arminsfavoritepookie - Tumblr blog

[arminsfavoritepookie]

Choso….sub!choso..

Choso's big hands encircled the flesh of your waist, pulling you close— forcing you to feel it. He's so deep inside of you, ruining your guts, shaping your pussy. Two of your fingers shoved in his mouth, his muffled whines vibrating against the lad of your fingers, his tongue slimy and wet, slobbering all over your hand.

He's like a dog in heat. Constantly rutting his dick inside you with sloppy messy strokes, completely lost and dazed, trying his hardest not to cum inside you. Not until you scream for it.

Not until you guide his hand around your throat and tell him to take what's his.

[arminsfavoritepookie]

Fuckk

Something about professor Nanami.. 🙏🏾

You step into his office, well past the hour when the final bell rings, carrying your latest essay for review. He's had a long, wearisome day, and it's evident in his rumpled demeanor: his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, spectacles teetering on the edge of his nose, hair slightly tousled as if he's been ruffling through it more than usual. You sink into the comfort of a plush chair, your heartbeat racing as he leans in from behind to examine your work on the computer screen. The quiet stretches for a heartbeat, until he breaks it with his evaluation.

“Decent work”, his voice murmurs in a low baritone, so close that the soft patter of his breath grazes your ear. Yet, he's too engrossed in the contents of your work, brows drawn together in deep concentration, sporadic groans marking his immersion. The taut silence grips the room again when his arm reaches out, your gaze following the network of veins crisscrossing over to the mouse to scroll further. His unexpected proximity triggers your breath to hitch, introducing a dose of quiet, intense tension that cloaks the room.

“Just decent?” The query escapes your lips, your breath hitching slightly as you grapple with the meagerness of his praise. You look at him again - this intellectual behemoth, your professor. His hand, lithe and sure, pushes his glasses up. You'd never registered just how hot he is until now.

“Don't misunderstand me”, he retorts, his voice unyielding. “Your work is solid but I know you can do better.” You barely notice the insistence in his tone as your gaze fixates on the plush curve of his lips - so disarmingly soft amidst his rigid countenance.

Your eyes eventually find their way back to his, yet he is slightly closer this time, his stare is almost unnerving in its intensity. “You need to focus”, he murmurs, his jaw clenching ever so slightly as he wrestles with frustration, or perhaps another emotion you couldn't quite put your finger on. Stop getting so distracted. Holding yourself back.”

With an urgency previously absent, his hand is again thrust into his mane of blonde hair. His appeal almost desperate, “Instead of settling for fleeting praise, imagine how it'd feel to reap a harvest of resounding commendations.”

The tranquil silence descends upon the room once more. The tangible tension so vibrant, you could almost touch it.

His retreat is swift, too swift; he undoes the noose of his tie around his throat in a haste that's verging on desperate. “Is that all you've prepared for me?” His voice - it has this unfamiliar rasp to it. He's sounding not like his usual eloquent self but rather more edgy, unsteady.

“I- um have I upset you, sir?”

His eyes close in a slow blink, a distressed sigh seeping through his clenched teeth. The way the strident reality of his stress unfolds before you sends an unexpected tremble up your spine, coiling a heat deep in your abdomen. You snap your thighs shut, discomforted and thrillingly confused by your own reaction.

“Upset? No” he manages, catching his breath and attempting to refocus. “Not upset. Quite the opposite”

Oh.

All of a sudden, you find yourself hastily gathering your belongings - your laptop and bag. In truth, you're a bit confused by his comment, and honestly, you're not sure you even want to understand it. You're about to rise from your chair when his voice cuts through your hurried thoughts, “I thought I asked is that all you have?”

You attempt to reply, “Well, no, but—“

His interjection is sharp, cutting your sentence short as he re-enters your personal bubble. His scent engulfs you - fresh and posh. “Then why are you in such a hurry to leave?”

Oh.

“Let's discuss what needs improving and any gaps in your comprehension. Don’t run away until you got what you came here for”

Ohh.

[arminsfavoritepookie]

Sucking Yan!Choso’s dick butnhesnso pathetic

He’s just so sensitive—he’s not used to all these different sensations and sounds. He’s not used to a warm wet mouth circling the underside of his cock, the soft lewd squelches of spit dripping off of lips, or the filthy animalistic way he’s rutting his hysterical hips into your eager mouth. He’s so deprived, too, his fat dick quivering when you turn your attention to his balls; when you lick and suck, paying no attention to the white slime oozing from his tip. How could you entice him in such a manner? To elicit such pleasure while simultaneously twisting in elements of torment? It's maddening for him. His lips are bitten, swollen from his efforts to maintain composure. He wants to grab your hair and force you to take it deeper into your mouth. He knows you can. He needs to feel your lips splitting open and sunken on his cock. He fantasizes about the mania of your nails drilling into his thighs of you marking the base of his dick with your teeth. He imagines gripping your throat, waiting for those desperate whispers of how much you need him too.

Yet, it remains just that—a dark, twisted fantasy of his.

Because really— Choso is a fucking loser who begs you to let him cum in your pussy.

[arminsfavoritepookie]

When Gojo gets mad at you, his eyes don't shout - they whisper. Their blue is shadowed slightly, a minute detail almost undetectable. But you see it. You're aware of how his cursed energy slightly vibrates in agitation, and the rise and fall of his chest accelerates subtly, fingers pulsing lightly at his sides. The tranquility that follows is eerily abnormal. It sets off alarm bells in your head, sparking a strange tingling sensation all over your body, for you've never seen him in such a state - a chilling display of suppressed emotion. He's never been so still, so mute, so infuriated. Not with you.

He asks you why you don’t listen to him, why you go out of your way to hurt yourself, why you can’t seem to be careful. He runs his fingers through his hair, lips bitten, jaw clenched in such irritation when you don’t answer. He shouldn’t be worrying about you like this, shouldn’t have the urge to grab your jaw and plead with you to answer him. You shouldn’t make him feel this way. Shouldn't make him feel so vulnerable and fucking needy. He hates it. But Gojo could never hate you. Not ever.

[arminsfavoritepookie]

A lot of people describe and give Nanami and Higuruma the same character traits and personalities and while I do think they are similar in terms of overworked and tired men in suits, I think they are very different. (This is all my own head cannons don’t get mad at me)

Nanami, to me, at least is more quiet and reserved than Higuruma. He is more serious. Physically, he’s much more muscular and husky. As a partner I think he would be extremely protective and nurturing, always providing and nurturing. Although he is protective, I don’t think it comes from a place of jealousy but of a place of not wanting to lose you. Getting angry with you for forgetting to lock the door or inviting someone in that he didn’t know. I feel like he has very expensive and loud taste, I.e. the cowprint tie, the goggles, he has a very interesting style that has fun patterns and colors while still maintaining the mature and elevated appearance. I don’t think Nanami has a casual bone in his body when it comes to his clothing. Maybe his idea of “casual” would be slacks and a short sleeve button up. If anything, pajamas would be his only outfit that isn’t professional enough to wear to work. He just seems like the type of man to care about his appearance and always wanted to be perceived in a mature manner. I hate when people try to dress him in streetwear like that is not my man.

Higuruma is more sarcastic and goofy. I imagine him poking fun more than Nanami and having a very dry and sarcastic humor that a lot of people wouldn’t get. To me, I always imagine him as being more tall and lanky rather than muscular. Long legs, long arms, long fingers, just long. And you know what they say about skinny guys 🙈 As a partner I think he would be very romantic. I write him in my fics to be very dramatic about his love, like he would die if he couldn’t have you. He seems very all or nothing. I think his taste is more simple than Nanami’s. Wearing more classic suits and ties. I think Higuruma would dress much more casually than Nanami, even wearing jeans. Still very simple though, like denim, solid color tops and jackets that are well taken care of and styled. Maybe it’s the hair but I imagine him suiting a more “greaser” type aesthetic but with a classy twist like a silk white button up instead of a cuffed white short sleeve shirt.

I don’t know why I wrote this but I’ve been thinking about their similarities and differences for a minute now and just had to share.

[arminsfavoritepookie]

honestly if you don't outwardly show support for palestine, i'm automatically assuming you're a zionist. no one has an excuse about being uneducated anymore. everyone who does not support us, either out of ignorance or genuine malice, is complicit in our genocide and i do not trust them at all. if you have not spoken out about what is happening, you are not, and were never, our ally.

[arminsfavoritepookie]

soulmate au with suguru where he lets you and satoru play around a little bit.

lets you spar and wrestle in the dirt—little hellion that you are—until it gets heated, satoru's thigh slipping between yours. who pretends he doesn't see the way satoru's comet-tail eyes flicker to him.

(something stirs in suguru's chest, sometimes. wide-mouthed, a maw made to swallow down the sun. the flash of those ocean-blue eyes sates it. satoru doesn't ask for things. he takes.

but you—he asks for you.)

he watches over the rim of his teacup as satoru leans down to you. the kiss is so faint, so quick, a shooting star of a thing. satoru grinds his thigh up against the apex of your legs and your back curves off of the ground, arches like a cathedral nave.

this time, it's your eyes that flicker to him.

it's precious, suguru thinks. how you both look to him. lost little pups. he'd collar you, he thinks, but there's no need. his name is carved into your skin by fate's steady hand.

you're his, and his alone.

no matter how much satoru asks.

[arminsfavoritepookie]

Geto headcanons 1.6k real as shit

I think Geto is a yellow flag with tiny green dots. I think after the riko incident he's not only dealing with his own inner turmoils but he's having a hard grappling his feelings with you as well. I know just let me explain...

He holds a conviction that he's unworthy of you; a perception rooted in self-depreciation. The echoes of 'you're too perfect for me' seem to repeat in his jumbled mind, becoming louder every time you flash that beautiful smile in his direction. Such a belief causes him to pull away from you, restraining himself from finding solace. You don't initially realize the reason behind his veiled expressions; behind the painfully strained curve of his lips whenever he forces a smile at you. You don't comprehend his fascinated gaze, lingering where your touch graced him each time. You don't recognize the raw, insatiable thirst that haunts his features, hungering to keep you close.

But Geto is utterly convinced that your vibrant life is far too bright for the brooding darkness that is him. He believes that you need someone who will inflate your brightness, not dim it. And that's why the sight of you and Gojo, with matching grins of pure joy, conjures a sensation in him that's equal parts pleasure and pain; a semblance of happiness. His lips twitch in a smile laced with the subtle tartness of sadness and he deludes himself, pacifying his simmering hurt, sugar-coating it as contentment.

The contentment brims within him each time your lips pucker at the white-haired boy, each time you huddle into the ear of his best friend to share a secretive whisper. Yes, he's utterly content. Jealous? Not a bit of it. Satisfaction it is, purely. His satisfaction bristles to the point where the bare idea of being near you might as well be excruciating torture. All he dreams of is to envelope you with that unidentifiable emotion rioting in his chest, allowing it to seep into you, and consume you as it does him since you apparently relish his agony so much.

But then, his act starts faltering, revealing cracks in his poker face. You start noticing his small, unconscious gestures - the habitual gnawing at his lips until scarlet beads surfaced, his twitching fingers, hovering beside his body as if chained back from brushing against your skin. His facade crumbled under your perceptive gaze and he loathed it.

Because now, your fingers were tracing patterns on his cheek, your body snuggly nestled in his lap. Your probing questions ricocheted off the walls - asking him why he was hurting himself, why he was so distant.

The way you nestle so comfortably in his lap, the warm touch of your hands on his skin, the authenticity of the concern etched in your face—it all enrages him. He loathes how your eyes gleam with care, how they insistently see the goodness in him. Because if you truly cared, you'd understand. You'd see that his self-imposed distance was an act of preservation for you. You'd recognize his fears of inadequacy and accept his belief that he could never be deserving of you. Yet, your refusal to heed his warning deafens you to his protests.  Now, as you stroke your tender fingers across his bruised and battered lips—lips he yearns to hide behind his teeth each time your focus drifts elsewhere—his sanity seems to spin off its axis. As you untangle your fingers in his hair and scrutinize the dark circles under his eyes, you begin to blur his boundaries.

A pathetic, desperate fool, utterly bewitched by you - that's all he is - it's all he ever will be

He promised you he would stay, and that hint of bleakness in his soul, like an ever-growing eclipse, ebbed away slightly. It was almost perceptible, the lift of weight, his turbulent thoughts quieting their cacophony into a singular focus - you. It was you, his tether to being better, to striving for strength. This thought nestles within him, as the days start gifting some semblance of sunshine back. You press closer into his space, and he ceases to stiffen, loosening beneath your tender hold. Your words of his resilience echo around him, familiar sentiments, but this time they make him feel malleable under your fingertips, like butter in sunlight. Perhaps, just maybe, he could reclaim his peace.

Then Haibara dies and he can see your devastation mirroring his own grief, the way rage nestles into the corners of your grief-stricken eyes - a painful deja vu. The sparkle in your eyes - extinguished, they dilate in shock and agony. The presence of the once silenced voices make a comeback but he forcibly mutes them, endeavoring to console you. His touch mirrors yours, gently grazing your cheeks and rubbing comforting circles into your scalp.

His low tones try to envelop you in warmth. Yet you're fractured in his embrace, vacant - a husk unable to articulate your pain. Geto feels a rising nausea, painfully familiar with the territory of your anguish, a feeling of uselessness washing over him. He wasn't mighty enough to shield those he cherished, not a match for Satoru's immense strength, couldn't soothe you as your tears streaked your cheeks, he could barely move. he feels hollow - devoid of purpose, The familiar strain of uselessness sneaks up on him again - the throbbing confirmation that despite all his struggles, he falls short when it matters the most. He was useless.

____

He goes on a mission and never comes back.

And now you're side by side with Shoko, fixed on his form from across the cobblestone streets. The ambient sound is dampened as you occupy the wooden bench adjacent to his. All the rumors—the harrowing stories, the bone-chilling whispers—are confirmed to be true: all the lives he claimed in cold blood. As Shoko silently keys Gojo's digits into her phone, suddenly, you are utterly alone. A looming, guttural silence pervades.

Your heartbeat grows increasingly erratic, turning erratic beats into pure, numbing silence, as you truly focus on his face. The heavy under-eye bags that your fingertips have traced numerous times have vanished without a trace. His raven-black hair, now free-flowing, cascades down the curvature of his back. Your fingers have memorized its silkiness.

This time is different. You do not place yourself within the warm cradle of his lap to offer words of comfort, to tell him everything will be alright. You don't reassure him with the usual affirmation of comfort. You don't break the melancholic silence with a feather-light kiss. The unsettling truth simply presents itself in a disheartening silence - neither do you ask for his explanation nor does he offer. An understanding hangs between the both of you - the lacking and wanting, for what was once enough no longer held the same meaning. You weren't his completeness... and he fell short of being yours.

_____

let's say you met him after he started his cult he'd be an orangeish-reddish flag. He's not like he was in high school he's different........meaner

He does not second guess or wonder if he's up to the mark, harboring self-doubts or reservations. His focus isn't affixed on the cruel odds stacked against him; he doesn't hesitate but instead he takes what he wants. The ruthless and pitiless world doesn't soften, doesn't forgive... and he serves as a relentless reminder of that truth.

This might be why he prefers to keep you ensconced in his lap, constantly near him, within his protective clutch. When you shift, you can feel him. Hushed, almost seductive whispers slide into your ear, coaxing you to remain still, to be good.

When the gruesome curse is unveiled, wreathing a woman's shoulders... you see it, and it is grotesque, a pulsating mound of malicious intent that makes your blood freeze. Every cell in your body screams for escape.

However, you obey, rooted in your spot as he had commanded, his face nestling comfortably in the crook of your neck, his lips curving in a spine-chilling, uncanny grin. He'd reassured you not to let fear rule your heart, yet sometimes it's difficult not to. Observing him with bated breath, you watch as his hand reaches out, causing the repugnant curse to evaporate into nothingness, wailing pitifully.

As the relief sinks into your shoulder, his hand dances over your thigh... murmuring to you about the hazards lurking in the shadows of the world but promising vehemently to be your shield, your knight as long as you obey. His voice is a velvety promise, unyieldingly true, and a smoothly mature whisper carrying the strength to slake your worries.

You share his bed, his touch a regular presence on your skin. At times, his fingers feel cold as they dance up and down your spine, coaxing out pleas for him to make you feel good. At other times, he envelopes you in a comforting embrace, strands of his hair fanned out across the pillow, his murmurs recounting his past tales right next to your ear.

You soak up every word but you remain silent. The stories often center around his friend, the longing for his lost life... On such nights, he's notably softer. All he wishes are your reassurances, your tender touches, your peaceful kisses. But these are stories you dare not speak of in daylight. Whenever you do, the look in his eyes hardens slightly, his smile seems sunken and less warm.

And those are clear indications that you wouldn't be snuggling in the bed together that night. Instead, you'd find yourself at his feet, the rough texture of his callouses forcing you to raise your gaze, to look at him.

Yes, indeed, you're different from the others... Yes, he cares for you... Yes, he promises to protect you.... However, he did not reach his position by being nice, at times he must be cruel... This is why your hands rest on his thighs, with fingernails pressing into his flesh, saliva slathering your lips and untidily dribbling down your chin. He takes what he wants but when you're like this, particularly struggling to take what he gives...He can't help but just be a tad bit meaner.

[arminsfavoritepookie]

More priest geto thoughts..he’s so…like imagine…

This felt like a crime, an almost sacrilegious act. You found yourself bowed low, tears streaming unchecked down your face. Opposite you, he reclined in seeming leisure, the golden crucifix at his throat throwing out sparks of holy light. With soft care, he captured your chin, tilting your face towards his with unnerving intimacy.

The new priest was different from the rest. It was commonplace to find yourself in his secret sanctuary, all alone...just like now, after the sober intonation of scriptures and admonishment of sin. He always insisted you stay. To confess.

His grin chilled you, his mouth so close you could almost feel its warmth. “I understand,” he soothed, brushing your tears away with the pad of his thumb, “I really do,” he carried on, his tone sweet and evasive, his thumb meandering from your face to your mouth, gently exploring your lips.

“You're battling your guilt, aren't you? Carrying the unbearable weight of regret.” Your hands rested limply on his legs, his holy robes gathered beneath your fingertips. “Allow me to lighten your burden..”

"I wish to be rid of these sinful thoughts," you whispered into the rough, weathered skin of his fingers. His touch was paradoxically gentle and abrasive, in a manner you had not experienced before. "May I?" He inquired, his breath cascading against your cheek, his gaze glowing with a curious light. "May I liberate you from this sin? Unshackle you from this doom?" He stood tall in front of you, savoring your obedient position, at his feet—-considering you a devoted follower, his pet, more than an equal.

[arminsfavoritepookie]

YAN PRIEST GETO AND VAMPIRE GOJO….

His blood-red lips trail kisses along the line of your neck. Gojo's teeth— no, his fangs, sting like a burning touch against your skin, tearing through flesh with each hungry bite. Soft cooing whispers echo in your ear, the predatory timbre interlacing with the sharp pain he bestows upon you.

Even in your blurred vision, he's still there—long, raven locks of hair, the cruel curvature of his chilling grin and a gleaming crucifix caught in the fireplace light. Legs crossed, hand brandishing a sanctimonious symbol with an air of amusement.

“Be careful... Satoru, this one's delicate” The words snake out of his mouth, smooth, deceptive...insidious. The feeling of his moist, serpentine tongue tracing the gaping wounds on your neck raises an uncomfortable wave of sensation in you. “Yes, yes...mustn’t drink too much or our precious doll may break” The mocking tenor of Gojo’s voice precedes the inevitable sigh that ripples through the room.

There's a movement then—a shuffle of feet as the shadowy figure stands up, crossing the room with predatory precision. An eerily cool grin carves across his face as he reaches out, and your pulse skips a beat when he places his bloodstained fingers against your throat.

Suguru geto…the priest

A scorching breath hot and heavy teases the back of your neck, raising the hair on your skin in goosebumps. Even through your clouded vision and blood loss induced dizziness, you can still feel Geto’s ghostly presence before you.

What do you think, Satoru? Do you believe our newfound pet could handle the two of us? His tantalizing murmur rings in your ear. Gojo playfully nips at the delicate lobe, a comforting rhythm set against his hand pulling through your hair.

“Hmph… too early to say, Suguru, seems rather weak“ he leans into you further, his hold on you never loosening.

“Maybe this one needs more persuasion..”

deleting later for sure

[arminsfavoritepookie]

you & suguru are vampire lovers; have been for hundreds of years in deep, faithful commitment. no soul has interfered with your dynamic, but things change when you commission a handsome artist for some work. the minute satoru gojo walks through the door, you both feel the energy shift. a trigger of carnal lust sparking after almost a century.

one so deeply irresistible that you both know there is no possible way you were going to let someone so pretty, so dreamily beautiful, slip through your fingers.

[arminsfavoritepookie]

I want to eat him

“𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬.”

pairings; choso kamo x fem!reader! (she/her)

warnings; hair-down choso, fluff, ooc choso (kinda?? idek lmao 💀) very insomniac reader, car rides, overspeeding, reader is kinda shorter than choso + not proofread!

wc; 3k ish

insp; a playlist. song recc below.

“you still up?”

“yeah...”

the mattress shifts and whispers beneath you.

“can’t sleep?”

“mhm,” you murmur against your pillow, skimming your fingers delicately against his jaw, thumb caressing that tattoo adorning the bridge of his nose.

wondering if they’re mistakes of adolescence or marks of fashion. you don’t ask him, though. you like to unravel the reasons by your own.

“why?”

“mmm…” your moan stifles within choso’s shoulder as you press your face deeper into his bare skin, not quite answering his curiosity.

he chuckles.

“you gonna be fine, lovey,” he doesn’t ask further. he knows you’ll tell him when you want to. so, in a breath, choso’s calloused hand tugs against your neck, pulling you into his bare chest in a groggy embrace, kissing the top of your head again and again and again.

you smile into his chest, fingers drawing circles against his tattoo laden limbs and cheeks pressing against his warm skin.

“try countin’ sheeps in y’head,” he places one deep murmured kiss against your head, your leaden eyes fluttering in a sigh.

“already tried that.” you confess among listening to the thunder brawling beneath his ribs.

he doesn’t reply, lips pressing about your head and feeling your stress ebb under his skin.

then, he’s sitting up till the blanket billowing about his limbs covers less of him and more of yours.

you ache the lost feeling of his bare skin burning within yours when he’s standing up.

“where’re y’goin…” you mutter in a leaden sigh, draped in a muzzy contorted whine.

choso doesn’t reply, disappears into the closet as you sit up, blanket falling from your nude limbs.

the cool air seeps about your skin, drooping from your collar to your bare breasts.

you await, fiddling with your fingers in that renowned anticipation he’s memorized. worried that this time, maybe choso’s finally had it with your nightly plights.

and when he’s appearing back from the closet, more modest — a sweater concealing his tattoos that paint about his abs, his hair sweeping against his shoulders, he’s throwing a hoodie towards you.

“what’s this— oh, i need to wear my bra—” you scurry among the blanket’s waves, searching for your bra laying somewhere, but with a tut of choso’s tongue, you sit still.

your gaze imprisons his sight, one thats drawing closer till distance is a plaything amongst you and him, his breath becoming one with yours.

his eyes haphazardly trail to yours, to your perky nipples that harden under the scarce heat of your blanket and the hiraeth of the lingering heat from his skin.

and just when you’re expecting him to press himself to you, kiss and burn what’s left of you in embers, pin you against the bed till he’s one with you and your bare bodies speak more than words, he’s only forcing your hands up.

they face the ceiling, loose and submitting, and with the confusion draping your gaze, he’s picking the hoodie thats fallen onto your lap, a knee on the mattress as you slither closer to him.

he’s pulling the hoodie over your head and taking each of your arms, weaving them through the sleeves of his hoodie without meeting your gaze once. the hoodie sheaths against your skin, his scent drawling into your skin and nose, scent leaving the fabric

his fingers comb through your scalp, arranging the stray tufts of hair that fall against your face, and you sneak a glance his way, only to find his eyes already doting yours, trailing from your gaze to your lips and to your eyes again.

you suck a breath, parting your lips because obviously, he has something on his mind, something involving you and him to go out.

at 1 a.m, that is.

“where are we go—” but you’re already being picked up, choso’s fingers pressing by your flesh and holding you in a bridal carry.

and like a reflex, your hands circle around his neck.

“shh,” he kisses your head again, gesturing toward the key holder. “relax that pretty little head, we’re only goin’ out.”

“this late?” you take the key to his car and he carries you out of the house, uses the key to unlock his car, hands still pressing you into his body.

“mm, yes, the roads will be clear.” he smiles. “promise bubby, you’ll love it.”

then, he’s gently placing you in the passenger seat, closing the door and seating himself by the driver’s seat.

he leans by you, and finds confusion still plaguing onto your lips, pulls your seatbelt and straps you by the seat.

his dark locks flood by his face when he’s turning the music on.

and you’re admiring it. urging to fish the wayward strands behind his ear and kiss the curve of his jaw.

yet, you stare at him with an eyebrow perched, despite the endearing gaze that melts within your irises.

“is it today?” you ask, eyebrow threatening to mend with your hairline.

“what’s today?”

“the day you kill me and bury me in a forest?”

a hearty giggle births among choso’s succulent lips, flourishing into a laughter that entrances every thread in your body.

the faintest fluster bruises the flesh beneath your skin at the sound, within the heat thats billowing across your face, not that its visible anyways.

“no, no,” he wipes the tear slipping away from his lashes, “i’d kill myself before killing you.”

“wow. at least leave me alone in the afterlife.” you find yourself swallowing the small rumble of that chuckle that breathes within your chest.

“nah, nah,” he says as he steers and turns, trees sprinting about, the veins beneath his skin flexing, urging you to do something unwise. “don’t want no man up there take any chances with my girl.”

“ew.” you roll your eyes, mischief gripping your gaze taut, “so possessive and jealous.”

“ah, maybe you’d take your chances with the hot guys up there.”

but you’re already throwing yourself onto him, playfully punching him as he dodges them, laughing and warning the road ahead. and with a huff, you settle back in your seat, hands folded by your chest.

“perish.” you pout.

“aww,” he smiles. “you resemble a cat— oh, you wanna eat something?” choso asks, pulling through a small 7/11 store open nearby.

you nod with a grin. “ice-cream.” you reply, watching him get out of the car.

he walks over to your side, opens the door for you and you’re reminded how you’re not even wearing your sandals.

but alas, choso is leaning over you, taking your sandals from the backseat, which you wonder when he’d put them there. he’s crouching again, taking your sandals and slipping them over your socked feet.

you grin up at him, mouthing a small i love you that’s weaved beneath your words when he takes your hand and leads you out of the car.

“my prince charming.” scarred, that is.

the aisles are dimly lit and choso’s fingers entwine amidst yours. he looks at you, watches your eyes spry about when you’re shuffling through the different varieties of ice-cream in the freezer.

and he’s reminded yet again, how every second with you makes him fall over and over for you. and maybe he will fall in love with you more, he doesn’t know the limits. doesn’t even want to know the limits. all he knows is he’s content till there’s still a smile hidden beneath your lips.

he hates the pang in his chest when he sees your weary eyes every second night, unable to succumb to rest. or when your lids would flutter anxiously amidst sleeping. he would kiss them to a soft still, closer, pulling you into him.

“butterscotch or mint chocochip.” you ask, finger pressing against your bottom lip with a frown plaguing your gaze.

“both.” he kisses the side of your head, “i’ll take whichever you wouldn’t.”

“we’ll just kiss and mix the flavors, no big deal.” you shrug.

“you want me to kiss you?” he smirks, its cheesy.

“what if i do?”

his hand slides lower till they hover right above your waist. God darn him for being tall, because when he’s so close, his eyes entrapping yours, you can’t help but look up. he has to lean down a bit, so his lips are meeting yours and caressing them like a quiet soliloquy.

it’s not a deep indulgent kiss, rather a peck. coupled with another, peppering against your own. you smile. he pecks it too.

pecks the corner of your lips, your nose, your forehead, then your lips again — until a stifled cough musters your attention.

the girl skimming through her magazine at the counter physically scowls at you both.

you kiss choso’s cheek, the fluster right at the corner of his tattoo, tucking the drooling strands of his hair that fall against your face before pulling back, taking two of the ice-cream cones out of the freezer, heading towards the register and billing the stuff. choso pays.

then, he’s circling his arms around your waist from behind, letting you lead him to the car as his lips keep pecking your neck. you tell him to stop, voice laden with intangible chuckles he could store into the chambers of his heart.

the tufts of his dark locks fall against his eyes as he combs his fingers through them, pushing them back as you both lean on his car.

you unwrap both of the cold desserts, and you feed him mint-chocolate first. then you raise the butterscotch one to his face, and he licks it too. you follow, licking mint one first then butterscotch.

“i like the butterscotch one,” you tell him and give him the mint one. “you?” your hand tucks into the pocket of the hoodie you were wearing when a small gust of winter breeze kisses your skin.

“i like you.” he replies, arm snaking around your waist to pull you so close to him in the empty parking lot with only a street lamp to flicker amidst.

your back presses against him, and you can feel his heartbeat rumble within his ribs and reverb against yours from the back. and you’ve come to realize, your hearts beat in sync. it makes yours skip a beat. love him more.

“i like butterscotch more.” you tease, a giggle slipping from your lips as your eyes meet the sky, grey clouds staring down at you, blanketing the sky with its sweater.

he chuckles softly before turning you around. you look up at him, and he watches your eyes bloom, with a kind of bubbly and unconcealed excitement and happiness, so absurdly precious — he can’t help but fall for you once more.

you kiss him again, lost within the strawberry blooming by his tattoo you dote so much. the taste of his mint-chocochip mingles with your butterscotch, and you chuckle. he chuckles too.

you both can taste it. the cool peppery butterscotch on your tongues.

he likes it better mixed. like you and him. mended together. one together.

he licks his ice-cream, and you just stare at each others eyes, the crisp of winter lingering beneath your tongues, the flickering street lamps shadowing what it can.

then, you bite your ice-cream with mischief hugging your grin.

impish horror flashes choso’s eyes.

he grimaces.

“that has to be borderline psychotic.” he licks and uses his lips to bite the ice cream.

you laugh, and he loves the way your chest quakes and reverberates within his.

“you’re just weak.” you kiss him again, taste the winter flurrying against his lips. you shiver onto his lips, and he nuzzles you deeper within his chest.

you both enjoy the moment, dimly lit under the moon as the clouds move by, and when you’re finished with the dessert, you’re sitting back inside the car. choso’s revving the engine, and you’re watching him with a dreamy gaze.

wondering how you’d gotten so lucky?

you don’t remember the first time you saw him. you thought he was like a cat, you called him a cat, and he was combing his hair back in the parking of your college. you didn’t fall for him at first sight though.

you barely remember when you fell for him.

he was a curiosity you wanted to pet at first, knowing at the back of your head that unraveling that curiosity would sink his presence beneath your ribs and settle its home right beside your heart.

but he only settled his home within your heart.

“you’re so beautiful,” you don’t acknowledge you’re speaking your thoughts.

he doesn’t mind it. you don’t either.

instead, he smiles and turns the music on, hand giving your thighs a squeeze.

“yeah?” he asks with that small voice that rouses your melting heart to collapse into a puddle.

“very.” you reply. “i love you.”

i love you too. he wants to say. so utterly, madly, so desperately that you’ve become the lighthouse of my thoughts, i barely want to enjoy anything without your smiles and teasing marks. he could add.

he doesn’t.

he smiles wider.

you lean back within your seat adopting his smile, but the biting worry still claws at the back of your throat like a prickly knife stuck between your ribs. worry of what had been keeping you up tonight. how long will you be stealing your boyfriend’s sleep like this?

so you sigh.

if choso notices it, he doesn’t speak on it.

he decides to accelerate his car, just a notch that would bubble up fuzzy excitement within your guts and would pull a smile on your lips.

“told ya’ the roads would be empty.” he grins, and grins wider when he sees your toothy one.

then he accelerates more, and you’re sinking into your seat from the pressure. it doesn’t deny the laughter fizzing at the back of your throat, and choso laughs among yours, feeling the engine of his car roar.

like an interlude of choirs singing amongst your breaths, and your hand latched against his bicep despite the big, giddy smile on your face.

you trust choso with your life, but the delirium that came with speeding so fast on this lone road had you pressing your fingers deeper into his skin, that if you were to let go, you’d be washed away.

“heyy, open y’eyes, you’re missing out!” he shouts over the roaring engine with a breathy laugh that creases his eyes. you slowly pry your eyes open, and had that sight not stolen your breaths, you would tell him how beautiful it is.

the stars are kissing, all blurry as choso slows down. they draw clearer, and finally, at the edge of road, they picture against your gaze, twinkling over the gleam thats spry within your eyes.

choso huffs an exhale, his hair falling against his shoulders.

“come,” he says, exiting the car and opening the door for you. he doesn’t give you the chance to help yourself as he picks you up in his arms. you use your feet to remove your socks, barefeet within his arms. he doesn’t forget to take the big cozy shawl you forgot in his car.

the fleeting blue luminates against the underside of choso’s face. the fleeting blue from the ocean that’s lighting in sparks and glittery blue from the bioluminescence.

the vast sky sways to the breeze along with the palm trees, the cool wind nipping at your skin. you digress, mind completely delved unto the admiration of what was in front of you. and if you were lying, even a little, you’d say this wasn’t the most enthralling sight you’ve ever seen.

everything smelled of saltwater and winter, eyes lighting with hues of blue at the mercy of the sea.

choso places you down to your feet, the wet sand instantly kissing your feet that makes you cringe. but you digress that too, when you see how your footprints leave marks when you’re walking against it, glittery, your mouth pried slightly apart awaiting words you can’t speak yet.

“choso…” you coax, in a tone meant to say his name, breath flurrying within the air in vapor. you can taste the salt hanging within the air. wonder if his lips would adopt the taste too.

for a while, choso smiles, hugging you from behind and kissing the top of your head.

“like it?” he asks, his hands within the pocket of your hoodie as you walk towards the lucent water.

“i’ve never seen anything like this…” you’re whispering, too amused by the water under the black silk draped over the sky. “it’s beautiful.”

“more than me?”

“yes.” you elbow him lightly with an impish tease draping your tone.

you feel him shiver above your head, and you think if he’s cozy enough.

you pull him closer anyways, stopping by where the starry sea bruises the shore. he shivers foot to foot. you tuck his hands deeper within yourself, feel his teeth cease to clatter, when you’re turning around and embracing your arms around his awfully muscled limbs.

“you’re an idiot,” you scold when you feel his shivers dissolve beneath your embrace.

“why?” he asks, sitting by the wet sand, still within your arms as you’re placed on his lap.

he has a smile on his lips. a grin under his teeth, a hand rubbing against your back and other fiddling with the countless white specks of seashells within the sand.

the tip of his nose is scarlet, a compliment to his tattoo drawing about his nose. you like to kiss it. so you kiss it. once. maybe twice. or thrice. you never count.

you play with the countless blues shimmering beneath your fingers when you touch the sand, pressing your cheek against the middle of his chest, eyes meeting the blue of the ocean across your shoulder, then looking up at his gaze, one thats trained about the expanding ocean where the sparkles of blue dissolve to dark water. “because—”

but his lips are ceasing your words. he kisses you. kisses more. kisser even deeper. and he has to think if he’s even been so lost in a kiss before. he pulls you closer, closer than he’s ever let anyone, till theres just no distance left amongst you. your hands draw up, cupping his face and he physically feels the ocean wash him away, heart an erratic thing missing the beats somewhere within the salty taste of your lips and the crisp of the air.

and when he pulls back, a little breathless than before, he chuckles.

“idiot in love with you.” his fingers dance about your hair as he drapes his shawl over you two.

he wants to tell you how he’s visited this beach before. how he’s seen all of this already. what he also wants to tell you is that visiting then was never the same as now. he couldn’t find the beauty of it as mesmerizing as he does now, couldn’t put a finger on that spark that illuminated the sea like he can now.

you lay your head over his collar, kissing the bone endlessly till your eyes are quietly lulled by the washing waves of the ocean, sleepy. you quietly admire the beauty of the sea a little more, for a while more, till your head is lulling within him and you’re submitting to slumber completely.

he gazes at the endless sea till he cannot think anymore, hands rubbing over your limbs in an endearing caress.

and when his eyes are finally looking down, he’s met with a sleeping you.

softly breathing against his chest, the quiet rise and fall beneath your ribs in sync with his.

he has to bite back that overly impish grin, steal himself to not kiss your sleeping face. he finds himself carrying you back to his car, laying you in the seat with the shawl draped about you.

and just when he’s about to close the door, sit by the drivers seat and take you back home, he leans and pecks your lips.

you smile.

“i love you.”

[arminsfavoritepookie]

I can’t wait for the part when they both dick me down with their matching dick piercings, using the same camera that took their modeling photos to take pictures of me crying and fucked out.

Or the part where I record them both eating my pussy at the same time, and they lick my juices off each other's tongues….

God help me write this.

)

[arminsfavoritepookie]

i just don’t think people give enough credit to touya when it comes to pussy eating…..he is obsessed with it i think ! he wants to make you feel good so bad that it makes him sick but he’s trying to be so nonchalant about it. asks you if he’s making you feel good with that same teasing lilt he always uses but really he’s desperate for you tell him yes that yes he’s making you feel so good that you’ll never leave him that you love him you love him

[arminsfavoritepookie]

Just imagine vampire gojo being obsessed with you.

Imagine he laps gently at your neck, his moist kisses stinging your delicate skin until your body convulses with involuntary shivers. His sharp fangs lightly graze your throat; you sense the danger they present – their pointy edges just barely touch your skin.

His closeness is intoxicating – your hands, magnetically drawn to the solid muscle beneath his shirt, but his urge for closeness surpasses mere physical contact. He craves to exist beneath your skin. His need to feel every thread of your body is evident.

Through the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of his cock straining in his jeans, the outline of his craving hard to miss. You note the grip around your waist and his almost bestial panting that seems dangerously similar to a predator on the prowl.

Only when your neck feels numb under his ceaseless attention does he relent. His lips depart, leaving your skin mottled with bruises — visible signs of his possessiveness, symbols of his claim.

A lopsided smile distorts his face, revealing too many teeth before he hums in your ear, his voice as smooth as a lullaby, ceaselessly praising you, affirming how good you taste, how perfect you smell.

Your heart stumbles when you notice the blood smearing his teeth as he declares it. An underlying threat lurks behind his innocent praise. It holds an unspoken assurance - a relentless promise that he will always hunt you down — he will always be the hunter and you, just the hunted.

You're merely the prey to his predator, the flesh for his butcher's blade, a remedy for his malady. But fear not, Gojo will always take care of you.

Till death do you part

[arminsfavoritepookie]