#rounded shapes as a reflection of kindness

[jollmaster]

Charlie Morningstar, Lucifer's youngest daughter

[paintpaintpaintman]

Trying new style,,,, I wanna get more into stylistic choices and focus less on things like proportions and stuffs. Though I also think that means I will have to rework how I shade/highlight, but that will be a trouble for another day lol

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - SEVENTEEN

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: angst; mentions of mental and physical health issues.

In a matter of days, your bump decided to take on a life of its own.

You'd looked the same for months —nothing that screamed months pregnant. Then, last week, something inside you had clicked into place, your belly suddenly rounded out. There was no denying it now; there was no more wondering if you were bloated.

You looked pregnant. 

Seven days ago, you were still able to fit into your regular jeans, brushing off the snugness as a result of a big lunch. And now, your belly recognized the timeline and proudly announced, there’s definitely a baby in here. 

It was wild how everything changed overnight. Shirts that fit fine last week suddenly rode up like crop tops.

You were already at the hospital every week—more than most—hooked up to IVs, getting poked and monitored. You were exhausted, but better, lightheaded on good days. The bump showing up so suddenly only added to the fear. You found yourself blurting out questions to your doctor, "Is this normal? Because it doesn't feel normal." 

She always said yes. Or some version of it. A nod, a glance at the monitor, everything was textbook. But your chest stayed hurting long after the appointment ends.

You haven’t left the house in five days, except for your hospital visits.

You haven’t sat on the steps or cracked open a window wide enough to feel like you're still part of the outside world. You were hiding from the looks, the questions. From yourself. From the surreal curve of your stomach that had hijacked your reflection.

Sarah hasn’t been able to come around—work, shifts, life—and you haven’t let her see a single picture. On the rare occasions she brings up the baby, you change the subject. You say, "Fine," and send a blurry photo of your hand instead. You don’t want her to see it.

You haven’t seen anyone.

Rafe checked in every other day, like clockwork, texting. He asked if you needed anything. You said no. You always said no. If you didn’t want him at your appointments then, it was worse now. You couldn't stomach the idea of him seeing the bump. Of him looking at you and the thing growing inside you, forming a shape under your skin, and yanking you out of the life you once knew.

You knew it was stupid and weak. And kind of pathetic, honestly.

You told yourself that a dozen times a day, a mantra meant to snap you out of it: You couldn't hide forever. But the thing was—there were still months left, and you already felt like you’d hit some breaking point.

You’d been ordering food and whatever else you needed. Groceries, toiletries, overpriced juice you didn't like—anything to avoid setting foot in a public space. The idea of running into someone you knew, or locking eyes with a stranger in the cereal aisle, felt like a nightmare.

Your staff hasn’t been around much since you found out you were pregnant. You paid them like nothing’s changed. They came once a week now, and you made sure you were nowhere to be found when they’re around—either gone or locked in your room, a lonely ghost in your own house.

But today, it changed.

You woke up and the sun felt less hostile through the curtains.

You stared at yourself in the mirror for too long, hoodie lifted enough to see the curve of your belly. It was bigger than yesterday. Or maybe you were looking harder. You pressed a hand there and decided you were done being scared like this.

You were done letting the fear do the driving. You couldn’t stay locked away until your water broke or one of you died—God, no. Even if it was just for groceries, you wanted to try. You needed to.

So you called Sarah.

You didn’t overthink it, which was new. You chewed on your sleeve while it rang. She picked up, breathless, with loud background noise.

"Hey babe! What’s up?"

“Hi.”

“What’s going on?” she asked, and the background noise started to fade; she was moving somewhere quieter. “You sound weird. Tired-weird. Sad-weird.”

You half-laughed, eyes burning. “That obvious, huh?”

“Kind of,” she said gently. “You’ve been MIA. I figured you were nesting or something, but…” She paused. “Is something wrong? With you? With the baby?”

You shook your head before you remembered she couldn’t see it.

“No. I'm fine. He's fine too, as fine as he can be when I’m the one growing him."

“Hey,” she scolded, not unkindly. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m not—” You stopped mid-sentence, rewinding. Trying again. “I’ve been hiding. A lot. I haven’t been out.”

“Yeah, I picked up on that. You don’t text back or answer my calls.”

“I’m sorry.” You sighed, rubbing at your face as the guilt settled on your shoulders. “I want to go outside. The store, something normal.”

Sarah brightened instantly. “That’s great!”

“But I… I don’t want to do it alone.”

Her voice softened. “Of course. I’ll come with you. When do you wanna go?”

You bite your lip. “Now. If you’re not too busy.”

There was a pause, and you knew the answer before she gave it.

“Shit,” she groaned, clearly torn. “I want to so bad, but Poguelandia is slammed. We’re short-staffed, JJ fucked his leg up, and there’s already a line out the door. I haven’t sat down since eight a.m. I’m so sorry. I literally haven’t even peed in four hours.”

You tried not to let the disappointment win. “Oh. No, it’s okay. I figured.”

“I can try,” She insists. “If I leave now, maybe I can swing it—if I skip lunch and—"

“No,” You cut in, “Seriously.”

“I’ll figure it out. I’ll get someone to cover—”

“Sarah.” You took a breath. “I love you, but please. Don’t stop working because of me. If you drop everything, I’m gonna feel worse.”

“You sure?”

You smiled, even though your eyes were burning again. “Not even a little bit. But I think that’s okay.”

“I hate saying no,” She muttered. “I hate that I can’t be there. But…”

You tensed up, pulling the sleeve of your hoodie over your hand.

“…I do know someone who can.”

You go quiet.

“Sarah…”

“Hear me out. He’s been texting me, asking if you need anything. He’s been trying to respect your space, but also losing his mind because he doesn’t know how to help. If you called and said you wanted to go walk into traffic, he’d probably volunteer to drive you.”

You let out a dry chuckle. “That’s comforting.”

“I mean it,” She insisted. “He’d show up in a heartbeat.”

You leaned your head against the wall. “I don’t want him to see me like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like this,” you repeated, “My bump. It’s showing now.”

You could practically hear her blinking through the line.

“Wait. Since when?”

"Last week," You let out a breath. “I woke up and���bam.”

“Oh my God,” she gasped. And then again, breathier this time. “Oh my God.”

You could picture her hand flying to her mouth, the half-spin she probably did when she got excited. 

“I wish I was there,” she breathed. “I want to see you.”

You shut your eyes, fighting the sudden tears. “It’s not cute, Sar.”

“I didn’t say it was cute,” she scoffed. “I said I want to see you.”

You didn’t want to be seen like this, swollen and pale, hoodie hanging off your frame. And your stomach—this round, undeniable thing you couldn’t suck in or pretend away anymore.

“I thought I had more time. To ease into it.”

“That’s why you’ve been inside.”

It wasn’t a question.

You sank further against the wall, socked feet curling on the floor. “I’m falling out of my skin.”

“It’s okay that it freaks you out. You’re allowed to feel whatever you want.”

You finally exhaled. “I don’t know how I’m gonna do this.”

“One step at a time,” she said, warm even through the phone. “Starting with this one. Groceries. Hoodie on. Sunglasses if you want. One aisle.”

You closed your eyes, “If I call him… if he comes… he’s going to look.”

“If you wanted him to rip his eyes out, he would.”

You blinked.

“I’m not kidding,” Sarah added, “He’d walk with his head down the whole time, hands tied behind his back, take a vow of silence, whatever. If it made you feel even a little safer.”

Your throat closed up, a laugh tried to force its way out but died on arrival.

“I don’t want him to have to do that,” You said quietly. “I don’t want to feel like a freak show.”

"You are not a freak show," Sarah said, sounding insulted. “You’re pregnant. And scared. And beautiful, by the way, but I won’t push that one right now.”

Your hand drifted to your stomach without thinking.

“I don’t want to go with him.”

“I know.”

“But I want to go.”

“I know.”

You were quiet for a moment, chewing on the inside of your cheek, unsure if agreeing to this made you brave or desperate.

Sarah seemed to feel the hesitation swell on your end of the line, so she added, “If I could send one of the Pogues, I would.”

 “Yeah?”

“Hell yeah,” She said. “But… they don’t know.”

“Oh. Right. I didn’t tell them.”

“It’s a lot. And they love you, but—yeah, it’s a lot.”

You rubbed your temple.

“It’s not like this is something you just drop in a group chat.”

You snorted. “Guess not.”

You swallowed, eyes moving to the mirror across the room—a sliver of your reflection visible, your shape under the hoodie. You didn’t want to shut people out. But every part of you had folded inward the second your body started changing, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

Sarah’s voice came back. “So… Rafe?”

You closed your eyes.

“Yeah. Fine. Tell him.”

Cameron Development. 3:17 PM.

Rafe was two seconds from throwing his fucking clipboard through the drywall.

"That doesn’t go there," He snapped at one of the newer guys on site, not looking up. His pen scraped across the paper harder than necessary, carving through the thin report sheet. "Jesus Christ, y’all can’t read labels now? It’s marked clearly, in red—RED, Sean.”

Sean stammered something behind him, but Rafe had already turned, muttering under his breath about incompetence, how he couldn’t keep babysitting everyone to get basic shit done.

His shirt clung to his back from the heat, his boots were caked in mud from the storm last night, and his patience was nonexistent. He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t eaten. 

He hadn’t seen you in days.

And it was killing him.

You were always good at acting fine over text, but Rafe knew the difference between your fine and “fine.” He couldn’t tell through a screen if you were tired or biting your nails again. 

“You okay, Rafe?” someone asked cautiously, probably Dan or Tyler—he didn’t care who anymore.

“No,” he bit back without missing a beat. “But thanks for asking.”

He hated this version of himself, that let everything build up until it spilled onto the wrong people. He disappeared back into the trailer and slammed the door behind him so hard the hinges rattled.

He leaned over the desk, head hanging between his shoulders, taking a deep breath that did absolutely nothing to help. His hands were gripping the back of his neck.

This was exactly what Dr. Sanders warned him about.

The outbursts, the impatience.

How his frustration got in the way of everyone who didn’t deserve it. No one should be punished for his shitty mood—especially not some fresh-hire kid just trying to do his job. He’d been doing so good, with weeks of keeping his voice level, reminding himself to step away when things got too loud inside his head. And now here he was again, snapping over labels and yelling at people who were trying to help.

His phone buzzed.

Sarah.

He stared at it for a second before answering. “What?”

“Chill with the attitude,” She snapped right back. “I’m calling for a reason.”

Rafe exhaled through his nose. “Sorry. Bad day.”

“No kidding,” she muttered. “You’ve been biting the head off everyone down there?”

Rafe didn’t deny it.

He sighed, annoyed, eyes on the ceiling. “What?”

“I need a favor.”

His stomach dropped so hard it made his head swim.

“Did something happen to her?”

“No,” She added quickly. “She’s fine. She...she’s not doing great.”

Rafe sank down into the chair. “What do you mean not doing great? What’s that mean? Be specific, Sarah, I swear—”

He bit the inside of his cheek. He’d tried. Called, texted. Waited when you didn’t answer. Backed off when Sarah told him to give you space.

“She’s okay?”

“She’s okay,” Sarah confirmed. “She wants to go out. Grocery store or something and she doesn’t wanna go alone.”

He sat forward. “She said that?”

“Yeah,” Sarah replied, “I can’t go—Poguelandia’s insane right now. There’s a line out the door. But I figured… maybe you could?”

He was already grabbing his keys. “Where is she?”

“She’s home,” Sarah confirmed, “Don’t pressure her, okay? She almost didn’t call. She’s been going through it. Be gentle.”

“I am gentle,” he snapped.

Sarah snorted. “Tell that to whoever you just yelled at.”

“They can’t do shit, Sarah.”

“Rafe.”

He sighed, dragging his palm down his stubble-covered jaw. 

“I’ll be cool,” he muttered.

“You better be.”

Rafe didn’t bother to hang up properly; instead, he shoved the phone in his pocket and dashed out of the trailer, boots crunching gravel as he headed for his truck. He didn’t tell anyone where he was going. Let Dan or Tyler or whoever pick up the slack for once.

You hadn’t answered his texts with more than one-word replies in four days. 

It’s insane to remember, back when things were good, you would leave voice notes in the mornings, call him out of the blue to complain about traffic, shitty coffee, or the weird commercial you saw.

Now, you didn’t want to go to the grocery store unless someone was with you.

You never asked for help, not when your car wouldn’t start, not when you had a fever, not even when you got a flat tire at midnight.

You were stubborn, hyper-independent. The fact that you asked for company meant that something was wrong.

None of this knowledge, however, prepared him to see you.

Oversized shirt hanging off one shoulder and the swell of your belly—your, his baby, right there, growing—so obvious now that you weren’t hiding it behind hoodies or blankets or clever angles.

Rafe stood there, blinking like a fucking idiot.

Holy shit.

That was his kid.

It didn’t feel real until this second. Not even when he felt it for the first time. Seeing your bump—round under that stretched cotton tee—sent him down a rabbit hole between awe and panic.

You squinted at him. 

“If you’re gonna stand there and stare the entire time, you can leave.”

That got him out of his stupor.

“No—sorry. I’m sorry.” His voice came out fast, defensive, hands already up. “I wasn’t—I mean. I didn’t mean to. I just… wow.”

He had to drag his gaze back up before it got disrespectful. You looked good. No—you looked insane. He wanted to compliment you, tell you how fucking unreal you looked right now, how bad he wanted to walk up behind you, press his hands to your stomach and kiss your neck. But that would get him a punch and a restraining order against him.

Your brow ticked up.

Rafe scratched the back of his neck, stepping inside when you didn’t slam the door in his face. 

“You look…” His lips parted, closed, parted again. “You look—pregnant. Not bad. Not bad pregnant. I mean, you look—you look good. You look like—like a mom.” He made a strangled noise. “I’m screwing this up.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched.

“I meant that in a nice way,” He mumbled, defeated by his brain.

“I’m sure you did,” You brushed past him toward the couch.

Rafe wasn’t staring in the stunned, silent, holy-shit way anymore. He was watching how you moved a little slower, hand resting under your bump as you loweredto grab your purse. Your breath faltered a little when you adjusted it on your shoulder, pressing the edge of your thumb into the small of your back without thinking.

He’d missed so much.

You looked at him expectantly. “Let’s go.”

“Oh—right.” He stepped back, forgetting how doors work. “Yeah. Grocery store. Got it. Let’s go.”

You arched a brow at him as you locked the door behind you.

“Seeing you like this.” He gestured vaguely at your stomach, still not looking directly at it like it might cast a spell on him again. “It’s—I don’t know.”

You opened the passenger door and shot him a tired look. “You gonna cry in the produce aisle?”

Rafe snorted, almost indignant. “What? No.”

In a matter of seconds, he was already by your side, hand out, ready to help you into the passenger seat.

“I got it,” You brushed him off with a roll of your eyes.

Rafe didn’t back down. “You shouldn’t have to.”

One of your dainty hands was already gripping the doorframe as you started to hoist yourself in.

“Watch me.”

He hovered anyway, hand out so he could catch you midair if you so much as wobbled.

“Stubborn,” He grumbled under his breath, not loud enough for a fight but loud enough for you to hear.

You settled into the seat with a small wince—barely noticeable unless someone was paying very, very close attention.

Rafe was paying attention.

Your eyes flicked to him. “See? Fine.”

“Mmhm,” He wasn't convinced, reaching in to buckle the seatbelt before you could swat him away. 

You narrowed your eyes in annoyance.

“You gonna bubble-wrap me next?”

“Don’t tempt me.” 

You shook your head, settling into the seat with a wince. 

“Wait—does it hurt?” He crouched, hand halfway extended toward your stomach, but hesitating. “Sitting? Standing?”

“Rafe,” you warned.

“What?” he asked, genuinely concerned. “I’m just asking.”

“Drive.”

He backed off, hands up again like you were pointing a loaded gun at him.

“Okay. But you gotta tell me if something’s wrong, alright?”

You sighed as he closed the door and jogged around to the driver’s side. Once you were on the road, Rafe glanced at you out of the corner of his eye every five seconds.

“You sleep at all?”

You shrugged.

Rafe tapped his thumb against the steering wheel. “Do you need anything around the house? How's the treatment?"

“Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

His face dropped.

This was why he didn’t push. You had a way of cutting through bullshit with a single sentence, and even now, with your delicate tone and your eyes on the horizon, it still hurt like a bitch.

He was jittery and wide-eyed the entire drive. This was more than a ride to the store, this was you not shutting him out. This was you, in his truck, after so long.

“I’m not trying to,” he said quickly. “I’m not. I swear.”

Rafe drove with one hand on the wheel and the other twitching in his lap, dying to reach for you but knowing better.  He put on your old playlist, passed the turn to the fancier store on the north end and drove straight to the quieter one near the marina, where you wouldn't have to deal with crowds.

Once he parked, he turned toward you fully.

“Do you want me to come in with you, or—?”

Your eyes flicked to him. Finally. 

He saw it. 

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “Please.”

That please just about ripped his spine out.

He would've gone even if you’d called him every name under the sun. Would’ve shown up if you told him to eat shit and die. He’d crawl through glass if it meant he got to be near you like this—You were here, and you’d asked him for something.

This alone felt like a second chance he didn’t deserve.

He opened the door without another word, rounded the truck, and reached your side before you could try to climb down on your own.

This time, you let him help. His hands were warm under your arms as you eased onto the pavement.

“Okay?” he murmured.

You nodded.

This was the type of shit he used to dream about in silence, lying awake at night with his face buried in your old pillow after crying more than he’d ever admit. Wondering if he’d ever be allowed back in ordinary parts of your life again. The boring stuff—the errands, the grocery runs. The seatbelt arguments. The way you pointed out the weird snacks he always bought.

"There's not a lot of people this time of day," Rafe said gently, clocking your silence. “But if it feels like too much—”

“I’m fine.” Your voice sounded flat.

Even if the store was mostly empty, there were people. And people had eyes and mouths.

As far as everyone knows, Rafe and you broke up months ago. You pulled your hood lower. That instinct to hide didn’t surprise him, but it crushed him all the same. 

He fell into step beside you, arm brushing yours sometimes on purpose. Inside, there were a couple of older folks milling around. A teenage boy stacking cereal boxes. A woman with a crying toddler.

You tugged your sleeves over your hands and went straight for the carts. Rafe snagged one before you could, wheeling it behind you without a word. You glanced at him, eyebrows adorably pinched.

“What?” He cocks an eyebrow. “Let me be useful.”

Eggs. Milk. The prenatal vitamins you forgot last time. He didn’t flinch when he saw the label on the bottle, and dropped it in the cart for you with a nod.

You moved slowly, partly because your legs ached and because you were stalling. You didn’t want to rush when no one had paid you any attention yet. 

Rafe walked behind the cart, guarding it, you. Shoulders squared, eyes always flicking around the aisles, ready to throw hands with anyone who so much as whispered something sideways. He caught how clutched your purse tighter, the sharp breaths you tried to hide.

At one point, a woman walked past, gave Rafe a long look, and then looked at you. She didn’t say anything, but you stopped. Went still.

Rafe was at your side in a second. “Hey.”

You swallowed. “She looked at me weird.”

He hated that you had to feel like this—hide so much.

“She looked at me weird.”

He kept close, shadowing your steps, the tension in his body never fully easing. Every time someone glanced at you, at the swell of your belly, he felt oddly overprotective. 

It was no longer just about being in love. It was turning into something primal; his heart, his very soul, had been hooked and tangled with you and the little life growing inside you. And fuck if he wasn’t going to guard you both with every ounce of strength he had.

He caught up when you paused again in the juice aisle.

“Need help?”

You reached for a bottle on the top shelf—cranberry, your favorite—but it was behind a stack of other ones. You stretched, finger grazing the edge, a grunt slipping from your lips as you rocked onto your toes.

Rafe moved fast.

So fast, it startled you when he was suddenly behind you, one hand sprawled on your lower back, the other bracing your hip. He reached over you with ease, snatching the bottle like it was nothing, but he didn’t pull away immediately.

Your breath hitched.

“Easy,” he murmured, right next to your ear.

You rolled your eyes, cheeks hot. “I had it.”

“Sure you did,” He muttered, passing you the bottle. His thumb brushed your spine. “Not lettin’ you bust your ass in a juice aisle, alright?”

“I wouldn’t have,” you retorted.

When you turned to face him, you were closer than you anticipated. His hand dropped, but he didn’t step away. His gaze dipped to your mouth.

Dangerous territory.

Rafe’s throat bobbed.  “You smell the same."

Your lips parted, surprise blooming behind your eyes.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

Rafe had been this close before. That night at the gala. When everything went sideways and his lungs felt like they were filling with cement. He hardly remembered how he got outside, but you were there—hands on him, voice killing through the noise in his head.

He remembered your touch. But he hadn’t been able to get a whiff of your scent, not with a clear head and a heart pounding for an entirely different reason.

Now he could.

Your breath was mingling with his, and God—the same scent that used to cling to his shirts when you stayed over, it haunted his pillow for weeks after you left.

Warm. Familiar. Completely fucking overwhelming.

He swore your eyes flicked to his lips for the briefest second.

Rafe couldn’t look away. Wouldn’t, even if he should’ve—for your sake. Your chest rose and fell in measured breaths, and he stupidly hoped you felt it too. That same unbearable pull between two people who had been here before. Who had known each other too intimately.

Your mouth was parted a little, glossy. He remembered what it tasted like, how your breath hitched when he kissed the corner first, the way your fingers always knotted in his shirt—

Fuck, he wanted to taste it again.

Just one kiss. One slip.

His hand twitched at his side, inches from your waist.

One step closer, and he could feel you. The curve of you now, fuller, warmer, carrying something that belonged to him—

“Excuse me, young man?”

Rafe’s soul nearly left his body. Both of you jerked apart, like you were sixteen again, getting caught making out in church.

An old woman in a lavender sweater and orthopedic shoes was peering up at him, one hand on her cart, the other gesturing at the same damn top shelf.

“Would you mind grabbing me one of those apple juices?” She asked sweetly, oblivious to the tension thick enough to butter toast with.

“Uh—yeah. Yeah, sure.” He cleared his throat, grabbing one for her.

Second juice save of the day.

“Thank you, dear,” she said, tucking it into her cart with a nod.

Rafe managed a polite smile, still in a daze. “No problem.”

The woman rolled away, humming to herself.

He turned back to you, but you were already looking anywhere but at him, biting your lip in a way that was going to make him lose it.

Neither of you said a word. He wanted to—shit, he wanted it so bad, for you to meet his eyes again, to look at him like you felt it, too. 

Rafe stepped back and let his hands curl around the cart handle.

“You need anything else?”

You dropped the juice in the cart like nothing happened, face shuttered, voice absent as you said, “I still need rice.”

No softness. There was no trace of you, pressed against him just a second ago. You turned away, and he followed silently, shoulders tensed, feeling it slip.

That sliver of closeness now gone.

The wheels of the cart squeaked as they rolled over the linoleum, the only sound between you. Rafe kept behind you by a step, scared that getting too close might spook you. You only added things to the cart in silence. He observed how your fingers curled around the boxes and how your lips pressed together when you had to crouch or twist too far.

He meticulously catalogued everything. 

Useless instincts—stupid, protective, tender ones—that wouldn’t shut the fuck up inside him. He wanted to reach for your hand in the spice aisle as if it was still his to hold.

But you weren’t looking at him anymore. He despised that he had been hoping for it—that desperate, pathetic twitch in his chest every time your head moved even slightly in his direction. Just like a dog waiting to be called. Fuck.

“Think that’s everything?” he asked, ignoring how his palms were sweating.

You nodded. 

Alright. He’d wait.

At the checkout, he paid without hesitation. You didn’t argue.

Neither of you spoke as the cashier scanned your groceries, though Rafe handed you the bag with the eggs without asking—muscle memory. By the time the trunk was shut and you’d both slid into the car, the tension had mellowed down.

He started the engine, pulled onto the road.

A few minutes passed before he spoke.

“So… did you talk to Topper?”

He wasn’t looking at you directly.

His eyes were fixed out the windshield.

He knew. Topper had told him earlier in the week, he was his best friend, there was no universe where that conversation hadn’t already happened.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?” he repeated, like he hadn’t heard you the first time.

“We talked,” You said simply.

A stoplight turned red ahead, and he eased the truck to a crawl. He should’ve left it alone. But his mouth was already moving.

“He told you about Sofia?”

Your turned toward him instantly, startled.

“What?”

He glanced over, admiring how beautiful you looked when you furrowed your brows.

“You know?"

Rafe nearly laughed. It wasn't funny—okay, it was a little—but the sheer absurdity of it, the disbelief in your voice took the cake. Did you still think she meant something to him?

Rafe ran a hand down his face as you studied him, all wide-eyed and wary.

"Why wouldn't I know?" 

Your brows creased further, "She's your ex."

"No," He clarified, "She's not."

He hated even saying it out loud, it sounded real fucking dumb now.

A half-assed attempt to feel something when he was trying not to think about you.

Rafe blew out a slow breath.

“You thought I’d care?”

You hesitated. “I don’t know. You get weird about shit sometimes.”

“I don’t care that they’re talking.” His thumb tapped the steering wheel. “I care that you thought I would.”

"Can you blame me?"

No, he couldn’t. Of course you were going to assume the worst after the shit he pulled.

“Right,” Rafe bit down on the inside of his cheek.

The light turned green, but he waited before easing on the gas. You kept your face turned to the window, it was probably easier to talk to your reflection in the glass than to him.

You used to talk to him, say things. It was a sacred language, just for him. He tapped his fingers on the wheel, not to a beat, just to do something.

You moved beside him, adjusting your seatbelt so it didn’t dig into your stomach. He clocked that instantly.

“Seatbelt too tight?”

A small shrug. “It’s fine.”

Bullshit.

You shouldn’t be sitting like that. You should be lying down, with pillows under your knees, and someone taking care of you.

“I could buy one of those, uh, extender things,” he offered, “For next time.”

“I’m not asking for anything."

He kept his hands at ten and two, eyes fixed on the road. Every other second, he’d steal a peek, catch the side of your face in the window’s reflection, how your arms were folded across your chest even though the A/C wasn’t blowing.

“You cold?”

“I’m fine.”

It wasn’t true.

Rafe knew you were uncomfortable; you kept fussing in your seat, three times already.

“They got the good ice at that place. The chewy kind. You want me to swing back around, steal a cup?”

You gave him the smallest, driest laugh. “Gonna rob a Sonic now?”

God, he missed hearing your laugh, even like that.

“If you wanted it bad enough.” He exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening. “We can talk, you know."

You clicked your tongue in annoyance.

“We’ve already talked about it.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t keep talking.”

You scowled at this nerve.

“And say what, Rafe? What could you possibly say that hasn’t been said?”

“I—fuck, I don’t know. I’m trying.”

A sound of disbelief escaped you.

“You weren’t trying when you left.”

He recoiled like you slapped him. “That’s not fair.”

“You’re right. You know what is fair?” You said, bitterly. “You walking around like this thing isn’t growing inside me. Like I don’t have to carry it and feel it and decide—”

You stopped yourself, biting your tongue hard. Closed your eyes.

Rafe’s voice dropped. “I didn’t walk away from that.”

You stopped yourself. Bit your tongue hard. Closed your eyes.

“I didn’t walk away from that. I’ve been showing up. Every day. I know that doesn’t erase how I left, but I’m trying. I want to be here. However you’ll let me.”

He heard you inhale—tight, restrained. Then you turned to him, eyes red-rimmed. You were still pissed, guarded. But you were looking at him.

And fuck, finally.

That stupid part of him—the one that wagged its tail every time you threw him a bone—lit up. He could live on scraps if it meant you’d look at him like that again.

Rafe meant it with every fiber of his body.

If you asked him to drive across the country for a specific brand of prenatal vitamins, he’d do it. If you wanted him to sit outside your door and not come in, just so you’d know someone was there, he’d do that too.

“I’m here. Even if it’s just to grab apple juice off the top shelf or to punch Topper in the face if he says the wrong thing.”

You huffed a laugh, rolling your eyes.

“There she is,” he teased, squeezing your leg gently. “Was starting to think I’d hallucinated that smile.”

“Don’t push it.”

He smirked, couldn’t help it , even if you were half-ready to rip his head off, it was better than that cold silence. He didn’t miss the way your eyes softened, that split-second slip where you didn’t hate him.

Or you still did, but not fully.

Rafe’s hand lingered on your leg before he cleared his throat and pulled it back, gripping the steering wheel again like his life depended on it.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

“I’m not really good at doing what I’m supposed to.”

You gave him a look, that familiar, flat stare. He knew you'd rather bite glass than admit he was charming sometimes.

“And what are you supposed to do, huh?”

Rafe glanced at you from the corner of his eye, not trying to hide the smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Thought that was obvious,” he said, casual, “Love you."

You scoffed, disbelieving—he was the one being ridiculous.

“Oh, go eat shit.”

He fucking loved you.

The laugh burst out of him before he could stop it, all teeth, not mocking, only helpless. You turned your face to the view again, but he saw the corner of your mouth twitching like it wanted to smile.

“You’re so—” you started, cutting yourself off with a frustrated noise.

You looked so fucking beautiful. That expression on your face, that shit wrecked him.

"Charming?"

You were flushed from the heat, cheeks warm, hair frizzy from the humidity, and still, all he could think was how unfair it was for you to look like that and not be his anymore. 

“I was gonna say insufferable.”

“That too,” Rafe said, grinning. “Multifaceted.”

“Wow. You’re actually proud of that.”

“Course I am. You used to like that about me.”

"No, I tolerated it. Big difference.”

His tongue clicked against his teeth, turning onto the long road that led toward your neighborhood.

“Coulda fooled me. Especially that night after Barry’s party.”

He was feeling bold, sue him.

“That was a lapse in judgment.”

He bit back a smile, but it was in his voice when he said, “Pretty long lapse. Five-hour lapse.”

“Oh my fucking God."

He glanced over at you, head tilted. “You’re smiling.”

“I’m grimacing,” you corrected, poorly. “Because this is painful.”

You stayed still, only the sound of the tires on the road and the distant hum of the A/C between you.

But it wasn’t that bad anymore. He snuck a glance at your profile, the curve of your cheek, how you leaned into the door, but didn’t flinch away from him like earlier.

He wanted to tell you again—that he loved you, that he still loved you, that he wasn’t going anywhere—but he knew better than to say it twice in a row.

The phone buzzed on the dashboard, Rafe saw Sarah’s name lighting up the screen.

He held it out toward you. “Here. You wanna talk to her?”

You took the phone, and as you pressed it to your ear.

“Hey, Sar."

He missed the nicknames you used for him—the ones that made his chest warm. Those little names that made him feel like he was the only person who got to hear them.

“Hey! So you two haven’t killed each other yet. That’s nice!”

"Shut up."

"I can stop by later! JJ's doing better. You want to?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes, please. I could use that.”

“Alright, I’ll be there.” Sarah signed off with a promise, and the call ended, "Call me if you need anything. Love you."

"Mmkay, love you too."

The way you said it—automatic—made something burn to ashes inside him. He wanted to be the one you said that to the most. He wanted to hear it from your lips; it meant the world.

He used to be the one you said that to without thinking.

"Here—"

He noticed you stop mid-sentence, inhaling, then you turned slowly to him. Then the screen on his phone lit up, showing the lockscreen—unchanged since last year. That picture of your 18th birthday, the two of you caught mid-laugh, arms thrown over each other.

Rafe squeezed the wheel gently, thinking to himself how lucky he was—even if you didn’t say it aloud—to be the one you looked at that way once.

"It's a nice picture," He offered.

"Yeah."

"You ever miss it?”

Your shoulders pushed back, your body catching the question before your brain did. Your mouth tensed and he braced himself for the worst.

"Missing something doesn’t mean it still fits.”

You handed the phone back, not bothering to wait for a response or caring if there was one.

Doesn't mean it still fits—he deserved that.

But it wasn't going to stop him from wanting to try it anyway, even if it tore straight through him.

[daryltwdixon]

this is my fic for @pedgito's Spring Fever writing challenge with these prompts: Slasher, Camp, & Sensory Deprivation (sorry, took camp pretty loosely here)

|| nsfw 18+, DDDNE, DARK!JOEL, slasher!joel, cnc!!! dubious consent!!! if it aint for you scroll tf on by!!! stalker vibes, fingering, sensory deprivation, fear play, mask kink, predator/prey, forced orgasm || a/n: alright fam I was gonna wait to post this but that anon this morning pmo. sooooo enjoy!!! the pic of joel is mine I took from the game. this fic is not for everyone!! heeeeed the warningsssss

You’ve never known darkness like this.

A darkness so thick, so absolute. There was no moon, no stars, no relief from the smothering, blinding darkness. It was just…black. The kind that makes your head swim, makes your ears strain for sounds that aren’t there. Or ones that are. You don’t know what’s worse.

You’ve been running for what feels like forever.

Your lungs burn, your legs are lead, each step feeling heavier than the last. The underbrush fights against you like mangled hands—branches clawing at the flesh of your arms, brambles catching on the exposed skin of your thighs. The uneven ground is a cruel thing, tripping you up again and again, sending you crashing into tree trunks, the bark scraping into your palms as you barely catch yourself before hitting the dirt.

But you don’t stop.

Because something or someone is behind you.

You don’t know how far. You don’t know how close. But the sound of it has been chasing you, steady and relentless—the snap of branches, the dull thud of heavy footsteps somewhere just out of reach.

You’ve completely lost track of time. Your one and only source of light was left behind what feels like a lifetime but was only a matter of days ago. There was simply no time to think of your flashlight back in your tent when you had to run. But you don’t know how long it’s been since then. Everything past survival has blurred together.

You don’t know where you are.

But you have to stop.

You have to stop.

You won’t make it much farther if you don’t. Your legs are giving out beneath you, every step turning into a stumble, every breath dragging too hard, too deep, too loud. Your hands shake as you catch yourself crashing down between the thick, twisted roots of a tree, ignoring the ache in your knees, the sharp edges of the bark biting into your spine as you press yourself against it.

It’s quiet now.

The first real silence you’ve had in hours. Maybe it’s over. Maybe you ran far enough.

You think of your only saving grace, stashed deep in your pocket, and you dig your fingers past fabric and grit, searching for the thin slip of cardboard. When you finally pinch the matchbook between your fingers, pulling it from the confines of your shorts, you blindly flick it open. Your hands are clumsy, stiff and shaking.

Five matches left.

You hesitate. It’s not safe here, but the dark is worse. You can’t even see your hands in front of you. Can’t see anything. It’s like your eyes are stretching, playing tricks on you as they try to pull something—anything—out of the blackness.

You pull out a match, feel for the strip, and strike it fast.

The spark flares bright, too bright, your pupils contracting hard. The flame wavers between your fingers, small and flickering, but enough to push the dark back. Enough to let you see—

Movement.

No. Not movement. Reflection.

A quick, sharp gleam across the clearing. Faint, almost nothing, but there. Something smooth catching the light and throwing it back at you in a thin, distorted line.

You squint, trying to make sense of it. Not water, but almost like glass—warped, uneven.

Then you see it. A round, fogged-over lens, slightly misshapen, reflecting the weak glow of the match. Another next to it. Not eyes, but something meant to mimic them.

And metal. A hard, curved surface, dark but slick enough to catch the light, the shape of it unmistakable now.

A gas mask.

Your stomach turns violently, bile rising in your throat.

The figure doesn’t move—if it even is a person, you can’t be sure. The lenses catch the weak light, blank and unblinking. It could be a trick of the dark, your eyes playing games with the shapes between the trees. You feel like you can hardly trust them anymore.

Your match goes out.

Your breath catches, sitting too high in your chest, refusing to move. Reaching for another match, your fingers stiff, you fumble for another. Four left. 

You strike it fast. The flame bursts to life, searing bright for just a second—just long enough for you to see—

Nothing.

No reflection. No mask. No shape standing where it had been before.

But the night is no longer still. And beyond anything else, you know for certain that you are no longer alone in the darkness.

There’s something else now, shifting in the brush, the dry snap of twigs underfoot. Not the wind or an animal. The sound is deliberate, heavy in a way that makes your skin crawl. You push yourself back into the tree, feeling the rough bark dig in, grounding yourself in pain, in something real. Your eyes dart, straining past the reach of the weak light, desperate to find what you know is there.

You hear him before you see him.

"Hey, kiddo."

Something presses against your face before you can scream. Cloth, warm from body heat. Your hands shoot up too late, fingers grasping uselessly at a grip too strong. The scent floods in fast, thick and sickly sweet, curling through your lungs as you gasp.

The match drops from your fingers, the light immediately snuffing out as it hits the dirt. Your limbs go weak, your thoughts stutter, tilt, and a numbness spreads through you like ink in water.

And then, like the night around you, your vision goes black.

You’re not entirely sure if you’re in the same place or not.

The last thing you remember is the scrape of his voice in your ear, low and thick as the cloth smothering your mouth. The sickly-sweet scent still clings to the back of your throat, coating your nostrils like tar. Your throat burns for water as your stomach churns, but the instinct to stay still, to stay quiet, keeps you from gagging.

Rough bark digs into your skin, so you make up your mind that you must still be up against a tree. The rope pulling your arms behind the trunk is tight, thick and coarse around your wrists. It bites into the skin like it was tied with purpose, meant to hold. You tug once—useless. The knots don’t budge.

You try to move your feet, to stand, to kick free, but it's no use. They’re like dead weight, sore and leaden from your exhaustive hike through the unknown. The dirt is dry beneath your bare legs, your denim shorts beginning to ride up your thighs as you squirm around. 

You haven’t opened your eyes yet. You don’t want to.

You force your breath to steady despite the cotton mouth dryness behind your lips. Inhale. Exhale. You tell yourself you’ll open them on the next count of three. Or the next.

You’re busy willing yourself not to cry when you hear the heaving footsteps around you, no other sound joining them. No crackling fire, no sound of any nocturnal creatures. You wonder just how far from any nearby camp you are anymore. 

You open your eyes the first time to the sound of a match being struck. The bright orange light flickers against the back of your eyelids before they flash open, the sight of the gas mask is so close now that you flinch as it crowds your vision. If it wasn’t for the flame flickering against the glass, you might be able to see the eyes behind it. The lenses are fogged up, catching the firelight in warped, fractured shapes. The filter hisses slightly as he breathes in slow, deep inhales.

Thick, calloused fingertips press against your jaw. You flinch, trying to pull away, but his grip is firm, pressing your head back against the rough bark behind you. The flame flickers between you, throwing long, shifting shadows.

The match burns out, the darkness swallowing you again.

Only two left now.

You can still hear him, like without your vision your other senses suddenly come alive. The dull, mechanical sound of air pushing through the filter. The rise and fall of his chest. The warmth of his body so close that the space between you feels like it’s shrinking.

“Hello, darlin’,” he whispers, all southern warmth stretched over something sharp, like velvet hiding a blade. His finger swipes against your bottom lip, and you realize it’s cold and wet with water. Your mouth opens without meaning to, your body responding before your mind can catch up. The moment the moisture touches your skin, something inside you claws forward, desperate.

Before you even realize it, your tongue dips out to taste it.

His low laughter makes you feel filthy.

His fingers leave your mouth, tracing along the lines of your face instead. The way he holds you is rough and unyielding.

"You know," he says, his voice curling low, slow like molasses, "I didn’t mean for it to be like this."

Your body goes rigid.

"I’m sure they were real nice folks."

The memories you’ve kept locked away, stuffed deep in the pit of your mind, tear their way to the surface. Images, voices, flashes of what you lost to the masked man with a crowbar.

“But you…” he continues despite how hard you squirm in his hold, “I just couldn't resist.”

His left hand presses against your bare calf, and slides upwards- until his fingertips graze the hem of your shorts. Goosebumps rise under his wide palm, you try to ignore the heat that's beginning to pool between your thighs– there’s a part of you that realizes that you shouldn't be enjoying this, but your body is already starting to want it.

His thumb moves in slow, deliberate circles over your thigh. Sightless in the dark, every other sense sharpens. His skin on yours, the heat of it, the grit of his callouses, like you can feel him more clearly than you’ve ever seen him.

And his scent. He smells like sweat, leather, something burnt. It clings to the air between you.

His hand rests wide and heavy against your leg, fingers splayed like he owns the ground you’re sitting on. 

And he’s humming under his breath.

It’s soft at first, barely audible over the rush of blood in your ears. But after a moment, it clicks. He’s matching the rhythm of your heartbeat. The steady, frantic pulse trapped in your throat, the way your chest rises and falls unevenly, he’s humming along to it like a song only he can hear.

Then, his hand lifts from your face, and absence of touch should be a relief. It’s not.

The sharp crack of a match striking fills your ears. Another flare of light floods your vision, pupils shrinking fast as they try to adjust. 

Your eyes squint against the burst of light. It sears into your vision, blinding for a moment before adjusting, and in those few seconds, you see him clearly. The flickering glow dances across the fogged-up glass of his mask, catches on the curve of the lenses, and for the first time, you see his eyes behind them.

Brows furrowed over hazel irises, pupils blown wide. That wicked glint has nothing to do with the matchlight. He’s looking at you with an intensity, like a predator watches something cornered.

He’s taking you in.

“What a pretty little thing. My girl.”

Ah.

The words land like a brand, something final and irreversible. Your breath snags, your body going stiff, muscles locking against the weight of ownership in his voice.

"C’mon now," his voice is soft again, deceptively gentle. The matchlight flickers between you, glowing bright as his hand moves from your leg to press into your jaw again, holding you steady, keeping your lips just slightly parted. His eyes track from your mouth back to your own wide stare, pupils swallowing whatever color was left.

"You were doing so well a moment ago."

He lets his hand fall back to your knee, nails scraping light, teasing lines up the inside of your thigh. Your breath stutters, body trembling against your will, and when his fingers dig in just slightly, a soft gasp slips past your lips.

“Oh, there we go,” he says quietly.

The match goes out.

Only one left.

You expect him to strike it immediately, but he doesn’t. The air feels thicker now, the kind of silence that’s only there when someone wants you to feel it. The realization makes your skin crawl—he’s waiting. He knew how many you had left. He’s drawing it out, pulling the tension tight, making sure you feel just how little control you ever had.

The sudden click of his mask clangs in the dark night as the vision of him burned into your retinas starts to fade. You hear the thud of it on the forest floor, and suddenly his breathing is quieter, though closer.

Your ears strain, waiting for the next move.

And then you realize just how close he is when something wet and muscled presses against the underside of your top lip. 

A sharp, obscene sound leaves his throat at the first taste of you. His tongue drags along the inseam of your lip, slow and savoring, his free hand tightening back around your jaw, keeping you still. You should turn away. You should pull back. But the sudden flush of heat rolling through your body keeps you rooted in place, keeps you from moving at all.

His lips press against yours—not applying pressure, just there, ghosting over your mouth, the barest contact. He breathes into you, slow and controlled, and when you exhale, he inhales sharply—like he’s drinking it in. Like he’s stealing the very breath from you.

It’s too intimate. It makes your stomach twist, makes your skin prickle with something ugly and deep and wanting.

His tongue swipes over your lower lip, and the moan that escapes you is involuntary, slipping free before you can stop it. His mouth curls into a smile against yours, slow and knowing, before he presses deeper, taking. Your tongue meets his, a slick, tentative slide, and the moment you respond, his fingers push further up your thigh. The movement makes your hips shift forward slightly, an instinct you don’t want to acknowledge.

You’re almost ashamed of how much your body responds to him.

He pulls back, just enough to catch your lower lip between his teeth, teasing, testing. His hand on your thigh moves, fingers trailing higher, just below the thin barrier of your shorts, pressing against the soft fabric stretched over your core.

“I knew you’d want this,” he murmurs, voice rasping against your skin as his lips trace up your jawline. His middle finger slides beneath the hem of your shorts, pressing into the damp heat of you, and your body jerks hard in response.

A breathless moan pushes out of your throat. You can’t stop it.

“That’s what made you so different from them, sweetheart.”

His words coil through your spine, wrapping tight and unrelenting. Your hips stutter, rocking forward into his palm before you even realize you’re doing it. His breathless laugh is pure satisfaction, curling against your throat as he pushes his middle finger under your panties and against you, teasing, taunting.

He groans quietly at the feeling of your pooling slick, his finger rubbing slow, lazy circles over your clit, coaxing another trembling sound from your lips before he presses into your clenched entrance. Another finger joins the first, stretching you open, and the sensation forces a choked cry out of you as your body arches against the restraints.

“Oh, you love this, don’t you, sweetheart?” he says, voice dripping with certainty, "Just like I knew you would."

You do. And you hate him for it.

His fingers move inside you, curling just right, pressing into the spot that has your stomach tensing, your thighs trembling. You can feel the slick heat between your legs, against your own skin of your thighs, the way your body responds faster than your mind can catch up.

His other hand lifts from your face. The snap of a match striking cuts through the dark.

The firelight licks across his bare face, and he’s devastatingly handsome in a way that makes your stomach drop, that makes you forget to be afraid of him. Gleaming eyes catch the flame, and his beard, salt-and-pepper and close-cut, frames full lips slick with your spit.

“That’s right, darlin’,” he murmurs. His fingers don’t stop moving. “Been watchin’ you for a long time. Even before I killed your little gang back there.”

But before you can react, his mouth is crashing against yours, tongue and teeth and heat, swallowing the choked noise you make as his fingers push deeper, thrusting slow and controlled, forcing you higher, closer. The pressure coils in the pit of your stomach, tightening, unbearable, the tension building so fast it almost hurts.

His voice is still against your mouth, words pressing into your lips like a brand.

"You know my name," he says. His thumb circles just right, pressing against your clit with devastating precision. His fingers curl inside of you, and your entire body locks up, legs trembling, muscles pulling tight.

"I wanna hear it when you come around my fingers." he growls, “Say it.”

Your body breaks open around him, a sharp gasp ripped from your throat. A sound between a prayer and a plea.

"Joel."

The match burns out.

And the night swallows you whole.

[dataglitch]

Your art is extremely inspiring. Do you by chance have any tips for creating reflective highlights and their placement? It’s something I’ve been trying to figure out for so long and it’s just not computing in my brain. 🫠

First of all, thank you! Ahh I'm not as descriptive with words, so let me give you a quick rundown.

Once you have your base and all is good to go, you create the gradient in the direction of where your light source is (up -> down in the image). The direction will always depend on angle or 'curve' of the metal/material you're trying to work with. Up top, I did a downwards reflection since my shape is more diagonal, rather than uniform and straight. There are times you'll have a round shape, in where this time you'll go ahead and create the highlight at the apex of it. Next, you have to decide what KIND of highlight you'll be using. I usually work with multiple lighting layers, but for this example I'll only show 3. The DULL lighting is just regular low lights that show the texture as reflective, but is most likely AWAY from a light source and/or is reflecting off something that doesn't have much shine. The NORMAL is your regular highlights that is usually just a lighter shade than your base. Since most if the time it just follows your low light(think of it as the intensity of the reflective light source), you can just place it on top of the DULL lighting. The HARSH lights are only portion that are directly in front of the light source OR are the most intense parts of it. Think of it as extreme sunlight etc, and it goes apart from your regular highlights. Lastly, you can add more color to you material by taking in other reflective surfaces, specially those with different color. I added the blue as an example and just color the panel that directly faces it.

I added a few example of lighting from my works so you can kinda see what I'm talking about. They might not seem as different at first, but the placement really makes a difference once you start finishing your rendering. I'm not great at explaining sorry, but I'll try to do another stream and walk people step by step? Would that be ok? Hope this helps a little!

[mymiraclealigner]

Don’t be kind | RemusLupin x fem!reader

summary: Remus has come back to apologize.

tw: smut without much plot (+18), curse words

word count: 2,223

a/n: long time no see :) i have been thinking about remus so much lately... hope you like this and sorry if there are any grammar mistakes, english is not my first language.

The rain hit the window desperately. It banged the outside of the big house begging to come in. The weight of the mist creeped into the walls with ease, like a snake crawling through a dense field, almost invisible. The Black House was dark and moist, the majority of its habitants in deep, twitchy slumber.

A girl held herself up on her elbows, semi-asleep still. Some hair stuck to her temple, product of the sweat. The heat under her duvet contrasted uncomfortably with the cold atmosphere. She managed to sit on her bed to recognize the figure standing past her door. A small breeze sneaked through the gap between the creaky floors; a shiver walked across her.

“Remus?” A set of manicured fingers raised to rub her sleepy eyes.

The man remained still. Remus was counting in his head: one, two three, four… Hoping to go unnoticed around twenty. It wasn’t the first night he had entered her room to watch her sleep or something more. But it was the first time he felt embarrassed that he got caught. Twenty came around and she remained focused on the subject in her room.

The silhouette’s shoulders were moving up and down patiently and a few drops fell from his fingers to the floor: he was soaking wet, the rain caught him on the way back to the house. She knew it was Remus and not an illusion. In her dreams, he would have come to her already and he would have been dry, smelling like books and whisky, like he normally did. In her dreams, he loved her unafraid, he was certain of his feelings for her.

“So this is what you do, treat me horribly and come back to watch me sleep and wet my floors?”

“Sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to raise my voice at you,” he replied with a hoarse voice. “It’s the moon.”

The girl looked down, a silver, thick stripe on the floor marked the distance between the bodies. It was always the moon the one coming between them. Nature’s round princess was an animated object, playing with Remus’ head and emotions. The witch constantly asked herself how something so beautiful could do him so much harm –and to her, consequently.

She removed the comforter from her body, sitting at the edge of the bed. The moon’s pale light bathed her naked legs. She wiggled her toes against the cold wood, getting ready to stand up. Remus’ breathing quickened, her actions meant I forgive you, clearly. He tried to ignore the inevitable worry of when he would no longer be forgiven.

She moved like an angel towards him: messy curls framing her face, tired eyes shaping the world around her. Remus could have kneeled to her feet and kissed them as an act of gratitude. She was merciful like a virgin.

She first pushed the heavy leather jacket off his shoulders. The garment hit the floor with a hard thud, splashing cold water on her feet. His hands were immediately on her hips, his achy knuckles relaxed at the touch of her cotton shirt. She surrounded his neck and came so close to his face she could feel his warm breath on her forehead. He smelled like pines and smog.

“I’m truly sorry, you’re so important to me,” he whispered against her hairline. His hands trespassed the fabric and caressed her lower back, occasionally playing with the edge of her underwear.

Her hands massaged his nape, helping it get rid of the tension the incoming full moon had induced. She looked up into his tired eyes, the stripe of light reflected in his pupils. He truly couldn’t escape the moon.

“It’s okay, just take what you need,” she responded while pulling his lips closer to hers.

He wanted to correct her, he wasn’t there to take anything –even if it seemed like it–, but it was too late. She immediately kissed him and he forgot about anything that had ever happened in the world before that moment.

The rain suddenly stopped, the clouds took deep a breath.

Like a siren she pushed him slowly into her waters, discarding his clothes on the way. The first buttons of his shirt were undone slowly by her slippery hands; the lethargy of her movements heated Remus’ head. He interrupted the unhurried pace yanking the shirt open, fours buttons flew across the room. Her nails scratched the hair on his torso, fondling the scars with dedication; it made Remus moan.

At the halfway point, Y/n lost her shirt. A soft breeze hardened her nipples, right before the werewolf’s hand grazed them. Her lips, already red and bitten, opened to emit a small groan of satisfaction. She was desperate for him, but so mad at his ways. She brought her bare chest closer to his in a unbridled outburst; fuck you, she thought.

Y/n kept her backward walk until she was stopped by the feel of the mattress hitting her thighs. The girl palmed him over his wet jeans: he was rock hard under the rough material. She guessed he had been hard for a while now by the way his hips stuttered. Remus separated from her kiss to observe her moving hand; in a swift move he removed it holding her by the wrist and trapping her arm behind her back.

“My turn,” he announced lowly against her cheek. He let his words linger in the air; he wanted time to slow her breaths.

With the back of his scarred hand he caressed the curve of her face relaxing the frown that had settled between her brows. His stroke kept going down her neck, the pulse of her veins made his fingers slightly jump. Like on a mountain, his hand raised following the outline of her breast; he pinched the nipple maliciously, stealing a whimper from the girl. His hand slipped down until it sneaked below the only piece of fabric that covered her. Past the mound of hair he wet his digits on her pussy, going up and down, ignoring the crying bead on purpose.

“Pl- please,” she breathed out.

“Uh?”

“I- I said please,” their eyes met. His were determined and playful, hers were pleading.

With a devious smile Remus decided to put her out of her misery and roll measured circles on her clit. Remus knew Y/n was close when the hand held hostage behind her back started to twitch; she also tried to keep her thighs relaxed, but he knew that subtle trembling too well.

The werewolf kissed her neck while diverted his fingers inside of her. First one, then another. He pumped his long fingers into her enough times to open her up, ease his way between her legs. First shallow, then deep. She swore she could feel the protruding scars caress her inner walls.

Once again, in the verge of the orgasm, he let her go. Putting his wet hand on her hip and freeing her arm from his hold. Her hands flew to his belt to unbuckle it. He held her thin hands between his and grabbed his erect member, guiding her through the up-and-down movements. She looked down, embarrassed to be so enraptured in the action.

“Look at me.”

She held her head up, looking shy beyond his shoulder, disobeying his request deliberately. He knew, then: she still resented him. Before he could say anything to defend his case, Y/n turned around and pulled down her underwear. As the small fabric fell to the floor, she straightened up and grabbed the nearest bedpost with her ass perked up.

Remus put a firm hand on her shoulder and pushed her head to side with his, trying to make space to kiss. She could feel his wet tip hitting against her butt cheeks. His hips were rutting against her while his mouth was devouring her soft neck.

“Are you sure?” He whispered in her ear. Goosebumps traveled through her sides; she nodded.

“No, use your words. Come on”

The smallest “yes” came out of her lips. Remus knew he wouldn’t get anything clearer nor louder than that. Anchoring on her hips, he pushed her close to him and grabbed his cock to position it on her entrance.

Neither could keep a sigh of pleasure in at the first stretch. Remus thanked the Gods for her existence and her acknowledgment of his; never in his craziest dreams he thought he could be with someone like her. A long list was the one to enumerate all the ways she was perfect, far more noble and good than Remus; her pussy was in the top five.

He bottomed out and stayed still for a minute, letting her accommodate to his size. He inhaled the scent of her loose curls: fig and honey, his favorite. With a tortuous kiss on her cheek he started rocking inside of her. He held her between his hands like the fourth leaf of a clover, raising a hand to fondle her tits.

The witch could feel his love being poured in the swing of his hips. He was truly sorry (–or very drunk–), she knew, because this is what she had always asked of him and rarely received: to be a little vulnerable, to show her something more than a need to release. The way his breathing fell on her jaw, his arms surrounded her torso, his inhibited grunts matched the thumps… it was perfect, just not what she wanted now.

He treated her horribly hours before, denying her help with the upcoming full moon and talking to her like she was an ignorant idiot. He was so confusing: then, he wanted her far from his life, now, he was holding onto her with all the love and need. He was so mindful and delicate, his cock hit her spot over and over again and it felt so nice that she got mad. She wanted him to unload his frustrations on her, not protect her from already inflicted pain.

“Remus,” she used a hand to halt his movements behind her, “don’t be kind.”

Remus, who was drunk in pleasure, let go of wariness and the fear of hurting her and took a firm hold of the woman in front of him. His hips pounded in and out of Y/n taking the air out of her; he looked down and delighted himself with the view of her arched back and plump ass. Quickly, the slapping sound between the flesh was accompanied by a squelching one; Remus rolled his eyes and kissed the back of her head as she got wetter. The girl moaned his name like a prayer and stammered out scoldings and praises in an hushed erotic whisper.

He paused for a second to turn and lay down his witch on the edge of the mattress. He folded over her, keeping a steady, hard pace. His eyes looked for her, he was missing the connection, a glance to say there’s so many things that I feel that I can’t put words to, but she closed her eyes in feigned focus.

“Look at me,” he framed her face with his big hand. She turned a deaf ear and kept panting, concentrating on the pleasurable new angle.

“Come on,” nothing still. “You know, I–,” she squeezed him hard interrupting his sentence; the corners of her lips raised lightly. “I won’t let you come if you don’t look at me.”

Remus decreased his tempo, rolling his hips heavily against hers. Her eyebrows met and he knew he put her in trouble. A senseless murmur spilled from her throat in the sweetest tone, the werewolf almost melted. He rolled his pelvis closer knowing it would graze her clit and she immediately dug her red nails into his biceps; he smiled triumphant. Her moans increased and he watched her struggle to keep the composure, she needed permission to come.

Just like minutes before, her eyes opened painfully slow. This time, she was greeted by Remus’ glowing face, looking at her with serious devotion and the ghost of a grin. Behind him, an almost round, luminous circle peaked behind the window: the moon.

“Hey there–”

“Harder, please, I- I wanna come,” she begged breathless, dazed by his ministrations and the beautiful light behind his strong frame.

“Shh, don’t worry. I’ll let you come, sweetheart”

Remus increased the rhythm without taking his gaze off off her. She held his face between her hands and drew him closer to conceal her moans between his lips. Surrounding her legs against his torso Y/n asked if she could come and Remus replied with a simple “Yes, love, I’ve got you”. Immediately after, he came inside her with a groan, hiding his face in the gap between her shoulder and neck, her sweetest spot.

The clouds started weeping again, never covering the silver balloon, the protagonist of the night.

The moon looked at the girl laying sweaty on the bed. On top of her, Remus relished in the sole advantage of his condition: heightened feelings. He caressed her sides, looking to say I’m sorry, once again. She looked back at the moon and brought the werewolf to her lips for another round; tomorrow the man would be the moon’s, but tonight he was all hers.

[peachversace]

[ sfw ] — dad!bakugou ; bakugou katsuki x reader

The sight before you is almost too much for your heart to handle.

Your daughter, barely big enough to sit on her own without wobbling, is perched in the middle of the couch, her tiny hands resting on her chubby knees as she stares at the television with wide, unblinking eyes. Her mouth is slightly open in a perfect little ‘O’ shape, pure fascination written across her soft, round features. The flickering colors of the screen reflect in her curious gaze as the high-energy theme song of All Might: The Animated Adventures blasts through the speakers.

And right next to her, sitting in an eerily similar position, is Katsuki.

Your massive, intimidating husband—Pro Hero Dynamight himself—sits with his arms crossed, one ankle resting over his knee, eyes narrowed in deep concentration as he watches the cartoon just as intently as your daughter. His lips are pressed together in a thin line, his jaw clenched like he’s analyzing every frame, as if this children’s show is some kind of tactical training exercise. His red eyes gleam with an intensity that would make criminals tremble, but here? It’s just pure, unfiltered nerd energy.

The funniest part? They’re both completely serious about it.

Your daughter lets out an excited coo as the show picks up in action, her little hands clenching into fists as she bounces slightly in place. She babbles something incoherent, kicking her legs as she stares at the screen in awe.

And without missing a beat, Katsuki responds in a dead-serious tone, nodding slightly like he actually understands her, “Yeah, I know, kid. Next fight scene’s gonna be even cooler. I’ve watched this season, like, five fuckin’ times.”

You nearly choke on your laughter.

Katsuki doesn’t even glance your way; he’s too invested in the episode. His hand absentmindedly reaches out to rest on your daughter’s head, ruffling her soft hair as if she were one of his sidekicks, and she giggles in response, still glued to the screen. She looks so much like him in that moment—eyes blown wide, completely mesmerized by the action unfolding before her.

And really, it makes perfect sense. Of course she loves All Might cartoons. Of course she inherited her father’s nerdy obsession with heroes. She’s his daughter, through and through.

Your chest swells with warmth as you lean against the doorway, watching the two of them in their own little world.

“You two are ridiculous,” you tease, folding your arms as you shake your head.

Katsuki finally tears his eyes from the screen, tilting his head just enough to glare at you, though there’s no real heat behind it. “What’s ridiculous is that you ain’t joinin’ us.” He jerks his chin toward the couch, a wordless demand for you to come sit with them. “You know this shit’s good.”

Your daughter lets out another enthusiastic babble, waving her arms wildly, as if she’s backing him up.

You huff out a soft laugh, but there’s no resisting them—not when they both look so damn cute. You cross the room and plop down beside them, and the moment you do, Katsuki grumbles something under his breath before reaching over and yanking you closer, pulling you against his side with one strong arm.

“There,” he mutters gruffly. “Now we’re all watchin’ together.”

His hand stays firm on your thigh, thumb absentmindedly rubbing slow circles into your skin. It’s second nature for him—always touching, always holding, always pulling you close.

Your daughter claps her hands, seemingly thrilled by the turn of events, and then immediately turns her attention back to the screen as the fight scene begins.

And for the next few minutes, the living room is filled with nothing but the sound of over-the-top battle cries, explosions (animated ones, for once), and dramatic background music.

Katsuki grunts approvingly as the hero on screen lands a well-animated punch. Your daughter squeals in delight.

You can’t help but smile.

They really are your cute little nerds.

[burningembers91]

The Shape of You - Park Gyeong-Seok x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Follow up piece to

Loving You From Afar

Synopsis: When babysitting Na-Yeon, you discover one of Park Gyeong-Seok’s secrets.

You were looking after Na-Yeon when you found the drawings. One of her Barbie’s shoes had fallen down the side of the sofa, and as you leaned down to retrieve it, you felt the wads of paper stuff between the sofa and wall. Pulling them onto your lap, you were shocked to see at least a dozen drawings and paintings of you. There were ones of your whole body, ones of just your face, ones where you were laughing, and one where you were staring off into the distance. You had no idea Gyeong-Seok had been drawing you, had no idea why he’d kept these hidden. You’d never thought of yourself as particularly beautiful and yet he’d managed to capture you in the most stunning light. He was out until late evening, taking on some extra work as an art teacher in a local night school, but you needed to find out why he drawn you so many times and then hidden them away.

You fed Na-Yeon and read her to sleep, before settling back on the sofa with the pictures. Gyeong-Seok had captured you so perfectly, had painted you in a light you’d never seen yourself in. you couldn’t stop looking at the images in front of you, wondering if this was how he saw you. You so looked so confident, so sure of yourself and so naturally beautiful. You tried comparing your reflection to the drawing but somehow, Gyeong-Seok had managed to capture you better than a mirror ever could.

The TV was down low when he arrived home. He’d has such a great evening, and there had even been talk of giving him a more permanent position. It would mean more money for him and Na-Yeon, more money to maybe finally take you out on a date. He stopped dead when he saw you, still clutching the drawings he thought he’d hidden so carefully.

“I…” He stood dumbstruck as you held them up to him.

“These are really good,” you smiled. “I had no idea.”

“I…” Again, Gyeong-Seok seemed unable to form words, the embarrassment creeping up his face like a red-hot poker. You weren’t meant to see those drawings; he never should have made them.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, “I look… you’ve made me look more beautiful than I’ve ever felt before.”

“I was just painting you how I see you,” he shrugged, shifting his bag from his shoulder to the rickety kitchen table.

“But I look so beautiful,” you whispered, still unable to believe that you were the person depicted on the pages.

“Well,” he said quietly, so quietly you barely heard him. “It’s because you are. You are beautiful.”

You both stood staring at each other, both wondering what came next. He wanted to kiss you so badly, to show you that you were so much more beautiful than you ever gave yourself credit for. You both slowly closed the gap between you, the air buzzing with the growing tension.

“Say it again,” you whispered, your eyes fixed on him.

“You are beautiful,” he replied. “And funny, and kind, and so good to me and Na-Yeon.”

You were mere inches apart now, your faces so close he could see the specks of colour dotted in your irises. “You are so beautiful,” he repeated, his hand coming to rest gingerly on your cheek.

His lips met yours, soft and sweet, both of you testing the water. This felt so good, so right, and neither of you could believe you’d denied yourselves this happiness for so long. His fingers caressed your neck, your arms entwining round his waist as you deepened the kiss, the tips of your tongues meeting as you explored one another. Gyeong-Seok wanted you, needed you. He needed to feel every inch of your skin, needed to hear you moan his name as he fucked you. He led you gently to his threadbare sofa, never once breaking your kiss. But it was you who gently pushed him down into the pillows. It was you who straddled him, removing his checkered shirt as your lips traced the sweet contours of his neck. You’d thought about fucking him right here on this very sofa more times that you could count. Gyeong-Seok had so much pent-up stress inside of him, and you were dying to release it. There would be time to explore each other properly; right now, you both just needed to quell the deep aches between your legs.

Pushing him down further into the cushions, you removed his faded grey t-shirt, giggling quietly as he helped remove your sweater. You looked so perfect in the dim light of the TV, your curves more perfect than he ever could have imagined. His torso was toned, his arms surprisingly strong as he manoeuvred your body on top of his. He heard the sound of his jeans unzipping, felt your hand dip into his underwear and gently grip his cock. He had to clamp his hand over his mouth to supress the moan that fell from his lips. It had been so long since anyone had touched him like this, and he’d forgotten how good it felt. You bit back another giggle, hopping off the sofa to fully remove his jeans. As you pulled down your skirt and underwear, Gyeong-Seok looked up at you from his reclined position on the sofa. Reaching his hand up, his slid his fingers ever so gently through your slick folds. Now it was your turn to supress a moan as he slipped two fingers inside you. You were so wet, so perfect and he smiled as you shivered against his touch. You couldn’t bare it any longer; you needed each other.

You climbed on top of him, lowering yourself down on his hard cock, your lips meeting in a crashing kiss as you desperately sought to subdue your moans. You moved against each other, Gyeong-Seok’s hips thrusting into you in the sweetest of rhythms. His hands traced your stomach, your breasts, his fingers tracing delicate circles over your flushed skin. he felt you shudder against him as you reached your peak, your teeth grazing his lower lip in quiet ecstasy. He wasn’t far behind you, his hands gripping your hips as he spilled himself inside of you.

you stayed with him that night, cuddled up on the sofa bed with the threadbare fabric and the broken springs. Gyeong-Seok held you as you slept, the scent of your perfume already staining his sheets. Tomorrow, he would ask you out for that cup of coffee. Tomorrow, he would finally ask out the girl he’d fallen in love with.

[tokkiwrites]

𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑾𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒔 | oldman!logan × f!reader

𝒯okkis holiday extravaganza. [results from this post]

tags ♰ smut, pwp, some fluff, established relationship, logan is in love, unspecified age gap, afab reader, unprotected p in v.

▪︎ you asked for sex by the fire with old man logan and i delivered !! It's pretty short and not my best piece, but i have been working on other requests as well, so this is my early holiday gift for you all ! not proofread, so if you see any mistakes, just close your eyes. okay ily!!!!

The wind carried the song of winter through the pines, its breath sharp and alive, threading between branches bowed low beneath the weight of snow. The world outside the cabin was a landscape muted to perfection, softened by frost and silence. Snowflakes brushed the glass panes like hesitant fingers, melting against the faint glow of firelight that escaped into the darkened woods.

Inside, Logan bent over the hearth, striking a match with ease. The sulfur flared briefly in the shadows before catching on the kindling. He coaxed the flame, his breath steady, the faint crackle of wood splitting in the heat breaking the stillness. Firelight gilded his features. weathered, rugged, but softened now by the quiet you two had.

As the flames grew, filling the room with flickering light and a spreading heat, Logan straightened, brushing ash from his hands. His gaze drifted toward the small signs of your presence scattered through the room: the scarf you had left draped over the armchair, its wool bright against the aged wood; your coat hanging next to his, the faintest imprint of your shape still lingering in its folds. By the sink, two mismatched mugs stood side by side, their rims chipped but perfect in their imperfection.

“Fire’s goin’, angelcakes,” he called, voice rough. “Should take the chill off soon enough.” In the kitchen, you paused, a knife poised over an orange. The blade caught the light as you sliced it into thin, translucent rounds, releasing a burst of citrus into the air. Cinnamon sticks and cloves bobbed lazily in the pot of wine warming on the stove, their aromas weaving a fragrant dance that curled into every corner of the cabin. You glanced toward the window, watching the snow swirl against the glass, your cheeks pink from the stove’s heat.

Logan’s boots creaked on the wooden floor, a familiar sound that drew your attention just as his arms encircled your waist. His embrace was warm and solid, the weight of his chin resting lightly on your shoulder as he pulled you against him. His voice rumbled low, a gentle vibration you felt more than heard. “You keep makin’ the place feel like home, plumcheeks. I’m gonna start thinkin’ I don’t deserve it.” You smiled, tilting your head to brush against his. “Don’t be ridiculous, realx” you murmured, your tone teasing but firm. “You earned every bit of this. Plus, you did lot's todayㅡ the firewood, the shoveling, all of it. I saw that pile you chopped this morning. You could keep us warm till spring.”

He chuckled, the sound rich, unhurried. “All in a day’s work, darlin’." He nodded toward the stove, his beard grazing your neck as he spoke. “Smells like you poured your heart into it.”

“And what if I did?” you asked, turning just enough to meet his eyes. They were unguarded, their depths reflecting the firelight. “Then I’m the luckiest bastard alive,” he said simply, voice grounding the moment. Your laugh was soft, the kind that warmed him more than the fire ever could. “If that’s the case, old man, why don’t you prove it by pouring us some?”

He grunted in playful protest but didn’t let you go right away. Instead, he lingered, pressing a kiss to your temple before moving to fetch the mugs. He filled them with care, the red liquid steaming upward, before gesturing you toward the fireplace.

The two of you settled onto the thick rug in front of the fire, its padded surface a welcome cushion against the floor’s cold. Logan pulled you close, his arm draped around your shoulders as you tucked yourself into his side. The fire crackled softly, its light painting shifting patterns on the cabin walls, while outside, the snow continued its silent descent.

Logan stared into the flames for a long moment, his expression pensive. Then, his voice came, quieter now, almost as if he were speaking to the fire rather than you. “You know, I spent most of my life thinkin’ this kind of thing wasn’t for me. The quiet, i mean. Someone like you, who’d put up with a man like me. Figured I’d just keep on movin’, never settlin’...never havin’ this.” His hand found yours where it rested on his chest, his thumb tracing slow circles over your knuckles. “But here I am. And it don’t feel like somethin’ I earned. Feels like a damn miracle.” You tilted your head to look at him, your gaze soft as you searched his face. “You earned it, Logan,” you said, your voice steady. “You earned every piece of this. And if it’s a miracle, wellㅡ then I’m glad to share it with you.”

His lips quirked into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite mask the emotion in his eyes. “I love you, plumcheeks,” he said, unshakable. “Don’t think I say it enough, but I do. With everything I got.” You leaned up, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, your hand coming to rest against his cheek. “I know,” you whispered. “I love you. Always.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the crackling of the fire and the muffled whisper of snow against the window were the only things accompanying your ragged breathing. Logan tightened his hold on you, as if anchoring himself in the warmth of your presence. the world felt perfectly whole—fragile, fleeting, and utterly, beautifully yours. and you were beautiful, like this, right now. his.

without hesitating, Logan leans in, capturing your lips into a kiss. The kiss was slow, like he was savoring every second of it, every taste and feeling as if it might disappear the moment he let go. His hand cupped your cheek, rough and warm, grounding you even as the world seemed to tilt beneath you.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the tiny space between you. He looked at you, and in the firelight, his eyes held a quiet kind of intensity, the kind that spoke louder than any words could.

“You have no idea what you do to me, baby" he murmured, voice low and husky, a hint of wonder slipping through his usual confidence. Your lips parted, but no words came. What could you possibly say to that? Instead, you reached up, brushing a strand of his hair back, your fingers lingering against his temple. He leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut for the briefest moment. "Fuck me, Logan." you say before thinking too much. His breath hitched, just for a moment, before he let out a soft laugh that sounded almost disbelieving. “You’re not even going to make me work for it?”

“Maybe next time,” you teased, your fingers tracing a lazy path along his jaw. “Tonight, I just need you like this. right now." he laughs again. "whatever the princess wants..." Logan’s fingers trailed idly up and down your back, and you let your eyes drift shut, leaning closer into his touch. the smell of cinnamon clung to your hair.

He throws his lips at your neck, your soft whimpers filling the cabin. Logan wastes no time and pulls the blouse you were waiting over your head, the warmth of the fire kissing your exposed skin immediately. He was staring at you as if it was the first time he'd seen you like this. "My gorgeous girl..." With one hand he caresses the top of your head as his lips trail down to your collarbone. His other hand pulled down your pajama shorts along with your panties just enough so he could see your core. 

He could see it your eyes. You were impatient, the way you gasped at the smallest touch he lays upon your burning skin. Logan smiles down on you as he hurriedly discards the clothes he has on, and for a moment he stands like that. "Logan.." you whine, and he can only chuckle. "You're just so cute when you're desperate." he settles back down besides you, his strong arm wrapping aroun you, pulling you on top of his bare lap. You shudder once you feel his hardened shaft between your puffy lips, and you look up at him like a guilty kid that's made a mess. "Quit it." but you tilt your head. "What?"

"Quit starin' at me that way unless you want a baby in ya." that doesn't sound so bad though. You kiss him. Hungry. His calloused palms settle onto your hips and he groans when you start rolling, the friction making his swollen tip to drip more precum. "C'mon..." you plead. Was it the wine? The fire? Or was Logan utterly too perfect to ever let go? Maybe all three. "Up." he speaks softly, making you rise yourself a little, enough so he can grab his manhood and align it with your fluttering entrance.

Logan smiled as his cock was sliding into your pussy “big stretchㅡ look at you taking it,” he muttered, his right hand rubbing circles on your clit as he began to thrust. He stilled for a moment enjoying how perfect this moment was. Your chest heaving heavily as you peered at him with glazed eyes, the fire wrapped around you in a red and orange blanket. This was perfect. You were perfect.

He lets you adjust before rising his hips, making you bounce in response. he laughs somberly before plunging straight into you. your tongue luls out, tears on the brink of your eyes as you cand only squeal out pathetic moans and incoherent pleads. "shit.. squeezing me so good, baby."

and he goes at you, diving deeper and deeper with each hit of his hips, one palm holding your hip and one pressing down onto your tummy "like that?" you can't hear him, you barely make out his words; your eyes roll back and your spine stays arched as he plummets into your cunt. "I think yes." Logan snickers, feeling your walls squeeze around him as he takes one of your palms and places it right on top of your belly too. "feel." and, god, you feel. his cock reaches so far into you it bulges through your pelvis. you feel it and you're jelly all over again.

he takes both his palms and digs his nails into the plush of your hips, hit after hit sending you deeper into oblivionㅡ and you can only moan and cry as you feel your orgasm approaching. desperately, you clench around his cock. "wanna come, baby? tell me." he's stern and rough with his request. "y-yes, plea-se..." you don't know if you're crying because you feel too good or because of how desperately you need to come. your legs could barely hold you on top of him anymore, which didn't really matter since Logan fucked up into you just fine.

"come then, baby." you writhe as the knots in your core begin to untie, shaking on top of him. it hits you like a wave of warmth and frost all at once and it doesn't take long for him to reach his limit as well.

"need'a come, baby. where, tell me where baby?" You feel him so deep, you're drunk on him, vision blurry and mind fogged up, you can faintly feel the warmth of the fire behind you. you usually don't say this. "Inside, please.." You beg, and you don't wait more than two seconds for Logan to spill his warm seed into you. your knees finally give out, and you falter onto his chest. "Did so good, baby." he kisses the crown of your head, and you smile stupidly, rolling your hips against his. you weren't stopping until that fire gave out.

[inky-duchess]

World-Building Guide to Deserts

A desert is a vast biome that is known for its extreme temperature. Deserts can either run hot or cold and are usually difficult to inhabit. But deserts are harsh places but they are visually stunning and make for an impressive backdrop to any story.

What is it like in the Desert?

Like I said, deserts are hot or cold. The temperatures are extreme which limits the amount of vegetation which in turn limits the coverage one can get in a desert, leaving the area very exposed to the elements. Rainfall is limited, well below average which means only very durable vegetation and wildlife can survive. It is a harsh landscape but it has its own beauty. The desert can often be very quiet with the limited wildlife and people around.

Hot Deserts

Features of Hot Deserts

Sand Dunes: These are hills made of sand, shaped by the extreme winds.

Plateaus: These are flat areas, usually of rock that have very little vegetation or cover.

Salt Flats: Large areas of salt deposits

Playa Lakes: Temporary lakes that appear during heavy rainfall

Oases: Small areas within the desert that have fertile soil and flourish with vegetation due to a water source.

Canyons: Are deep valleys of rock formed from rivers long dried up or greatly reduced.

Sedimentary Layering: Striped rock that shows off the different layers of rock giving the desert a striped appearance.

Mesas: A mesa is flat elevation of steep sides.

Inselbergs: Isolated rock formations that jut up from the desert floor, formed out of soft rock.

Yardangs: Ridges of rock formed by wind erosion

Mushroom Rocks: Pillars of rock formed over time with bigger heads than their bases

Rocks Commonly Found in Hot Deserts

Quartz: Clear/white/pink and usually smoky or clouded. Quartz feels very smooth like glass and may look like crystal.

Sandstone: Tan/red/yellow/brown-ish in colour. Made of compacted sand, it feels very coarse.

Limestone: Grey/white. Rough to touch and often featuring fossils.

Gypsum: White/Clear/Pink/Grey. Soft with chalk-like texture.

Salt Crystals: White/Clear. Crystal-like.

Meteorites: Often found in deserts. Usually black/grey. Can be both rough or smooth to touch.

Common Plants in Deserts

Prickly Pear Cactus: Greed, waxy pad-like cacti with spins. They grow red/yellow fruit that are edible.

Mesquite Trees: Small twisting trees. The pods are edible.

Agave: A thick-leafed succulent, shaped like a rose full of nectar and water.

Oleander: A shrub with pink or white flowers. Not edible, poisonous.

Chia Seeds: Tiny seeds that are edible.

Date Palms: Tall with long sweeping fronds. The dates are edible.

Jojoba: A shrub that's seeds are edible.

Desert Mallow: Flowering plant of pink blossoms. The leaves and flowers are edible.

Peyote: Small round cactus. Do not eat.

Creosote Bush: A shrub with waxy leaves that can be eaten.

Common Wildlife in a Hot Desert

Snakes

Small rodents

Foxes

Raptors (the birds of prey not the fun kind)

Beetles

Scorpions

Locusts

Coyotes

Camels

Lizards

Tortoises

Surviving a Hot Desert

Shelter: It is imperative to stay out of the direct sun if possible to conserve energy.

Keep an eye out: In the shade, there are other creatures who want to get out of the sun. Venomous snakes, scorpions and other critters could be lying in wait so it is best to make sure your shelter isn't already occupied.

Travel: Moving when it is sunrise or sunset or night is best as it isn't as hot and you waste less energy.

Water: Limit water intake in case your character doesn't reach a water source soon. If there are cactus around, your character may find water within it.

Know your plants: Your character might feel the urge to eat any vegetation they come across if they are hungry and weary. There are edible plants in the desert but there are also poison ones. Your character shouldn't eat any strange plant without knowing what it is.

Getting help: Signalling using something reflective or creating a large symbol might signal for help from above.

Clothes: A character should remember that the desert is hot and dress accordingly. Light, loose clothing is best but the nights in a desert are extremely cold. If your character is modifying their clothes, make sure they remember this.

Cold Deserts

Features of Cold Deserts

Ice Sheets: Unbroken sheets of permanent ice.

Glaciers: Immense sheets of moving ice.

Permafrost: The ground that remains frozen all year round. It is barren and nothing can grow here.

Icebergs: Vast lumps of ice that break off from larger sheets of ice to float in the ocean (and kill Leonardo DiCaprio)

Rocky Outcrops: Exposed rock formations.

Crevasses: Deep cracks in ice sheets and glaciers, very dangerous.

Seracs: Ice formations created where multiple crevasses meet.

Erratics: Large rocks deposited by glaciers seemingly in the middle of nowhere.

Rocks Commonly found in Ice Deserts

Basalt: Grey/Black. Smooth.

Granite: Grey/Pink/White. Coarse to the touch.

Shale: Grey/Black. Smooth and brittle.

Gneiss: Striped with greys/pinks/white. Rough texture.

Schist: Silvery-green. Flaky and layered.

Till: Of many colours. Rough.

Common Vegetation found in Ice Deserts

Lichens: Crusty spots that grow on ice and rocks. Can be edible.

Mosses: Soft green plants that grow in the damp. Some kinds are ok to eat.

Arctic Willow: A shrub. Edible.

Saxifrages: Flowering plants growing in rocky areas. Some are edible.

Bearberry: A shrub. The berries are edible.

Grasses: Grow in tundra areas. Edible.

Wildlife Commonly Found in the Ice Desert

Bears

Foxes

Wolves

Deer

Elk

Walrus

Moose

Reindeer

Seals

Whales

Ice worms (the spice must flow....)

Rodents

Surviving in an Ice Desert

Clothing: Wearing layers is crucial. Base layer, insulation and a waterproof layer. Boots and gloves are a must. But you should dress to be sweating, it is a waste of energy. Stay dry always.

Shelter: You can find or build shelter, especially if the winds are high. If sleeping on the ground, use insulation.

Food/Water: Melting snow and ice is fine, eating snow is bad because it will lower your core temp. The best food to eat in this weather is high in fat to keep your body working to keep warm.

Keeping an eye out: Ice fields can break apart easily, crevasses are lethal.

Flag for help if lost: Flares or fires can attract help so always carry something to spark up a flame or two.

[cherrychilli]

18+ Steve Harrington x F! reader, established relationship, cockwarming WC:1K

A/N: Will I ever tire of writing about cockwarming Steve? big fat fucking nope. Enjoy!

By the fourth time you walk up to his home office with your teeth clenching the inside of your cheek and your thighs warm from pressing together so often, you know for certain that you wouldn't be able to peel yourself away this time.

On days when Steve worked from home you usually tried not to intrude until he was finished with his work. You always left him to type and scroll and click without distraction but you're forced to break your little rule today, reminded that some urges are just too strong to quell when the throbbing between your legs refuses to yield.

He's yet to notice you watching him from the doorway as he types, quietly taking in the way he's concentrating on his tasks. The light from the monitor reflects off the lenses of his glasses, the same ones he'd once grumbled about having to wear when the Doctor recommended them at his last check up.

He only warmed up to them after all the times you slipped in little comments about how handsome he looked in them. Even now when the woody hazel of his eyes are veiled with a sheen of blues and purples and his hair, now dry from his morning shower and uncombed, hangs over his forehead instead of pushed back like usual.

Stepping inside, you pad over on bare feet, your footsteps muted by the soft carpet beneath your soles as you approach him silently. It's only when your shadow stretches over his keyboard that Steve realizes you've come in, turning away from the computer screen to give you his attention.

"Hey sweet thing", he greets with a smile, lazy but full of warmth.

You try to match it with one of your own though you realize you've already given yourself away when a look of concern overtakes Steve's face, noticing the furrowing of your brow and the soft pout of your lips as he reaches out to take your hand.

"Everything alright?", he swivels his chair round to face you, meeting your stare with his wide, attentive eyes.

"Just wondering if you'll be done soon", you try to keep your tone steady but your voice wavers towards the end, bleeding into a slight whine that he catches easily.

"Gonna be another hour", he tells you with soft, kind eyes and a gentle squeeze of your hand. "What's got you so worked up?"

The question, though expected, leaves you feeling a little frazzled. You can't deny how tightly wound you've become over the last couple of hours just from imagining all the things you'd like for Steve to do to you, a potent mix of tension and yearning gnawing at you from within your belly, your whole body begging for a kind of relief only Steve can provide you.

"I miss you", you reply earnestly before your voice drops into a pointed whisper. "Wanna be close to you".

The way Steve's eyes light up from behind his glasses makes you feel hopeful, happy to see him appear so eager because you know he's caught on now.

"Yeah?" he pulls you closer to stand between his spread legs, lips picking up into a grin. "Feeling needy, huh?"

You're not embarrassed to admit it, leaning in closer to Steve, your lips brushing the shell of his ear, inhaling the lingering scent of the mango shampoo and body wash you both share.

" 's all wet down there. Feels so empty Stevie", you whisper, making sure to flick your tongue over his lobe before you pull away and look at him longingly.

You find him looking more than a little pleased. "Show me", he orders you gently, his gaze following your hands as you curl your fingers around the hem of your dress, lifting it up to let him see underneath.

Your panties are simple, standard white cotton but thin enough that he can easily make up the shape of your pussy underneath, the fabric swallowed up slightly between your folds while the near translucent patch of cotton where your slick had gathered is damp to the touch when he extends a hand to cup you gently.

"Poor baby. Need me to fill you up?", he pouts playfully at you.

You nod, letting out a shaky sigh as he pulls your panties aside, unsticking the wet cotton from your weeping core, lightly brushing his fingers through the hair on your mound before beginning to rub circles over the firm bead of your clit.

"You gonna be good for me and stay still till I finish my work?", he asks next, leaning forward to press a quick kiss just above your clit.

"Yes", you nearly squeak, his fingers closing around your clit to pinch it softly, rolling the sensitive pearl between his thumb and forefinger.

"Come here then", he grins.

Elated, you let your skirt drop, reaching under it to pull your panties down past your knees and step out of them when they pool around your ankles, letting the undergarment rest on the floor to be picked up later.

Steve gets himself ready too, pulling his jeans and boxers down to his ankles with ease, his cock still mostly soft but starting to harden as you move to straddle his thighs first.

You start by licking your palm, both of your eyes fixed on the way you wrap your wet fingers around his length and begin to stroke him until he firms up completely in your hand.

"Can I? please?", you look to Steve, your breathing almost labored because of how close you are to what you've been craving all day.

"Yeah, go on sweetheart", he replies, cradling your cheek and pulling you in for a kiss before you balance yourself of your knees, hands on his shoulders and with Steve's hands secure on your hips to help keep you steady.

Aligning your entrance with the tip of his cock, your skirt fans out around you, feeling Steve's tip press past your folds and bump your hole. You're able to have him push through with a little effort, popping inside and easing the rest of him inside you while you sink down inch by inch, swallowing his length as your walls keep a tight grip on him down to his base, your built up arousal leaking all around him.

"Thank you, Steve", you sigh blissfully, so relieved to be full, no longer battling that ache that'd formed when you were empty.

"That's my girl. Sure you can hang on till I finish this up?", he rubs a hand down your back to soothe you while you hook your chin over his shoulder, humming back contently.

He pats you lightly on the ass, a soft chuckle making his chest rumble against yours. "Good. And don't get too comfortable, okay? I'm not even close to being done with you yet".

[dreadark]

so why is Luka obsessed with Hyuna anyway?

(mostly just trying to get my thoughts on Luka down before blink gone rewires my brain)

every pet human is extremely limited in freedom, but Luka's case is definitely the worst literally even his birth was by Heperu's design... he can't control any aspect of his own life, from his participation of ALNST (twice!) to what he eats on a daily basis

*translations all by whatafruit

humans have no power over segyein, and Luka doesn't even have any power over own his own body so what can he have power over, then?

other humans, of course

most obvious in round 5: Luka would've had an easy win even if he barely tried, but he goes out of his way to provoke Mizi anyway until she finally snaps... and he smiles as he's beaten

because this is his "power." he successfully manipulated Mizi into reacting, proving he has some control over the situation no matter how pointless it is in the grand scheme of things, this is all he can influence, so he makes the absolute most of it and this control is so important to him he doesn't care about his own physical injuries

it's Hyuna talking in this comic, but clearly reflecting Luka's own mentality

while for Hyuna it's likely just her love for singing and performing (whatever happens, they can't take this away from her) for Luka I imagine it's the ability to influence others from the stage (crushing his opponents, but also shaping his fanbase?)

...so back to Luka -> Hyuna

it’s mentioned more than a few times that Hyuna’s a really talented performer, but seeing their respective stat pages really drives it in

(think the “superiority test” Hyuna was put through relates to this also)

Hyuna doesn't seem to have been created in any special way like Luka was… she just has a natural affinity to performing. and that's enough that she’s considered a real rival to Luka—Luka, who was literally made for this, and put through constant hellish training on top (the pain of having your heart stopped...) to mold him into the perfect idol

to Luka… if he can’t dominate Hyuna, he can't even take pride in his own ability (that everything he's forced to go through amounts to something?). and power over other humans is all he has, so he needs to overpower Hyuna (also he likely admires Hyuna’s talents at the same time, which just adds to his twisted feelings)

so since his ability isn't enough... by making someone think of you, only you… that’s another way of having power over someone, isn’t it

“your life is mine” “I told you I only wanted one thing”

whatever exactly happened with Hyunwoo… well that certainly worked. both removing Hyuna's most important person and making Luka someone she can't not think of (oh and he doesn't seem particularly interested in Hyunwoo despite how similar the siblings are in personality? Hyunwoo was even the first to approach Luka, not Hyuna so it's likely because he doesn't have his sister's talents)

but you know how his intimacy(?) value for her is only 70% I figure that's because she escaped, so they could never actually face off onstage... maybe he's disappointed in her "wasting" her ability

what all this amounts to is that she did end up escaping his control, and he never even got to compete against her. so until he can somehow completely overpower her, he'll be obsessed with her

I wonder if this represents his final effort to that... ultimately, he values control over his own well-being, so if he can goad Hyuna into killing him, then doesn't that cement his power over her?

and maybe "saves" him from this hellish life too

kind of a tangent, but I really like how their designs contrast this dynamic Luka looks really angelic and androgynous, so from appearance he seems fragile and like someone to be protected (which even Hyuna seemed to be tricked by when they were younger) and Hyuna obviously looks the stronger one in comparison (very #girlboss (lol...))

but their relationship is one where Luka's trying to control her and Hyuna's trying to escape it... that "beautiful lady" line of ruler of my heart always felt somewhat uncomfortable, and then learning it's actually pitiful (가련한) instead of beautiful is... ...it's a very gendered dynamic, if you get what I mean. despite their surface-level appearances going against what's considered typical

[bonefall]

Hey, I saw your post about Holstein cows and your knowledge about cows seems enciclopedical for someone who doesn't know shit about them like me. I was kind of wondering if you have an opinion about nelore cows. They are the most popular breed in my country, and I wanted to know more about them👉🏻👈🏻

YOU 🫵 are going to BRAZIL 🇧🇷

The Nelore is an absolutely outstanding cow. Able to withstand extreme heat, thick-skinned and insect resistant, intelligent yet easy to handle, it's hard to find a better beef breed for a humid, tropical environment.

Naturally, it's become popular all across South America, but the Nelore is the pride and joy of Brazil. Bred from a breed of zebuine cattle called the Ongole, the quality of the Nelore is what makes Brazil SUCH a powerhouse in meat production, globally. In fact, they've been the NUMBER ONE exporter of beef several years in a row!

Bask in the shape of this beautiful woman.

You'll probably first be drawn to the elegant dewlap and folds. This is how the cow manages to be so tolerant of high heat; lots of skin and lots of pores makes for more surface area to cool down quickly! Even her coloration helps-- white fur reflects the sun, but black skin underneath protects her from the rays that aren't.

If you're a bit more discerning, you might also be noticing her sculpted muscles, long legs, and humble udder. Nelore are bred to be healthy and athletic above all. They can survive just fine in a pasture year-round, very rarely needing medical care-- especially not when it comes to the care of their calves!

The Texas Longhorn (a breed which was developed in feral conditions) has an unassisted calving rate of 86%. The Nelore is 95%!

Lastly... do you see those bulges on the hump and on the rump? Those make for wonderful cuts of beef; Cupim and Picanha. Cupim is unique to Brazilian cuisine, but Picanha is sometimes called sirloin cap or rump cap in English.

I also really like the fact that sometimes they have gray bag markings under their eyes, so they look kinda like tired, wrinkly grandmas.

This is Yzma, to me.

As even better news, there's been a ton of progress in terms of lessening the ecological impact of cattle grazing since Lula unseated the weird fascist whose face I don't respect. Brazil produces a downright staggering amount of beef (only slightly less than the entire USA!) on a decreasing amount of land, swapping over to a HIGHLY efficient form of sustainable farming called ICLF, or Integrated Crop-Livestock-Forestry.

It's really inspiring, if you'd like to read about people doing good things in these troubled times.

If I have any beef with Nelores, it's simply that I do also wish for there to be more room for heritage breeds like the Indu-Brasil... but also, it's hard to condemn actual efficiency and real results, unlike the horror show that's going on with Holsteins. Nelores are a fantastic breed of wonderful, happy animals with very few problems. I must love them.

...just please appreciate this droopy thing too. Bloodhound ass Snoopy cow. my heart would break if we lost the Indu-Brasil </3

[mullermilkshake]

A recipe for... something.

Part 15 <- Part 16 -> Part 17

Making dinner for four shouldn't be this emotional.

Yandere!Jinwoo Sung x Fem Hunter!reader Tags - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, References to prenatal depression, Anxiety, Body effects to pregnancy, Smut, NSFW, Vaginal fingering, Cunnilingus, Smut in the shower,

<<< For more Dark/Yandere content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

<<< Or back to this fic's Master list. >>>

I have only watched the anime and haven't gotten round to reading the manhwa yet. Please refrain from spoilers.

TAG LIST REOPENED -> ONE SPACE LEFT

DISCLAIMER - I am a writer who likes to push the boundaries in my writing when it comes to realism, the amount of research I do for the things that I write doesn't even scratch the surface, but it's real, and can be triggering for some. The tag for Prenatal depression is only scratching the surface of the ideas that I have. This is why my works are usually DDDNE, so going forward, please make sure you're reading the tags.

PSA over - enjoy!

“Okay… So when do I add the green onions?”

You could cook just fine, but a meal for the Chairman was something else entirely.

“Right at the end or they’ll wilt otherwise. Add the sauce halfway in and the sesame seeds last.” 

Jinwoo’s mom had been a bigger help than ever. After meeting her for the first time, though it didn’t go too well, but she was smitten with you according to Jinwoo. Every so often, you called her, like little catch up sessions until you were comfortable going to see her on your own.

Despite His mother and Jinah finding out about the engagement on television, they were both quite accepting. More so than yourself, and you were the one engaged. Jinah called Jinwoo in the morning, saying all sorts over the phone that Jinwoo just chuckled at and reassured her.

Then came the scream down the phone line for congratulations.

“Okay.” You made notes, writing them down quickly and messily before Jinwoo got home with your grocery list. “So, I cook the meat on medium, for…”

“Three hours, dear. It’ll make it tender but lets it keep its shape.” 

“Right.”

She called your name sweetly. "You’ll do just fine. Jinwoo will be with you, anything you need, you know he’ll get it for you. He’ll take good care of you.” 

“I know. He’s been really good to me… Mom.”

You’d never get used to addressing her as ‘mom’. The thought never crossed your mind, ever. She was to be your mother-in-law, Jinah, your sister-in-law.

It’s all happening so quickly. 

You’d catch a shimmer of the moonstone on your finger from a light source, like your own personal reflective surface and stand there thinking what the hell kind of direction has my life gone in? 

Pregnant with twins, engaged and living with a man you were still coming to terms with and whether a relationship was something you really could afford to bet on.

“He’s a good boy, he always was. Though if anything changes, you’ll let me know, won’t you?” 

Jinwoo was an incredibly successful hunter, strong, kind, it was almost like he had no bad bone in his body. He could support you and the babies on his own, he made it clear despite your protests.

It was just that his overprotectiveness was suffocating.

You put this down to your pregnancy hormones, they way the twins made you so uncomfortable after sitting on your bladder or fluttered about so much it made you vomit.

“Yeah, of course.” You blinked away tears you didn’t know existed, sniffling away the sudden wave of sadness from your throat. “Of course I will. Look, I need to go, Jinwoo will be back soon and I need to prep the kitchen. Thank you for the advice, I’ll call soon.”

The longer his mom sat on the line for, the quicker the tears turned into a twisted stomach. Working yourself up for nothing made the sensation pulse like it was alive and ready to strangle you.

“Okay then, dear. I hope the night goes well! I’ll call tomorrow."

“Bye.”

You raced to put the phone down, bricking it to the bathroom as fast as your legs could carry you, cautiously holding your belly to stop it from jiggling.

“Sorry babies-” That’s when you threw up, mid sentence, head in the toilet bowl like you were searching for gold.

Eye’s handmaiden appeared so much that it was practically visible twenty four seven, it never left its usual posture tucked away in the corner. You were always in pain with something or other, and even then, it wasn’t as effective anymore.

The twins really were draining your mana, your energy, your life force. It was hard to see them as babies sometimes and not two little extraterrestrial beings using your body to incubate themselves so that they could return back to their home planet.

Maybe baby aliens aren't so unbelievable? Look at Jinwoo, he’s on another level than any of us in South Korea. 

He’d definitely make a great father, even while vomiting and listening to the most attractive echoes of retching while gasping for breath, you could see the wood for the trees. It was just the thought of doing something so impressive, raising two little people to be functional adults sat shivering in the back recess of your brain just out of reach.

Were you being maternal? The advertisements and shows never did it justice or presented any other alternative to being extraordinarily happy and glowing. Because you weren’t. Your skin paled more than anything, and you didn’t know what to think or when to think it, sailing by and holding out on that poorly crafted life raft.

When they’re here, things will be different. 

That didn't go to say that you weren’t getting little bursts of the maternal side Jinwoo’s mother told you about over the phone. Now, it was definitely there, and you knew that these babies were yours. You were making them yourself in your own body, but this feeling wasn’t constant, it flickered on and off like a candlelit room.

One moment, you would cling to that glow for warmth knowing soon you’d hear their little voices, getting fiercely protective over two little blanket wrapped babies that couldn’t protect themselves. Then, in another, you just wanted your body back, so much it would bring you to tears and the idea of asking for the association's help looked more tantalising by the minute.

The whole idea made your stomach churn, because what side would win when the babies arrived? You’d never know until the time came.

“I’m home! Are you alright?!” 

You perked up at Jinwoo’s voice, forgetting that Igris was eerily floating somewhere nearby watching your every moment. He probably reported back to Jinwoo, though he couldn’t speak- well he never spoke to you, but sometimes you tried catching him out.

Jinwoo rushed into the bathroom and never missed a beat, getting down on the floor with you to push your hair out of the way from the toilet bowl. “I’m sorry, I never meant to be this long, I just wanted to stop by the bakery to get your favourite and there was the longest queue- Baby, I’m so sorry.”

There was a twinge, a twitch behind your eye, like you were helpless. “I’m not frail, I can look after myself, Jinwoo.”

He stopped immediately, letting go of you and he moved his mouth but knew better than to say a word. The two of you sat there in silence until you could move yourself and clean your face.

“Look… I didn’t mean to snap, I just-” sounded like a massive prick? Yeah. With the remnants of vomit on your lips. “I’m feeling pretty low, right now. I don’t know what to do, and I feel really claustrophobic… Everything is happening so quickly and I can’t keep up with it.”

There wasn’t a hint of upset in Jinwoo’s body language, but he hesitated touching you though you let him tuck your hair out of your face. “It’s been a lot. I apologise for steaming ahead, for putting more on your plate when all I want is your happiness, and health.”

“My hormones are all over the place. One minute I’m happy, then I’m crawling the walls because the apartment just isn’t right. Igris carries everything I want to move, then the next day I want the sofa back on the other side of the room. We’re going to have to decorate the spare room soon and I know exactly what I want, but then I don’t at the same time. Most days, I want to eat the entire house, and then I’m not hungry at all… I eat the most disgusting combinations of food and I love it…”

Your shoulders dropped when he said nothing. “And then I do things like that, and I’m horrible to you… I like you Jinwoo, I think I really really like you, but I’m not the nicest person to be around in any capacity. Then I get– I get moment’s like this-”

That was it, you started sobbing like you’d just been read from a will after someones passing. “I’m such a mess!”

“Shh, shh, baby. It’s alright.” Jinwoo held you, rubbing your belly as though it was a magic lamp, probably hoping it would get you to stop wailing into the palms of your hands. “The doctor said it was going to be bumpy. I’m sorry I sprang all of this on you, the dinner, having the Chairman over. I wasn’t thinking.”

“No- no. It’s fine.” You hiccuped in his arms, wiping the wet away with your sleeves. “It’ll be alright, I just- I just need to clean myself up.”

Jinwoo held you tight, resting his head on yours and gently rocking you. “You want to take a shower together?”

It wasn’t the worst idea. Since the babies were growing, having a bath wasn’t exactly practical, especially since you enjoyed steaming hot water. Something the doctor advised against. That white hot sting scratching an itch your skin just couldn't satiate itself hit the spot after a long day training or raiding a dungeon, covered in mud and god knows what. You settled for a mildly hot shower instead.

Jinwoo’s body heat set any tepid water steaming. More of a comfort, really. But then again, you’d received some of the most intense orgasms whilst the shower water sprayed everywhere.

An orgasm wouldn’t go amiss right now. Might calm me down.

It would make any pain go away, being a natural painkiller. So if anything, it would be beneficial to the shooting leg cramps or back aches you were getting.

“Would you-” you stopped before you made yourself sound desperate.

“Hm?” it was as though Jinwoo already knew what you wanted to say, he just wanted you to say it. “What do you want, baby?”

There it was, his little crooned words that drawled in your ears that set your cheeks on fire. His eyes watching you in a way that made you want to back away before he pounced and ate your pussy like his last meal.

A talent of his, actually.

“I want…” You could have just kissed him, that would have given him the message. You hadn’t brushed your teeth yet. “I want you to…”

He knew what you wanted, you could tell by how he closed the space between you, his eyes flickering down to your lips as he subtly licked his own. “Tell me what you want.” 

Oh lord. “I want you to eat my pussy until I can’t stand up.”

“You’re getting so much better at using your words, aren't you?”

Before he could kiss you, you looked away. “Jinwoo, I haven’t even brushed my teeth-”

“Don’t care.” 

Before you could protest, he chased your lips, lazily biting down on your bottom lip and cupping your chin before you disappeared from his grasp. How he managed you up from the floor and never breaking contact with you was something you wouldn’t ever understand, he did with ease and stripped each item of clothing from your body before his own.

The man was a master multitasker in and out of the bedroom, from making your favourite meals and setting up your favourite new show on the television, to turning the shower on, slowly rubbing your sensitive clit and stripping himself off. 

In that order.

He had you moaning his name before a single drop of water touched you from the spray of the open shower door, the perfect temperature, wide spread and splashing over you which intensified the need for his body close to yours. Pressed up against you and his two long fingers working their way inside to that spot which drove you crazy enough to grip onto his hair.

“Jinwoo- Jinwoo, oh my god.”

His coo’s and undeniably filthy words of praise were far more steamy than any shower could have been. Jinwoo’s wrist moved in such away, that you were sure you would discover a new colour at any moment. Being pregnant changed your body in odd ways, yet how he sucked your nipple the way he did almost pushed an orgasm out straight away. So sensitive, unruly and needy.

“You want me to make you feel good here, or on the bed?” He said in your ear once he let your nipple leave his lips with a pop.

“Here- here. Fuck, do it here, I can’t hold it any longer. Fuck, Jin- please make me come.”

It was that little husk in his voice when he laughed, the one he reserved for when he woke up, half asleep. The same husk that drove you insane until you were sitting on his cock, bouncing on his hips until all the room heard was the vicious slapping and stifled moans from your throat.

“That’s my girl.”  

You had screwed your eyes shut, focusing way too much on your orgasm and not the logistics of your tummy bump, not that it stopped Jinwoo. His tongue found its way to your clit with no trouble at all, game over for you. Jinwoo hooked your right leg over his shoulder and held you there in suspended animation, sucking your tingling clit like it was going out of fashion.

Jinwoo gripped your ass with his fingertips, pinching the plush fat between his fingers as he ate. His tongue swirling with purpose in the right angle, matching the pace of the slashing water on your back, soaking your hair as wet as your pussy was. You were embarrassingly close, a perk and curse of pregnancy, getting to the delicious centre of a gooey sweet and feeling the emptiness of finishing it too quickly.

“J-Jinwoo, don’t go too fast, I’ll come too quick- Shit, shit!” 

He licked faster, sucked with the desperation of a stranded man looking for water, inserting his fingers inside you. His hair dripped and soaked onto the floor, on to your feet and in between your toes that curled over the edge and no grip.

You came, with no real guess of what your body was doing. So early, so blind in orgasmic bliss that you weren’t sure of the noise your throat howled out, like a desperate animal. Jinwoo never stopped shoving his head between your thighs, fingering you past your orgasm until it made your legs shake and ready to give out had he not held you tight in his grasp.

“I think that’s a personal best.” He said, when he came up for air and pulled you as close as he physically could. “Hey, c’mon, look at me.”

Blushing at him seemed to humour him, embarrassed at how quick you came despite it’s calming effects on your mood. Jinwoo kissed your lips softly, caressing your cheek until you made eye contact.

“Ask any time, I’ll give it to you. It doesn't matter how quick. If you’re enjoying it, then I’ve done my job.”

When he put it like that, it made sense.

Still, to redeem yourself, you let him make you come one more time. You held out longer by two minutes.

Oh dear. 

“Did you find the recipe you want to use tonight?”

“Yeah, I have it on my phone, hold on.” 

You left Jinwoo in the bathroom to dry himself off, you padded off towards the kitchen in your towel that barely fit around your baby bump. Your phone sat where it was on the kitchen counter, just as you left it, with the call log open.

So why was there a giant fucking insect in the living room watching television like it was the most natural thing in the world?

“Oh my god!” You screamed and backed away right into the wall.

The bug thing jumped up from the sofa and mirrored your movements like a weird puff of smoke and cracked mirror.

“What’s wrong?! Where are- oh…” Jinwoo just stood there.

Was it one of his shadows? It could have been, not that you could have been reasonably logical the way your heart beated in your throat.

“I never introduced you to Beru… did I?”

Part 15 <- Part 16 -> Part 17

UPDATE - So as some of you might know, my health is in a bit of a decline, and it's dipped more with some unforeseeable things I have no control over. Well, as it goes, I still plan on writing and uploading as regularly as I can, but for the time being, some uploads may come slower than they have been.

I hope you all understand and continue to enjoy what I have in store for you.

ALSO I guess we're getting surprised for who the babies are, and I'll leave it to chance and input the data on a randomiser so it's a surprise for me too! 🤗

But there's one other thing that I want to put to a vote.

Edit - Sorry I should have specified 🫣 let’s keep it to Korean name suggestions if you can, thank you!

Tag list - @bubera974 @snowy-violet @sky2lar @starrynights23x 

@yessirr7 @aussie-boys-wife @yihona-san06 @mashiromochi @daiyanomochi

@justatimidcreator @alia-17 @otomegamesforlife @m00n-estelle @towomatos

@stormnightingale @johnnysactualgf @solarisstarrsolomonsbeloved @johnnysactualgf @notleclerc

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DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime or manhwa. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[cumironi]

I know you said no physical insecurities in your rules but would it be okay to request scar worship?? (It sounds rlly weird to type this out 💀), but like a Satoru and/or sugu just giving attention to old (sh) scars?? Sfw or nsfw I just never find fics with some comfort in that area 🙏❤️❤️

SCARS TO YOUR BEAUTIFUL : GETO SUGURU, GOJO SATORU

all scars and everything, you are still the most beautiful girl to your boyfriends. and they will always remind you, every single day until they leave no room for you to feel insecure.

warning. abuse mention, scars, very, very, very suggestive, gojo being perverted as always.

wc. | masterlist

growing up with your parents as higher-ups in the jujutsu world, life was anything but easy. they were known for their authority, their unyielding standards, and their strictness, especially when it came to you. mistakes were never an option. one mistake meant one new scar, a reminder of your failure and their punishment. your body was a canvas of their expectations, etched with marks of their disappointment, each scar telling a story of falling short in their eyes. it didn't matter how hard you tried, how much you pushed yourself—your best was never enough.

being the child of jujutsu higher-ups meant the pressure was relentless. they expected nothing less than perfection. you were supposed to be a mirror of their greatness, a reflection of their power and control. yet, no matter how much you tried to live up to their impossible standards, it always seemed like you were just one step behind. a test that wasn't aced, a cursed technique that wasn't mastered quickly enough—everything was a reason for punishment. their words were sharp, cutting deeper than the bruises or scars that littered your skin.

coming home was never something you looked forward to. every visit was like stepping into a battlefield, knowing you were likely to leave with fresh wounds. sometimes it was bruises, sometimes cuts—whatever they felt was fitting for the mistake you had made, no matter how minor. it was always justified in their eyes, framed as discipline. they believed they were shaping you into something stronger, but all it ever did was break you down, piece by piece.

that morning at school, you had just returned from another visit home. you walked through the doors, the familiar hallways closing in around you as you pulled your uniform tighter, trying to cover the fresh bruise on your cheek. it wasn’t just your face; your body ached from the newest round of punishment, though you tried your best to hide it. the bruises were a deep purple and blue, hidden beneath your clothes, but the one on your face was impossible to conceal, no matter how much you tried to keep your head down.

the higher-ups, your parents included, had told the school that you were ‘sick.’ it was their usual excuse, a cover for why you wouldn’t be attending classes that day. it wasn’t the first time. the staff knew better than to ask questions. they all knew who your parents were, knew the kind of authority they wielded. no one dared to cross them. so when they said you needed a free pass to skip class, the school complied without hesitation. no one pressed you for details, and in some ways, you were grateful for that. but the silence was suffocating too. no one ever asked what really happened. no one dared to step in.

you made your way to your dorm where you always went to hide, trying to keep your head down and avoid any curious glances. you didn’t want anyone to see, didn’t want to answer the questions that might come if someone noticed the bruises. but at the same time, a part of you wished someone would—someone who would actually care enough to ask, to do something about it.

as you sat down on the floor, the ache in your body intensified, a reminder of the night before. you could still hear their voices in your head, cold and disappointed, reminding you of how much of a failure you were in their eyes. they never said it outright, but their punishments spoke louder than any words could.

as you sat down on the floor of your dorm, the pain from the fresh bruises radiated through your body. you winced as you reached to pull off your shirt, trying your best to be gentle so as not to aggravate the soreness. your back, a canvas of bruises, scars, and pain, was fully exposed, each mark a reminder of years under your parents' heavy expectations. it wasn't the first time you had come back like this, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last. still, you always tried to keep it hidden, especially from those closest to you. the last thing you wanted was pity or questions you didn’t want to answer.

just as you were about to pull the shirt over your head, the dorm door swung open without warning. you froze, panic instantly flooding your body. you didn’t have to turn around to know who it was—there was only one person who would enter so casually. gojo's familiar voice filled the room, excited and light, like it always was when he saw you. “hey! guess what—” his voice cut off mid-sentence. the excitement drained from his tone, replaced by stunned silence.

geto, always more observant, had been right behind him, his usually calm demeanor now faltering as his eyes landed on your back. their eyes were glued to you, to the countless scars and bruises that decorated your skin. they'd never seen you without your shirt on. sure, they were your boyfriends, but you had always made sure to keep this part of yourself hidden from them. they had no idea about the scars, about the pain that came with them, or the story behind each one.

their silence was deafening, and you could feel the weight of their stares pressing down on you. your heart raced, and before they could say anything, you scrambled to grab the blanket beside you. with shaky hands, you pulled it over your body, shielding yourself from their shocked gazes.

“learn how to knock!” you screamed, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and embarrassment. you couldn’t bear to turn around and face them. the last thing you wanted was for them to see you like this, to see the side of you you had worked so hard to keep hidden. you didn’t want their pity, didn’t want to answer their questions, and most of all, you didn’t want them to look at you any differently than before.

but the silence stretched on, and you could feel their presence lingering in the doorway, neither of them knowing what to say.

“y/n…” gojo’s usually carefree voice was unusually quiet as he stood there, his eyes fixated on your trembling frame. never in his life had he seen you like this. he’d known there were scars, had seen subtle hints before. but this? this was different. this was a reality check he didn’t know he needed.

meanwhile, geto stood silently behind him, frozen in place. his eyes roved over the expanse of your exposed skin you weren't properly covered, a mix of horror and anger bubbling up inside of him. neither of them had ever expected this, had never really let themselves consider that your parents were abusive.

the silence in the room was deafening. gojo could feel the weight of the moment pressing against his chest, his heart heavy with a mix of shock, anger, and—yes, he could admit it now—pity. you weren’t looking at them, your body still hidden beneath the blanket, but the trembling of your shoulders told him everything he needed to know. you were hurt, scared, and he could do nothing but stand there, feeling like the biggest idiot in the world for not seeing it sooner.

your heart pounded in your chest, the weight of their silence pressing down on you. gojo’s voice, normally light and teasing, was now quiet—too quiet. hearing him like that made your stomach twist. you couldn’t look at him, couldn’t face the pity that was surely there in his eyes. and geto… he hadn’t said a word, but you could feel his gaze on you, sharp and burning. it made your skin crawl, your scars feeling even more exposed under their scrutiny.

the trembling of your shoulders grew worse, and you clenched the blanket tighter around you. they weren’t supposed to see this. no one was. they were supposed to laugh, to tease you about something stupid, not stand there in stunned silence, realizing the ugly truth you’d hidden for so long. you didn’t need their sympathy. you didn’t want it. and yet, the tension in the room was suffocating, their presence overwhelming.

“just go,” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly despite your efforts to stay strong. you didn’t want them here, not like this. not seeing you so vulnerable, so broken. but they didn’t move. you felt them still standing there, their heavy breaths filling the silence. your frustration boiled over, and you raised your voice, “i said, go!”

the words came out harsher than you intended, laced with anger and shame. you couldn’t stand it—their pity, the way gojo's usual carefree attitude was nowhere to be found, the way geto was too quiet, too still. you didn’t want to see whatever emotions were swirling in their eyes. you didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to explain.

the coldness in your voice stung gojo's heart in a way he hadn't expected. he'd always seen you as tough, able to handle anything they threw at you. but this was different. this was raw, real pain. and he'd never been more aware of his own ignorance.

geto, too, was wrestling with his emotions. he’d always prided himself on being able to read you better than anyone, but right now, he felt useless. he wanted to reach out, to hold you, to make it better—but he didn’t know how. the silence continued to stretch on.

gojo and geto were stuck in a limbo. they didn’t know what to do, what to say. a part of them desperately wanted to help, to fix it—but they knew they couldn’t just wave a magic wand and make your pain disappear.

finally, gojo took that cautious step forward, his heart ached in a way he wasn’t used to. this wasn’t something he could laugh off or tease you about. it was real—too real. seeing you like this, so broken, so vulnerable, tore him apart. he swallowed hard, pushing through the knot in his throat as he approached you.

“y/n…” he whispered again, softer this time, as if the words might break the fragile silence between you. without waiting for permission, he knelt down behind you, careful not to startle you. his usual confidence was gone, replaced by a deep sense of care and uncertainty. gently, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his warmth, his embrace cautious but firm, like he was trying to protect you from the very pain that had already hurt you.

his cheek rested against your back, and he could feel the tension in your body—the way you stiffened at first, trying to resist. but he didn’t let go. “oh, my baby…” the words slipped out, his voice barely above a whisper. there was no humor, no teasing like he usually did. this was different. all he wanted was to let you know he was there, that he saw you—really saw you—and wasn’t going anywhere.

his grip tightened just slightly, enough to hold you close but not enough to hurt. he could feel the scars beneath his cheek, the rough texture of skin that had been marked by years of abuse, and it made his chest tighten with anger—anger at the people who had done this to you, anger at himself for not knowing sooner.

“what… what are you doing?” you whispered, your voice trembling as you kept your eyes fixed on the floor, unable to turn around. the warmth of gojo’s arms wrapped around you gently from behind, his presence immediately soothing the chaos swirling inside you. his embrace was steady, familiar, and though he didn’t say anything at first, just feeling him there made the storm inside you calm ever so slightly.

“just here with you,” gojo murmured softly into your ear, his breath warm against your skin. he held you as if he could protect you from everything, his hands resting lightly on your sides, careful not to hurt you. his touch was careful, more delicate than usual, as if he was afraid to break you further. the warmth of his body pressed against yours felt grounding, like a lifeline pulling you back from the weight of everything.

suddenly, the door slammed shut with a loud thud, and you flinched at the sound, startled by the intensity. you didn’t have to turn around to know it was geto—his anger hung heavy in the air. the slam was full of frustration, not at you, but at the situation, at what you had been through without them knowing. he hated that you had been hiding this from them, that you had carried the burden alone.

without a word, geto knelt beside you on the floor. you could feel the tension radiating off him, but when he reached out to gently stroke your hair, his touch was the opposite of the storm raging inside him. it was soft, careful, meant to comfort rather than frighten. he shifted closer, tilting his head to meet your gaze, his hand moving to rest on your cheek.

the moment your eyes met his, something inside you shattered. his gaze was so soft, filled with concern, understanding, and something deeper that made the tears you had been holding back spill over. your breath hitched, and you tried to blink them away, but it was too late. the dam broke, and tears streamed down your face, silent but heavy with everything you had been holding in.

gojo and geto had never seen you like this, so raw, so fragile. it was a stark contrast to the strong facade you usually put on. but here, in this moment, there were no masks to hide behind. it broke their hearts to see you cry, to realize just how much pain you’d been in without them even knowing.

gojo felt like the biggest fool. all this time, he’d been blissfully ignorant, cracking jokes and teasing you about everything under the sun, while you were struggling with something so heavy, so painful.

geto was wrestling with a different set of emotions. anger, concern, sorrow—he was drowning in them all. all this time, he’d thought he knew you so well; he’d prided himself on his ability to understand you, to read beneath the surface. but he was wrong. he’d missed this—the scars, the pain, the whole world of trauma you’d been hiding from them.

gojo’s mind was racing. he wanted to say so many things—apologize for not noticing sooner, assure you they were here now, that they wouldn’t let anything hurt you again. but the words stuck in his throat, overpowered by the anger that was pooling in his stomach. how could he have missed this? how could he not have known?

since that day, they’ve been nothing but supportive, never prying or pushing for answers, but always there. they didn’t need to ask further, because they understood—every scar, every bruise carried a story, and they knew enough to know you’d share only when you were ready. they tried their best not to trigger those feelings or bring back the memories of your trauma. instead, they focused on making sure you knew one thing above all else: that to them, you were beautiful, inside and out.

they never missed a moment to remind you, whether through words or actions. they worshipped your scars as much as they worshipped you, tracing every mark on your body as if each one deserved to be honored. they would tell you how soft you felt, how warm your skin was, how beautiful you looked in their eyes—how, to them, you were everything.

like now, the three of you were laying on the cramped bed in your dorm, naked bodies tangled together in a mess of sheets and limbs. the bed was just right for you, but adding two boyfriends, both tall and broad like electric poles, made the space almost laughably small. not that you were complaining—you loved it. the closeness, the way you fit perfectly between them, feeling safe and cherished.

you lay nestled between them, your head resting on geto’s bare chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. gojo was behind you, his warmth pressed against your back. his hand ran gently over your scars, his fingers tracing the faded lines and new bruises with a kind of reverence. he wasn’t trying to avoid them—he embraced them as part of you, as part of what made you you.

“god, you’re beautiful,” gojo murmured against your skin, his voice soft and filled with awe, like he still couldn’t believe he had you here with him. then, he leaned down and kissed your back, right where the scars were. it wasn’t out of pity, but out of pure adoration. his lips lingered, warm and soft, as if he was trying to kiss away every bit of pain that had ever been inflicted on you.

“yeah, absolutely stunning,” geto echoed, his hand stroking your hair, fingers carefully tangling in the strands, almost reverently. his touch was gentle, in stark contrast to his usual tough demeanor. but with you, he always softened, always seemed more gentle, more loving.

he met gojo’s eyes over your head, sharing a look of understanding. they both knew they couldn’t erase your past, couldn’t make the scars disappear. but they could make sure that from now on, every touch, every kiss would be filled with nothing but love, respect, and care.

geto could see it in gojo’s actions, in every gentle touch and every soft word—the way he loved you without flinching at the scars or the memories they represented. and he knew, without a doubt, that he felt the same.

“my baby, so beautiful,” geto whisper, kissing the top of your head.

gojo continued to kiss your back, his lips tracing over each scar, marking them with his love and adoration. he knew that each mark was a part of you, a piece of the journey that had led you to them. he mumbled against your skin, his voice raspy with emotion. “our darling girl. you’re perfect. every single part of you.”

geto’s hand moved down to your waist, gently pulling you closer against his body. he wanted you to feel all of them, every inch of their warmth and love.

he looked up from your head to meet gojo’s gaze again, a wordless conversation passing between them. they wouldn’t ask you to share more, not until you were ready. instead, they would show you every day, in every action and word, how much they accepted and loved you, scars and all.

you suddenly burst into soft laughter, the sound breaking through the peaceful silence of the moment. gojo had just kissed that one specific spot on your back—right where it always tickled, no matter how serious the moment. you wriggled slightly, trying to pull away, but gojo’s arms were already around you, his chest pressed against your back.

“toruuuu, that tickles,” you said through your laughter, dragging his name, almost whining, your voice a little breathless as you squirmed in his hold.

gojo smirked and held you tighter, pinning you in place against him. a mischievous gleam shone in his eyes as he purposely nuzzled his face where he knew you were ticklish, his scruff scratching your skin.

“awh, does it?” he teased, his voice dripping with feigned innocence. “my bad. i had no idea,” he said, his words followed by another kiss to the same spot. geto, who had been watching the scene unfold, couldn’t help but chuckle at your reaction. he knew gojo’s game well—the two of them had this banter down to a science. and he had to admit, seeing the way gojo could make you laugh and squirm like that was adorable.

he shifted slightly, his hand still on your waist, and leaned over to whisper into your ear, “you’re trapped now, you know that? escape is impossible.”

your soft laughter quickly turned into full-blown, uncontrollable giggles as gojo doubled down on his attack, his scruff lightly scratching against your skin as he kissed the same ticklish spot over and over. you squirmed against him, trying to get away, but he had you pinned tightly against him, refusing to let you go.

“satoru, stop!” you gasped between fits of laughter, your body wriggling as you tried to escape. but he wasn’t letting up, clearly enjoying watching you squirm and laugh.

gojo was absolutely loving this. your laughter was music to his ears, and seeing you so playfully helpless in his arms gave him a rush unlike anything else.

he shook his head, his smirk only growing wider as he continued his relentless barrage of gentle kisses and scruff-rubs against your back. “aw, come on, dollface. i’m just enjoying your adorable little squirming,” he teased, his tone oozing with faux-innocence.

geto was sitting to the side, an amused smile on his face at the sight of you struggling against gojo’s ticklish attack. he could relate—he’d been caught in that trap before many times.

“better accept your fate, love. you’re not going nowhere with this big idiot on you like that,” he chimed in, enjoying the show as he watched you wriggle and squirm in vain.

you were laughing so hard you could barely breathe, your whole body squirming in gojo’s arms as he kept up his playful assault. the more you struggled, the more determined he seemed to become, thoroughly enjoying your helplessness. “gojo, i swear—” you gasped between fits of laughter, your sides aching from how hard you were laughing.

his scruff tickled unbearably, and the teasing kisses were too much. you managed to squeak out between laughs, “i’m gonna piss myself if you don’t stop!”

when you threatened to pee, his eyes widened. “oh no no no, we definitely don’t want that,” he rushed out, quickly shifting his grip on you.

gojo chuckled and finally, finally let up, his lips leaving your back with one final kiss. he was feeling rather proud of himself for getting you to laugh this hard, a cheeky grin on his face. geto, next to you, couldn’t help but laugh at the duo. “oh yeah, you better stop right there, or you’re cleaning the bed by yourself.”

gojo made a show of grimacing at the threat, feigning despair. “oh, come on! I was just having a little bit of fun!”

he carefully moved you off his chest and settled you between him and geto, making sure you were comfortably nestled between them. his arm snaked around your shoulders, pulling you close against him, while his other hand reached out to playfully punch geto in the arm.

“thanks a lot, suguru. now you’ve gone and ruined my fun,” he grumbled, his expression clearly exaggerated.

but he couldn’t resist teasing you a bit more, his mischievous eyes locking with yours. “though i can think of a few other activities that might make you lose control like that,” he added with a sly wink.

you chuckled, your laughter finally calming as you shifted onto your side, turning to face gojo. the teasing glint in his eyes made you roll yours, but you couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. you leaned in closer, brushing your nose lightly against his before closing the gap between you with a soft kiss.

“you’re such a pervert,” you mumbled against his lips, the words playful, even affectionate.

gojo grinned against your kiss, clearly pleased with himself. you pulled back just a little, resting your forehead against his. “and for the record, we just finished,” you added with a smirk, “so i’m not gonna do that again, no matter how much you try to make me. no more sex.”

gojo groaned, his head falling back onto the pillow in defeat. his hand slid down your back, moving to your hip and giving it a gentle squeeze. “aww, come onnnnn,” he whined, looking up at you with puppy-dog eyes, trying to look like the epitome of innocence (which he’s far from ever being).

geto chimed in, chuckling at gojo’s plight. “you can’t blame him for trying,” he said with a smirk, “he’s just not good at denying his needs.”

gojo shot geto a mock-glare. “hey, i can definitely deny my needs,” he protested, pouting a little. “i just don’t see why i have to when i’ve got such a beautiful, available girl right here.”

he shifted slightly, pulling you closer against him. his arm wrapped around your waist, his touch possessive and gentle at the same time. “you really gonna leave a poor guy hanging?” he teased, batting his eyelashes at you.

you groaned, rolling your eyes at gojo’s dramatic display, his puppy-dog eyes doing nothing to sway you this time. “god, you’re such an animal,” you muttered, turning onto your back and pulling the sheet up to cover your naked body, playfully keeping yourself out of his reach.

gojo let out another melodramatic sigh and dramatically draped his arm over his eyes, as if he was about to lose his mind. “you’re killing me here, dollface. i’ll die without it, i swear.”

as you covered yourself up, blocking his access to your body, he pouted again, trying to look pitiful, but the effect was ruined by the amused twinkle in his eyes.

he shifted, his hand reaching out to gently tug at the edge of the sheet, attempting to pull it off you again. “come on, dollface, don’t be like that,” he whined, feigning a wounded expression. geto was watching the exchange with a mix of amusement and fond annoyance. “oh, you’ll live,” he said, rolling his eyes at his dramatic friend. “just give it a rest for five minutes, will you?”

gojo huffed, pouting dramatically and throwing geto a glare. “way to stick up for me,” he grumbled, his eyes shifting back to you, his expression now a playful mix of pleading and mock-desperation.

he reached out again, his hand running along your bare hip, fingers tracing gentle circles. “come on, dollface, pleeeasse? don’t be mean to me like this,” he pleaded, his voice thick with fake-anguish. geto let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “you’re pathetic,” he sighed fondly.

you sighed, slapping gojo’s hand lightly as it continued its slow, teasing circles on your hip. “i’m tired,” you said firmly, though your voice held a teasing edge. “you couldn’t stop last time, and i really don’t want to break my bed.”

gojo let out another melodramatic sigh, his hand stilling on your hip. he knew when he was beat, but that didn’t stop him from trying one last plea. “but dollface, i promise i’ll be gentle this time,” he pleaded, his eyes widening in mock-innocence. “i’ll be as quiet as a mouse, i swear.”

geto snorted, covering his mouth to hide his laughter. he knew gojo was just playing it up, but it was hard not to find the entire scene amusing.

you glanced at gojo sideways, unable to suppress the laugh that bubbled up from your chest. he looked so ridiculous with his wide, pleading eyes, trying his best to look innocent when you knew better. shaking your head, you let out a soft chuckle.

“you’re so stupid,” you teased, still laughing as you playfully pushed him away.

gojo made yet another melodramatic face, pretending to be heartbroken by your rejection. “aw, come on, dollface,” he whined, his bottom lip jutted out in an exaggerated pout. “don’t be like that. i’m practically a saint. i can be on my best behavior.”

geto shook his head, his face full of amusement. “yeah, and i’m the pope,” he added, skepticism dripping from his tone.

you turned your head to look at geto, the sound of his teasing remark sending you into a fit of laughter. it was too easy to get caught up in the playful banter, and the contrast between gojo’s melodrama and geto’s dry humor made it even more enjoyable.

“god, he’s so needy,” you muttered, shaking your head as you pressed your forehead against geto’s bare arm, relishing the warmth of his skin against your cheek.

gojo let out a huff, feigning offense at your words. “I’m not needy!” he protested, his voice brimming with faux-indignance. “I’m just very… passionate, that’s all.”

geto rolled his eyes, a smirk on his face. “yeah, passionate about getting between her legs,” he quipped wryly, earning a glare from gojo.

gojo crossed his arms, still playing the part of the offended party. “i’m wounded, truly,” he said, shaking his head dramatically. “i can’t believe you both would team up against me like this.”

he glanced over at you, his eyes softening a fraction. “especially you, dollface,” he added, his voice going slightly softer. “after all we just did, you still won’t give me any love?” geto chuckled again, clearly enjoying this little game. “maybe if you weren’t so damn horny all the time, she might be more interested,” he teased.

gojo shot a mock-glare at geto, feigning offense at his words. “hey, I have needs,” he protested weakly, trying to sound indignant but only coming across as even more needy.

geto just rolled his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “yeah, like i said, you think with your dick,” he quipped back, not missing a beat. you couldn’t help but laugh at the exchange, your heart swelling with affection for them both, each in their own unique ways.

gojo muttered a sarcastic “thanks a lot” to geto under his breath, but his annoyance was only half-hearted.

he turned back to you, his eyes searching your face. “come on, dollface,” he pleaded, his voice taking on a more earnest tone. “just for a little while? i promise i’ll make you feel good.” geto chuckled, enjoying the banter but knowing this was always how it ended. he leaned back against the headboard, waiting to see how this scene would play out.

you shook your head, a teasing smile playing on your lips as you said, “no way,” your tone light but firm. then, feeling playful, you shifted slightly over gojo’s bare body, enjoying the way he squirmed beneath you.

with a determined focus, you reached over to your nightstand, opening the drawer and pulling out a joint. holding it up and wiggling it in front of his face, you grinned at his wide eyes, clearly intrigued. “how about this instead?” you suggested, your voice playful, knowing just how much he loved to unwind this way.

gojo’s expression changed from disappointment to excitement in an instant, the allure of the joint capturing his attention. “now that’s more like it!” he exclaimed, his earlier dramatics forgotten as he leaned in closer, eyes sparkling with mischief.

gojo’s eyes widened with excitement at the sight of the joint. he practically drooled like a dog seeing a bone.

geto chuckled from the side, shaking his head at his friend’s quick change of heart. “jeez, all it takes is a joint and you’re completely smitten?” he teased, a smirk on his face.

gojo shot him a glare, not even trying to deny the accusation. “hell yeah i am,” he replied, his voice thick with anticipation. “can’t blame a guy for appreciating the finer things in life.”

you leaned back against the headboard, pulling the blanket to cover your body snugly under your arms. the warmth of the fabric contrasted with the cool air of the room, making you feel cozy and safe.

as you settled in, you couldn’t help but chuckle at gojo’s antics. he turned around to lay on his stomach, his bare rear on full display, completely unbothered by his lack of clothing. it was an amusing sight, and you couldn’t resist teasing him a little, “nice, baby.”

he shot you a cheeky grin as he reached for the lighter on your nightstand, his excitement palpable. “what can i say? i like to keep things casual,” he replied, igniting the joint and taking a deep breath, the smoke curling up around him in lazy spirals.

geto chuckled at the sight of gojo’s unabashed lack of shame, his rear end just hanging out for the world to see. he shook his head, but a small smile played at the corners of his lips. he knew his friend was completely comfortable in his own skin, regardless of the situation.

geto reached over and snuggled closer to your side, wrapping his arm around your waist as he is watching gojo's casual display with a smirk. “you're such a shameless exhibitionist,” he teased, his voice tinged with amusement, shaking his head at his friend's lack of self-consciousness.

gojo, still laying on his stomach, shot geto a cheeky grin as he took a deep inhale from the joint. he exhaled, the smoke curling up around his head like a wispy halo.

you couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of gojo’s bare ass, your boyfriend completely unbothered by his state of undressing. “i don't mind tho, it's a good view from here,” you murmur, a small smirk tugging at the edge of your lips.

gojo turns to give you a cheeky grin, clearly pleased with the attention. he wiggles his rear a little, earning a snicker from geto. “see? like what you see?” he coos, his voice dripping with playful arrogance.

geto rolls his eyes at gojo’s antics, but there’s a hint of amusement in his expression. “you’re such a narcissist,” he teases, “always so full of yourself.”

gojo pouts a little, feigning offense at geto’s comment. “hey, it’s not narcissistic if it’s the truth,” he protests, taking another hit from the joint and letting out a long, lazy exhale. he looks back at you with a sly grin, his eyes filled with a mix of cockiness and playfulness. “right, dollface? you think i’m the hottest guy around?” he asks, clearly fishing for validation.

you couldn’t help but roll your eyes playfully at gojo’s antics, but his confidence was infectious. “oh, definitely,” you said, leaning down closer to him. as your lips brushed against his, you felt the mix of smoke and sweetness from the joint linger between you. it was a strange combination, but somehow, it felt right.

gojo’s eyes flutter shut as your lips move to meet his, a contented hum escaping his throat. the combined taste of the smoke and your sweetness is indeed a peculiar but strangely pleasant one. he responds to the kiss with a lazy, languid rhythm, clearly stoned and enjoying the sensation.

geto watches the display with an air of amused affection, his hand idly tracing small circles on your hip under the covers. it’s all so damn domestic and strangely... cozy.

gojo pulls back from the kiss, his eyes half-lidded and a lazy, lopsided smile on his face. “see?” he says, his voice slightly slurred, “a man who has nothing to hide has nothing to be ashamed of,” he said with a smirk, his voice slightly roughened by the smoke. “and i definitely have no shame when it comes to enjoying a good smoke.”

he gestured with the joint towards you, offering it. “want a hit, dollface?” he asked, his tone laced with casual nonchalance.

you took the joint from gojo, smirking as you brought it to your lips and inhaled, letting the smoke fill your lungs for a moment before releasing it in a slow exhale. the warmth spread through you, a nice contrast to the playful atmosphere in the room. “not bad,” you said, handing it over to geto, who took it with a knowing smile.

gojo watched you take the hit, a satisfied smirk on his face. he was always a little amused by how you looked when you smoked; there was something about the way your eyes half-lidded and a lazy smile crossed your face that he found strangely endearing.

geto chuckled as you handed him the joint, his fingers wrapping around the familiar shape of it. the sight of the three of you sharing smoke in the intimate space was weirdly soothing, like a comfortable routine that never gets old.

geto took a deep pull, his eyes shifting to you and gojo with a contented look on his face. he held the smoke in his lungs for a moment before exhaling, the smoke curling up around him like a lazy serpent, accompanied by a low, satisfied hum. “ah, nothing like a good smoke in good company,” he remarked, passing it back to gojo.

gojo took a deep hit from the joint, holding the smoke in for a moment before exhaling, the haze swirling around him as he turned to look at you.

his expression shifted to one of playful seriousness as he said, “baby, don’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything, but those scars on your back? they make you look so fucking hot.” he chuckled, a teasing glint in his eyes. “i swear, i’ll get a nosebleed every time i see it, especially when i fuck you from behind.”

a small shiver ran down your spine at his unexpected words, your cheeks flushing slightly at the bluntness of his comment.

geto chuckled from his position next to you, clearly unsurprised by gojo’s lack of tact. “way to be subtle,” he quipped with a shake of his head, his tone filled with fond sarcasm. gojo just smirked, clearly enjoying the reaction he got out of you. his eyes roamed over your body, as if to emphasize his earlier point.

he took another hit from the joint before passing it back to geto, his gaze still trained on you. “i’m just saying,” he said lazily, his voice low and slightly raspy, “seriously baby, you have no idea how goddamn hot you look with those scars,” he continued, his voice dropping a little lower as his gaze continued to roam over you. “it’s like... a visual reminder of your strength and resilience, y’know? plus, it’s pretty damn attractive when a girl has battle scars.” he paused, taking a moment to admire your figure under the thin sheet.

“and i can’t get enough of it,” he added, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of admiration and lust.

your heart raced a little at gojo’s words, warmth flooding through you as you felt a newfound sense of confidence blossoming within. you shifted slightly under the sheets, your cheeks tinted with a rosy hue as you caught his gaze, those bright eyes filled with sincerity.

“do you really think so?” you asked, your voice soft yet curious, a hint of vulnerability lacing your words. the way he spoke about your scars made you feel like they were more than just marks of your past; they were a testament to your strength, something you could wear with pride.

gojo’s expression softened as he caught the hint of vulnerability in your voice. he moved closer to you, his body mere inches away, and reached out to gently brush your hair away from your face with his free hand.

“oh definitely, dollface,” he said, his voice slightly rougher as he spoke, “it’s like... there’s no part of you that isn’t beautiful to me.” he took a moment to look you in the eyes, a sincere gaze in his own, and then his gaze roamed over your exposed body once more. “every part of you is perfect.”

“and those scars?” he added, his voice taking on a slightly more husky quality. “they’re just a reminder of what you’ve been through and what you’ve survived.”

he reached out to gently trace a finger over one of the scars on your back, his touch so light it sent a shiver through you. “they’re damn sexy,” he murmured, his words soft but filled with a hunger that bordered on primal.

geto watched the intimate exchange between you two with a small smile on his face, clearly enjoying the rare moment of sincerity from his friend. but he couldn’t help but roll his eyes a little as gojo shamelessly ogled your body once more. “god, you’re so damn obvious,” he teased, shaking his head at gojo’s blatant perusal.

gojo chuckled, not even bothering to deny it. “what can i say?” he replied, “i’m a visual learner when it comes to appreciating beauty.”

you couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh at both of their reactions, feeling a sense of comfort in the familiarity of their banter. gojo just gave a cheeky grin in reply, obviously unashamed of his blatant ogling. he took another hit from the joint before leaning slightly closer to you, his breath warm against your ear. “can you blame me, dollface? you’re like a goddamn work of art. i can’t help but want to look my fill.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle once again at gojo's unapologetic response. he had a way of making even the cheesiest lines sound charming, and his unabashed admiration for your body was both endearing and a little overwhelming.

“look at you, aren’t you just shameless,” you tease, fingers tracing his jaw but your eyes color with tenderness as you look down at you boyfriend.

geto just shook his head again, a smirk on his lips. “you're unbelievable,” he muttered, his tone filled with a mix of fondness and mild exasperation. “i swear, you never even try to hide how thirsty you are.”

gojo chuckled, the sound low and slightly raspy as he leaned into your touch. he had no regrets about his shamelessness, and he thoroughly enjoyed the way you reacted to his words. he let out a soft scoff at geto’s remark, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. “oh, don’t act like you’re any better,” he replied, his voice low and slightly challenging, as he looked over at the other man. “like you’re not just as thirsty for her.”

geto watched you take the joint from gojo, his gaze softening as the smoke curled from your lips. he took a slow breath before speaking, his voice calm but filled with a certain tenderness. “yeah, you’re right,” he said to gojo, locking eyes with you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “your scars… they do make you more beautiful. more real, more... you.”

he leaned forward slightly, resting his forearm on his knee as he continued, his tone growing more earnest. “i’m proud of you, you know? not just for surviving all the shit you've been through, but for the strength you show every day.” his eyes flickered with admiration as he glanced at your body beneath the thin sheet, not with lust but with genuine respect. “there aren’t a lot of people who could carry the kind of burdens you’ve had to bear, especially alone. but you did. and you came out of it even stronger.”

his words hung in the air, and the room felt warm, not just from the shared smoke but from the weight of his sincerity. “i admire that about you,” he added softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “you’ve never let any of it break you. that’s something not many can say.”

gojo’s smirk faded at geto’s words, his expression growing more solemn as the conversation took a more serious turn. he'd never heard his friend speak so openly and tenderly before, and it was surprisingly... refreshing.

he watched as geto spoke, a small pang of affection in his chest at the sincerity in the other man's words. he knew that while he might make suggestive and somewhat crude comments about your scars, it was mostly done out of a place of admiration and a desire to make you feel safe and desired.

gojo’s smirk faded at geto’s words, his expression growing more solemn as the conversation took a more serious turn. he’d never heard his friend speak so openly and tenderly before, and it was surprisingly... refreshing.

he watched as geto spoke, a small pang of affection in his chest at the sincerity in the other man’s words. he knew that while he might make suggestive and somewhat crude comments about your scars, it was mostly done out of a place of admiration and a desire to make you feel safe and desired.

your heart stirred at his words, a strange mix of emotions welling up inside you. you weren't used to this kind of sincerity, especially not when it came to your scars. you were used to people shying away from them, treating them like something shameful or ugly. but here, in this moment, geto was looking at them as if they were something beautiful. something worthy of admiration.

you found yourself searching for words, your mind momentarily muddled by the combination of the weed, the emotional weight of his words, and the gentle affection in his gaze.

you chuckled softly, shaking your head as you tried to deflect the weight of the moment with a lighthearted tease. “look at you two, getting all sentimental on me,” you said, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “are you sure you’re not just a couple of saps?”

gojo and geto exchanged amused glances, both of them chuckling softly at your attempt to lighten the mood. they could see through your playful facade, recognizing the vulnerability hidden beneath your teasing exterior. but they didn’t call you out on it, knowing that you needed your time to fully embrace those feelings.

geto let out a soft chuckle at your attempted jest, seeing right through the thin veil of humor. he knew you well enough by now to realize that this kind of sincere admiration and openness was a rarity in your life.

he reached out to take the joint from you, his fingers brushing against yours for just a moment, and took a deep, slow pull, inhaling the smoke and holding it in his lungs for a moment before exhaling. it was just to give himself a reason to look away from your face, which was a mixture of vulnerability and resilience that made his heart ache.

“you can call us saps all you want, dollface,” gojo said with a smirk, his eyes roaming over your body once more. “but you can’t change the fact that we’re both completely smitten with you.”

he leaned in a little closer, his expression a mix of sincerity and hunger. “we’ve told you before, and we’ll keep telling you until you believe it: you’re perfect just the way you are. scars and all.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle at his words, your gaze lingering on his bare form as you felt a playful spark ignite within you. “well, you’re perfect too, especially with that little display you’ve got going on right now,” you teased, your eyes flicking down to his bare rear, fully on display as he continues to laid on his stomach.

gojo let out a laugh at your comment, his eyes sparkling with amusement. he twisted slightly to look down at himself, giving you an even better view, and wiggled his rear a little. “what can i say?” he said with a cheeky shrug. “gotta show off my assets, don’t i?”

geto chuckled as well, rolling his eyes good-naturedly at gojo's antics. but he couldn't deny that he was enjoying the sight just as much as you. gojo was an attractive man, after all, and he knew it. “can’t even keep your dignity around your own girlfriend,” he said with a smirk.

he took another slow pull from the joint, his eyes fixed on the way your gaze roamed over his friend's body. he could see the hint of hunger in your eyes, the way your tongue wet your lips slightly without you even realizing it.

gojo chuckled again at geto's remark, his eyes flickering to you for a moment. he could see the way your lips had parted slightly, the way your gaze darkened with desire. he knew that look well, and it made his heart race a little.

he rolled onto his back, sprawling out on the bed and stretching his arms above his head with an exaggerated yawn. it was a deliberate move to give you an even better view of his body, to tease and toy with your desire.

a wave of embarrassment washed over you, prompting a frustrated groan to escape your lips as you tightly shut your eyes. “oh god,” you whispered, burying your face into geto’s shoulder in an attempt to shield yourself from the sight of gojo sprawled out bare before you— fully showing his naked body and his dick.

geto let out a deep, warm chuckle, clearly entertained by how easily you were flustered. “you’re so easy to embarrass,” he teased, taking another drag from the joint before leaning towards the window to release the smoke into the open air. he rested his arm against the window frame, casually letting the smoke drift away from your room.

gojo chuckled at your reaction, enjoying the way you tried to hide your face from him. he loved how easily he could make you blush, how a simple gesture or a few well-chosen words could make your cheeks flush and your heartbeat quicken.

he smirked at geto's cheeky comment, rolling onto his side to face you both. he propped himself up on his elbow and reached out to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face. “come on doll face, don’t act like you don’t love it.”

he glanced over at geto, who was exhaling the smoke out the window, then back at you. he couldn’t resist giving you another cheeky grin. “you’re acting like you’ve never seen me naked before.”

geto chuckled quietly at gojo’s words, the sound soft and amused. he knew just as well as gojo did how easily you could be flustered. but he also knew how much you craved the attention, how you loved the way they could both make your heart race and your cheeks flush.

he took another drag from the joint, inhaling deeply before releasing the smoke into the open air. his expression was casual, the epitome of cool, but there was an unmistakable spark in his eyes as he watched the interaction between you and gojo.

“you’re so damn shy,” he teased, shaking his head at your flustered expression. “it’s almost endearing how easily you get bashful.” you couldn’t help but roll your eyes playfully at geto’s teasing, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the heat rising in your cheeks. “i’m not shameless like you two,” you shot back, your tone light.

the teasing was a familiar back-and-forth, but it always managed to make your heart race a little faster. you appreciated their playful banter, even if it made you feel shy and bashful. the way they saw you, flaws and all, made it impossible to feel anything but grateful for their affection.

gojo chuckled at your retort, his smile widening. “hey now, there’s nothing wrong with being shameless. it’s a good quality to have,” he said, his tone laced with a hint of self-satisfaction.

he leaned over slightly to pinch your cheek playfully. “and you’re not exactly a blushing wallflower, doll face. don’t pretend you don’t like it when we pay attention to you.” geto smirked at the exchange, watching the way your skin pinked under their gazes.

“he’s got a point,” he chimed in, taking another pull from the joint. “you’re always getting all flustered.” he leaned back against the window frame, resting his forearm against the window sill. “it’s kind of cute.”

“you do love it when we give you attention,” he added, his voice low and filled with a knowing quality. “you can try to hide it all you want, but we both know how much you enjoy it when we look at you like this…”

as if to show exactly what he meant, his gaze travelled over your body once more, his eyes raking over your curves in an obvious, almost reverent way. “…like we can’t keep our hands off you, like we could devour you whole if we wanted…”

“like you’re the most beautiful thing we’ve ever seen…” gojo continued, his eyes tracing the same path as geto’s. his gaze darkened, the pupils widening slightly as he took in your figure, exposed to their sight.

he reached out to run a finger along your collarbone to the faded scars on your shoulder, the touch light and teasing. “like we can’t bear the thought of anyone else touching you except us…”

geto chuckled softly, watching the way gojo’s touch made you shiver slightly. he lifted the joint to his lips and took a long, slow pull, letting the smoke fill his lungs before exhaling it through his nostrils. he locked eyes with gojo, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “we’d do anything, i mean anything, to keep you all to ourselves.”

you leaned in closer, your fingers brushing against geto's wrist as you took a puff from his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin linger on your fingertips. after taking a long puff, you held the smoke in your lungs for a moment before exhaling slowly, the hazy cloud swirling between the three of you.

with a teasing smile, you turned your gaze back to geto, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “oh?” you asked, your voice is playful yet sincere. “are you both that desperate to keep me all to yourselves?” you could feel the tension in the air, a blend of teasing and genuine affection, and the way their eyes glimmered with mischief only added to the intoxicating atmosphere.

gojo chuckled in response, his voice a low rumble. “you damn right we are,” he said, his gaze flicking between you and geto, a hint of possessiveness in his tone. “we’d do whatever it takes, dollface. you’re just too damn good to share.” geto let out a soft scoff, his lips curving into a smirk. “he’s not wrong,” he said, his voice quiet and confident. “we’d do anything to make sure you’re ours, doll.”

he took another drag from the joint before offering it to gojo. “we won’t apologize for being greedy,” he added, his eyes locked on your face.

he could see the way your cheeks pinked at his words, the way your breath hitched slightly, and it only increased his desire to have you all to themselves. “we’ll do whatever it takes to keep you right here, between us, where you belong.” his hand slides behind you, fingers dancing on your back around your scars. “so beautiful,” he murmur, leaning down to kiss your bare shoulder without breaking eye contact.

gojo took the joint from geto’s hand, bringing it to his lips and inhaling deeply, the smoke filling his lungs. he exhaled slowly, the haze swirling around the room, before handing it back to geto.

he watched as geto’s mouth touched your skin, the way his lips caressed your scars with reverence. it was both tender and possessive, a claim that you belonged to them, scars and all.gojo’s fingers tangled with yours, his hand gripping yours tight.

“damn right we’re greedy,” he echoed, his voice soft but firm. “and we aren’t gonna apologize for it. you’re ours, doll face. ours to touch, ours to kiss, ours to love. and we ain’t gonna let anyone else have you. ever. especially after we saw you how attractive you are with that scars— god, only thinking about it making me hard.”

geto nodded in agreement, his eyes still fixed on your face. he took another draw from the joint, his gaze flickering over to gojo and then back to you. “he’s not wrong,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “seeing you like this, scars and all, it’s making us crazy.”

his hand brushed over your bare skin, tracing the faded marks on your back. “you’re so damn beautiful like this, doll. so real and so…” he paused, searching for the right word. “vulnerable.”

you let out a soft hum of satisfaction, the warmth of their words wrapping around you like a cozy blanket. feeling emboldened, you ran your fingers through gojo’s messy hair, enjoying the softness beneath your touch and the way he leaned into your hand, a contented smile spreading across his face.

“maybe breaking a bed wasn’t such a bad idea after all,” you teased, your voice laced with playful mischief. you glanced between the two of them, your heart swelling with affection. “after all, it seems like we’d all enjoy the chaos,” you added, your eyes sparkling with excitement and desire, knowing just how wild things could get between the three of you.

gojo chuckled, his eyes closing as he leaned into your touch. he loved the feeling of your fingers running through his hair, the way it made his skin tingle. “you always know how to push our buttons, dollface,” he said, a cheeky grin on his lips.

geto’s hand left your back to take another pull from the joint. he blew a stream of smoke into the air before handing it over to you. “you’re playing with fire, doll,” he warning, a hint of danger in his voice. “you know damn well how much we love your chaos.”

you let out a soft hum of agreement as you took the last hit from the joint, the smoke swirling around you, heightening the atmosphere in the room. with a flick of your wrist, you crushed the joint in the ashtray on your nightstand, feeling a rush of confidence.

turning your gaze back to gojo and geto, you smirked mischievously. “how about we close the window?” you suggested, your tone playful yet challenging. “let’s see just how well you two can break my bed.”

the excitement in your voice hung in the air, charged with the promise of the chaos that was about to unfold, and you could feel the tension shift as they exchanged glances, both of them clearly intrigued by the challenge you just laid out.

“oh, you’re playing dirty now,” gojo said with a smirk. he loved it when you got feisty and provocative. he sat up, stretching his arms out above his head and cracking his knuckles.

geto chuckled, his eyes darkening with desire as you issued your challenge. he returned the smirk, the same gleam of excitement in his eyes. he reached over to close the window with one swift motion, the air in the room suddenly feeling even more charged with tension. “you’ve got yourself a deal, doll,” he murmured. “let’s see how well we can live up to our reputation.”

they were on you in a heartbeat, their lips finding your skin and lips, claiming every inch of you. the tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with desire and anticipation.

they laid you down on the bed, their bodies pressing against yours from both sides, their hands roaming over your body with urgency. their touches were possessive, but also gentle, as they traced the scars on your skin with reverent touches.

“god, you’re so damn beautiful, dollface,” gojo murmured, his mouth attaching itself to your neck, his teeth grazing your flesh.

geto’s hand slipped down your body, his fingers tracing the outline of your figure. “sooooo goddamn perfect,” he agreed, his breath hot against your ear as his mouth moved to kiss your shoulder.

[itsquakey]

Forgotten Land DLC thoughts, theories, and hopes

While Kirby Air Riders is an addition I am happy to see pop up in the future, someone who loves story and a certain someone I am actually more excited for the DLC over the air ride sequel believe it or not. And man, do I have a LOT of things to point out and "theorize" what this DLC might be.

⬇️ Rambling below! ⬇️

First of all, the suspiciously jamba-heart-shaped comet which is covered in blue crystals and is pink/purple in the core.

I can maybe see either a purple crystal that has carvings or damage of some sort and light is reflecting off these impurities OR it's something and that weird round bumpiness are wings of some kind? Which is why there's lighting and depth on the "figure". Though it's hard to see and it's a very uneducated guess.

Another detail! The bits of crystal that break apart from the comet and go everywhere has been seen in a few games!

I believe the bits and pieces of comet that break off are the same as the weird crystal fellas we see in Kirby clash and Return to Dreamland in "another dimension". I wonder if somehow that comet had been floating around in the other dimension for so long those weird crystals grew over it and created an extra coating of some kind.

Moving on, it's interesting that these "potential another dimension" crystals are infecting the world around it, though something I find interesting is how the coins change in shape to a different stereotypical star shape. Keep that in the back of your noggin for now.

Moving on again through the video...we see...something?

The area is called Fallen-star volcano, and looks like is contains a pink/purple core surrounded by a orb on red an them dead, fingerlike shapes wrap around it. Not entirely sure what to think of this, though the core is a hot topic of interest to me in my brain.

Next! Now this is where my eyebrows started to shoot up a bit. A new little guy, who seems to be encased in some crystal. He looks vaguely kirby enemy-like, typical design, though the colors, little wings, and shape on their face interests me for reasons I'll go into later.

Also, a potential new waddle dee??? He seems to be an astronomer or hell, maybe they research the other dimensions or the ancients. It would be amusing if this is bandee in new gear, though.

Next up, HMMMMMM THIS LOOKS FAMILIAR

This fella is covered in crystal, likely protected with horns and a mask(?) shape that really made me go "oh shit?" Something else to point out, when kirby defeats this fella, you can see their body and eye more clearly. The egg shaped body is also interesting to me but that could be a reach.

Nothing else seemed to catch my eye in the video we got after this, but I definitely have a handful of theories and hopes, so let's move onto that!

THEORY ONE: COMING BACK TO THE FORGOTTEN LAND

One idea I have is that maybe somehow those who left the forgotten land have been elevated to "another dimension" and one of these beings has crash landed back to the land they once left, now infecting the land around it. There's no proof for this one, but I kinda just had the idea in my brain when typing this out.

THEORY TWO: SOMEHOW, VOID TERMINA RETURNED

This theory has more grounds to be true, with the idea that Void Termina has suddenly become reincarnated and is flung back to land in a jamba heart-like crystal. The "another dimension" crystals are spreading and creating new living things as Void termina's new form awaits someone to wake it from its slumber.

THEORY THREE: PLEASE BE GALA PLEASE BE GALA

I REALLY want this to be true, I do. And I actually have a entire story decked out here for y'all. What if...Galacta's death in Star Allies was a red herring this whole time. What if every time we've seen him it's only the version of him in that dimension/universe? And in every universe, every dimension, Galacta knight is doomed to that crystal imprisonment. However, in our mainline timeline, our version of Galacta knight has been hanging around another dimension's very bottom, collecting crystals and becoming a huge comet that looks exactly like the thing Galacta knight helped seal away all those years ago. Now, he was the one who had been sealed and could never be free from it again.

This comet, one day becomes big and powerful enough to move out of the other dimension, and fall right into the Forgotten Land. This giant comet, holding the greatest warrior, falls into the sea and creates its own island where his body is kept. The crystals spread and infect everything, even giving creatures an appearance similar to him. Hell, maybe the little blue guy we see (which has bee confirmed to work like waddle dees) either helps up undo the crystals, maybe freeing Gala and undoing the crystal takeover of the land. Or maybe it's like a Leon's soul thing? Maybe these guys are parts of Galacta's soul or sanity you need to collect and return to him???

Something about them is interesting though, they have the same star shape as Galacta's mask does and what we see other enemies have as well as the coins we see in the game. They also have wings that look like they're meant to resemble bird wings. These could have a connection to Elfilin as well. But back on course to Gala. What if the pink/purple we see in the grainy image is either him or his crystal prison? And once he is freed it is revealed that his hatred, fear, and contempt have become a living thing possessing him and practically being responsible for the chaos that was happening. Maybe, this main line universe of Galacta is the one who gets the happy ending, and gets to be apart of Kirby's group or just gets to live happily in the forgotten land. Also something something tons of lore dumps as we go. But I'm desperate for Gala content he's my second fav kirby character and I NEED more of him and this trailer really tipped me off to "Galacta like patterns". If any new videos or info drops I'll be on it but this is my hopeful ramblings for now. Art coming soon! I really wanna draw these little guys.

Add onto whatever ideas or story you wanna see in this DLC.