.

“Go.”

Whumper didn’t move.

“Please go!”

He just watched Whumpee for a long, silent moment. His head tilted slightly, the cigarette burning low between his fingers.

Then, he crossed the room.

Whumpee tensed, shoulders pulling tight, but didn’t back away. Not this time.

Whumper stood in front of him—close enough to feel the heat off his body, to smell the smoke and sweat and cheap beer on his breath. He reached out slowly, almost gently, and touched Whumpee’s jaw with two fingers.

Whumpee flinched.

“Are you still scared of me?” Whumper asked, his voice low, almost intimate. His fingers traced the damp trail on Whumpee’s cheek.

Whumpee closed his eyes painfully, jaw tightening. His breath hitched as more tears fell.

“Thought so. It’s okay.” Whumper said in a low, soothing voice. “Fear doesn’t make you weak. You know what does?”

He leaned in, his lips nearly brushing Whumpee’s ear.

“Hope.”

He planted a delicate kiss on Whumpee’s temple before turning away.

He flicked his cigarette to the floor and quietly ground it out with the bottom of his boot. He looked back at Whumpee one last time.

He didn’t slam the door when he left.

He didn’t need to.

The silence he left behind was louder than anything.

One more night like this, and Whumpee would be executed.

(part 1) || (more whump)

[melodead]

once upon a time, a child from nowhere dreamt a strange, enchanted forest of centuries ago. the soft grass, ever the slightest damp with morning dew, tickled little ankles. the watery dawn tipped over the horizon, spilling through the gaps in the foliage. a small hand rose to the air. scraped yet still soft, it closed around nothing. light fell through those fingers into memory.

in this long-forgot forest, the child met a boy spun from moonlight and dawn. twilight’s scion. they are but children, yet the child knows this in that young, blundering heart: this has happened before, histories ago. it will happen again, long after this star-blessed meeting. it is a reunion across worlds and a chance encounter and an inevitability stitched into fate’s eternal loom. it is a waking prophecy.

you wake to a dream again.

the reverie, untouched by the eternity between your childhood and now, wraps around you like an embrace. the pale, gilded dawn spills across your skin—warm and cold, barely even there—and drenches you in its impossibility. your fingers sink into the soil beneath your knees. you peer up into the rosy sky, hoping to find an answer.

(you find a kindness you have never been able to afford in your life, and you are certain: this is a dream, and it is wrong.)

rustling rapidly approaches. you look just in time to see him emerge from between the hazy arbor.

even in sleep, silver is loved by the world. the wind combs through his hair lightly. flora seems to turn to him as he passes by, unwilling to look away from this vision. it is through this that you know this dream loves him. you’re almost envious of how loved he is—but you can’t be, because, if not this false reality, the fondness that rests in your chest is not a lie.

his hand reaches out. silver bends to meet you as you rise from the ground, falling into your orbit as though he were made to do so. he thinks it true sometimes: that somewhere, in some way, he was meant to meet you. an ancient piece of his soul belongs to you, has belonged to you for longer than this lifetime, and as he gazes at you, dawn-kissed and ephemeral and real, he knows his fate is sealed.

brilliant. clever. brave. silver knows what you’ve realized it before you even speak, the truth of this crafted reality. he knows you’ve realized the same of him. the clarity of your eyes tell it all.

“we need to wake up,” you whisper as your fingers cradle his face. he leans into your touch, presses a kiss into your palm, and hopes it won’t fade with waking. he knows, he knows, he knows—

“will you find me, silver?”

he would follow you to the end of the earth if you wished it. “anywhere.”

you—brilliant, brave, clever you—will find your way out of this if he cannot. you always do. but even if the long-forgot forest may disappear from his conscious, these feelings will linger. it is the only thing he can count on for himself.

(he hopes you won’t be alone.)

his hand curls around yours, and you wake.

[fanthiccs]

🕶️ Drabble: “You want it that bad?” (Prelude)

(Gojo Satoru x Reader | Fingering | Ice Play | Public-ish Teasing | NSFT | 18+)

“Couldn’t Call?” Gojo mutters, voice warm and dangerous behind you. “As much as I love our time together darling, you can’t just wander in like you own the place.”

You’re already bent over the sleek glass desk—palms flat, breath fogging the surface. Thirty floors up. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Tokyo glittering beneath you like it knows what’s about to happen.

“I didn’t think—” you start, only for the words to break off in a gasp as something cold traces your inner thigh.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he purrs. “That much is obvious.”

You glance back—mistake. He looks wrecked in the best way: sleeves rolled up, white shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, his blindfold loose around his neck. Eyes like glacier melt. Grinning like he’s about to ruin you for the fun of it.

His fingers are slick with melting ice, dragging slow lines up your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. When he presses one inside you—still cold, so cold—your whole body jolts.

“Sensitive?” he asks sweetly. “Funny how shy you weren’t five minutes ago when you were moaning my name like you wanted to get caught.”

You whimper. His hand presses low on your back, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

Outside, the city moves on. Unaware. Unbothered.

Inside, Gojo slips another cube in.

You’re melting and freezing at once, legs shaking, fingers clawing the edge of the desk. Every breath is a prayer or a curse. You can’t tell which.

“Think I should make you come like this?” he whispers. “Pressed against the glass? Marked up with ice and nothing else? Or…”

His free hand ghosts down your spine, lower, lower—

“…should I leave you dripping like this until the end of my meeting and then fuck you stupid?”

You choke on a moan.

“That’s what I thought,” he says smugly, curling his finger again. “Next time, knock.”

[lovelyjuju]

AHHH IM OBSESSED WITH YOUR &TEAM FICS TT can I plss request small ramen shop worker!eujioo x reader (like in their recent all-light show </3 he looked so bf that ep) smth like the reader being introduced to a lowkey alley ramen joint by a friend, reader starts to frequent the spot alone bc of the qt patootie worker who always gives her a few extra shrimp tempura or gyoza on the house 💔💔 ughh I love a good strangers2lovers. also just love euijoo :( (peep @/aeribej on tiktok, her march 5th? vid of him working SOO CUTEE)

also can I be 💫 anon pls!

no cause i literally saw that exact vid like.. 10 minutes before you sent that ask?? and i agree i agree i agree, i was literally melting watching that 😞 like yes show me a soft spoken guy being kind and sweet and i'm on the floor

like imagine visiting the spot alone for the first time. you'd been there with your friend before, maybe two or three times, but never alone. so when you get there after a long day, it feels a little awkward stepping inside without them, especially if they visit the store so often that they kind of befriended the staff already.

yet, euijoo would recognize you, eyes widening just slightly in surprise as he sees you walking in alone. he offers a friendly smile, just a hint softer compared to the one he gives others, but you don't really notice.

"do you want your usual or would you like to try something else?" he asks, catching you off guard by how he remembered your order although you've been there only a few times before.

"uh... can you recommend anything?" you ask back, listening to how he explains all the different dishes. something like "based on what you ordered last time, you might enjoy this one," or "if you like spicy food, you should definitely try that one. or that one, that has a good burn but is a bit less spicy, if you're unsure," while pointing to the different options on the menu.

the way he talks, a mixture of softness and excitement in his voice, as if he's really enjoying what he's doing, manages to put a smile on your face as you go for one of his suggestions. "great choice," he says with a warm smile and just a tiiiiny hint of flush on his cheeks before he turns around and goes back into the kitchen to prepare your order.

when he sets down a plate of freshly fried gyoza next to your bowl of ramen, you blink at him in surprise, but he beats you to it before you can ask. "they're on the house," he explains with a smile somewhere between excitment and shyness.

and he'd just do it again and again, always adding a little extra to your orders each time you visit or discounting you a little. and whenever you ask he just says that, "you're coming by often, so you get special treatment," only sometimes admitting that "you might just be my favorite customer."

at some point, he'd start asking about your day and you both would just exchange stories and experiences until talking to him begins to feel as comfortable as if you'd known each other forever.

one time, when your schedule is just way too packed, and you're rushing to the store only to find euijoo just closing it, you stop in the middle of the street, ready to turn around and go home – but you hear him calling "wait!" and he re-opens just for you, although he already cleaned everything :(

when he asks why you're so late this time and you tell him about your rough day, he decides to make you a dish that's not on the menu. it's just something he tried out for himself after one of his shifts that somehow ended up being his secret comfort food, but he's willing to share it with you. so when he sits down on the opposite side of the table, a bowl of his favorite ramen for each of you, he just lets you ramble about how stressful everything was and how pressured you felt, nodding understandingly to show you he's listening.

once you're done, you feel much lighter, as if just being with him lifted the weight of the world from your shoulders. after the two of you washed the dishes and cleaned up the stoves together, and you kindly declined his offer of taking you home, not wanting to cause more trouble (although euijoo would never think of you that way), you scribble your phone number on a napkin and tell him to "please hit me up if you ever need anything. i owe you, especially after today."

he'd just shrug it off but, trust, as soon as you're out the door, he immediately pulls out his phone, saves your number and drafts a "did you get home safely?" text that he plans to send in the next 15 minutes <3

[teddybeartoji]

office au! with coworker!gojo

he's the type to always be a little late. by a little, i of course mean a lot. he always bursts in the door with the biggest smile on his lips and four coffees in his hand. he winks at his coworkers, who then always blush and giggle out a hi, satoru! and you always roll your eyes at that. satoru nods his male coworkers, who always try to dap him up and start a conversation but he doesn't have time for that. he has things to do. (as if he isn't literally Late smh)

he answers the guys' question while he's walking – his eyes set on his favourite coworker. you. sitting in your cubicle, you're trying to ignore him and his dramatic enterance. that he does every single day. how annoying can he be? before you can roll your eyes again, a cup of coffee has landed on your table, making you glance over your shoulder.

he's blinding you, his grin is stretched so wide it's almost a bit creepy. he's standing right behind you, leaning his hand on your table right next to where he just placed the coffee. he's way too close for a co-worker and you gulp.

ugh.

"aren't you gonna thank your favourite coworker for bringing you coffee? whew, tough crowd, huh." his smile doesn't falter and he just leans in closer, his cologne clouding your senses.

UGH.

and he really does do it every single fucking day. he brings you coffee and he annoys you and he makes your eyes roll so hard you almost go blind and you hate to admit that he's kinda cute... it's whatever.

back to the coffees. so one of them is for you – he knows your order because he dug out the receipt from your bag when you weren't looking on his second day there. he almost got caught, too. but he only did that because you didn't wanna tell him your order!! and he was so insistent on bringing you coffee that he just had to find another way. he loved the way your eyes widened and how you tried to mask your surprised expression but nothing gets past his keen eyes. when you asked how he did it, he just told you that he guessed it. yeah, right....

the second coffee is for him. it's an insanely sweet latte. how do you know? he made you try it. more liked begged for you to try it. you also hate to admit that his puppy-dog eyes worked on you... he only drinks the special latte from the corner coffee shop and he refuses to drink the office "coffee". he's fancy like that.

the third coffee is for his second favourite coworker – kento nanami! they sure make an interesting pair. kento is the main reason why satoru even got the job. the latter begged him to pitch for him to the boss; he was so excited by the concept of Office Work and just had to try it out. he, of course, passed the interview with flying colors and kento regrets his decision to "help" him out in the first place. satoru yaps his ears off whenever he isn't doing the same to you and he's constantly leaving little notes for the man. you once saw one and it just had a miniature penis drawn on it. very mature.

and the fourth coffee is for your boss. satoru isn't sucking up like you originally thought he was. you think he just wants to bring her coffee? your boss is cool – she's in her forties and she has a strong voice, everybody always listens to her and she really does make for a very good boss. your guess is that satoru has a crush on her. (you're wrong. he also just thinks she's super fucking cool. literally nothing else to it.)

he's always wearing a fancy white button-up with a black tie loosely hanging around his neck and a pair of matching black slacks that hug his thighs so nicely that the women and the men of the office are always finding it hard to not stare at them. he gets an obnoxious ego boost from this.

he's constantly leaning on other people's desks, pushing his hips out and it really is hard to concentrate whenever he does it. the pose and the smug smirk he sends you when he catches you looking is making you feel hot. he always catches you too, it's so annoying. why can't he just continue doing whatever he's doing so you can admire him in peace?

he's loud, he's annoying and he's so fucking good at his job that firing him couldn't even be a passing thought. he actually does his paperwork rather fast; often finishing before you and that gives him the time to tease you for being slow. he does that way less than you expected though. only a few times in a day – enough to annoy you but never enough to actually make you upset or angry. he actually helps you sometimes. he can tell you don't wanna ask and he doesn't wanna make you feel bad - he'd rather watch you roll your pretty eyes at his stupid jokes with a small hidden smile than roll them with a deep frustrated sigh. he learned that the hard way.

he loves your smile. more often than not you can't keep the straight face you try to put up with him, making your loud laughter resonate throughout the whole office. oh, how his eyes shine at that.

long story short. he's infuriating. he's funny. he's way too good at his job. he's way too handsome. you loathe working with him and yet, you can't stop smothering him in kisses whenever you two "happen" to meet in the printer room.

[brain-rot-central]

It was 4am and I was having thoughts.

Astarion rutting wildly inside of you, his body completely covering yours. Your legs are wrapped around his waist as he continues his assault, the blunt head of his cock kissing your cervix ever so gently with each thrust.

He nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck and darts out his tongue, licking up toward his favorite spot to feed upon you. You moan and instinctively raise your head, bearing the column of your neck to him.

He groans into your skin but doesn't bite. Yet, you feel his mouth turn upward into a smile against your neck. He moves his mouth further upward to your ear and begins nipping your earlobe. "Darling," his voice is a hushed whisper in your ear, "I'm so hungry, my darling..." Your walls clench around his cock at the sound of his voice in your ear. He groans in pleasure at your cunt fluttering around his length, his hips stuttering into yours as he fucks you through the sensation.

Your nails dig into his biceps and he winces, sucking in a sharp breath. His mouth falls back against your ear again and he moans, low and throaty, directly into it, "Please, just a taste," he begs as he brings his lips to hover above yours. "I've been such a good boy, haven't I?"

Your eyes roll back into your skull as the words leave his lips. A string of lustful moans escape your lips and your walls flutter wildly again over his length. You feel the knot in your lower abdomen weaving tight and tighter, threatening to rip apart at the seams. "Astarion-" you rasp out, voice hoarse and soft.

His mouth descends upon your neck again, suckling the tender flesh of his most recent bite mark. "You do want me at my most virile, my love, don't you?" Astarion's tongue laps across the small fang marks, sending a shiver throughout your body.

"Yes," you gasp, hands coming up to hold either side of his face. "Drink from me," you say as your eyes meet him. His eyes fall closed and his mouth hangs slightly agape as the words leave your lips, his hips never faulting. "As much as you need," you continue, "so that you may spend yourself inside me." You watch as he throws his head back and groans, cock twitching against the tight heat of your walls with each thrust.

"Gods, you have no idea what you do to me," he breathes out, mouth returning once more to your neck. "You've become my beginning..." You feel his lips curl back, baring his fangs against the supple flesh of your neck. You lift your head up again, preparing yourself for the sting of his fangs sinking into your neck. "...and my inevitable ruin."

Shards of ice pierce into the side of your neck and you groan, loud and throaty. His hips falter in their movement as he focuses on drawing your blood into his mouth. He groans around your neck as he swallows the first few gulps of your life's essence. You feel Astarion's tongue dragging across your jugular vein in an upward motion, coaxing your blood into a continuous stream down his throat. Each pull of blood into his mouth corresponds with a throb of your sex, and he slowly begins to rock his hips back and forth within you. His cock pulses again, and you swear he's grown larger, thicker, as it drags deliciously across your walls with each snap of his hips.

Your head is swimming, the scent of rosemary, bergamot, and brandy flooding your olfactory receptors. The icy stab against your throat has lulled into a pleasant caress, and you moan loudly at the feeling of being so thoroughly full, so consumed, by your vampiric partner. To bestow such a gift to him fills your heart with pride. He could choose to feed from anyone he wished, but he chooses your blood, over and over, each time.

The rhythm of his thrusts suddenly falls off tempo, and he unlatches his fangs from your throat. "I'm going to cum," he breathes out, quiet and desperate. His cock is pulsing wildly inside of you, having been rejuvenated by your blood, and your walls clench instinctively around him.

"Cum inside me," you coo to him, "plant your seed within me, please." He drops his head and his eyes screw shut, mouth hanging agape as desperate moans fall from his lips. His hips stutter in an uneven pattern, and you feel the warm rush of his release begin to flood your womb. His licks the remnants of your blood from his lips, groaning and throwing his head back as he gives a few more shallow thrusts into you.

His hips finally cease and he drops his head, heavy eyes cracking open to meet yours. He pants deeply above you, chest rising and falling with strained effort. His lips graze yours, kissing you softly as his breathing begins to settle. "I love you, you know," he huffs out. "So very dearly."

Your lips curl into a genuine smile and your hands come to hold his face once more. "I know, my darling," you say. "I love you, too, just as much."

The evidence of your union begins to seep from where you are joined, though he doesn't pull out. Astarion simply lays against you, nuzzling his face into your chest. "Can we stay like this for a bit?" he asks, voice tender.

Your hand comes up to rake gently across his scalp, and you kiss the top of his head. "Of course, my love. I wouldn't like anything more."