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saturnsorbits · 14 days ago

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God, I have missed Jo's writing. Being away from Tumblr so long I'd forgotten how truly stunning her writing was and now... Well, this was a glorious thing to stumble upon.

I adore how this piece opens, the eeriness that creeps in – treading carefully, but deliberately over the line of professional due diligence. It happens in stages, the ramping up of 'he knows what you do for a living, what you like to do outside of work', to 'of course [he knows] your favourite coffee shop – even down to your exact order'. Then right when you're ready to write him off as nothing, but a seedy little creep a glimmer of something else shows up: 'something that fills him with dread each time you leave work a little later than usual'.

Higuruma is characterised wonderfully, with bits of his personality shining through from the beginning. We're introduced to his memory – in him remembering Reader's coming and going and the exact circumstances of Reader's ex-boyfriend's hiring of him. To his meticulousness and of course, his ruthlessness: 'As he began to tear your story down brick by brick.' Yet, all men contain multitudes and he is no different as he's confronted with the error of his ways.

You can hear his lawyer-ly spiel in each sentence as Jo embodies him, reeling off his thoughts to us with ease: afterall, he 'wouldn't consider this stalking – perhaps following you to and from work was a little unorthodox, but it's not like the police were doing anything to protect you.' that is firmly ended with a: 'but he'd make it right.' Seeing into the inner workings of his mind like this not only flesh him out, but draw us him dragging us ever closer to...

Well, insanity.

His thoughts grow heavier, nastier... Further from justice and closer to control. Watching his spin is glorious with Jo controlling his decent masterfully. His step by step fantasy about fucking Reader, his idle threats to the men that approach her while she's out... And then, the reveal that the case is over, that he's actively stalking you, for your own good, of course. It all culminated into a deliciously brilliant scene as he's watching Reader 'getting ready' to head home, under his supervision which is highlighted wonderfully with that closing line: 'After all, you can never be too careful these days... There's just so many creeps about'.

— blind justice

Warnings: 18+, obsessive Higuruma, stalking, voyuerism .

You and Higuruma have never really met, but he feels like he knows you by now. Or at least — he knows a lot about you.

He knows what you do for a living, what you like to do outside of work, where you shop for groceries, and of course your favourite coffee shop — even down to your exact order. He’s also memorised your exact commute to and from work (which leads him to one of the seedier areas in Tokyo (something that fills him with dread each time you leave work a little later than usual).

Higuruma remembers the exact moment he was approached to defend your now ex-boyfriend. A seemingly good guy on paper with no prior convictions and unequivocally adamant that you were a scorned girlfriend trying to ruin his life when he’d tried to break up with you.

Higuruma couldn’t help but notice how pretty you are when you sat in front of him in the court room. An inexplicable ebb began to form in the pit of his stomach as he began to tear your story down brick by brick in front of the judge and jury, countering all your answers in defense of his client until he noticed you were holding back tears.

Of course, Higuruma won the case and the man was free to go.

But it wasn’t even a month later that another file sat in front of Higuruma on his desk. The same man he had defended before was asking for his help again as he was now facing prison time. Higuruma flicked through the pages to read the new charge — assault. Paired with a photograph of his victim.

You.

The first thing Higuruma noticed now he could admire you up close was that you had the prettiest eyes he’d ever seen — even when they were filled with fear as you stared hopelessly up at the camera. A dark bruise bloomed across your cheekbone as he noticed a slight gash beneath it from what he could only summise to be caused by a ring. You looked completely defeated, and it was his fault. He’d been the one to get your ex-boyfriend off with a slap on the wrist so that he was able to hurt you again, and he hated himself for it.

In that moment Higuruma had the most intense urge to protect you.

Some of the information about you was easier to find than others. Of course it had helped that your full name and address had been included in the case file, skimming your deposition as he learned about the abuse you’d endured at the hands of this lowlife. It had Higuruma’s heart churning in his chest, only adding to his disillusionment of the legal system when he’d discovered you’d reported this man at least six times. And yet this seemed to be the second time he’d ever been taken to court for something. The rest of the charges dropped for lack of evidence.

And he’d blindly defended your ex-boyfriend in court in the name of justice, but the justice he was so set on fighting for had not been served. And guilt began to seep into his veins as he glanced back at the photographs of you covered in bruises — it was all his fault.

But he’d make it right.

Higuruma wouldn’t consider this stalking — perhaps following you to and from work was a little unorthodox, but it’s not like the police were doing anything to protect you. And at least the other locations could be attributed to shared interests — everyone loves a coffee shop right?

The trial had made things more difficult, and he was certain his license would be in jeopardy if you found out what he was doing, so for now it was what he needed to do to keep you safe.

Especially when you’ve just got out of a relationship with an absolute sleazebag of a boyfriend — if it could even be classified as a relationship. The file detailed a tumultuous relationship that seemed to often end with you hurt, some scars worse than others as Higuruma wished he could just hold you in his arms.

So until then, he’d look after you.

He could admit sometimes he enjoys a break from his office when he leaves to find you in a local pub with your friends. Nursing a glass of whisky at the bar while you sat down drinking with your friends, admiring the pretty dresses and skirts that you always seemed to wear. His dark eyes glaring daggers at any man that even glanced in your direction when you leaned against the bar to order another round, your skirt creeping up your thighs. And if Higuruma was any less of a man, he definitely would have looked—

The neon lights of his alarm clock began to flash as the incessant beep rung out in his bedroom as he’d seemingly stayed up all night to find out more about you. There was at least three weeks until the court date, and your ex-boyfriend was out on bail for no prior convictions — that was three weeks too long.

He found himself delving deeper, losing himself in time while bleary eyes continued to stare at his laptop screen, scrolling through years of your social media. Your most recent post detailed how terrified you were about sleeping in your apartment alone and that every noise kept you up at night, and Higuruma knew then what he had to do, especially when the legal system was failing you — he had failed you.

He’d failed you in the courtroom so this time he had to protect you.

It’s why he’d ended up slipping an AirTag inside your purse one evening during your commute home, a device that you still hadn’t seemed to find (and even more reason why you needed him) as he kept his notifications on for you. Leaving his office early whenever he saw you were on the move, following obediently as he found himself falling into your routine.

His favourite was always the weekends you’d indulge in a bubble bath. Finding himself relaxed in the opposite high rise with a pack of smokes as he watched you completely unaware that he could see through the sheer curtains in your bedroom as you came out of the bathroom surrounded in a dewy glow. Settling your feet against the sheets of your bed as you smoothed cream along your supple thighs.

You’d have to forgive him for fisting his cock at the sight of you. Biting back a gruff grunt as he pictured sliding inside your warm, wet cunt. Molding you into the shape of him so you’d never be able to remember all the other guys that you’d been with before, feeling your pliant walls clamp down around his length as he made you cum before filling you up with his spend. Sighing when warm rivulets of cum would ooze out of his thick cock, coating his and and thighs as he pictured how pretty you’d look with it drooling out of your tightness instead.

What he wouldn’t give for just a feel of you — and perhaps you’d let him as a special thank you for diligently looking after you.

And so what if your ex-boyfriend had already been sentenced this time and was finally doing time for his abuse and stalking — why would Higuruma want to stop following you? He’d ensure that no one else ever had the opportunity to lay a finger on you ever again.

Especially when your taste in men seemed to be far less than savory. Rolling his eyes at the way you perked up when another asshole approached you on a night out with friends a few weeks later. Giving you a casual smile with his hand resting on the curve of your back, dangerously close to your ass. Hiromi would snap his fingers clean off for even touching you like this, you were far too delicate.

Downing the rest of his whisky as he followed the man out of the bar when he left for a smoke. Towering over him as he shoved him down a dirty alley at the side of the building to threaten him with a flurry of possible charges that could come out of one night with you — something that was far too easy to do when you’re in his line of work.

Finishing off his own cigarette as he watched you look around the street for the man you were supposed to be going home with tonight to see he was now nowhere to be seen. Higuruma watched in satisfaction as he crushed the butt of his cigarette beneath his sole. Getting ready to follow you home alone.

After all, you can never be too careful these days… there’s just so many creeps about.

#I ADORE the way Jo writes men like this.#She gets into their heads and lays their thoughts out so perfectly...#The slow decent #The reveal of his motivations growing steadily darker.#Flawless

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saturnsorbits · 14 days ago

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This is an ode to loving women.

There is something so delicate, so effortlessly feminine about the gaze offered throughout the piece. From the details 'matching rose coloured balayage', to the whole paragraph that details the perils that is one scalloped lace strap. It's stunning to read, and yet, it's contrasted by those harsh sentences – the punches of want that echo around all this dainty description. 'You have a staring problem', 'But that's not what you're staring at'. The refusal to ignore this deep yearning, to package it as simple and pretty is brilliant and does wonders for the subtle gender politics the piece plays with – and it does it flawlessly.

Reader is a wonder here to. They are subtle and yet opaque, a real old school crush colouring their vision as they try to focus with what is essentially a wet dream in their room. Mint, as always, handles this thin line between transparency well and it shows. Reader's thoughts 'cleaned just for her', 'terribly, unfortunately platonic' are glowing beacons, an image of the reel playing in their head. The run away train that is 'Do her panties match her bra?' is glorious.

Once again, the balance between delicacy and raw tension is brilliant. I particularly love the denial to make the female gaze here entirely soft – 'at least the room will smell like her when you jack off tonight'. The mixed language is stunning, especially as the whole piece deals with two female presenting individuals who evidently occupy space outside of this.

And then, the break. How effortlessly it comes – a slip of the tongue that becomes 'You jerk!' that leads to so much more. The keenness of Reader here too is earnest and wanting and dripping in so much reality that it's so easy to slip, pardon the pun, right into these two.

The sense of reality is unmatched, too, in not only all of the above, but in Readers 'high... fizzl[ing] away', in the keenness, the swapping of power as they learn each others bodies and of course, in the simplistic way it all begins and ends.

I will never tire of Mint's writing. They are, a gem not only of this site, but of a whole generation of writers. Able to portray the mundane, the normal, the real with such a sense of urgency and electricity that it reads like modern day poetry. It would take an age to truly make Mint understand how much I appreciate them, their talent and every inch of themselves that they offer up to us in these chunks, ripe of the taking, but I will never stop trying.

Tasuku Tsubakino x reader

Lingerie

cw: reader has a vagina, no pronouns used, implied T4T., dry humping.

A/N: this is one of my entries for @ficsforgaza kinktober event

Divider credit: @cafekitsune

You have a staring problem.

Everything about her is pink. Tsubaki tucks her hair behind her ear with demure elegance, manicured nails tangled in her matching rose colored balayage. She leans over the table and points to the textbook between you, pretty, plush lips pulled into a tight and tiny smile. You swear she’s blushing under her painted cheeks-

But that’s not what you’re staring at.

No, you’re locked on to the pastel pink strap that's fallen down her shoulder, the scalloped lace edge pressing into her skin when she moves. The divet it leaves in the skin would fit the edge of your tongue so, so perfectly. The gaps in her shirt feed your addiction more; the lace continues down, down, right to the curve of her chest and presumably farther, all the way to her-

“Uh, hello?” Tsubaki waves that hand in your face and you realize you’ve been ignoring her question. This was supposed to be a study session, not an OnlyFans stream. “Earth to cutie, are you there?”

“Uh, yeah, sorry, just-” You swallow down that lump in your throat. “Just tired.”

“Well, wake up,” she winks. “You promised me a long night, remember?”

Her sentence lifts at the end flirtatiously, like she’s not talking about statistics homework. Finals are coming up, you should really focus-

But her perfume smells like cherry blossoms and it makes your chest bloom pink.

“Can you explain this again?” you ask, pointing to a random problem in the book between you. Your dorm room is less of a mess than usual, cleaned just for her. You’re both on the floor, in the middle of your blue shag carpet, study materials and snacks scattered in between. It's terribly, unfortunately platonic, except for the way you ogle and want in silence.

“You’re totally going to fail this class,” she sighs. Her hair falls over her shoulder when she shakes her head in disappointment. Yeah, you probably will fail, but at least the room will still smell like her when you jack off tonight. You’ll get to be alone with her scent and the memory of how her bra strap just comes right off-- perfect for easy access. If only her panties came off just as easily, you wouldn’t be so fucking pent up and horny. Maybe she’ll get sloppy and you’ll get a peak under her skirt when she stands, and you can see a hint of matching pink--

Wait. Do her panties match her bra?

The thought hits you like a lightning bolt.

You bet they do. They have to, right? Tsubaki cares about fashion stuff, cares about looking good. There’s no way she hasn’t left the house without making sure every part of her outfit is perfect. You bet she has a little thong on, some sort of cunty g-string that you could peel away with your teeth-

“What are you thinking about?” she asks. You’ve been quiet for a very long time.

“Panties,” you say before you can stop yourself. Your cheeks flush with heat as Tsubaki processes this; eyes wide, then narrowed with suspicion.

“What?” she says.

“Uh, like that Charli XCX song?” You fumble for an answer. “You know, about guessing underwear color. It’s stuck in my head.”

Good save.

“Oh, yeah?” She jerks her chin to you. “Sing it to me then.”

Bad save. “Uh- Oh, I wanna-- see your underwear?”

Before you can struggle more, Tsubaki reels back and punches your shoulder much too hard. You whine at the pain. She's strong as hell; even her playful taps ache.

“You jerk! Are you serious?!” she laments. “I’ve been trying to get you to fuck me for, like, months and you’ve just been, like, ignoring my signals! You think girls just-”

She sighs and plays with her hair the way you love, this move so over the top and obviously practiced that you feel dumb for not noticing earlier. “No! It’s all a careful ruse!”

You slam your book closed and throw it across the room. It plops on to your bed. “Wait, really?”

“Like, duh!” She flits with her hair almost nervously. “You’re so oblivious.”

So distracted by her, more like it.

“By the way-” Tsubaki kicks her legs forward and sits back onto her butt. “They do match.”

Pausing, she takes a deep breath. Then, she flips the front of her skirt up, a quiver to her hands, and you get a good look. The lace is intermeshed with sheer fabric, pressed against the growing bulge of her untucked cock. Her body is tight with want, core flexed, thighs tightened, and each breath shallow. The smallest drop of wet dots the front of her panties and the spot darkens as she pulses harder. Your own body reacts at the sight, your cunt pulsing, clit equally hard as her-

“Do you think I’m sexy?” she coos gently, surprisingly vulnerable.

“Holy shit. I’d do anything for you.” You say, on your hands and knees already. “And those fucking panties.”

By the time you've crawled to her, she's waiting, pressing forward into you to catch you in a kiss. Her lips are soft and sweet like cherries, her lipstick smears across your skin with each breathy kant of your head. Every touch leaves a trail of pink across you, across your cheeks and down your neck and back to your mouth, until there's more lipstick on you than on her. You kiss her until its smear across her mouth and down her chin in an undeniable mess-

Her hands are already pushing at the elastic waist of your pants, the same rushed tempo that you fumble with her shirt. It’s cotton and stretches for your wandering touch.

“You taste so good-” she coos into your mouth. Greedily, you suck on the soft of her tongue and earn yourself a deep, rolling moan. “Shit-”

Your hands slide up the exposed, firm plane of her stomach, under those lacy cups of her bra. Her tits are small, barely handfuls under her padded bra, but the pebbled edge of her nipple is raised and begging for attention. Instead, you trace the indented skin the garment left behind, under her breasts, around her back, anywhere marked by elastic. The give of her skin, soft and supple, gives under your touch as you trace the scalloped pattern left behind.

“Take it off already,” she pouts so beautifully. Her own hands are tugging at the edge of your binder.

“But it looks so pretty.” you mumble back.

You continue to tease her, caressing everywhere she’ll let you. Her hair is wild against the carpet, caught in the cyan shag, almost as rosy as her cheeks and chest. When she lifts her hips and helps you drag her skirt to her ankles, you’re face to face with her clothed cock, and how it kicks at your attention. The fabric is just thin enough that you can see her shape and the pearl of precum, peeking through the matching lace of her panties. It’s thick, it’s hard, it’s begging to be fucked.

“Tsubaki,” you say as you peel back the fabric. “Is your cock just as pink as the rest of you?”

She doesn’t have a chance to respond before you find out for yourself. Yes-- yes, her cock is flushed pink, with a pretty little vein running along the underside. It kicks in your hand when you give it a stroke, pulling a perfect bead of precum from her.

“Shit,” she murmurs as she keens into you. She presses on to her hands, keeping your chest against hers- “Oh, shit-”

Her head rolls back, exposing that column of neck. She’s built long and lean, yet sturdy enough that you aren’t afraid to manhandle her a bit; you press your face into her throat so hard that she tumbles back, you on top of her, clothed core pressed against her half exposed cock. Only half consciously, you spread your legs around her waist and grind, searching for her pleasure and yours. Your sleep pants are thin enough that you can feel the ridge of lace, enjoy the thick shape of cock as it slots between the lips of your cunt, your pants immediately dampening from your own excitement.

“Shit-” Tsubaki repeats, “That feels too good, shit--”

Her hips buck against you, pressing her cock through your clothed pussy. The head of her cock bumps against your swollen clit and your stomach tightens with heat, so hard that you rut against her again and again, chasing the molten burn that’s building inside you. Your lips find hers again, muddling her high, breathy whines. The sensation’s becoming too much; she’s fumbling at your hips, whining wordless pleas-

“Oh, I’m gonna-”

You feel it before Tsubaki can finish her sentence. The contraction of everything, followed by the jagged, jumping release. Wet warmth spills across the front of your pants and down her stomach. As she cums, her head falls back again and you get a good peak of how you’ve undone her. Tears prick the edge of her eyes, smearing that carefully placed eyeliner down her beet red cheeks. Her mouth hangs open in silence, frozen in place as her orgasm hits and hits and hits-

By the time she’s boneless, your own high has fizzled away, but it’s worth it to see her so absolutely ruined. A sense of pride washes over you-- yeah, you did that without even taking off your pants.

“That’s so embarrassing,” she whines. “I came so easy.”

“Nah,” you reassure, eyes flickering down her body. The sheen of cum drips down her underwear. “It was fuckin’ hot.”

She tucks her hair behind her ears, a tiny smile tugging at her lips. “You think?”

You nod and run your hands down your own front. Her excitement is smeared across your poor pajamas; there’s so much that it webs across your fingers when you pull away. “You made a fucking mess.”

“I can clean you up-” She takes your hand into hers and brings it to her face. Kissing your fingertips, she then pops the filthy digit into her mouth and sucks. When she lets go with a pop, your finger is clean and dry. “If that’s what you want.

#I'm afraid I'm rusty so the words aren't as coherent as I'd like -#But; just know I devoured this #And it means a lot to see the feminine gaze written like this especially about another woman.

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saturnsorbits · 14 days ago

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from this tweet

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saturnsorbits · 27 days ago

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"it's all in your head" correct! unfortunately I am also in there

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saturnsorbits · 27 days ago

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Doing those Skype calls to learn Japanese getting paired with Katsuki and immediately hanging up because he's too hot

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saturnsorbits · 28 days ago

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It starts in your joints. The outer bends of your knees ache, making you want to stretch out - something the small booth you’re crowded in won’t allow. Your elbows will be next, locked to your sides through a combination of being wedged between a bulking Kirishima and Bakugo - who’s always been far too wide across the shoulders to make a comfortable seat mate. Still, it’s the boredom that does the real damage.

Because you are. Bored that is. Terribly, incurably bored.

You sigh and twirl the disintegrating paper straw around with the tip of your tongue.

It’s not that you don’t enjoy the almost ritualistic post-work week drinks that, inevitably, run on for far too long and descend into a new brand of chaos that leaves at least one of you (See: Denki) with a bruised ego and memories they’d rather forget.

You do.

They’re just… Dull.

There’s only so many times you can listen to Midoriya gush about his latest project, or watch the latest in a long line of Kirishima’s work out videos. (Admittedly, that had taken longer to wear thin having formed the basis for your go-to wanking scenarios for the best part of two weeks. Praise be his aversion to shirts).

Denki leers over the table. He’s half stood. One foot planted on the floor, the other curled underneath him, knee digging into the wood of his chair to support whatever weight his arms won’t. Which at this point, almost four drinks in, is almost none. ‘I’ll have you know…’ He wags his finger in Sero’s face. ‘I get hit on all the time.’

Sero’s nose crinkles. ‘Yeah, but I get laid more. That’s all I’m saying. You can’t close.’

Denki’s mouth hangs open as offence rolls off of him in waves. He snorts.

You look up, eyebrows raised. Sero’s wrong of course. After a singular office fling that somehow landed him in a surprise threesome, he has incorrectly labelled himself as a serial ladies man. (Of course this is ignoring the two months he spent perpetually bed bound when the arrangement was called off. By then, two weeks in, he had already been practically in love. His ego has never been the same since).

You could mention that. You don’t. Instead, you tilt your head and rest it on your palm. ‘Denki has more game.’

‘No he doesn’t.’ Sero argues.

‘He does.’ You’re not in the mood for a tennis-match of a conversation. ‘He’s prettier than he gives himself credit for, built like a gymnast with the flexibility to match and unfortunately, he’s got the most charisma out of all of us.’

Denki’s eyes are shiny and wet, his lips too. He sucks the bottom one into his mouth.

You wink at him. ‘And he’s got dimples. Everyone love dimples.’

Beside you, Kirishima’s face scrunches as his eyes flick up as he counts his drinks. He picks up his beer, sloshes it about and sets it back down ‘Denki doesn’t have dimples.’

You lick your straw into your mouth and smile around it. ‘Not talking about his cheeks, Darling.’

Kirishima blushes, his eyes hitting the table.

To your right, Bakugo, loudly, rolls his eyes. ‘Both of you…’ He announces, locking eyes with Sero and then Denki in turn. ‘Have no fucking game.’

It’s unlike Bakugo to get involved in your petty squabbles, but welcomed non-the-less.

The table erupts into disaster immediately.

‘You can’t talk.’

‘You’re practically a virgin.’

‘Have you even had a girlfriend?’

‘You’re literally known for being an arsehole.’

It’s Denki who lands the final blow. ‘Yeah, well…’ He’s floundering, drunkenness stealing his words and his coherency. ‘You’re a, you’re a bad kisser.’

Bakugo snaps back. His beer bottle abandoned in favour of folding his arms across his chest. A pose that pushes his tits higher in his black t-shirt, providing you with an almost indecent view. ‘And how the fuck would you know, ha?’

‘I can tell it’s -.’ Denki struggles. His elbows give forcing him to sit back down, the sun of his iris’ swallowed by darkness.

You decide to help him along. Leaning back, you press yourself to Kirishima’s side, all the better to leer at Bakugo, and summon your best incredulity. ‘Prove him wrong.’

‘You what?’ Bakugo snarls, but everyone sees the momentary flicker of panic that flashes like a dodgy traffic-light in his eyes.

‘You heard.’ You smile. The boredom that had once woven itself into the marrow of your bones loosens, flooding your system with something too close to euphoria. Winding Bakugo up was always fun, but this… You tap your nails against the table, hurrying him… This is going to be delcious.

Jerking your chin upwards, you layer on your most shit-eating smile. ‘Prove him wrong.’

His eyes twinkle and grow cold. It’s a combination of the alcohol, the taunt and the steady simmering of a crush he’s nursed for the best part of a decade that does it.

He snaps.

And he does it in the best way possible.

Reaching out, he wraps a hand around your throat and yanks you in. His breath smells like a cheap IPA, his lips like strawberry lip balm - or maybe that’s you? It’s hard to tell when you collide.

Your body melts into his, your hands braced on his chest - legs slipping open as he pressed his knee against your thigh and slides up, up, up… His other hand finds your knee and braces there, squeezes, toying with the hem of your dress. A suggestion. A promise if you’re lucky.

His tongue flicks over your teeth, a moan gravel in the back of his throat and then, you’re released and abandoned, tail-spun and lost in orbit.

He’s grinning when your eyes manage to refocus. ‘Point proven?’

You swallow.

In a moment you’ll excuse yourself and sneak off to the toilet. You’ll slip off your underwear, feel your excitement as it dampens the seat and slip back into the booth, leaving Bakugo with a little present for later.

He’ll call you later from your front door and you won’t even make it to bed before you’re bent over the kitchen counter - him balls deep, your underwear stuffed into your mouth as he moans the most heinous things into your ears.

But, that’s later, for now, you keep up the facade - revel in the hunger that bares itself openly on his features. You smile, wipe your bottom lip delicately to fix the gloss he’s rudely smeared across your chin and shrug.

He bristles.

You have the feeling you won’t be bored again for a long time.

‘I’ve had better.’

#:)

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