#the solution is restless

[psychotic-nonsense]

It's happening again.

With Max, it's attempting new tricks on her skateboard. With Dustin, he takes apart and reassembles basic little trinkets. With Nancy, she rewrites old news articles. With Mike, he reorganizes the D&D dice box he's been carrying everywhere since Will left (and even after he came back). With the Sinclairs, it's spinning something - a basketball or pen or keychain or hair tie.

The loud music isn't uncommon, nor where it's coming from. But where the source is, and what kind of music it is, feels like something reserved for times like this.

Steve wasn't supposed to be out here, technically. He's on his lunch break, and he wanted a change of pace from the Family Video parking lot. He drove out to the edge of town - Keith doesn't give much of a damn how long their breaks are anymore - to find that cliff only he really knows how to get to. Helps that his Beemer is like a second heartbeat.

But on his way out, he hears the music.

How the hell Eddie got his van out this far into the woods, Steve's never gonna figure out. But there's loud ass music coming from it that's different to Eddie's usual type. More replicable, mainly, something that sounds like an actual song yet still has Eddie's whole screamy vibe. As Steve gets closer - having parked by the road just outside the woods - he can hear another voice singing along with their full chest.

That's when he realized what it is.

It's that violent restlessness. The buzzing feeling in, under, becoming every inch of your skin. Paralyzes you from doing anything substantial, yet everything else you try to do doesn't make the feeling fade. So you're stuck in a repetitive motion while stuck in place and it feels like exploding from the inside with nothing bursting out.

Most of The Party gets it bad nowadays, since the Upside Down was sealed away. Years of living on the brink of death to suddenly being plopped back into the mundane. Steve especially got it from the lack of sports, which worsened the Upside Down buzz.

Steve knocks on the van's back door, hoping it drowns out the music to not startle his friend too badly. He tries the door, which opens easily, and floods the woods with guitars and drums and voices.

Eddie doesn't startle, but neither does he move. He's laying down on the floor of the back, the precautionary blankets there all twisted up and scattered about in evidence of motion. One hand is tugging hard at the roots of his hair, the other snapping hard along with the music. One leg is bent up and bouncing, and his chest heaves in an attempt to keep up with Eddie's shout-along singing.

"Yeah, you said a single word,

But no one really heard,

Sometimes we scream alone!

It's always worse at night,

When darkness kills the light,

You're in the danger zone!"

It irks Steve in just the wrong way, seeing Eddie frozen like this. Gets him to leave the door open, walk around to the stereo sitting in the passenger seat, and hit the thing silent.

"What?" Eddie snaps immediately. The van rocks as he sits up.

Steve ignores him, just walking back around to the back to smack the side of the van. Noise will keep Eddie stable in this state. Eddie, who's staring at Steve with that adrenaline-fueled glare, jaw tense, sharp where he doesn't mean to be. Steve makes his words stern, to cut through the buzz no doubt rushing through Eddie's ears. "Up. I'm getting you out of here."

"'M fine," Eddie bites back, flopping straight back down with a bang he doesn't feel. One of his hands goes back to his hair.

Steve just reaches down to grab the end of one of those blankets, tugging hard. Eddie just moves an inch, but he flails like the bat tails are back around his ankle. He sits back up, eyeing Steve with a malice he can't mean. It's Eddie and he never does, not even when he's high on fight or flight.

Steve just nods to the outside world, repeating, "I mean it. Come on."

Eddie's jaw tenses just a bit more, before he rolls his eyes and scoots to hop out. Steve backs up, lets Eddie jump out of the van with too much motion, slam the doors shut and pat them in a goodbye both too hard, lets Eddie grip his leather jacket too tightly as he leads the two of them back to the Beemer. The snapping comes back a few minutes in, but Steve leaves it be.

Doesn't pick on Eddie not wiping his shoes, nor for slamming these doors shut or not buckling. The police has had more to worry about them than some unsafe driving. Steve just turns the radio up a bit too loud, leaves the snapping alone, and drives them along the edge of town.

He stops when they get to the junkyard. Doesn't say anything, just gets out and goes straight to the trunk. He hears Eddie follow him outside as Steve gets the not-nailed bat from the back, then slamming the trunk shut to keep Eddie's attention (no matter how much it and the slam prior hurt his soul).

Steve walks past Eddie into the heart of the junkyard. He spins the bat, scanning the ground, and finding an old can-looking thing. He picks it up, tossing it into the air a few times.

Then he tosses it once more, rears back, and hits the shit out of it.

The loud crinkling of metal and crack of wood creates an echo that slices through the residual buzz forming in Steve. He watches it fly haphazardly in the air, spinning randomly before landing on an old car, another echo to cut the buzz.

Eddie doesn't react verbally, but that's fine. Steve just finds something else - a piece of tire - and hits it too. Does the same to a crumpled sheet of metal, then another can-shaped thing. Feels the buzz get torn to pieces with every satisfying echo and vibration of conflicting action coursing through his veins on each hit.

When Steve finally turns to see Eddie's reaction, it's just the snapping fingers to really get his attention. Everything else about Eddie's body language says confused, curious, hungry.

His body still screams, and here it sees something that will listen.

So Steve holds the bat out by the barrel, handle to Eddie, and waves it at the junkyard around them. "Go ahead," he urges.

Eddie eyes it confused for a moment, but he eventually pushes off the side of the Beemer he was leaning against. Makes it to Steve with steps that still feel too hard, but takes the bat. Stares at it, spins it once to get the feel, but still hesitant.

Steve walks past him to retake that place on the Beemer. Eddie watches him go, still confused.

As Steve settles in, he motions again to the open empty junkyard. "Who's going to hear you?" he says.

'Only who you want to hear you,' goes unsaid.

Eddie blinks at Steve a few times more, then down at the bat. Spins it again, looks around. He spots something, stomps over to it, picks it up. A can. Tosses it up once, nearly doesn't catch it.

He looks around again, goes to a car beside him. Sits the can on the hood, steps back. Gets into a stance that feels at once natural and amateur, but Steve doesn't dare.

Because Eddie hits the can and it goes flying, with a crunch that gets Eddie to laugh a little.

Now he's really moving, looking around for something more. More metal, plastic, rubber, anything he can feasibly hit and some things he can't. It gets heavier, harder, doesn't go as far but that means the impact is in rather than out. Cuts through the buzz like nothing.

Soon Eddie takes off his leather jacket and really gets going. He's looking for glass and throwing it far and hard, feeling every shatter in his own insides. Grabs the bat again, starts hitting the vehicles, smashing the windows in further. Drops the bat again, finding unbreakable things and throwing them on the ground, on cars, against other smaller things. Looks like he's going ballistic but it's just the energy finally finding freedom and release in something.

Steve watches it all with prideful satisfaction.

Eddie digs through a pile of rubble, grabbing something evidently interesting. It's stuck, it's difficult, but that manic energy is nothing but insistent. Eddie eventually pulls it out, a rusted old metal chair far heavier than it seems. But Eddie just laughs at the challenge.

He picks up one end, and starts fucking spinning. One heel barely keeping him balanced, he spins and spins and spins. The chair gets lighter, his arms rise with the momentum. And finally, with a growl as cathartic as the destruction, Eddie throws the chair into a car, watching it shatter the glass and dent the metal in a loud bash of sound and noise and release.

This, it seems, is what finally curbs the buzzing. Eddie slumps over with the action, panting and laughing a little. He stumbles to the side, barely losing his footing in time to catch the side of that infamous bus and flop to the dirt beside it. He's panting and breathless and red in the face, but ultimately... satisfied.

Steve resigns himself to the bucket beside Eddie. Leans back against the rusted metal that saved his kids' lives, handing Eddie a water bottle from the storage in his trunk. Eddie takes it with an especially rough huff. Steve takes it as the thank you he knows it is.

Eddie gulps down a quarter of the bottle, spills another quarter on himself on accident. He leans his head back to stare at the sky, panting in relief.

"How... the hell did you know...?" he eventually gets out, still not looking at Steve.

Steve just stares at the patch of grass in the center of their little courtyard, forever greener from the cutlets that rotted there. Shrugs. "Just a hunch."

----------

2/4/25 Edit: Adding in some lyrics from "Breathless" by Dio (1984) thanks to the lovely suggestion by @finalmoondragon !!!!! Everything is the exact same as the original post the only difference is the lyrics :]

[some-pers0n]

interesting ideas about AI art and by no means am I trying to send hate but I believe majority of people hate AI art is because it's truly just the byproduct of a giant plinko board bouncing through pieces of art made by artists who put love and care and SOUL into their work. A visual product of a math formula. While it's "art" in the most litteral sense, not having a true human behind it putting though and effort into its every detail, for many people (myself included) devalues it from a tradition artists work.

I'm a firm believer in the idea that AI art is inherently unequal to non Ai art, specifically for this reason. (Hope this made sense sorry if it's incoherent)

I agree in that sense there. I personally do not find myself wanting to engage in a work when I purposefully know the creator had used AI to create the entire product. Something something,,,I cannot find myself getting invested in something that is little more than a product. I don't wanna read a fic about my blorbos when it was written by Chat-GPT

I also agree with the idea that a lot of people hate AI art because of this heavily emotional, debatably reactionary mindset that stems from one thing: fairness. It's the same sort of emotion I find one gets if all of the work on a group project gets shafted onto them whilst their fellow peers sit idly by. It feels unfair to sink hours into your craft, spending all this time fighting to develop your skills and flourish as an artist, only to see someone type half a paragraph and have a machine spit back something that looks not half bad. Let's be honest with ourselves here and say that AI art, at least in a visual regard, has progressed quite a bit to the point where most of the mistakes people find can be dismissed as wonky perspective and the line art being a bit fucky, which is something a ton of artists struggle with too

People develop a sort of a superiority complex over it. I can't blame them honestly. A number of times I've felt it too when people tell me they're using Chat-GPT as though it were Google and when I see my family members and friends playing around with AI art. I gotta bite my tongue and choke back a chortle, both because it's kind of a dick move and also because I don't want to relish in this feeling. It's infectious though to feel as though you have an edge over another person just because you abstain from using Chat-GPT or whatever. Not to be all "grrgrgrr you should LOVE Chat-GPT and if you dare to say anything bad then you are EVILL!!" of course though. It's emotions. They're messy, intense, and oftentimes you don't really realize when you're feeling since you get locked into your perspective. Yet, I think it's important to realize a lot of hatred of this generative AI stems from emotions. Reactionary ideals and claims stem from emotions after all

I think ultimately what the conversation about generative AI should revolve around is about the concerns of labour. The several strikes from a while back from VFX artists and scriptwriters come to mind. They are most at stake from generative AI as tools like Chat-GPT are cheaper and more cost-effective than paying an actual employee for their time and effort. I would also mention the environmental issues, but if we were to talk about that we would also have to acknowledge the fact that so, so much water is being used up daily to generate power for servers. Hell, this post alone will probably contribute to drying up some marsh in the greater scheme of things

Anywho yada yada TL;DR: I agree yes but I also think it's important to recognize that a good chunk of your hatred to Chat-GPT stems from feeling cheated and a sense of pride and superiority over others for simply not using it. There is no quality to Chat-GPT that makes it inherently evil. I can't get upset at my grandma for sending me a photo of her and her dog that went through an AI anime filter. I can feel maybe some exhaustion when seeing a fellow classmate using Chat-GPT to write their essay, but ultimately I write my own work for the love of the game. I can get upset however at those in higher power who use it to push artists out of jobs. Chat-GPT is a tool that has its pros and cons and I think it's reductive to just basically sit there and hiss like a vampire when presented with a cross when faced with the mere word "AI", especially when your only big argument for disliking it is based purely in feeling cheated when someone types a prompt into a program and art that would've taken you seven hours to draw gets spit out in about a minute or two

[karasimpno]

I know my “I can fix him” weakness is SOOO prevalent because I realized the other day that while Suguru is my like #1 pookie and has been for a MINUTE, not once have I ever included him in my nightly cuddling-with-a-fave fantasy to help me fall asleep bc I KNOW that mf never stays the night 😭

[dirtgemini]

when damon said 'who is this creature in the mirrored sea? she looks a lot like me' and joan responded 'who is this creature in the mirrored sea? looks a lot like me, but i don't recognize her eyes of thunder'

[dougthorpe-com]

Tired of Fitting In? Good.

Let’s be honest. If you’re reading this, chances are you’re feeling it too. That low hum of frustration, the quiet rebellion bubbling beneath the surface of every ‘find your niche,’ ‘stay in your lane,’ and ‘be original’ mantra thrown your way. You’re a coach, an entrepreneur, a visionary – and frankly, you’re tired of trying to fit into a box that was never designed for you. Good. Because it’s…

[whisperingwisdom]

MENTAL PEACE: How to Stop RESTLESSNESS and WORRIES 5 Tips

[itsoutrageouss]

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley being ready to go on his knees for his favorite nurse… but he has no idea how to show it.

Then he sees you at the pub.

It settled inside of him as a feeling of uselessness because he’s so used to knowing what to do. He takes action. He fixes things. And now he gets all flustered when you tend to his wounds, absentmindedly stroking his thigh and talking to him so so sweetly. Calling him a good boy when you finish the stitches, biting your lip as you focused on making them as neat as you could for him. He would stare at you the whole time, his cheeks heating because no one ever showed him this much care and you didn’t even seem to struggle with it- it was all natural.

You had labelled him ‘favorite patient’ in your phone but he didn’t know that. He figured you behaved like that with all the soldiers who came in- the reason you were such a good nurse.

After a well succeeded mission, the task force and the bases Staff all crowd down to the nearest pub. It was an excuse for you to finally be out of your work attire, adorning a black lacy top that made you feel sexy along with your glossy lips. He was already there, leaned back in a booth with Soap and Price as you walk in, looking around nervously.

He has to grit his teeth as he sees you. Fuck fuck fuck. This was gonna be a long night. He fisted his hands beneath the table.

This feeling of hopelessness, of not knowing what to do was so foreign that it bubbled into anger. Price frowned, noticing the rigid way his Lieutenant suddenly sat. Soap was too busy telling some story to notice anything, slamming down a hand, the beers rattling. Your colleagues crowded you into a booth that so conveniently faced him.

Why did he look at you like that? He was positively fuming, glowering, brows lowered and face set. You cowered under his gaze, eyes flickering away nervously.

His lips parted in soft surprise. Why did you look so nervous? Had he done something?

Because of course he was no clue how damn intimidating his so called love stare stare is. He follows you as you walk to the bar, leaning over, your skirt riding up. He has to blink up at the ceiling because it felt simultaneously like a gift from above, being allowed to see you like this, and like a curse from hell.

“Oh he’s down bad for her ain’t he, that fucker?” Soap exclaims, finally catching on as he lets out a hearty laugh. Simon glares.

“I think LT needs another pint” Price muses. Soap, ever the sergent he is, groans and gets up, patting Simon heavily on the shoulder before walking up to the bar next to you.

“You got him weak in the knees, Bunny” Soap grins casually, ordering the pints. It takes you a few seconds to comprehend before you lean backwards slightly, catching Simon’s gaze. This time he averts his eyes immediately. He was fucking fuming inside, not knowing how to get these feelings to go away. The only solutions he could think of were violence or sex. And violence he’s had enough of- and he’s sure the training dummies had too. Every damn night these past days he’s been punching his knuckles bloody, hoping it would satiate his restlessness. It didn’t.

And as for sex… he didn’t- well he didn’t not want that but that’s not where he wanted to start. He always threw himself into hookups or fiery flings that burned out too quickly, leaving embers he didn’t care for. He didn’t want that with you. He wanted to be genuine, slow, proper. And he had no idea how. He didn’t like not being good at things.

Your eyes stay on him, forcing his head to turn back to you. Your expression is unreadable, his fingers curling beneath the table before he rapidly stands up. You almost jolt at the action, the floor creaking from his weight as he stalks over to you and Soap, grumbling something.

Soap leaves, Simon trying to casually lean his elbows on the bar. “Just gonna wait for the pints” he tells you, then his jaw ticks because why did he say that? You probably don’t give a fuck what he’s doing there.

You smile softly, intrigued. “How’s your shoulder?”

It startled him, his head whipping to yours like you said something totally out of sorts. His shoulder? Right— It takes him way too long to answer.

“Fine. You did a good job. As always,” he said gruffly, looking down at the chipped wood of the bar, drumming his fingers impatiently.

“You look good.” The words slip past his lips, eyes quickly giving you a once over.

“I know.” He looks at you, sees a small glint in your eyes and the smile you smother. He wants to groan out loud at the sight.

A dry, almost laugh escapes him, shaking his head softly. “F’course you do.”

There’s a long, awkward silence where you both look anywhere but at each other, spines straightening, then slumping, then you both look at the bartender to keep busy.

He places your drink in front of you, three pints clattering in front of Simon. Neither of you move to take them.

“So I’m gonna go” Simon rumbles and turns, the pints clutched in his hands. He was overheating, fumbling in ever possible way he could and he couldn’t take it. You opened your mouth but he was already halfway across the room.

The pints rattle as he sits down. “So?” Soap asks as he leans forward. Simon grumbled that this isn fucking high school. But it’s not Soap he’s mad at. It’s himself. He had you right there.

You can’t focus the rest of the evening, laughing hollowly and sipping your drink with disinterest. Did he not find you interesting? It was so hard to read him that you started to doubt if he was playing with you. Maybe this was just the way he… was.

You hadn’t noticed everyone going out for a smoke. You hadn’t noticed the way he looked at you through the window like some kind of fucking stalker, only the glow from his cigarette giving colour to his shadow.

You down the rest of your drink, pulling your coat around you. The night is crispy, air poking your cheeks like needles.

“Are you ever going to ask me out? Because if not then I’d like to know- I don’t really know if you don’t like me or if I scare you or if there’s something entirely different at play but you cannot just stare at me and expe-“ a cold, chapped pair of lips silence you. They’re gone as quickly as they came you Simon’s eyes are wide, dropping his cigarette to the ground.

“I’m sorry- do you wanna- can I ask you out? I didn’t mean to do that but you talk a lot” he said bluntly, stuttering his way through his own mortifying actions.

He kissed you. To shut up your mindless yapping he… you shake your head in disbelief.

“You are unbelievable” you say, but there’s absolutely no malice in your tone- only wonder.

“Is that a yes?” He asks, his throat feeling tight.

“Yes. It’s a good technique you have there- do you do that on everyone? Kiss them when they talk too much? I can just imagine how Soap would rea-“

He did it again, eyes closing and inhaling sharply as he covered your cold cheeks with his hands. Christ you were a talker but he didn’t mind so much, if he was allowed to quiet you like this from now on.

[alexiroflife]

"an angel restored"

part 2 of "a bird's song"

satoru gojo x reader

Synopsis: satoru brings you, his dead soulmate, to shoko in hopes of healing you.

to sum it up: you're satoru's soulmate, and a life without you is inconceivable

WC: 4,320

Warning(s): intense grief, mentions of death/reader death, angst to comfort

Satoru paces back and forth heavily, feet clomping against the marble floors as pearly white teeth nibble at his fingernails. His stomach is in knots, his eyes shot red from exhaustion, heartbreak, and mourning.

The image of you splayed out on the ground in a puddle of your own blood is ingrained in his head. He has not slept a wink for the past twenty-four hours, for the memory is too vivid. It is burned into his mind as something he is unable to forget, something that will never leave him.

His chest feels heavy as though something is weighing him down, crushing into his windpipe. The anxiety bites away at him, spiking his heart rate and making him a restless mess. The strongest sorcerer of the modern age is at his very weakest, his most vulnerable, and if any of his enemies were made aware of his current state, they would surely swarm in to take advantage.

Nevertheless, Satoru would fight them off, crushing each cursed being within the very palms of his hands as he'd stare coldly into their eyes. For as long as it meant protecting you, giving Shoko enough time to work a miracle, saving you from further danger than you're already in, not a thought would cross his hurried mind before killing, destroying, or squashing any imposing threat.

Amid Satoru's stupor of unfathomable grief upon discovering your body, it dawned on him to rush you to Shoko. His mind was not in the right space, for he did not think to ponder how long your body had been laying lifeless there - a factor that would absolutely play a role in whether Shoko would be successful in healing and reviving you or not.

But Satoru did not care. The moment the thought crossed his mind, he was on his feet with you clutched to his blood-drenched chest and teleporting you into the RTC infirmary.

Satoru trembled when he made eye contact with the stupefied brunette, his entire body shaking in response to feeling your cold flesh against his. He could feel the lifelessness of you, and it made him nauseous and feral with unease. This was not you. This could not be you. Shoko had to fix you, and there was no other option.

There was no other solution to this predicament.

Satoru struggled to part with you as he brought you to a cold slab and lay you down on it gently. He stared down at your face, wounded. A hole resided in your lower right abdomen where you must have been struck the fatal blow, for you had lost a significant amount of blood as it stained the entire lower half of your body.

The blue-eyed sorcerer's lip trembled uncontrollably, hands twitching at his side to reach for you, but something within him stopped him. As though he was petrified.

The melody of a songbird rang throughout his ears like a piercing siren, like an auditory mockery of what the world has stripped from him, of how helpless it has left The Gojo Satoru.

His jaw clenched, his brows pinched, and a strained whimper was caught in his tight throat as he fought off the cries threatening to spill. His darling, his light, his angel had dimmed before him, and now he clings to his last chance, his last hope of holding onto you. Of getting his soulmate back.

Not once has Satoru confessed to being in love with you in all his years of devoting his heart to yours, and before, he did not feel that he needed to express so due to the strength of your connection. What was felt and shared between the two of you was so strong that it was unsaid, that it was felt radiating through the very core of the earth as though the universe itself brought the two of you to each other.

But now, that is all Satoru can think of - how he never told you the depth of his feelings. How he never got to feel the sweet softness of your lips, swimming into his, how he never got to whisper his intense adorations into your ear as the two of you entangled in one another's bare limbs in the stillness of dawn, how he never got to clasp your hand in his as he bent down before you on one knee and swore to serve you as a lifelong partner, as someone who would never let you get hurt.

But he did just that. He let you slip away from his sight. He let this horror happen to you.

And Christ, if nature willed you to enter his life and bring meaning to it, then it was only fair for it to return you to him to fulfill your fate. You are his. He is yours, and not even death is enough to disrupt the magnetic pull that keeps you both together.

Satoru's hands are stained for you. The world now quivers in fear for your sake. His occupation, his morality, his very livelihood are in jeopardy because of you, because Satoru would do anything to avenge your soul, to honor you in death when he could not in life. He is in trouble for his actions after taking you to Shoko, but he does not care. He would murder millions and call his work divine if he were doing so to keep you safe, to keep you loved, to keep you alive.

Your worth transcends morality, transcends the rules of the world in which he inhabits. He would die happily in your place if it meant seeing your breath restored.

Satoru is petrified. It has been over a day, and he still has not gotten word from Shoko about your state. He understands that he is asking a lot of the woman, but she grew up with you, him, and Suguru all the same. She witnessed firsthand the love you two hold for each other, and therefore, she knows that if this can not be done, the world will end for sorcerers and non-sorcerers alike.

Because Satoru's sanity and overall being begins and ends with you.

The ivory-haired man can not imagine it. He can not imagine never being able to gaze upon your breathtaking face again, never being able to hear the sweet, honeyed tone of your voice ramble away your thoughts to him, never holding your delicate hand in his palm again, feeling your skin warm against his as he guides you close by.

Your big (e/c) eyes swollen with passion and wisdom and enchantment. Your (h/c) hair that captures the light every time you step into the sun. The smoothness of your soft (s/c) skin. Your beautiful arms, your beautiful legs, your beautiful lips, nose, fingers.

The rumble of your bright laughter, the way you bare all your teeth and keel over in hysterics, gripping onto Satoru's thigh for stability. The dent in your brow when he has done something to aggravate you. The flush of your cheeks when his hand brushes the small of your waist, and the way you bashfully turn to look to the side to avoid further embarrassment.

The gentle, maternal manner in which you teach your students. Your thoughtful urge to bring Satoru treats from his favorite bakeries and sweet shops. And god, the unsaid affections that linger on your tongue when the two of you are alone in each other's company late at night, swapping secrets and fears and expressions of appreciation.

Satoru's heart pangs at the memory of you, the memory he so desperately hopes to be revived... to not be lost along with you.

It has barely been over a day, and it feels as though a part of him has hollowed, like a hole has punctured through his chest where his heart once was.

He is nothing without you. He needs you, his light, his love, his sunshine, his soulmate. A life without you is a life not worth living. You are everything. You are the earth, the moon, the stars, and Satoru's very reason for breathing.

So this has to work. It must, or else he will lose all sense of himself.

The sun has set once more, time melding into yet another night spent without you. Satoru is cold, stiff as he stares ahead in an empty daze. He sits in the hall on the floor, his back pressed against the wall beside the door that leads to his estranged heart.

The birds' chirping has ceased for the day, and suddenly he finds himself in complete silence.

It was never silent when you were around.

The immense pain that grips Satoru has seized him in a state of paralysis. He has not eaten, drunk water, or moved from this very spot for... he is not even sure how long now.

It's so cold without you. So grey, so vacant. He is surprised the world has dulled itself now, of all times, and not when he first found your body.

The fair sorcerer shivers once more. He is impatient. He is angry. He is devastated. He sifts between a range of emotions as he wastes away in this sterile, unfeeling hallway, awaiting his sentence. Awaiting yours.

He almost does not think that the sound of the metal door creaking open to his left is real until he hears a gentle call of his name fall from Shoko's lips.

His head snaps up, and when he examines her face, he is quick to snap out of it and scramble to his feet.

What is this excitement intermixed with dread? This terror flooding into hope? Despite being oblivious to whatever news he is preparing to hear, he is upright at the thought of you, at the long-lost sight of your friend that could either mean happiness or eternal damnation.

The said brown eyed woman appears exhausted. Dark circles encase her heavy eyes, and flyaways stick out from her normally shiny hair. Satoru sees the tireless work plain on her face, and he remembers how thankful he is to have such a talented, hardworking woman as a friend to him and to you.

Satoru studies her face closely, unable to even utter the words to ask about what she has to say. He stares at her wide-eyed with parted lips and a neck craned forward. He is on the edge of his seat, buzzing with anticipation and indescribable fear.

He worries for the worst. He stills at the notion that you could be truly gone, that Shoko did everything she could but to no avail. He awaits apologetic tears, a downcast gaze, or a weighted sigh, but none comes.

Instead, Shoko's lips press together in a pinched, relieved smile. Her eyes catch a look that Satoru has never seen before, one that she has likely hidden away time and time again in her line of work. Ever the stoic, indifferent woman, the fluorescent lights overhead glimmer in her gaze as she shares an unspoken affirmation with the man before her.

Satoru's heart jumps, for he confuses the flutter with an oncoming heart attack. He is still frozen as Shoko moves to hold the door wide open, standing to the side and practically inviting the six-eyed sorcerer inside.

The man's nose flares and a breath he did not know he had been holding leaves him.

He moves quickly, dashing into the room he had been kept from for what felt like eons.

He is suddenly breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling as he stops in shock.

You turn to look at him slowly, a thick blanket wrapped over your bare shoulders. The color has only just begun to return to you. You look so frail, but Satoru knows you are alive before him the moment your eyes lock with his, and the world goes mute.

Your face morphs with emotion, tears welling immediately in your eyes and face scrunching as you take him in.

And you're there. Real, in the very flesh he knows and loves all too well. His eyes do not dare rip from yours, for he momentarily thinks he is dreaming until the sound in the room returns when your chapped lips part to speak so gently, so wistfully, so frightened and yet reprieved.

"Satoru," you whimper.

And suddenly, the strongest sorcerer can breathe.

He trips over himself running over to you. A harsh vocalized gasp leaves him when his body meets yours, long arms encasing you tightly and pulling you into him as though he has been starved of you, which he has.

He feels you shake against him as a sob wracks your body, and he knows this is real. The scent of you, the feel of you, the warmth that was once lost to him.

Gojo's vision blurs over as he embraces you graciously, tilting his chin into your hair and screwing his eyes tightly. He heaves out a choked cry, blubbering to you as you cry into his chest, fingers clinging into the fabric of his clothing, afraid to let go.

There are no words for Satoru in this moment, none that could describe all that he is feeling. His heart is hammering into his ribs as he wraps you up into him, savoring your hold for all it is worth.

"Toru," you wail into him, shaking. All you can remember is the sharp pain that pierced through your body, the sensation of your own guts threatening to spill out, and a life with Satoru never lived flashing before you as everything went black.

You thought you were dead. You thought you would never see him again.

You cling to him harder, bawling, afraid to let go of what could have been lost to you. "T-Toru, I'm so sorry."

"Oh, (Y/n). Oh baby," he snivels, hardly able to breathe himself. He pulls back ever so slightly. You feel his hands move from around you to cup the sides of your head and sweetly urge you to look up. "Don't apologize to me. Please don't. Come here, pretty girl, let me see you, yeah? Let me get a look at your face," he wills in a broken whisper.

You oblige slowly, carefully peeling your head from his now-soaked shirt to look up at him. He hovers mere centimeters away from your face, his godlike nature captured by an ethereal sentiment: shiny tears streaking over his cheeks as he soaks in the sight of you.

He twitches, huffing out a short breath of disbelief. His crystal hues roam over your face, taking in every detail, every line, every lash, every tremble in your muscles. His large hands hold your cheeks safely, thumbs swiping over the dampness collecting in your eyes and smearing over your skin. Satoru shakes his head slightly to himself, the intense curve of his brows giving himself away.

You're alive. You're alive and restored to him. His nightmare is over.

"God, you're so beautiful," he weeps, thumb smoothing over your cheekbone. The compliment makes you cry even harder as a brief, stunned smile catches Satoru's lips in between his tears. "You're gorgeous, (Y/n). I missed this face so much. I missed you so much."

"I missed you too," you mewl. "I thought I lost you."

"I thought I-" Satoru is about to agree, but he can't bring himself to utter the words, to let what could have happened to you fabricate itself in such a joyful moment. The thought tears away at him, makes him ache, and he bites down on the inside of his lip to keep himself from spiraling. "I was so scared. I was terrified that I lost you too."

"I should've been more careful."

"No, no, no," he denies your guilt. "You did everything you could. I shouldn't have let you go in the first place. I had such a bad feeling and I - I let you," his heart clenches. "I always vowed to protect you and I broke that vow."

Your hands find his wrists as you hold them delicately, the very contact sending shivers down Satoru's spine. To have you back again, touching him, still does not feel real. "It wasn't your fault."

"It was, (Y/n). I'm the strongest sorcerer of the modern age and I couldn't save you. I should have stopped you. I should have talked to Yaga. I shouldn't have let you walk away, (Y/n). I'll never let you walk away from me again."

His voice is wavering, yet his tone is earnest, stern. There is such severity in his words, such unforgivable anger with himself, and such intense ardor for you. He reaches for you with his speech, latches onto you, embraces you with his soft, weak tone.

"That's not your burden, Toru. I was careless. Don't carry this weight. Please."

"You are my world, (Y/n)," he urges. "You are everything good in this world and in my life. You're the reason I wake up in the morning, the reason I go to work, the reason I fight, the reason I eat, the reason I breathe. You're my heart. You're - you're everything, and I let my reason for being slip through my fingers. You have to understand, this is my burden. I let you go. I'm not supposed to do that."

You blink up at him, frowning, heart swelling.

"Do you have any idea what went through my mind when I found you? Do you know what it felt like to think that I was never gonna see you again?"

You tighten your lips, glassy eyes holding his. "I do, Toru. I was so scared when it all happened. I was only thinking about you... about being away from you."

"Me too." Another shudder wrecks Satoru's body as he ducks down to press his forehead to yours. You close your eyes with a sigh. "Me too, baby. I was terrified. So terrified."

He ducks to press soft kisses to your cheek, cradling your head in his hands as saltiness catches onto his mouth. You whimper softly, leaning into him with yearning. The contact of his lips to your skin is cautious, sugary and thankful. You feel his love and his warmth as he presses into you as though you're nothing but a fragile piece of glass. He kisses your forehead once, then twice, then slowly moves to peck the bridge of your nose before landing back on your cheek. His kisses are pillowy, lingering reminders that he is here now, that you will never have to be alone in darkness again.

"I've got you," he murmurs when you begin to shake with a cry again, the tip of his nose dragging over your skin as his lips follow. "I got you. You're safe. It's just me and you. It always will be."

"I didn't mean to do this to you," you quiver. "I'm sorry."

"Shhh," his hush drifts into your ear. His hand goes to stroke your head, lashes fluttering. God, he's grateful. He's so grateful. "You have no reason to apologize. It's all over now. It's okay."

He kisses the crown of your head and pulls back to look at you again. The two of you are nothing but leaky, lovesick eyes and shallow breaths. "How are you feeling. sunshine? Are you hurt? Are you okay?" He looks down at the bandages around your midsection peaking through your blanket-shield.

"I'm fine, Toru," you want to dismiss him, too occupied by his very presence to worry about yourself.

"Are you sure? You'll tell me if anything's wrong, right?"

"Yes," you go to cup his face in your hands now. Satoru visibly relaxes, pupils dilating and heart buzzing as he takes in the familiar feel of your hands on his face. "I'm okay. I'm here."

You are here. As beautiful as the day his life ended.

"I'm not going anywhere. I promise. I'm here for good," you assure him in a hushed voice, the same voice both of you have been speaking in since he burst into the room. "Thank you for saving me."

"I didn't-"

"You did. You didn't give up on me. You brought me here even when it didn't look like I was gonna make it, and that's more than enough. Thank you, Toru. Thank you."

Satoru assumes you have spoken with Shoko before him entering, given the way you express knowledge of how close of a call this was.

"There was no thought in my mind, (Y/n). I had to try. That was the least I could do. I could never give up on you."

He brushes hair away from your face to kiss your forehead again. He looks at you, your doe eyes, and your trembling lips. He swoons.

"You're so pretty."

"Satoru, I just rose from the dead, naked," you find yourself chuckling dryly for a moment, unsure of how Satoru can see such beauty in such a drab circumstance.

"And you're so pretty. My pretty girl."

You flush, for his pet names for you never cease to make you nervous. "Toru..."

"You're the most beautiful woman to walk this earth. You know that?" he stares into your soul, void of his usual mischief. He is completely, utterly serious as he presents his vision of you, enamored. "So smart, and compassionate, and lively, and funny, and kind, and so beautiful. You are breathtaking to me."

His earnestness makes you shift. Whatever is left of your smile falls as his speech envelops you. Satoru has always showered you with compliments and affections, but never in such a way, never as sincere as he appears before you now.

There is something weighing on him. You can tell. It is burning him from the inside out as he continues to look at you as though in awe. His snowy lashes flutter, pink lips releasing soft exhales, and his brilliant eyes hypnotize you as they always have. You can not handle the way he looks at you with such intensity, as though you are the only person to exist in his eyes.

He feels the restoration of his soul the longer he looks at you and soaks you in. He feels nature piecing the two of you back together, reuniting soulmates momentarily parted by brief tragedy.

The room livens, and a song twinkles its way into his mind and his heart. A light, frilly tune chirping away, leading Satoru back to the early mornings he lay wide awake, and the moment he first lay eyes on you almost twenty years ago.

He hears it, the song of the dawning sky. He hears the birds chirping again as they bring you back to him. He hears the song of his love for you.

And he can not contain such bliss in experiencing you any longer.

"I love you," he breathes. The confession lingers in the air, embedding itself into the shocked silence. Your brows lift, and your eyes catch even more light, which Satoru had previously doubted was possible. He lets the words sit for a moment, reveling in them and what it means to verbalize them to you. "I have loved you from the moment I met you, (Y/n). You're my person. I can't imagine a life without you. I love you. I love you more than anyone could love anything."

And you know this. You've known it for years, but hearing him say it out loud has your stomach swarming with butterflies and your ears ringing. The world's most beautiful man, its most sacred treasure, and your very heart and soul in human form professed his love for you, and you can do nothing but stare.

"I don't ever want to be away from you again. I'll go wherever you go. My life started with you, and I intend to end it with you, too. I love you."

The tears are coming again, but you do not fight them. You let them take you as Satoru overwhelms you with the love you always knew you shared.

You inhale shakily, searching all through his dark eyes. "I love you too," you sigh as if the proclamation is as easy as breathing. "I always have. You're my soulmate, Toru. There's never been anyone else for me. I wanna stay by your side forever."

With that, vibrant color pours into the bland room. A symphony of pigment over canvas splatters about. The far-off mountains sing and the stars twinkle in delight at their destined pair.

Satoru's world rebuilds itself before his eyes. You glow in his vision, serving as the very source of all the color he sees and the music he hears. His vision is blurred again as joy overcomes him, for he is whole.

"My baby," he whispers, guiding himself slowly into you, palms brushing your jaw as you hold his own. "I love you so much. Thank you for coming back to me."

"I'll always find my way back to you, my love."

He seals your promise with a warm kiss. His lips touch yours softly, pushing in ever so slightly and breathing you in. Goosebumps sprout over your skin, and a large hand slides to cup your chin, holding you to him. You both hum, enchanted, relieved, and pieced back together.

Shoko watches from afar, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. She breathes out a deep exhale and closes her eyes, satisfied that her hard work brought you back to them. Now, you all could rest.

She goes to close the door and step out for a much-needed smoke break to give the two of you some privacy with one another before she has to return. The two of you are none the wiser, encased in your own bubble of hushed decrees of everlasting love and prolonged, messy kisses.

A distant warbled song proceeds in celebration of the angel that has been restored to the earth and Satoru alike.

[mallowsweetmiri]

Truth, Dare, or Punishment ~ Fred Weasley

summary: you bitches asked for dom!Fred and you shall receive. a game of truth or dare in the common room goes south when Mclaggen dares you to kiss him

warnings: possessive dom!Fred, smut, cursing

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

The night had been going splendid so far. Everyone was way too excited after the arrival of Beauxbatons and Durmstrong to go to sleep, and the older Gryffindors decided to get shitfaced as the perfect solution to their restlessness. After all, there was no quidditch this year to justify throwing common room parties, so you guys had to get creative. The new year brought new witches and wizards to corrupt, and so the twins finally let their baby brother Ron and his year join the fun. It been going well, granted Hermione was drunk off her ass, but Harry had been watching over her well enough. You were also past the point of drunk, and you assumed by their faces that the rest of the group were on their way there. At this point in the night, those who were still awake were circled up playing a filthy game of truth or dare. Angelina had gone to do seven minutes in heaven with George, Neville had eaten a puking pastille, and Ron had madeout with Lavender Brown in a disturbing manner. It was time to spin the bottle again to see who would ask the next question. Hermione giggle and leaned into the circle to spin the bottle. Everyone look around with nervous smiles as it spun around and around, before landing on Cormac McLaggen. You cringed. This was possibly the worst person it could've stopped on. Your body had a visceral reaction when your name left his lips.

"Y/N," he smiled drukenly, "Truth or dare?" You rolled your eyes. Oh, great.

"Truth," you said, grabbing your drink and taking a swig. You were going to need it.

"Who did you lose your virginity to?"

You choked on your drink as the rest of the group murmured at the question, Hermione's jaw dropping before a stream of shocked laughs escaped her. You felt Fred tense up beside you. Your mind raced with the memories of this summer at the Burrow.

"Just like that, Y/N. You're doing so good," Fred praised as he thrusted into you, kissing the crook of your neck while he fucked you. He'd been teaching you how kiss, as a friend of course. He had to help out his dear friend Y/N when she confessed how embarrassed she was that she had never kissed anyone. Never done anything with anyone. From there it had escalated. First, you wanted to know learn to give a blowjob, but soon enough Fred thought it'd be best if you knew what these things felt like too. After a while, you both realized you were terribly obsessed with each other, and one night you decided to let him be the one to take your virginity. He was big, and you were nervous, but he was so sweet about it. Even at the beginning when you thought it wouldn't be able to fit, he was reassuring and gentle with you. But that was at the start, and by now he was fully fucking you on your back, your pussy starting the soften around his cock as pleasure began to ripple through your body. You both came together in a heap of sweat and kisses.

"Y/N," McLaggen sung, waiting for your response.

"I'm not answering that," you coughed, still choking on your drink. The group has set up measure to tell if someone was lying, so you couldn't fake still being a virgin. You supposed the question wasn't that out of pocket, but you couldn't answer it. Nobody knew about you and Fred besides George, and you both wanted to keep it that way. Especially from your families.

"Well then, you know the rules," McLaggen tsked teasingly, "you forfeit to dare."

"What? No, I-"

"Those are the rules Y/N," Hermione cringed, unable to stop herself. McLaggen smirked.

"I dare you to kiss me."

You felt nauseous. McLaggen was disgusting, and the last person you'd ever want to kiss. Unfortunately, you'd brought this onto yourself. You should've known he would dare someone to kiss himself. What a weirdo. The circle groaned and laughed in disgust as McLaggen puckered his lips. You cringed and shifted your weight to lean across the circle. Just as you were about to shuffle over to him, Fred grabbed your wrist and pulled you back. You looked back at him and saw anything but a smile on his usually cheerful face. He spun the bottle and landed it on himself in a hasty motion, still holding onto your wrist tightly.

"McLaggen, I dare you to stop wearing your fucking Ballycastle Bats tighty whities to every single quidditch practice," Fred sneered before yanking you up with him and pulling you towards his dorm. You heard the group go crazy with laughter behind you and hoped it would cover for the fact that Fred just pulled you away from the party. Hopefully George could cover for you two, he should be done with seven minutes by now. Fred dragged you up the stairs without so much as a look in your direction. Once you reach his dorm, he threw open the door. What was happening?

"Fred-" he smashed his lips into yours and shut the door with your body. You gasped as your back hit to wooden surface, Fred pulling your skirt up while his hand gripped your thigh. He used your lifted leg as leverage to grind down into your hips as he pressed you against the door. Your pussy pulsed when you felt him against you, his hands gripping in all the right places. Wait a minute. When did he start kissing you again?

"Fred," you said quickly, pulling away from his mouth. He tried to kiss you again. "Fred, we just left the party. You just dragged me up here when I was supposed to kiss-"

"Don't even say his name," Fred growled, his breathing heavy and hot as he kept his face inches from yours.

"I'm sorry," you whispered out, unable to speak properly. You'd never seen Fred mad before.

"I'm sorry I dragged you," he softened, ducking his head down to kiss your neck, "but I wasn't going to let somebody else kiss you." With that, he began to attack your neck. His left hand came up to grip the back of your head as his tongue and teeth lapped at your sweet spot. You let out whimpered moans as he worked, his fingers gripping you just right. Rougher than usual.

"Freddie," you moaned, grinding yourself onto his leg. You needed more. This man had hooked, and you'd never been so addicted in your life. He picked you up under your legs and carried you to the bed before placing you down on your back. He stood over you, leaving you panting on the bed as he took off his shirt and undid his belt. His eyes were locked on yours. You wanted to look away but you couldn't, his gaze wouldn't let you. When he finished, he rushed towards you again, kissing you deeply as his hand flipped your skirt up. His tongued rammed itself into your mouth, stifling your moans when his fingers grazed over your clit. You blushed as his fingers masterfully moved your panties aside and dipped into your core. Fred laughed into the kiss as he felt you.

"Already so wet for me," he breathed huskily, "are you ready to take me?" His words had you aching. You nodded up at him bashfully. You wanted him so badly. You had turned into such a slut for his cock. "Good girl." He sat up and flipped you over, pulling your panties down as he took off his own pants. He didn't bother to take off your skirt as he pulled you back onto him. You let out a guttural moan as you felt his length stretching you out.

"Fuck, Freddie," you whined as he gripped your hips and began to thrust into you. He was going to leave bruises for tomorrow, but you didn't care.

"You're taking it so good, Y/N" Fred groaned, smacking your ass, "you like getting fucked by me? Huh?" He picked up his pace, pounding into you hard. Your moans were bouncing with the rhythm of his thrusts as he waited for your reply.

"Y-yes, Freddie. I love when you fuck me," you whined, feeling you pussy begin to clench around him. His dick twitched at the feeling and groaned. In one motion, he pulled out and spun you onto your back, pulling your shirt up over your tits and pinning your wrists above your head.

"God, you look so fucking pretty. Can't see your beautiful face while I'm behind you," Fred grunted as he thrust back into you. You moaned and threw you head back. You writhed underneath Fred, his hand constraining your wrists. You desperately needed to grasps something. You were reaching the edge.

"Freddie," you cried, unable to say anything except his name. Your eyes clenched shut as you felt your stomach knot up one final time.

"That's it, baby. Come for me." You could feel his eyes on you as you released yourself around his throbbing cock. As the waves of pleasure began to slow, Fred grunted and became sloppy. He released your hands and buried his face into your neck as he came, pushing himself as deep as he could inside of you. He laid there for a moment before pushing himself off you and pulling you onto his chest. You couldn't help but giggle a little as he kissed your head and rubbed your shoulder.

"You are so jealous," you teased, looking up to see Fred. He laughed with a sleepy half smiled.

"I'm not jealous," he retorted, pinching your cheek. "I'm just protecting whats mine."

[wholoveseggs]

Face First

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Klaus Mikaelson x f!reader} A few late-night texts leads to a very unexpected house call. You’re on your period. Klaus doesn’t care.

♡♡ For my beautiful feral Klaus lovers ♡♡

1.7k words - Warnings: smutt, oral sex only, period sex, fingering, sexting, mild anal play, unsolicited house visits && {of course} Klaus being Klaus ...

You weren’t trying to start anything. Not really.

You were just bored. Horny in that aimless, restless way that came from too much scrolling and not enough serotonin. The sheets were soft. The night was quiet. You were freshly showered, wrapped in an oversized t-shirt, legs bare, your period cramps finally dulled to a distant throb. For whatever reason, your brain had decided Niklaus fucking Mikaelson was the problem and the solution all at once.

So you opened your messages and did something incredibly stupid. You pulled your shirt up and snapped a photo. Nothing too explicit. Just bare thighs, legs spread, the hem hitched high enough to hint at more. Just enough to drive him insane. You hit send, a little thrill of adrenaline spiking through you.

And then you waited. The response was almost instant. ~ Nik: thinking of me? ~

You laughed. You had been doing nothing of the sort. ~ You: i was bored ~

~ Nik: is that an invitation?  ~

~ You: could be, what's in it for me? ~

You could hear the smirk in his voice as you read his next message. ~ Nik: anything. Name it, and I'll give it to you ~

A shiver rolled down your spine. A promise like that was a dangerous thing, coming from someone like him. ~ You: send me a picture ~

There was a long pause, and for a moment, you thought you might have gone too far. He was a possessive man. He didn't share, and he didn't like when people saw him vulnerable. You had pushed. Maybe you had pushed too much.

The ping of a new message made you jump. Your heart thudded in your chest, a rush of adrenaline and arousal spiking through you. The image was mostly a tease. Just the barest glimpse of the hard line of him beneath the soft fabric of his pajama pants, the outline of him thick and straining, the fabric tented and pulled tight. It was hot as fuck.

 He sent a second message. ~ Nik: don't say i never gave you anything ~

You took another photo. A little bolder, this time. The shirt pushed up a bit further, your breasts on display for him.

~ Nik: touch yourself for me ~

~ You: you can't tell me what to do ~

He knew you were teasing. There was a part of you that loved when he got bossy, that loved the way he would grab you, force you down, pin you beneath him and take what he wanted. You could almost feel the ghost of his lips on your throat, the weight of him heavy between your thighs, the delicious ache of him filling you.

~ Nik: I'm coming over ~

You blinked at the screen. ~ You: No you're not ~

No response. ~ You: Nik i’m serious ~

Nothing. ~ You: do not show up here right now, I'm on my period... I'm not even joking, don't come over here ~

The bubbles stayed on delivered. Either he killed his read receipts, or he was already enroute. You sighed, dragged a blanket and your phone out to the living-room sofa, and snuggled deeper into the couch cushions. If he showed up, you would just not invite him in.

A knock at the door.

 Shit.

You threw back the blanket, shoving your feet into the nearest pair of shoes. You grabbed your robe, throwing it over your shoulders. You took a deep breath, bracing yourself for the chill, and threw the door open.

Klaus stood in the threshold, eyebrow raised, an amused smirk curling his lips. You leaned against the doorframe, feigning boredom... never mind the way your pulse kicked at the sight of him.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" he asked, gaze roaming over you. He seemed... amused.

“Why?” you asked sweetly. “So you can ignore me again? Or maybe chat up another random blonde at Rousseau’s like you did last week?”

"That was a misunderstanding, love," he said, his tone low and smooth, the way he spoke when he wanted to talk his way out of trouble. 

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.  "Oh, really?"

"Let me make it up to you," he murmured. "You know how persuasive my tongue can be."

Your mouth went dry, but you kept your composure. "I'm on my period."

"Is that an excuse," he said, voice dropping low, "or a challenge?"

Klaus braced one palm flat against the doorframe, the other against the opposite side, boxing you in without crossing the invisible line. The threshold itself seemed to sizzle between you, the thin membrane of old magic keeping the monster at bay.

"Let me in," he said again, quieter this time. "Let me fix what I fucked up."

"You can’t fix it with sex."

"No," he agreed. "But I can start with my mouth. And darling..." His eyes dipped to your thighs, pupils blown wide. "If you think a little blood between your thighs makes me want you less, you’ve forgotten what I am."

Your breath caught, your cheeks on fire.

“Invite me in,” he murmured, nearly begging, finger-tips tapping the wood, knuckles whitening with restraint, every muscle coiled to leap the second permission fell.

One heartbeat. Two.

 “Fine,” you breathed. “Come in. Lock the door behind you.”

The word come barely left your lips before the barrier snapped open. Klaus surged forward, slamming the door behind him and pulling you into his arms. His lips captured yours, biting at your bottom lip like he wanted to taste the need right off your mouth, then he tugged you towards your bedroom.

You fell back onto the mattress, legs sprawled. Your nightie rode up on its own, and you didn’t bother fixing it.

"Sweet fucking hell," he groaned, staring at the slick and dark-red sheen between your thighs.

He dropped to his knees, his gaze locked with yours, dark eyes full of reverence and desire. The moment his tongue touched you, a wave of relief rolled through your body, chasing away the lingering ache of cramps you'd been battling all day. You exhaled shakily, the tension in your muscles easing immediately under his touch.

The first lap of his tongue made you gasp, the second made your eyes roll back, and the third was nothing but a high-pitched moan as he latched his lips around your clit and sucked. You were so sensitive, and the way his tongue moved against you was too much and not enough, the wet, obscene noises of his lips working against you only making it better.

“Fuck, I missed this,” he muttered, voice rough and wet with need. His thumb teased at your entrance, and you bucked, hissing. He pressed his forearm across your hips, pinning you in place. “You’ve no idea what it does to me. How sweet you taste.”

You gasped, hands flying to his hair, fingers tangling in those curls and tugging hard. That only made him groan louder. He loved it and it spurred him on. Klaus was relentless. Tongue flattening and circling, then flicking just right, until your legs shook and your hips jolted with every stroke.

“Nik,” you cried, voice catching. “Please.”

He pulled back, lips slick with blood, eyes gleaming. “Please what, love? If you want something, you’ll need to ask properly.”

When all you could do was whimper, he smirked and pressed a kiss to your mound. Then slid two fingers inside your soaked cunt in one smooth, practiced motion. You jolted, hips lifting, the pleasure white-hot and searing, the pace he set making your toes curl.

“Ah. That, then.” He chuckled.

The pressure built fast. Too fast. Klaus didn’t slow. If anything, he got rougher, more focused. His mouth stayed messy and hot against you. His fingers never relented.

He looked up at you through his lashes, face slick, and smirked. “Come on, then. Show me how pretty you are when you break.”

You didn’t stand a chance. Your back arched as the orgasm hit, sharp and electric, tearing through you. Your thighs clamped around his head but he didn’t stop. Just groaned into your cunt, licking you through it like nothing else mattered.

“Nik, too much.”

He didn’t budge. Didn’t stop. He just kissed your clit again, harder this time, and slid a third finger in with a filthy sound. His other hand gripped your ass, spreading you open. His thumb circled the tight ring there with slow, steady pressure.

“Relax,” he said, and eased it in.

A moan fell from your lips. It didn't hurt. But the pressure was overwhelming, the feeling of being stretched and filled making you writhe. You whimpered, tugging his curls even harder. He moaned, deep and guttural, fingers driving into you with purpose. The second orgasm hit fast and brutal. You squirted around his hand, slick soaking everything, a strangled sob ripping from your throat.

“Fuck,” he snarled. “That’s it. Look at the mess you’re making.”

You trembled violently, body twitching through the aftershocks, unable to do anything but pant and take it. The sheets were a mess of red, and when you managed to open your eyes, his face was still buried between your thighs, his eyes black, the veins dark and stark beneath them. He groaned, licking a final slow stripe up your cunt.

You tried to scoot back, but his arm tightened.

"Too much, Nik." You whined, pushing his bloody face away. "Stoppp," you slurred, the syllables coming out all wrong.

He chuckled, and pulled away, his mouth and chin gleamed a dark crimson. But he didn’t wipe it; he looked proud of the mess. Then he crawled up your body, dragging hot kisses along your skin, up your stomach, your chest, your throat. Painting faint red smears everywhere his lips touched.

“You are so fucking smug,” you rasped, half out of your mind.

“Hard not to be, after tasting ambrosia.” He licked his lips, his mouth still stained and wet.

"Ew, go brush your teeth," you grumbled, and shoved him.

"I didn't hear a thank-you," he said, rolling his eyes. But he slid off the bed and sauntered towards the bathroom.

You smiled, rolling onto your side, watching him through the open doorway. He washed his face, then rinsed his mouth. He didn't bother closing the door, or turning the light off. He knew you were watching. Knew you liked seeing him. You didn't bother hiding it.

He returned with a warm, damp cloth, and cleaned you up, gentle and slow. You were nearly asleep by the time he was done, and he tossed the towel aside, climbed into bed beside you, and wrapped you in his arms.

"Does this mean I get another chance at taking you out?" he murmured, stroking your hair.

"Depends."

"On?"

"Whether or not I wake up alone."

He snorted, pressing a kiss to your temple. "That won't be a problem, love. Not a chance in hell."

[sigh-tofm]

if you have anxiety… (some 18+)

… price

- takes charge. understands how hard it is to be a functional human some days. removes all the unnecessary overthinking you do. breakfast? omelette. workout? yes, a run. dinner? steak, and he will do the hard part. you chop the veggies. movie? this cheesy romcom. sex? of course, you just lie back and let yourself get overwhelmed by his tongue. can’t do much overthinking when you barely remember your own name, can you? while you rest against the headboard in the afterglow and catch your breath, he fishes a magnesium pill from a bottle and makes you swallow it, holding a glass of water to your lips. ‘let’s calm that head down, baby.’

… kyle

- talks you down. he’s smooth and he knows it. when you run yourself in circles trying to find solutions to problems that only exist in your head, he has a way of breaking your head open and making you see the light with only a few soft sentences. he lets you ramble on and on about all the things that plague you until he eventually says something that catches you completely off guard and puts everything into a new perspective. suddenly you understand how it’s all connected and what previously felt like world-ending problems now seem like minor inconveniences, if that. he knows that making you putting your thoughts into words and talking about them with him is the best way to dismantle the thought patterns in your head. a simple afternoon walk with him is like a hundred hours in a therapist’s office. and of course you get a quickie on the sofa after.

… johnny

- helps you fight off the restlessness and other nervous symptoms. always catches the signs, your trembling hands and wavering glances, and tries to derail your trains of thought that he knows might cause a panic attack. his first method is always making you laugh, and his stupid jokes almost always do the trick. if that doesn’t work, he knows jumping jacks are a sure way to fire off the stress hormones and adrenaline building up inside you. and if you come home all frazzled, nerves fried after a day of stressful work tasks, impossible clients and rude coworkers, he makes sure to tire you out physically and mentally by way of eight different sex positions over the course of three and a half hours. you sleep long and well that night.

… simon

- is at your service. literally becomes like your service dog. when you’re out and about, you just need to hold on to his arm or put your hand in his pocket. he’ll take you where you need to go, you don’t need to worry about it. if the hustle and bustle of the world around gets to be too loud, he’ll put a heavy arm around your shoulders, literally grounding you. you can hold his large, scarred hand if you need something to focus on, running your fingers over the ridges and bumps on his skin. like any good service dog he creates space for you, simply by existing. no one bothers you when he’s around. if you fidget with the zipper on your jacket or pull on a strand of your hair, he knows before you even notice what you’re doing. he’ll gently redirect you, guiding your hand away from whatever it’s doing. if you’re at home, he’ll sometimes place it blatantly on his crotch instead, to really give you something to fidget with.

[midorimooon]

one bed, three bodies | sukuna x reader x satoru

summary - stuck sharing a bed with sukuna and satoru on a work trip, unable to sleep, they team-up to help you out with that. word count - 4.5K notes - one bed trope with Sukuna and Gojo. unserious somewhat OOC story with no plot, everyone lives and everyone works at Jujutsu Tech as teachers. animated border credit @/enchanthings-a. afab! reader warnings - smut, use of pet names, biting, teasing, oral (f!), PIV penetration, humor 18+ only!

“Shoko!” You catch her arm before she leaves the living room. “You’re not serious?”

Shoko’s lips press together, and your heart sinks already knowing her answer. 

She’s dead serious. 

In a last spurt of denial, you fasten Suguru with a plea. 

He shrugs, hands in his pockets. “You get the queen bed, that’s luxury.”

You glare because a queen bed is not luxurious when you’re forced to share it with Sukuna and Satoru.

It was already taxing sitting between them on the plane to Okinawa, bickering over anything the other did. 

“Gojo, shut the damn window, I’m trying to nap,” Sukuna hissed, his strong arm pinning you against your seat to reach for the window. 

Satoru’s infinity effortlessly barred Sukuna’s attempts, though he had no qualms taunting the other man about it. “Heard sunlight was good for vampires."

When that argument ended, the next gripe came from Satoru as he tried to get to the bathroom. 

Sukuna shamelessly propped his legs up as a barrier, not a shred of concern for the poor person whose seat was kicked. “Too bad, I don’t feel like getting up.”

It was payback for the window, and Sukuna leveraged the plane full of civilians so that Satoru couldn’t warp himself from his seat, lest he stir everyone’s attention. 

With the back and forth between him and Sukuna, that wouldn’t have mattered anyway as the nearby civilians sent the three of you daggers the entire flight.

When you all finally reached the suite, you’d be staying at, it was a relief to have some space. And you seized the opportunity to explore, spending too much time on the waterfront patio while your colleagues hunted for a bed. 

However, there must have been a mistake. Yaga must have booked the wrong suite, because it made no sense why there were two rooms with only three beds total. 

Twin beds in the guest room and a queen in the master suite. Between five adults, there was no way this could work out.

You shake your head. “No, I can’t share a bed with them.”

“Shoko and I called dibs on the guest room. Sukuna and Satoru agreed to share the master suite with you.”

You balk, unsure if Suguru’s joking. “What? Come again? They agreed?”

Shoko yawns. “Or they’re both too prideful to sleep on the couch. Unless you want to do that?”

One glance over at the couch—rather a loveseat, you consider it. You’d be cramped, maybe even more than sharing a bed with Sukuna and Satoru. The day of travel has already made you restless that a proper bed is the only solution for sleep, otherwise you’d be dead on your feet for tomorrow’s mission.   

“Satoru said he didn’t mind so long as you’ll sleep next to him,” Suguru adds as an incentive, wearing a wry expression. “It’s a queen bed, you’ll all fit.”

“Then you share the bed with them,” you offer, but it had no effect on Suguru. 

He shrugs. “Not our fault you didn’t get a bed.”

Again, you turn to Shoko, desperate for some solution. “Trade with me. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Are you insane?”

“Or you both take the master suite with Satoru. A slumber party between friends! And me and Sukuna can take the guest room.”

“No,” they say in unison. 

“But—”

Neither give you another chance to argue, done with the conversation, and excuse themselves to bed. 

Their own beds. 

….............

You tiptoe into the room, biting back a curse. 

Sukuna and Satoru are both on the bed, awake, clad in their sleepwear. They already claimed both sides of the bed, lying far on either edge. 

Then there’s the gap in the middle. It’s scant but you’ll be able to squeeze in between.

It’s a queen, you’ll all fit.

You’d like to see Suguru slip in this bed then. A queen bed can hardly hold three adults and from the men’s equal statures, you doubt this bed is fit for the both of them either. 

Their eyes land on you when you take another step inside. Neither say anything, only scooting closer to the edges, as far away from the other as possible. You’re amazed they haven’t killed each other while you did your night routine. 

At the foot of the bed, you stall. “Um…should we use pillows as barricades?”

Compared to your colleagues, you’re nowhere near their size, but the moment you slide into bed, there’ll be little room for any of you to move without touching the other. 

“It’s already cramped,” comes Sukuna’s drawl. “Just turn off the lights and lie down already.” He tucks his hand beneath his head. 

You grimace, but don’t have the energy left in you to argue. And Sukuna’s attitude is next-level. 

Satoru, by contrast, offers some accommodation. With a wry smile, he says, “If you don’t want to lay close to him, you’re welcome to snuggle up to me.”

Sukuna rolls his eyes and huffs. “Whatever you want to do, just kill the lights.”

You turn back for the light switch and crawl into bed akin to slipping through barbed wire. 

Satoru kindly shifts the blanket on his side so that you can tuck yourself in. Meanwhile Sukuna’s turned to the edge, baring his back to you. 

“Thanks,” you mutter once you’re settled. 

“Offer stands all night, by the way.” Satoru winks before stretching out his legs. “Night.”

You return the sentiment, resting your head against the cool pillow. You don’t know how long you lie there, eyes up at the ceiling. The silence is so tense, it’s hard to breathe. 

Already the bed is too warm, and you’re grateful that Suguru and Shoko are okay with leaving the AC on. It does little to help now, but you’re sure when you finally fall asleep, you’ll be more comfortable. 

For now, you continue to stare into the abyss, flanked by two men. Your colleagues.

It’s déjà vu from the flight. Cramped, little to no breathing room. The only difference this time is the simmering tension under your skin.  

Your thoughts stray to how intimate this is. It’d be too easy for someone’s hand or leg to brush against the other. The guys are so tall, they can lift a leg slightly and easily slip between your thighs. 

Or a strong arm could fall across your chest, pinning you down. Another hand could ghost lower by accident over your shorts. 

You inhale deeply, ignoring the heatwave under the covers. But your core turns slick, knowing how little personal space there is from either side of the bed. 

You’re not sure how you can survive the night like this, and now that you’re sandwiched in, you fear it’s too late to escape to the loveseat. 

If you’re unable to get any sleep tonight, you’ll bite the bullet and take the loveseat tomorrow then. 

Minutes tick away and the exhaustion from the travel creeps up on you. It’s a blessed feeling, the sensation of sleep dragging you under its tide. The weight of it presses on every nerve in your body and the last thing you register is the humming of the AC within the walls.

…............

Sukuna and Satoru give you another look when your legs sprawl out, body shifting for the nth time in the last hour. Another low hum spills from your chest, a reinforcement of your deep slumber. 

Sukuna clicks his tongue. “Did you know she sleeps like this? Like a fucking cat?”

Satoru’s eyes drink you in, resting on the side of your neck turned towards Sukuna. “No one warned me.” He shrugs, less bothered by your restlessness. “It’s kind of cute.”

Sukuna scoffs. “Cute? Thought she was possessed when I felt her moving around.” He’s propped against the headboard, arms folded together, peeved to no end. 

Nothing new for him, but tonight he’s even more frustrated. 

How can he not be?

Barely an hour passed, and he was woken up by your tossing and turning. He grumbled for you to stop moving, only to realize you were sound asleep. 

Not long after, you woke Satoru with your leg draped over his lap. He’s an easy guy. The second you slipped into bed, he lowered his infinity, just in case you wanted to snuggle up to him after all. Technically, it wasn’t snuggling, but your closeness was an immediate one shot, one kill and Satoru’s hard beneath his sweatpants. 

And he’s not alone. 

Despite Sukuna’s gripes about how much you fidget, a few presses of your ass against his thigh and those fucking whines you made every time you stretched went straight to his cock. 

It happens again. 

Your back arches, pebbled nipples beneath your thin shirt, a deep whine pushes out of you.  Without any semblance of shame, Sukuna and Satoru gawk, watching you settle again, one hand a hairsbreadth away from Satoru’s elbow and the other resting over your heart. 

“How the fuck does she sleep like this?” Sukuna grits his teeth, eyes fixed on your chest.

“Her cursed energy is restless,” Satoru yawns. “Probably from all the travel.” 

Sukuna opens his mouth to rant but the mattress shifts again.

Your arm stretches outward, and Sukuna dodges it in time. Accompanied with a breathy whine, you flip onto your stomach in an ungainly manner, head turned to Satoru.

Tension clings to the air as your colleagues half-expect you to move again. 

A moment later, your foot twitches sharply, kicking Sukuna’s ankle, dissolving the remainder of his patience. 

He rips the blanket off the bed, huffing into the darkness. “I can’t take it anymore.”

“What’re you doing?” Satoru demands in a whisper but it’s too late to stop Sukuna. 

“Brat—” Sukuna shakes you by the shoulder, not bothering to quiet his voice. “Wake up.”

Your brows furrow. An annoyed groan ensues as you feel yourself stirring awake.

A smack to your ass, however, has your eyes flying open with a yelp.

It takes a moment for your vision to adjust and get a visual. Satoru’s form takes shape in the darkness. His lips turn up in a faint smile, blue eyes darting past you. 

You turn to Sukuna, perplexed at what’s got him so irritated this time. “What?” Your voice is hoarse from sleep. “What is it?”

Never one to hide what’s on his mind, Sukuna remarks, “You’re moving around too much. No one can sleep because of you.”

The words jumble together in your head and when they land, you wince with guilt. You prop yourself on an elbow, yawning about how you’ll take the couch—

But you freeze, blinking a few times. Maybe it’s sleep, maybe it’s the dark. Regardless, there’s no mistaking the distinct shape at the center of Sukuna’s lap. “What’s that?”

Sukuna doesn’t give his lap a look, let alone seem embarrassed about it, only annoyed. “The fuck does it look like? You kept grinding against me, you made me hard.”

Enraptured with the bulge—stiff and sizeable— your mouth wallows for something to say. “Um…I’m sorry— ”

Sukuna shifts his body then, hovering over you to cut your apology short. “Yeah? You gonna help me with this?”

Despite the darkness, there’s a distinct sparkle in his eyes, reaching the corner of his lips. 

At your silence, Sukuna’s grin widens. “It’s the least you can do, right? Keeping me up, grinding your ass against me…” His initial irritation has checked out. Instead, his voice drips with devilish humor as his fingertips ghost the column of your neck. “Or maybe, I should give you a hand? Wring you out that you’ll be too tired to move a muscle.”

His body plunges your sights. Your sleepy mind becomes shameless, admiring his toned arms caging you to the mattress. The bottom of his muscle tee lifts up. Teasing you with a whisper of his happy trail that makes your thighs twitch.  

Your chest rises like a tide. You wallow for air, for words, for something. Instead, you gulp down, throat rolling under Sukuna’s delicate touch. 

“Aww…” Sukuna croons. “Cat got your tongue?” He bares his teeth, trailing his fingers down to your collarbone. “Don’t be shy…I’ll take good care— “

A possessive hand wraps around your jaw, twisting your neck to the side. A second later your gasp of surprise is devoured. 

Sukuna clicks his tongue. “Motherfucker—”

Satoru’s tongue explores every inch of your mouth, wresting a deep moan from your chest. You taste the breadth of mint, dizzy from the authority Satoru exerts. 

He pulls back, a webbing of saliva stretching from his mouth to yours. Taking in your aroused state, he grins. “Too bad, Sukuna. Shouldn’t have wasted your time talking.” Satoru slots his mouth over yours again, holding you close so that there’s no escape. 

There’s a scoff behind you and the press of hard muscle against your back. 

“Shut up, you’re the one who needs an ‘off’ button.”

Satoru pays him no mind, snatching your hand and dragging it down. “Feel that? You got me hard too.”

The expanse of Satoru’s bulge overflows in your palm, you don’t know where to start. With his grip on yours, you grope him with purchase, letting him guide you up and down his shaft. 

“Fuck…” Satoru husks, nipping at your lip. “Need to feel you more.”

“Don’t be selfish,” Sukuna growls into your ear before his teeth meet the skin of your neck. He grinds against you, pressing his boner into your thigh. 

You gape for air when Satoru pulls back, but Sukuna seizes your jaw for a searing kiss to the lips before you could take a shallow breath. 

You’re like a puppet to them. Turned this way, pinned that way, your brain has no time to catch up, dizzy from their greedy attention.

Satoru guides your hand past the waistband of his sweatpants. He wraps your fingers around his length, hard and thick, pulsing in your grip. 

Sukuna continues to grind against you, groaning into your mouth while his free hand palms your breast. “Shit, you’re so soft.” Sukuna bites your earlobe, voice rumbling against the shell of your ear like a dog’s breath. “You’re being a good girl, letting us toy with your body, hm?”

“Sss…” you hiss, unsure which man you’re addressing. Their names meld together with their combined touch. 

Satoru chuckles, kissing your face. “What’s the matter, baby? Can’t talk?”

“We’re only getting started with you,” Sukuna says. “Haven’t fucked you yet—” 

You gasp, pussy twitching where Sukuna smacked you faintly. He doesn’t stop there, rubbing your apex through the fabric of your shorts. 

Whimpers fill your mouth so quickly, you keen your hips for more friction. 

Sukuna smacks your pussy again, and you moan. “You like that, you minx? Like getting your pussy slapped?” He does it again then orbits your clit with his thumb.

Swallowing, you nod heavily. 

“Tell us you like this,” Satoru breathes, fingers fiddling with the collar of your shirt. 

Between Satoru’s dick in your hand and Sukuna’s touch between your legs, you struggle to thread a sentence together, only capable of a stitched ‘mhm!’

Caught between sleep and arousal, you lay your eyes on Satoru. You watch as he undoes the top buttons of your shirt. 

He and Sukuna croon at the flash of skin.

“Nothing else under here,” Sukuna remarks, pulling your collar down to expose one breast. 

Satoru helps himself to the other breast, kneading it greedily in his palm. “All for us to play with.”

Their words spike your blood, while their touch caresses every nerve in your body. You lay pliant, yearning and whimpering, not an ounce of pride left in you. 

Sukuna and Satoru move together, crowding you and you feel the sharp sting of teeth on your breasts.

You arch, spirit reawakened as they continue to suck harshly. 

There’s a distinct difference between them. Sukuna nips and grazes, you can feel blood rushing to the spot as his hand grips your flesh with bruising pressure. While Satoru alternates between tongue and teeth. Biting, then lapping up the stinging flesh. He solely relies on his mouth for the technique. 

Differences aside, they share an intent to leave their marks. 

Pulling back, Satoru works on the ties of your shorts. He levels you with a playful gaze, fingering the waistband at your hip. “Let me take these off for you, make you feel more comfortable—”

You hear the sharp tears of fabric and a moment later your clothes fall apart in clean strokes. 

Sukuna’s technique cuts your clothes, precise, like a surgeon, leaving them in loose ribbons. 

Satoru clicks his tongue, brow twitching. “Buzzkill.”

“You’re too fucking slow,” Sukuna says, swiftly peeling away the tatters to unravel more of your body.

Within seconds, you’re nude on the bed. Sukuna and Satoru take a moment to appraise your frame with hungry looks of approval, sprouting goosebumps along your naked flesh.

“Should’ve just come to bed like this,” Sukuna is the first to speak again. He takes your breasts in his hands and presses them together to meet his lips. 

A softer touch drags itself down the side of your body. Satoru mouths your ribcage, running the tip of his tongue to taste. “More…” He slithers down. Kisses sprinkle your stomach, beneath your belly button, down to your burning hot center. 

Sukuna draws away, and with his help, Satoru pries your legs apart, wide enough that your legs strain. 

You lift your head despite how dizzy you feel.

Satoru slides lower, until his knees hit the floor, blue eyes drowning at the mess between your legs. “Shit…” he says, garbled, swallowing a mouthful of saliva. “That’s…” He trails a finger up your slit. “A gorgeous pussy.”

“Already wet and ripe,” Sukuna affirms from your side. 

They stare openly at you like that, enthralled with your arousal for them and the weight of their attention makes you gush. 

“Someone likes our attention,” Satoru laughs, prodding two fingers at your entrance, but has yet to plunge them. 

You whine, aching to be filled. Sukuna reaches downwards and your breath catches, hoping he’ll stick his fingers into you. 

Instead, he presses down on your clit.

You inhale sharply, bristling from the touch.  

“Hard and sensitive…” Sukuna emphasizes with a greedy rub before Satoru inches closer.  

His hot breath is almost too much for you, but he doesn’t move beyond that. He remains still, breathing you in. 

Meanwhile, Sukuna returns his attention to your neck. Forming plum bruises with his teeth, fingers pinching your nipple.

Your spine draws in an arch, hips canting that your pussy connects with Satoru’s face, awakening him from his stupor. 

His hands squeeze your thighs roughly, but you still catch the gentle kiss on your clit. 

Teased and toyed with, you whine pitifully. “Please—”

Another kiss meets your clit, followed by a long stroke of Satoru’s tongue. He keeps at that pace, slow and agonizing, a contrast to Sukuna’s possessive attention that drifts to your collarbone. 

Hot air stagnates the room, drenched with lewd noises. Satoru moaning between your legs and Sukuna growling deeply into your skin. 

Sukuna sinks his teeth into your neck. You feel the blood rush at the spot as he sucks harshly, matching the pressure on your breast. Meanwhile, Satoru’s tongue curls inside of you, a shot of pleasure races up your spine and you buck your hips. 

A wet pop echoes by your ear, and you turn to Sukuna, admiring the hooded look in his eyes. His lips are slick, gaping in a carnal smile before he grabs your chin. 

“Look at him go.” Sukuna forces you to look down to Satoru, laving at your pussy. 

On cue, Satoru lifts up, his own chin and lips slick as he grins. Blue eyes meet your gaze. It’s so rare that you ever get to see his eyes, and whenever you do, it’s easy to get lost in them, often playful and friendly. 

A contrast to what you see now. A dark maelstrom.   

He teases you with a shallow lick on your clit. “Taste so good, baby…” Another slow stroke of his tongue with more pressure. 

You whimper. “Satoru…”

He purrs, toying with you. “Who’s making you this wet, hm?” Without preamble, two deft fingers slide inside. 

Your eyes roll back. 

“It’s me isn’t it, baby? The Strongest is making you wet.”

You’re barely cognizant to hear the snort in your ear. Too wrapped up in the way Satoru’s fingers pump at a languid pace. When he sneaks a third finger in, a dark moan rushes out of you. 

Satoru’s tongue drags up your clit. “Say it. Let me hear you say you want me to fuck you.”

Broken whimpers fall out, you’re unable to speak, unable to verbalize how desperately you need release. “P—please—”

“Please?” Satoru purrs, curling his fingers. “You mean—‘please, Satoru—fuck me’—”

You twitch as Satoru’s face is pressed to your pussy suddenly, held down by Sukuna’s hand.

“Gojo, shut up,” he hisses. “You talk too damn much.”

Unbothered, Satoru laughs, slapping Sukuna’s hand away. However, he heeds the other man’s words, hitting a stride with his mouth and fingers, restoring that simmering tension in your belly. 

“Oh—fuck—”

“Almost there, brat?” Sukuna husks, splaying a large hand down your lower belly. He pushes down slightly, and that tension doubles. 

Your breathing hitches, coming in faster, feeling the sensation rise quickly. 

Satoru dials up the pace, fucking you greedily with his fingers. “That’s it, baby, you want to cum, right?” His voice streams out like a feral animal. 

Sukuna adds more pressure to your stomach, commanding in your ear, “Cum on his face, brat.”

You claw into Sukuna’s arm, overcome with the sensation rushing through you. Pure ecstasy unravels your body, and you cum, soaking Satoru’s face. 

“Atta girl…” Sukuna growls. “Squirt on his face—drown him.”

Satoru’s shameless, lapping every drop you offer him, even as your body twitches, reeling from the orgasm. 

After a moment, Satoru pushes off, mouth and chin sticky, the front collar of his T-shirt, dark and damp. He licks his lips, savoring his victory. 

You barely catch a breath, however.  

Sukuna’s hold falls loose, as he stands on his knees. There’s a whip of fabric and through lidded eyes, you see his toned chest and stomach. He’s broad and hasty, dragging his boxers off. 

As Satoru thumbs your clit to work you towards another orgasm, Sukuna clicks his tongue. 

He shoves Satoru roughly and the other man breathes a laugh. Otherwise, Satoru has no qualms moving aside to let Sukuna grab your legs. 

You’re flipped to the side without fanfare. The sheets wrinkle as you’re yanked downwards, met with something thick nudging into the seam of your body. 

Sukuna’s cock slides along your folds with purchase, so heavy, you can’t stop a moan from falling into the linen sheets. 

Satoru takes your jaw to keep you from hiding. “No need to be quiet. It’s only us.”

“Shit, you’re soaked.” Sukuna continues to rub his cock, letting the heavy tip catch onto your clit. The pressure of its weight renews your body with pleasure. “Not tired yet, are you, brat? I said I’ll wring you out.”

Satoru returns to the right side of the mattress. On his knees, he still towers significantly over you, his stature and Sukuna’s forming a fortress around you. 

He rucks his shirt up, biting down on the hem, flashing you with ripples of muscle, and his cock fisted in his hand. He strokes the shaft, the tip dribbling with precum.

However, it’s Sukuna’s cock that splits your folds apart, a prelude to the thrust that leaves you breathless. 

Every inch is intoxicating. A tender, throbbing stretch, your pussy clamps onto Sukuna’s cock. 

He hisses, rutting inside of you. “Fuck—you’re so tight.”

“Sukuna….” you rasp, peering up at him in askance, scooting down to fuck yourself on his cock. 

A dark moan spills from Sukuna’s mouth, and you feel his cock spasm. He swallows, gripping your legs tight. “Fuck—can’t wait anymore—” 

He pulls out and plunges back in. 

There’s no holding back. Sukuna fucks you with a fervent stride. Pent up and desperate.

A string of expletives tumble from his mouth, all to the tune of carnal passion, matching the pace of his thrusts. 

Your legs tremble, the onset of another climax brewing. You flit a look to Satoru, captivated in the way he jerks himself off, drooling on his shirt. 

His free hand brushes away a few tendrils from your sweaty forehead, cooing, “Who’s our pretty girl?”

You gasp at a sharp thrust. Throwing another look at Sukuna, he flashes you a gaping smile. 

The muscles on his stomach stiffen as his pace becomes hurried and sloppy. He brings a hand to your center, rubbing your clit. 

Pleasure sparks down your frame, and you clench around Sukuna on impulse. 

Sukuna shivers. “Fuck, you just got tighter then. Cum on my cock, brat.”

“Cum for us,” Satoru adds, stroking a tender hand along your face, despite the strain in his voice. 

With the synergy of their attention and touch, you cum again, crying out in abandon as you surrender to ecstasy. 

It’s a ripple effect, triggering Satoru’s own release after a few more strokes of his shaft. He cums, coating your stomach.

Then Sukuna grunts, snapping his hips a few more times before he spills his own warm mess inside of you, cursing a long moan. 

The room falls silent, save for the sound of you three catching your breaths. Your legs are numb in Sukuna’s hold. 

He eases himself out, turning you gently onto your back. “Shit, look at you.”

Satoru puffs out a laugh, admiring the mess they made of you. From the bites on your body, to Satoru’s cum on your stomach, and your pussy dripping with Sukuna’s. 

A sudden chill crawls up your spine, and you inch away from the soaked spot on the mattress. 

Sukuna and Satoru both collapse on the bed, rewarding your body with soft touches. 

You bask in it, more comfortable than you were at the start of the night. Every fiber in your body relaxes. Minutes crawl by as your mind slowly slips away from the room, savoring the warm bodies at either side of you. 

….........

Shoko’s brows rise to find Suguru waiting outside of the master suite. “They’re still not up?”

Suguru shakes his head, peeved. “I texted all three of them and knocked a couple of times. No one’s answered.”

Shoko checks her watch, skirting past Suguru. “Well, too bad, we’re not on vacation.”

She twists the knob, storming inside with Suguru following. 

“Hello? ” she calls out. “You idiots are gonna make us late—” 

She stops short. She and Suguru are silent, staring blankly at you, Sukuna, and Satoru nestled together on the bed, sound asleep. 

And naked.

“What the fuck?” Shoko utters. 

“Was this why they wanted the AC left on?” Suguru remarks. 

Shoko rolls her eyes with an annoyed sigh. “Well, I guess having them share the master suite was a mistake.” ◡̈

[casuallyanidiot]

Thinking of Yandere Malleus

But like, you're a fae princess or noble of a foreign kingdom who has a crush on him that stems from a childhood meeting. You like him so much, but he seems to pay you no mind.

So what do you do? You begin to throw massive parties. Everyone who is anyone attends your lavish balls. You invite all who are royal, merchants, nobles, and even commoners. Everyone can participate in the revelry, to dance and drink to their hearts content. It's an open invitation, all in hopes that he will show his handsome face.

Malleus hears of this eventually, and at first he's slightly hurt. A party inviting everyone in the land but him? How perposterous.

He tries not to be so wounded by the notion. He barely recalls you meeting as children, but did he truly leave such a negative impression on you? Perhaps he should observe you simply to try and figure out what might have caused such animosity.

Your parties begin to grow larger, more intense and famed in their reputation. Your eyes search the flood of guests streaming into your palace each night, and you mask your disappointment when he doesn't appear.

Meanwhile with each event you host, and with each one that you don't explicitly invite him to, he grows restless and more fascinated with you. He spends more time slinking around your chambers, watching you passed out in a drunken, exhausted stupor, than he does in his own chambers. He doesn't understand. What has he done to you? Why won't you even acknowledge him?

Malleus begins to obsess over what it would take to secure an invitation from you. You had more jewels than you knew what to do with, and you lived in just as much luxury as him. He watched your sleeping face night after night, a feeling of fondness blooming in him as you were bathed in a soft green light.

He thinks that you would be perfect always like that.

Then, he finds a solution. A kingdom. Not just his, but yours. He'd still let you rule your country once he conquered it, just as his queen. He'd show how strong he was, how capable he was to you, and then he'd finally be able to talk to you the way he's been yearning to. He'd ask you so many questions, and make amends for everything he must've done when the two of you were younger.

Malleus can only imagine the party you'll throw in his palace once he knows there's no way you can't not invite him.

[alfascorpiionux]

Ascendants: How to recognize them

Aries:short-tempered and impulsive are the first words that come to my mind. They are direct in speech and appreciate having friends around though they might not be the friendliest and at times they like drawing into themselves. They are self-sufficient and stick to their point of view. Could be ambitious, energetic. They are likely lean/atletic or if they are not into sports then on the lighter side. Fast walkers or talkers. They give off the air of an independent/confident person. Sharp facial features.

Taurus: chill, laid-back, well-dressed, agreeable. They like to take their time doing things. Hate being rushed. Are likely stubborn and would rather be coaxed than forced into doing things. They appreciate the fine things in life: good food, nice clothes, aesthetic stuff etc. Not particularly confrontational; could have problems bottling up feelings and then explode. As about body type - they are probably on the curvy/chubbier side. Expressive eyes and soft, rounder cheeks. Probably brown/darker hair and eyes. Should take care not to overeat.

Gemini: meet the charmers/socialites! These natives probably have a good number of friends or at least acquaintances. They are good speakers, with intellectual air to their communication. Can fit in with almost any group. Likely doesn’t struggle socially or if he/she does will quickly find a solution. Since it’s an air sign, traits such as open-mindedness, inquisitiveness, curiosity and friendliness will most likely be used to describe this individual.

Could become a great teacher or writer. Highly intelligent, probably has many hobbies. Is quite energetic and restless.

As body type - tall and on the leaner side. Long or elegant fingers. Expressive, mischievous eyes. It’s said that the Gemini rising is a desirable position as it is associated with a youthful appearance, regardless of age.

Cancer: shy, reserved, protective are all words that would describe them well. They are people who value privacy a lot and for whom family plays a crucial part in their life. They like looking out for people and definitely notice the little details (ex.cat hair on your new jeans, the subtlest shift in the tone of your voice).

Not the most social but there are likely many people who’d like to get to know them as their aura is very comforting and warm.

Might be prone to mood swings or be sensitive to changes of scenery/season.

As about body type - look for soft features, big and expressive eyes, pale or sensitive skin.

Leo: charismatic, stylish, outspoken & generous. Much like the Sun itself, this native’s presence can be felt whenever he/she enters the room. They dress to the latest fashion trends or have their own particular sense of style that makes them distinctly stand out. Can definitely stick up for their idea and will. Could have the tendency to be dictatorial or controlling but are generally very friendly and pleasant people to be around. Very protective of their children especially. Generous and direct, sometimes a little too trusting. Leadership qualities are very likely. People see them as trustworthy and worth listening too. Probably is well-liked and has a supportive circle of friends he/she regularly keeps in contact with.

As body type - broad shoulders or strong frame. Very well-kept hair. Good posture and expressive eyes. Radiant smile.

Virgo: graceful, observant, analytical and conscientious are the key words here. These people don’t typically like being in the spotlight. They are helpful, polite and practical. They pay attention to their health and are probably in a good shape. They like having routines and take special pleasure in completing daily tasks or could not do without them.

They don’t go for flashy styles of clothing and are all about looking neat and well-put together.

As body types - they are medium or on the petite side. Could be athletic too. Youthful. Long fingers, delicate hands. Graceful or measured movements.

[throttleheart]

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

The Cold Night 

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: <1k

Summary: Sharing warmth with Lando, in unique ways.

⸻

The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the occasional sound of Lando’s restless shifting beside you. You were warm, snug under the thick covers, blissfully unaware of the slight chill in the room. It was the kind of night that made you want to melt into the sheets and forget the world outside.

But apparently, Lando wasn’t feeling quite as comfortable. You could hear him grumbling softly, a low murmur that grew louder as he shifted again.

“Y/N,” he complained, his voice muffled by the pillow as he half-turned towards you. “It’s freezing in here.”

You blinked lazily, stretching out a little as you tried to sink deeper into the warmth of the blankets, blissfully ignorant of his discomfort. “It’s not cold, Lando. You’re just not sharing the blankets,” you teased, barely opening your eyes.

He groaned in frustration, the sound of him tugging at the sheets making you grin. “I’m going to freeze to death,” he muttered, his voice laced with mock despair. “You know, we could’ve just turned up the heat.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at his dramatic tone, but you knew he was right. You had definitely claimed more than your fair share of the covers. The blanket was nearly over your head, leaving him shivering from the cold air.

Turning toward him, you finally gave him your attention, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Oh? You’re cold?” you asked teasingly, propping yourself up on one elbow to look at him.

Lando sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. “I’m freezing, and you’re hogging all the warmth. What kind of partner does that?”

You bit back a smile, looking at him thoughtfully. The situation was admittedly a little funny, but you couldn’t deny the way he was looking at you with those big, pleading eyes. The temptation to tease him further was strong, but you figured it was time to show him a little mercy.

“Well, Lando,” you said with a wicked grin, “since you’re so cold… maybe we can do something about that.”

His brows furrowed, clearly curious but not quite sure where you were going with this. “What are you suggesting?”

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you stretched out beside him, the covers still tangled around you like a cocoon, and extended your hand toward him. He hesitated, eyeing your outstretched fingers as if trying to gauge your intentions. You only smiled, offering him a soft, inviting look. “Take my hand.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, a hint of suspicion in his gaze. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing,” you said innocently, though there was definitely a glint of mischief in your eyes. “Just trust me.”

After a moment’s pause, he gave in, his fingers intertwining with yours as he let you guide his hand beneath the covers. You both shifted so that you were facing each other, the bed creaking slightly as you moved. Your hearts beat a little faster in the quiet of the room.

The warmth from your body was almost tangible, and as you led his hand lower, you could feel the tension in his fingers as he realized where you were taking him, in between your thighs. He paused for just a second, clearly surprised, but didn’t pull away. Instead, he gave you a teasing, curious smile. “So… this is your solution?”

You chuckled softly. “I mean, you said you were cold. Now, you’re warm, aren’t you?”

Lando’s lips curled into a grin, and he let out a soft laugh, but there was something more in his eyes now—something that told you he wasn’t complaining anymore. “I guess you’ve got a point,” he said, his voice softer than before.

You held his gaze, the playful teasing between you fading into something deeper. You could feel the warmth radiating from him now, not just from the physical touch but from the way his presence seemed to settle over you like a comforting blanket.

There was a shift in the air between you, the earlier banter turning into something more intimate. Lando’s hand lingered between your legs, the connection between you both growing stronger with every beat of your hearts.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low, almost reverent now. “You know, I think I’m going to hold onto the covers from now on.”

You laughed softly, your breath hitching just slightly as you met his gaze. “Deal,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around him to pull him closer.

Lando didn’t hesitate. His arms found their way around you, pulling you into the warmth of his chest as he buried his face in your hair. You could feel his breath against your skin, warm and steady as he held you.

“Next time,” Lando whispered, breaking the silence, his voice full of that familiar mischievous tone, “I’m making sure I get the covers first.”

You smiled, nuzzling into him. “I’ll let you have them,” you murmured, your eyes fluttering shut. “But only if you promise to keep me this warm.”

Lando’s fingers brushed against your back in a soft, reassuring motion. “It’s a deal.”

And with that, you both drifted off into a peaceful sleep, the warmth of each other’s presence more than enough to ward off any lingering chill in the air.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

[weavergrovedevotional]

Give it to God and Go to Sleep

After many nights of terrible sleep with a million and one nightmares (a slight exaggeration), I was exhausted in church and absolutely desperate for a solution to my sleeping problems.

I confided in one of my friends. I told her I was struggling with bad dreams and restless nights, and she shared a few important Bible verses that she repeats before she goes to sleep:

“In peace I will lie down and sleep, for you alone, Lord, make me dwell in safety.” - Psalm 4:8

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God ; believe also in me.” - John 14:1

‭‭ “Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.” - Hebrews 4:16

‭‭ “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” - Philippians 4:6-7

“Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful.” - Colossians 3:15

‭‭ “You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in you.” - Isaiah 26:3

I’ve made it a habit of mine to repeat them myself when I lay down in bed, and I’ve found the bad dreams are becoming less frequent and I’m finally getting some rest.

To put it quite simply, I’ve learned the importance of giving it to God and going to sleep. Whatever is troubling me, I trust Him to help me through. He hasn’t led me wrong before, and He never will. Whether my worries are the size of an acorn, or the size of a great oak tree, I trust my problems to Him and He will help me through them whilst I’m too weary to manage myself.