#[ drabbles. ]

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ 4:08 AM — GOJO SATORU.

contents. fluff, established relationships, sleepy n cuddly toru :(, just needed to write this to cope with the 236 manga leaks i guess. i just love him tons sobs i need him happy and loved and peaceful

“hey,” you poke satoru’s chest, hearing a low groan rumble under your cheek, “toru?”

“hmm?” oh. he sounds a little tired—maybe you should let him sleep.

“you awake?” you ask anyway.

“am now,” he mumbles—well, he’s already awake, so you might as well indulge in it now. “need somethin’, sweetheart?”

“jus’ missed you is all,” you pout—that makes him grin despite the way he yawns, all wide and smooth even as he fights the sleep in his eyes. you feel just a bit guilty, reaching to cup his cheek and running a thumb over his eyelid carefully.

“yeah?” he chuckles quietly, “‘m right here. you still miss me?”

“yeah,” you whisper, “always miss you. even when you’re right here.”

satoru’s grinning into your cheek as he leans down and presses a wet kiss to the skin—he can’t possibly be mad that you’ve woken him so late. he can’t be mad when it’s you, and it’s him, and it’s each other.

sleep can wait, there’s always time for that later. but there’s never a moment where he wants to risk counting on later when it comes to you.

“what’d you miss about me?” he hums, nibbling on your earlobe as his head buries into your neck. you shift, letting his body tuck against yours as your arms wrap around him—he feels safe like this, somehow. infinity doesn’t make him feel nearly as secure as the way your arms do, tight and warm and made just for holding him.

“dunno,” you murmur, “everything.”

“love me that much?” he asks cheekily, “me sleeping right beside you isn’t enough?”

“no,” you huff, “you can’t pay attention to me in your sleep.”

“my needy baby,” he snickers, rubbing circles into the small of your back with his large palm. he’s warm against you—you can feel the rhythm of his heart as it beats against your body. he’s pressed so close to you, that not even air can slip through the cracks.

truthfully, you don’t know why you wake satoru. you don’t know why you can’t sleep—you just know that you need him. here. now. always. forever. more and more and more and even more.

“toru?” you ask quietly, making him hum as his eyes droop back shut slowly—he must really be tired.

you stare at him fondly, stroking his hair as he sighs happily at the feeling. and then you press a kiss to his forehead, to his cheek, to the corner of his eyes where they crinkle when he smiles, and to those lips of his that always find yours no matter how long it takes.

he always comes back to you. always. he never won’t—that much you trust.

“got somethin’ on your mind, baby?” he asks slowly, voice thick with sleep. you giggle, scratching at his scalp as he smiles lightly.

he dozing off—you watch him, hopelessly endeared.

“i love you,” you whisper, “need you to know that. love you so, so much. kay?”

he cracks an eye open—stares at you like you’re the reason his heart ever started beating, like you’re the only one that could ever command it to stop. every inch of his face is laced with love so gentle, you can see the way it makes his skin glow.

you love him. you’re sure he loves you. that’s all you need to know it’ll be fine. everything else is an afterthought—just as long as you have satoru.

“woke me just to confess your love for me?” he gasps, “you’re down bad. real, real bad. i must be a super handsome, totally awesome boyfriend. i do try,” he says cheekily.

you giggle, rolling your eyes as you pinch his cheek.

“be humble, you jerk,” you say exasperatedly.

it sounds more like you’re in love. too much fondness slipping into your voice that it might make your teeth hurt from how sweet. satoru’s always had a sweet tooth, though—he accepts your love graciously, like it’s never too much.

if fact, it might just not be enough. he needs more, more, more.

“can’t,” he says slowly, yawning again, “you waking me up just to love me is a bit ego boosting.”

“this was a mistake,” you scoff—its playful, it’s fond. it sounds like deeply falling headfirst.

“aw c’mon,” he pouts—and then he’s brushing his lips against your neck a he clings closer to you, curling into your body with his six-foot-something stature as you pull the blanket tighter around him, “love you too. what was it you said again? oh, right—so, so much.”

“good,” you hum, nodding in satisfaction. “you better.”

“i do,” he chuckles, “can i sleep now? or are we gonna start talking about all the things we love about each other? cause i can stay up to listen to that, of course.”

“go to sleep, you idiot,” you scoff.

he grins. you press one last kiss to his forehead as you count the soft breaths he takes while he falls back asleep.

you love him—it’s all you ever want to do.

i cried while writing this and i cried thinking about the leaks and i cried while reading the leaks and i cried and cried and i’m tired of crying. gege when i catch you gege 🔫

[gothcsz]

javier peña loves playing with/eating your pussy through your panties 😵‍💫🫠

ay amigita (gn) if only you knew how much i've been thinking about this since i mentioned it in another ask the other day... plus, this couple i subscribe to posted a video that quite literally matched this fantasy— so disfruta y pues… disculpa por la mamada que acabo de escribir

Tags: smut, light dirty talk, pussy rubbing, unprotected p in v sex, i think javier peña has a panty fetish, unbeta'd 🫡, other shit i’m probably forgetting. ~1k wc.

You’re laid back against the pillows, legs spread and body nude except for the very pretty (albeit flimsy) panties that adorn your lower half.

They’re soaked, borderline ruined, from your boyfriend going down on you and then squirting some lube over them to get them slicked up enough to continue with this new... thing you’ve been wanting to try for a while.

Javier has always loved how your undergarments look on you. Whether it’s an expensive lingerie set that he’s purchased for you while he’s away at work or just your simple, day-to-day bra and underwear— it drives him crazy how sexy you look when you’re half undressed. 

Hell, sometimes he even prefers you just like that. Fucking you with your bra pulled below your tits, panties pushed to the side. It’s just so hot.

Which is what prompted you to bring this idea to him, over dinner:

“Want you to rub your cock over my ruined panties, Javi.”

Javier is between your thighs, sitting back on his haunches as he strokes his heavy cock languidly— teeth sinking into his lower lip, grunting as more precum leaks from the slit.

Your panties cling to your pussy, outlining your beautiful sex to him, the once light gray fabric now a darker shade due to how wet it is. Your folds are prominent against the cloth.

He leans forward, bending down to kiss you, his tongue slipping into your mouth at the same time as the head of his cock begins to rub against your slit.

“Oh,” you moan, disconnecting your lips from his and canting your head back. You’re still so sensitive from having his mouth on you, sucking your clit through the fabric and tonguing at your entrance with the barrier keeping him from diving inside. 

The feeling of it was fucking fantastic, and while it usually feels like heaven itself when he devours your bare— something about the texture of your underwear being added to the mix just made the whole thing even more pleasurable.

Every day, Javier Peña finds a way to outdo himself.

His cock continues to glide against your covered pussy, he’s holding his shaft at the base to keep him steady as you begin to move your hips in tandem with his. 

The noises he lets out are like music to your ears. Grunts, groans of your name, his blunt fingertips digging into the plush skin of your meaty thigh as he increases the pace in which he ruts himself against you.

“Puta madre this feels fuckin’ amazing.”

Your lips pull into a smirk, hands traveling down to paw at your tits, pulling your stiff nipples between your thumb and pointer fingers to further stimulate your bliss.

Each time he brushes against your swollen clit, whines spill from your throat, only egging him on further. He reaches over to grab the bottle of lube, letting a thick strand of it land over his cock and all over your panties.

“Need to feel you, baby, please.”

You nod, flashing him the sultriest fuck me eyes you can muster and he curses under his breath, pulling your panties to the side to reveal your glistening cunt to him.

His spit, the lube, your creamy arousal— it all paints such an erotic picture. He almost loses it entirely and releases his load then and there.

He slaps his cock against your clit a few times, causing your back to arch and thighs to twitch at the sensation. The fire that blooms at your pussy travels throughout the entirety of your body, leaving your skin hot and entrance fluttering as he continues his movements from before; except this time it’s skin on skin.

Javier lets go of your panties, sliding his shaft against your flesh. Feeling the wet fabric brushing against his sensitive cock along with the stickiness from your pussy has his mind spinning and he grits his teeth, one hand coming up to grope your tit while the other finds purchase at your thigh again.

The fucking sounds that come from this little act are obscene, his dick feels so good sliding against your sensitive sex. You feel his heavy balls brushing against your ass, they’re wet from all the mess you’ve made and smearing it all over your skin.

Your eyes flutter close, losing yourself entirely to the pleasure, moaning his name and resting your hand over his that’s currently tweaking your nipples.

“Just like that Javi, oh baby you’re going to make me come.”

He halts then and you snap your eyes open, flashing him a confused look then suddenly— like a fucking animal, he tears your underwear straight down the middle, once more revealing your sweet pussy.

DIY fucking crotchless panties. 

“Mira que belleza. Lookin’ so pretty with this cock on her.”

And he continues his thrusts, eyes glued to the way your swollen cunt looks while his cock drags between your labia, the pearl of your clit peeking out from beneath the hood each time his head rubs beneath it.

The hand that was on your thigh moves to twist the fabric, having it dig into your skin and making your pussy look plump, protruding from the makeshift hole he’s just tore.

Your own hands fist the sheets, vision blinded by white spots as you feel your orgasm building at the base of your spine. Your lips part in a silent scream, hips meeting his thrusts.

Then suddenly, his cock is inside of you, and that has you jolting and screaming out his name like you’ve just been shot.

Javier has a smug expression on that handsome face of his, chuckling darkly at your reaction then beginning to pound into you.

All that teasing, the foreplay, building anticipation— it has got the both of you lost in a horny reverie as your walls pulsate around his girthy shaft.

“Just like that, baby, pussy is always so fucking tight.”

Needing to be closer, he leans down to press his entire body weight onto you, your legs coming with him as they’re pressed against your tits, folding you in half while his knees spread a little more to give him a better angle to fuck you at.

And he fucks you.

Your calves are on his shoulders as he relentlessly and unabashedly fills you with that cock of his that you love so much.

His teeth graze along the skin of your jaw before your lips meet messily, swapping spit and clashing teeth.

It’s the hottest thing ever.

With both of his hands planted on either side of your head, he uses the leverage to deliver some brutal thrusts while your hand skips down the length of your torso until your fingertips are at your engorged clit.

You’re both so close, it won’t take much longer.

“C’mon, Javi. Give it to me.” You purr, whining as he hits your g-spot which inadvertently has your walls gripping him like a goddamn vice.

And that’s all it takes for you to milk every single drop from him. A gravelly moan falls from his lips and his balls tighten, delivering three more harsh thrusts before he stills and begins to paint the inside for your pussy with his load.

Feeling his cock twitch and his teeth digging into your neck prompts your own release. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, fingers pinching your clit.

First you felt like you were shot, now you feel like you’ve been hit by a truck as your orgasm takes over. How is it that Javier makes you feel such extremes?

You both lie there, intertwined and panting heavily. The position that was once so titillating is starting to feel uncomfortable but you’re still so lost in this haze he’s put you in, that you don’t mind it right now.

His dick softens inside of you, lips turning tender as they press gentle kisses along any inch of skin he can reach. Sensing your discomfort, he shifts to move your legs off his shoulders and you use this change to throw your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you as he gets comfortable between your thighs.

“Loved that. Love you,” he mutters, kissing your cheek then your lips.

You can’t help but smile, nuzzling your nose against his. “Love you too. You owe me a new pair of underwear.”

Both of you chuckle lightly, feeling the damp, now cool, material pressing against your heated skin.

“Lo que quieras, princesa.” 

[imagines-by-elysian]

Naps- Gojo Satoru

🗝Oneshot: Just a sweet moment shared between you two.

🗝Genre: Fluff

🗝Pairing: Gojo Satoru x reader

It was a tiresome afternoon at the Jujutsu High. The duo had returned from yet another missioned assigned, The sun was streaming through the windows of the dormitory, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. Gojo was stretched out on the couch, his trademark glasses covering his eyes. On the other side of the room, you half seated on the floor and half on the beanbag, engrossed on your phone.

Gojo let out a contented sigh and sat up. "You know," he said, his voice low, "I could really use a nap right now."

You glanced up from your phone and smiled at him. "Me too," you agreed, feeling the tiredness seeping into your bones. The mission was tiresome, maybe you could take a break

Without another word, Gojo stood up and walked over to you. He held out his hand, a silent invitation. You took it, allowing him to pull you up from the floor. Together, you made your way to his room. The sheets on his bed were soft and inviting, and you couldn’t help but yawn as you settled in.

Gojo kicked off his shoes and lay down next to you, pulling you into his arms. You snuggled close, feeling his warmth enveloping you. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before closing his eyes, his breathing steady and calming.

"Gotta remove those glasses now Satoru," You said, as you removed his glasses, keeping them at the side table as Gojo does nothing but give a grin to you.

Wrapped in Gojo's arms, you felt safe and cherished. The events of the day faded away, and all that remained was the comforting presence of the man you loved. As you drifted to doze off, you whispered, "I love you, you know."

Gojo's lips curved into a gentle smile. "I love you too," he murmured, his hands wrapped around you as you both snuggled each other.

And in that moment, the world outside ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the two of you, entwined in each other's arms, finding solace and peace in a shared nap.

[yuutapedia]

bf gojo who’s good at anything he does so I make him learn how to do nails and he becomes my personal nail tech. 🤭🤭

[embersofhope-if]

39/Ash

39: “ I wish we could stay like this forever. ”

bet you thought this was gonna be a fluffy thing when you asked for it huh

wordcount: 965

The only thing I can hear is two words echoing over and over again. No not words. A name. The most important name in my life.  

Asher Fairchild.  

It repeats on a continuous loop in my mind until their name almost loses meaning.  

Asher Fairchild.  

Ash Fairchild.  

Ash. 

My Ash.  

Not even twenty-four hours ago we were busy watching the stars and climbing rooftops. I can still smell the night air and the scent of leather that follows Ash everywhere they go. If I try hard enough, I can almost hear their laugh, almost feel the softness of their hair, almost see their blinding grin.  

Right now, that grin is nowhere to be seen. In its place is a tight lipped smile that I can tell is their attempt to stop themselves from crying.  

Why on Earth does it have to be them? Everyone knows the world is cruel, but this is downright evil. Of the thousands of names in that bowl there should be no way that the name Asher Fairchild should ever be called.  

I’m shoving my way through the crowd desperate to reach Ash. I have no idea what I’m going to do but I can’t just stand here and watch my light walk out of my life and straight to their death.  

There has to be something I can do. Could I volunteer? Or I could find some way to get them to redo the reaping. I can beg Father to stop and pick a different name. The Vesper name is powerful but is it really powerful enough to overrule a reaping? No, it's not, maybe I can knock over some of the cameras and cause a scene. I just need to do something. I don’t care how much trouble it’ll get me into. If it means Ash gets to live, I’ll gladly take any punishment.  

I’ve finally managed to shove my way to the edge of the crowd, and I can see Ash walking down to climb the stairs up to the stage. 

Just as they start to walk past me, I manage to reach out and grab their wrist, stopping them from moving any further. Any semblance of a plan that I had immediately disappears when I look into their eyes. I expected to see fear. Who wouldn’t be terrified in this moment, but all I can see in their eyes is the grim acceptance of their fate.  

How can they just accept this so easily? They are walking to their literal death and they’re just okay with it? That’s not the Ash I know. The Ash that I know would fight this as much as they could, or they’d at least make it a show that nobody could turn away from. Instead, all they’re doing is putting on a smile and going quietly.  

My confusion stops me from being able to say anything. So caught up in trying to figure out what is wrong with them, I don’t even notice the peacekeepers that have started to walk towards us. The moment I feel a hand on my shoulder I’m snapped back into reality.  

They’re trying to pull me away, but I refuse to let go of Ash’s wrist. My grip so tight it has to be hurting them, but I can’t let myself care about that not right now. If I let go, I might not ever get a goodbye. So, I decide to hold on for dear life.  

There’re four peacekeepers now, two behind me and two behind Ash, and each pair is getting ready to pull us apart. The fear that runs through my body is indescribable. Suddenly I’m able to understand why Hope freezes any time I try to take his favorite toy from him. I’m taking the most important thing in his life away and all he can do is sit there and watch.  

I feel a hand wrap around the one I have latched to Ash’s wrist but this time I don’t feel the leather of a peacekeepers glove. Instead, I feel Ash’s warm and slightly shaky hand begin to pull mine away from them.  

“You have to let go [Name]]. Please don’t make this a fight” they plead with me, their voice is so quiet that I can barely hear them.  

“I’m not going to just let this happen Ash.” 

“Yes, you are.” 

They finally manage to pry my hand off their wrist but instead of stepping away they take a step forward and cup my face. We don’t say a word. I honestly don’t think either of us know what to say; not with all of Panem watching us. Instead, Ash leans forward and presses a kiss on my forehead. I desperately wish we could stay like this forever. Just as the peacekeepers begin to pull us away Ash leans to whisper in my ear. 

“If you’re quick I bet you could sneak into the Justice Building. We can talk in there.” 

For a second, I see the regular Ash again but just as quickly they’re gone. With a flash of a smile, they turn back to the stage and keep walking. I’m suddenly all too aware of the number of eyes I have on me. I even manage to spot a camera still pointed in my direction.  

The peacekeepers try to pull me back, but I quickly shove off their hands and walk back into the crowd without them. I don’t care how many laws I’m breaking by leaving the reaping or how many more I’ll be breaking by sneaking into the Justice Building. If they’re going to take Ash from me, I’m going to at least get a proper goodbye. 

The last thing I see before I duck out of the crowd are my father's eyes.  

[silverhandj]

>... Johnny Silverhand is less a moniker taken from the man who gave his life to protect him in the war and more an ensemble of dressings from constructs that had at one point been a point of reliance for him and all his mistakes, and all his accomplishments. Robert Linder isn't dead but he has lost its usefulness for him the minute he deserted and took to the guitar. Mind you, this transformation, happened within a month in a room he never left but instead buried himself in with his only company being books on philosophy, and tucking away Robert John Linder in the grates of the motel. The asceticism of killing Robert off, and taking his saviours name is only the tipping point of Johnny Silverhand and from it, a sense of peace in knowing he's continuing on because of Johnny. Even now, Robert Linder is no longer a point of contention for Johnny. Why go back, when the path is set passionately hurtling towards The Edge, again. All the very best of him must live on through Johnny, the self sacrifice of a of both Johnny and Robert prove to exemplify this grace.

>... Going deeper, Robert Linder was the first to have the hand. A state of the art upgrade given by Arasaka at no charge to its contractors to fight and test in an undocumented attack within the fourth corporate war. This is not without its own consequences; Evidence of DNA tampering and blood testing have made Robert a hardened veteran on the battlefield. Stay too long out there, and anyone's bound to snap. Especially when the attack starts to fail, when masses of your brothers in war start to drop dead in multitudes. Robert, mentally, shut down. The one driving his body wasn't him, it was the hand.

>... The corporate name that had built and installed the arm into would soon be scratched off, and anyone who's anyone can understand that the arm he has on him is one of a kind - issued to soldiers deployed from Arasaka in a test attack. Even with the testing, even with the radiation in his body, none of that stalls the cyber psychosis that starts and ends with the hand.

>... Johnny's parasitic nature hasn't always been because he had turned into a digital psyche, an engram in a world trying to survive. It started before that, when he was alive and well and had donned the name of his saviour. It's easy to fall into the mess that is Night City where vices and bad habits are sold to at a cheap price that funnels back into the megacorps that supply it all. It is the eco-system of Night City after all. And no one seems to understand that the game is rigged, no matter the scales, no matter the morality.

>... The hand becomes both a metaphor and an idealization for Johnny, it becomes something he can disconnect a part of himself from the part that's organic. It will not hesitate to act on his basest desires and it's easy to pull the trigger when you aren't there. Not really. Johnny has cut pieces of himself off, and has reattached different pieces of himself in ways that justify the end. The body remembers, even when the mind starts to alter memories to protect oneself.

[ Johnny stands on the stage, in his hand is his fully loaded Malorian Arms 3516 pistol. It's after the first few sets that the hand raises the gun, and shoots the crowd. A fan dies, a few scream, but mostly, they want more of Johnny Silverhand.

"Christ Johnny, what's next, you do a live execution of a corpo on stage?" Yells Kerry, backstage. ]

This isn't what Johnny shows V in their head, but it's hinted at. In V's memories, the show goes on where no one dies and no one gets angry. In his hand is his guitar, and not a gun.

>... Johnny's metallic hand, unlike how he relates to it, is very much apart of him. It is the base of his emotions, and it is as real to him just as much as his organic self is. Except, he shifts the blame of self onto the very thing he hates but has come to rely upon over the years, as a source of strength and ideals.

>... Transitioning into V's body is like swapping the hand for an even bigger upgrade, where he's apart, just as he is without.

[scriptospark]

a Kaftio (Kafka x Ratio) inspired messy drabble for of course @enkosmios ♥

As Kafka woke up she drank the rest of the wine beside her bed from the night before to put herself back to sleep for a short bit longer.

She's considering another substance to push through the day, no mission, no work. It's been a sense of wickedness in her head. Maybe something psychedelic can aid in creative release. Not so regular of occurrence, but regular enough. Capsule slipped between her lips and she lays back in the bed awaiting the sounds, the colors, the synesthesia performance. Little hum, unrecognizable to anyone within earshot besides herself, but she knows how to get the best chemical effects. Humming is warm, inviting, a tune that would bring the listener to a sunlit meadow, early in the morning. However as the capsule's effects began to take way, she would not remain physically in her bed. She'd rather take her violin and begin composing. Taking intermittent breaks to note down what she's discovered under the effects, to question the rational on paper.

Kafka could see the notes dance, the play performance when she closed her eyes and played the notes. Always in sync, a marvel to anyone who could see. Or a horror depending on their stance.

To be honest, she did not care. The ability to compose a scene and feel it deeply was worth the chemical triggers. The sights, the sounds, and mostly the colors. All a feeling of pure euphoria to her. It was a day of little sustenance, it would pull her from the feelings. Sometimes trickles of reality would settle in, but they were quiet and fleeting. Occasionally she'd mix a bit of wine in to keep the feeling.

Had to hold on long enough to finish her musical score. In-between when her fingers would cramp, her real life body forcing a break, she would crack her knuckles. Sitting and admiring the notes she created, the fond little meshing of colorful scenes. The visual representation of happiness battling away the despair she'd previously begun to sink into.

A habit she could not rely on for more than a few times a month, if that. Her life may be short, but she was not so reckless to let it consume her.

Before she knows it, the day is starting to wrap up. The effects are inching their way from her body and she knows she has one final task. Well, two. A sketch she scribbles together on a blank canvas. Depiction of bright colorful numbers, deeper purple, flashes of pink. Webs that match her eyes, rivers that match his hair. Skittering lines so thin they could scarcely be seen of that piercing gold, and the deep blood orange that surrounds his eyes. A perfect combination of the two of them. Sure, it was abstract, but even without the effects of her self-medication, a person (he) could see the inspiration when he looked at the sheet music's cover.

Lastly a name needed to be given to this music she created. Kafka wanted it to be subtle, simplistic. Nothing anyone would glance at twice. The fleeting thing that always fell upon her lips when he came near. She simply scratches the word "Our Smile" in light cursive lettering. Unironically smiling at the completed work. It would of course need some adjusting before she performed it for him. But it was a masterpiece to her, it perfectly illustrated how she felt in his presence. Granted, Kafka is easygoing enough that she tells him what he means to her.

Something felt so much more romanticized in plucking away at her beloved instrument while capturing the gaze of her beloved person. A simple thing, really. Only a days worth of effort, that she knows he will appreciate.

Maybe without mentioning the drug that helped her achieve it. Give her a few days to stew on it, soon she would invite him for dinner and perform it live for him.

[mutherless]

" you're just a little guy, huh? "

izuku looks at the baby and isamu in her tiny little hat looks very unimpressed back at him. the newest and currently miniest midoriya is laying on the hospital bassinet. she has a surprising amount of hair, all of it green. most noticeable are eye stormy eyes. they're blue right now. bets are they'll end up green or purple.

he reaches out a finger to her which after clearly thinking on her tiny face she holds with her chubby baby hand. for a new born she's got some chunk to her. she's already starting to decompress into a cute baby shape. admittedly izuku thinks she's already cute. but also she's his so he's incredibly biased about that and he knows.

isamu gurgles at him. izuku responds to her like she's already speaking full sentences because one) that's just who he is. two) that's what the books say. " really you think so. tell me some more. "

izuku listens to her continue to vocalize and babble. more awe inspired by her existence than anything else. he cannot help it. izuku scoops the baby up into his arms. she feels so tiny there, but at nearly nine pounds she's admittedly pretty big for a baby this young. he kisses her forehead. that's his kid alright.

[inkedreverie]

Thinking about Author! Ransom and touch starved! female! reader.

Minors DNI! 18+

this is a little concept inspired by my recent moodboard and based on the wip i currently have in my google docs.

requests are open!

You don’t really like being apart from your boyfriend. You hate it. But Ransom likes to be alone when he’s working. He’s grumpy and snaps at you occasionally if you interrupt him or step into his office. But one night when he’s fighting a bad bout of writer’s block, you decide to come in when you hear him shouting.

His eyes flick upward when he sees you in the doorway, your brows both knitted together in concern. Wide, doe eyes staring at him from across the room. You slowly walk over to him. Usually he’d yell at you to get out already but he’s too entranced by you. The way your full length, silk nightgown is hugging your curves, the way your curly hair is cascading over your shoulders, paired with the fur coat you have draped over your arms. You're stunning.

And before he knows it, you’re striding across the room, wrapping your arms around his neck from behind the chair. “Baby, you’ve been at this all night. Come to bed, please.” You coo in his ear. Ransom let’s a sigh escape past his parted lips. “I can’t, babygirl. I have a deadline. You know that.” He’s stubborn, he always has been. And you know how important his writing is to him but you’re not giving up yet. You've been waiting for hours while he typed on his computer for hours. You even tried pleasuring yourself to the thought of him. But it's not the same. You need him. You want him!

“I know, baby. But I miss you— I need you. Just take a short break, please? For me?” You plead, hoping, praying he’ll give in and when he doesn’t answer, your hands trail down his chest, your nose nuzzling into the crook of his neck, inhaling the woodsy scent from his cologne, lips brushing the side of his neck.

“Ransom, I need you.” You beg, one hand inching closer to his belt buckle. And before you can move another inch, he snatches your wrist. At first it takes you by surprise, a gasp leaving your lips as he spins around in his chair. Ransom smirks at your shocked expression. “You’re a persistent little thing, aren’t you?” Still grabbing hold of your wrist, he pulls you down onto his lap, one arm snaking around your waist, holding you in place.

While the other glides down your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “You think you can just waltz in here and I’m gonna give you what you want? Hm?”

“Ransom, please—?” He interrupts you, cupping your mouth with his palm. His other arm still holding you against him, his growing bulge pressed against your ass. “You feel that? That’s all me, babygirl.” You clench your thighs together, a familiar honeyed heat pooling in your lower belly. Ransom grins when you don't answer. “Here’s what’s going to happen; you’re going to do what I say, and if you’re a good girl, maybe I’ll give you what you want.”

[saetoru]

underground fighter wriothesley who absolutely melts whenever you patch him up n place the softest kisses over his bruises n stuff :((

- 🦋 anon

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ WE, NOT I — WRIOTHESLEY.

contents. underground fighter! wriothesley, gn! reader (he gifts you flowers, perfume and a necklace though, so if that is fem! coded to you, there’s your warning), mentions of foster care and being orphaned (wriothesley), mentions of blood, bruises, and injuries (wriothesley), slight angst but overall fluff ending

money’s tight—has been for a while, actually. wriothesley doesn’t like to talk about it, doesn’t like to open up even though he knows you won’t think any less of him. but you notice the small things, always do.

it’s the way you buy groceries for two, the way he’s always over for dinner one way or another, the way he seems to spend more and more time at your place than his. money’s tight, even if he doesn’t like to admit it—and you could never force it out of him, but you think letting him stay with you while he can could help ease the burden of living even if a little.

he’s grateful—a little roundabout in the ways he shows it, but grateful all the same.

and then the presents start to come.

it’s small at first: those expensive macarons you like from that bakery, the bouquet of roses that couldn’t be cheap, a nice dinner he insists he can pay for every once in a while. and then it starts to get bigger: fancy tea from the side of town neither of you even think about shopping at, perfume from a brand you can’t even pronounce, a necklace that’s more than what you can afford yourself.

it starts out slow, and then all at once, wriothesley has what you imagine to be more money than he knows what to do with. because why else spoil you like this? why else blow money on things for you when he could be putting it towards himself?

not everyone gets to have a head start at life—wriothesley is proof of that. it’s hard, more than most people realize, to be orphaned so young and move through foster home after foster home. he’d gone to jail once too—he doesn’t talk about that either, and you never ask. it’s hard, more than anyone gives him credit for, to be knocked down by life so many times and make a living for yourself.

you can’t understand where the sudden change comes from, can’t pinpoint where along the line he started getting so comfortable. it’s not unwelcome, you would never want to watch him just barely scrap by, but it concerns you how he seems to have so much all at once.

and then you get your answer.

“what—what happened to you?” you ask in disbelief, eyeing the blood caked by his nose and around his knuckles. that’s the best of it, unfortunately—the gashes on his chest and the bruises somehow look even worse.

you’d consider him lucky that his ribs don’t seem cracked.

“just a fight,” he shrugs, not meeting your eyes. wriothesley is a lot of things: resourceful, conniving at times, and braver than most. good at lying is not one of them, however—at least not with you. “just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“where were you, then?” you challenge, staring at him hard enough that he doesn’t have to meet your eyes to shuffle uncomfortably in his spot. he doesn’t answer. you’re almost fed up. “wriothesley,” you say in a warning tone.

there’s a sense of finality he doesn’t like.

“what happened to wrio, sweetheart? you’re killin’ me here, i come home to you all bruised up and you’re here beating me down harder—”

“wriothesley, i’m worried about you,” you whisper tiredly. it’s defeated—it’s almost helpless. he frowns, finally looking up at you from his place between your legs as you sit on the bathroom counter.

“you don’t have to be,” he mumbles, “i can take care on my own. i always have.”

“there’s no being on your own when we’re together,” you shake your head. your hands fall to either side of your body, shoulders slumping in exhaustion. “don’t you understand? neither of us is supposed to be on our own anymore—not when the other is here.”

“yeah,” he crosses his arms—you try to ignore the wince he lets out as he moves, “and now you’re not handling things on your own anymore. i’m carrying my weight. just need to fight a guy or two.”

“you’re carrying your weight by fighting?” you blink at the realization. he doesn’t look you in your eyes, keeping them trained on the floor again. “oh my god—is that what these are from? because….because you’re fighting some punks in the middle of the night? that’s illegal—and you could get in trouble again—”

he doesn’t seem to like being reminded of his past. that’s clear when he clicks his teeth and glares at you. “and what am i supposed to do, stay cooped up in your place and eat your food?” he asks bitterly, making your brows furrow.

“not necessarily, but you can—”

“what, so i just live paycheck to paycheck and shower at your place and sleep in your bed so my water and electricity bills aren’t too high for the month?”

“wrio—”

“i’m earning, aren’t i? what’s the big deal?”

“the big deal is this,” you wave your hand exasperatedly, tears welling up by the lash line of your eyes as you stare at his bruises with trembling lips, “look at you. it’s not worth it if you come back to me like this.”

“but i come back,” he mumbles, taking your hand—he kisses the knuckles, rubs a rough thumb over the smooth skin before laying your palm against his cheek and sighing. “i always come back.”

you love wriothesley—have since the day you met him, you think. he’s easy to fall for like that, to feel your stomach go in twists and knots every time he makes a sarcastic joke and throws you a charming smile. life has been tough on the man you love, unfairly so. it’s hit him harder and harder and pushed him back to his knees before he ever got a chance to fully stand up.

he’s hitting back, now. maybe in a more literal sense than you’d hoped, but….but maybe you can help him if you can’t change him. maybe you can keep the pieces together until the plaster holds and they’re not so fragile anymore.

“i don’t like seeing you hurt,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss the broken skin on his cheekbone, “you don’t have to do all this. we were doing okay before that.”

we. he shudders at that. it’s always we and never i—even when you did all the heavy lifting. even when he was barely getting by and you were giving more than you should’ve had to, more than he should’ve needed. it’s always we. never i.

you and him.

“i know,” he melts, humming as your fingers thread into his tousled hair, scratching his scalp as he buries his face into your neck, “just let me save a bit more. and then i’ll do something real with myself. i promise.”

you pull away after a bit, taking in every bruise and every cut, every dry patch of blood and swollen patch of skin. it’s shaky at first, your voice when you finally speak.

“‘s all bruised,” you say quietly, running a finger over the marks littering his chest. he’s painfully still—doesn’t move a muscle as you lean in slowly and press a kiss to the purplish stain on his skin, gently trailing them to the next one, and the next one, and the next one. “you don’t deserve all this.”

“yeah?” he chuckles—its breathy, a little strained. your arms loop around his waist and bring him closer, “what a sweet thing,” he coos, “nobody ever treats me so gentle.”

you frown at that. the world is not gentle with wriothesley—you’ll have to be extra gentle to make up for it.

“you’ll be safe? you’ll pull out when it’s too much, right? and you’ll come back? without being too hurt, right? wrio, you can’t—”

“yeah, yeah, i got it,” he huffs, pressing his forehead to yours, letting your hands cup his cheeks. he leans closer to your touch, shudders as you slowly trace his cheek with your thumb, “just wait at home all pretty for me, yeah? i’ll bring you back something nice.”

“bring me back yourself in once piece,” you huff.

“done,” he smiles, “i’m strong, if you haven’t noticed.”

“yeah? explain this,” you challenge, pressing down on a bruise and making him wince.

“you should see the other guy,” he whines, burying his face back into your neck. you roll your eyes, there’s a scoff in your throat but a smile on your lips.

wriothesley is safe—for now, that’s all you can ask for.

“i love you,” you mumble, “so much. no matter what, okay?”

“no need to get so emotional on me, baby,” he chuckles—and then there’s a tightening of strong arms around your body, a kiss pressed delicately to your neck before a soft, “but i love you too” is murmured into your skin.

“i hope you’re ready to clean those cuts. they’ll sting for sure,” you grumble as you pull away. he grins—handsome, charming, yours.

“will you kiss them better?” he bats his lashes, making you snort.

“no.”

i might make this a reoccurring drabble series too idk yet. anyway you know what else he can beat up ?? this pussy ;)

[gothcsz]

javier peña definitely gets so cocky when he finds how wet you are for him 😩

oh absolutely and you fucking love it. love when he’s talking shit to you in bed because it’s true— he’s the only person who has ever aroused you this way.

and it’s the fact that your dripping for him every. single. time. it doesn’t matter if he’s bending you over his truck for a quickie or handcuffing you to y’all’s bed for a drawn out fucking; you’re as wet for him as a virgin is the first time she’s taken.

“Ay querida, ¿Toda esta dulzura para mí?” His beautiful brown eyes, darkened with lust, stare up at you as he lays comfortably between your spread legs, your pussy throbbing and clit twitching with each fan of his warm breath. He’s been teasing you for what feels like hours now, enjoying how you squirm beneath him.

“For who else Javi?” Your voice is small, a whiny little thing that has him grinding his naked erection against the soft sheets of the bed.

“That’s right baby, nadie más. Toda mía. No one can get this pretty little pussy as wet as me.” To prove his point, Javi gathers spit in his mouth before obscenely spitting onto your cunt, the sound alone is enough to have you arching your back and clutching at the duvet.

You need him so bad.

“Please…” you beg, like always, because while Javier Peña is a loverboy through and through— he still loves hearing you beg for him. For his tongue. His cock.

He pushes your knees up to your chest, spreading you out even more, your cunt is beautiful and glistening beneath the dim lighting of your bedroom. He could stare at you like this all day, just watching as your tight little hole squirt out more and more of your delicious slick.

Like a honeysuckle on a hot summer day. Sweet, ripe, all ready for your lover to pluck and enjoy your nectar.

“Drive me crazy when you get this fucking drenched mi amor. Don’t gotta do a goddamn thing and you’re already dripping. Such an easy little slut.”

His teeth nip around the sensitive area of your sex, deliberately avoiding where you need him the most.

Another whimper falls from your lips, your hips swiveling around to get him to get his mouth on you.

He slaps at your thigh, the sting causing you to mewl out his name. “Look at you. So needy.” Though he leans in to place the most delicate kiss on your clit and you feel dizzy.

The kiss has more of your juices pooling out and he smirks, watching as it slowly drips down to your ass. “I could just lay here all night and watch you soak the sheets, reina. Make this pretty little pussy cry and weep then have you lick your mess up.”

Oh Jesus fucking Christ, that would be absolute torture but you’d do anything to appease the cocky bastard. Anything to have him fuck you.

“Please, Javi, please please please…” It’s like those are the only words you ever bothered learning. Like begging and pleading is all you know how to do.

“Please what, cariño?”

“Please just do somethin—- ahh!”

His mouth is on your pussy with an intensity that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head and your back fucking levitating off the bed.

He’s got a strong, iron grip on your thighs as he devours you entirely, sucking your fleshy clit into his mouth and finally giving you what you’ve been begging for all night.

[imagines-by-elysian]

I LOVE YOU SO - Gojo Saturo

🗝Oneshot: You were a fool to trust him.

🗝Genre: Mild!Angst + used lyrics of the song 'I love you so'

🗝Pairing: Gojo Satoru x reader

You stood in the dimly lit room, your heart heavy with the weight of unspoken words and broken promises. Gojo was standing before you, his eyes pleading, yet his actions told a different story.

"You're saying I'm the one," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the distant sounds of the bustling city outside.

“Y/N, its not like that I-"

"But it's your actions that speak louder, giving me love when you are down and need another. I've gotta get away and let you go,"

"Y/N please" Gojo cried, as he moved a little close to you, trying to be in the comfort zone of yours like he was before.

"I've gotta get over. But I lo-" Your voice cracked, and words remained unspoken

Gojo's expression wavered, a mix of regret and longing crossing his features. He reached out, his fingers tracing the outline of your face, as if trying to memorize every curve and contour. "I never meant to hurt you," he said softly, his voice laced with sincerity.

But you couldn't let his words weaken your resolve. The pain of his betrayal was still fresh, the wounds he had inflicted on your soul too deep to ignore. "I'm gonna pack my things and leave you behind," you continued, your voice gaining strength as you wiped your running tears. "This feeling's old and I know that I've made up my mind."

You thought you had lost your mind. But no, its his fault.

As you started gathering your belongings, Gojo watched helplessly, his eyes filled with a mixture of desperation and remorse. He wanted to hold you, to convince you to stay, but he knew he had shattered your trust completely.

"I hope you feel what I felt when you shattered my soul," you said, your voice catching on the words. "Because you were cruel and I'm a fool."

Gojo reaches out to hold your hand, only for you to look at him with teary eyes and a swift movement to free your hand,

"So, please let me go."

With a final glance, you walked away, leaving Gojo behind in the shadows of the room. The door closed softly behind you, sealing the chapter of your life that had been defined by love and heartache.

As you stepped out into the cold night, tears blurred your vision, its over isnt it?

[embersofhope-if]

Okay i wrote this a while ago bc somebody requested it but now i can't find the ask💔

anyways heres a drabble of the fight Mc and Aurel got into when they were sixteen

tw for fighting, dissociation, strangulation, and theres a needle used at the end but its not explicitly stated

wordcount: 1.9k

The rain pours down onto me as I stand waiting. What I'm waiting for, I'm not entirely sure. All I know is that I need to stand here and wait until whatever is supposed to happen happens. I see the blurred figures of both children and teachers leaving the school to go start their afternoon shifts in the factories. Even if I can’t clearly see their faces, I can feel their glares, anger, and hatred hot on my skin. It’s the only thing I can feel at the moment. It’s honestly about the only thing I’ve been able to feel since the games ended. I can’t bring myself to think too deeply about what happened, or I might start drowning in every emotion imaginable, again.

I can’t let that happen. They’ll put me on so many pills I won’t be able to tell which way is up.

So, I continue to stand, waiting in the rain, having only the heat of glares keeping me warm. A bolt of lightning hits the building across the street, followed by a loud crack of thunder. The jolt of fear suddenly clears my mind of the fog that it’s been trapped in, and I realize why I’m here.

Ash

Every day without fail, Ash and I would meet up here after school. Whether we would just talk for a couple of minutes before their shift at the factory or I was walking them home, we always met up here.

All at once, everything that I haven’t been able to feel hits me so hard I almost fall over. Every feeling forms into a single thought.

I’ve got to get out of here now.

I run, fleeing from the courtyard and everything that’s happened there. That courtyard is nothing but a painful reminder that Ash is gone, and there is nothing I can do to bring them back. With the fog lifted from my brain, I can now fully feel the pain of what's happened. My heart aches as if the games happened just yesterday, and it has left my feet unsteady as I continue to run. I have no idea where I'm running to, probably somewhere equally as painful, but as long as I’m moving away from here, I don’t really care.

I shove past several people, barely hearing their angry shouts of protest, and force my way through a set of doors. I have no idea where I am or where to go. I recognize the room, but my mind refuses to focus enough to remember the name. All I can think about is how much my chest aches and how cold my hands are. My skin feels so cold it's like I’ve never felt the Sun.

I force myself to sit down before I collapse onto the floor, trying not to make any more of a scene than I already have. Exhaustion begins to replace whatever panic is left in my body.

I need to stand up. Make my way home before someone tells Father that I’ve had some type of breakdown. Explain to him that this is nothing like that.

But it is exactly like that, isn’t it? I’m not entirely sure what counts as a breakdown, but sprinting through school grounds shoving anyone out of my way in a blind panic probably counts at least as the start of one. The worry of what Father is going to do when he finds out isn’t enough to motivate my body to move again. I’m so exhausted that all I can bring myself to do is sit here and breathe.

I’m not entirely sure how long I’ve been here, but it’s long enough for me to finally realize where I’m at, the community cafeteria. I’m just thankful I didn’t barge my way into some teacher’s classroom, which means the chances of someone noticing me are significantly lower. I still haven’t been able to bring myself to stand, but I have noticed other people moving about and taking seats. These must be late-day shift workers. That means it's almost seven o’clock, and I’m supposed to be at dinner in thirty minutes. This realization finally manages to get my limbs moving again.

I’ve got to get across the city in the middle of a shift change in less than thirty minutes and then pretend that I’ve spent the last three hours in my room instead of out here trying not to lose my mind. This is going to be near impossible

I quickly stand, trying to come up with something to say to my family whenever I get back home.

Maybe I can say I went on a walk or Hope went missing and I went looking for him. Who am I kidding? Mother wouldn’t believe that for a second, and if she did, Calliope wouldn’t, and she’d have no problem with immediately calling me out on the lie.

No matter what I come up with, every excuse is worse than the last. Ultimately, I decided to just get back as fast as I could and wing it from there.

Once again, I begin shoving my way through groups of people not really caring for the looks they throw my way. I’m stopped whenever a hand grabs my collar and pulls, hard. The motion forces me to turn around, and I come face to face with Aurel Weaver. The anger in their eyes does nothing but confuse me.

I hardly know Aurel. I can’t even remember the last time I spoke to them. What could I have possibly done to make them so angry?

For a minute, we both just stare at each other, waiting for the other to speak. I take the moment to properly look at them. After the games ended, shifts at the factories began to ramp up, and Aurel ended up dropping out of school to keep up with the work they were assigned. I haven’t really seen them since then, but I can tell the work is taking a toll on them, changing them. They look about as exhausted as I feel. Their skin pale, and the bags under their eyes are worse than I've ever seen them before. But the biggest change I can see is in their eyes; beautiful hazel eyes drowning in nothing but fury and hatred, and it's all directed at me. A sharp pang runs through my chest. I may not have been best friends with Aurel, but I still considered them at the very least a friendly acquaintance. I force myself to ignore the hurt and very suddenly realize that I’ve been staring for too long and I can't afford to waste what little time I have to get home. “Sorry Aurel, I didn’t mean to run into you,” I say quickly, going to turn to leave.

I take a step away until I, once again, feel a hand grab me. Only this time, the hand is wrapped around both my collar and the chain hanging around my neck. They’re saying something to me, but all I can focus on is the chain in their hand and the fact that if they pull it’ll snap. I take a breath slightly, turning my head, forcing myself to listen to what they’re saying.

“It’s rude to not answer my questions, you know?” Aurel growls, and I can feel them getting ready to yank me back. Instead of responding, I try to move out of their grip. At the same time, they decide to pull, and I feel the chain snap.

The pendant slides down my shirt, and I watch it fall to the ground. The last precious gift that I will ever get from Ash now lays on the ground broken like it was nothing. I barely feel Aurel's presence anymore. All I can stare at is the pieces.

They grab my shoulder, tired of me apparently ignoring them, and force me to look at them. Suddenly, the nothingness I felt while looking at the broken pendant is replaced with an all-consuming rage at the sight of them standing, acting like I owe them any type of response. I glance around and notice a glass cup sitting on the table next to us.

Without a second of delay, I grab it and smash it against the side of their head. Before they manage to recover any semblance of balance, I lunge at them and knock them to the ground. One. Two. Three. I get three punches in before they get me off them. They pin me down with one hand around my throat and use the other to try and hold my hands down. I can feel their right hand around my throat, squeezing hard while I kick and scratch at them. As my vision starts to fill with black spots, I freeze and begin to realize that Aurel might just be trying to kill me.

I’m going to die on the dirty floor of the community cafeteria, and it’s nobody’s fault but mine. Broken and nothing on the ground, just like the necklace lying next to me.

I feel Aurel's grip on me loosens, and I know this is my chance to get them off me. I kick them in the side and manage to get out from under them. I throw a punch to the side of their head that knocks them into a leg of the table, hard. Disoriented and off balance, Aurel doesn’t even notice that I’m in front of them until I pin them down and begin to hit them over and over. I lose track of how many times I hit them; all I know is that they’re not fighting back anymore. I don’t stop. I can’t stop. Every emotion I’ve been trying not to feel comes out in every swing. I know I’m crying, but I can’t bring myself to care. I should be ashamed for doing this for letting my anger take control, but I’m not.

There’s a crowd around us now. I can’t hear them, but I can see them; with the show me and Aurel have been putting on, it was bound to catch some attention. If there’s a crowd, then that means there must be peacekeepers on the way. I don’t care. They can drag me away and lock me up forever, and I won’t care. I feel hands trying to pull me off Aurel, but I don’t let them.

They hurt me. Why shouldn’t I hurt them? I want to hurt them. I want to hurt all of them. Everyone in the districts and Capitol. I want to hurt them all.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice white uniforms surrounding me, and they begin grabbing me. They’re a lot better at getting me off Aurel than whoever was trying before. As I’m being pulled away, I notice the pendant still lying on the ground, a forget-me-not shattered into pieces.

Ash would hate me right now.

That thought takes any fight I had left, and I sag in the peacekeeper's arms. The last thing I see is my Father walking towards me as I feel a sharp prick on the back of my neck and fade into darkness.

[scriptospark]

@badrcputation ♥'d for a smoochy drabble [For Kaftio]

Sometimes he talks, and he talks, and Aeons does he talk. In length about things that even Kafka isn't entirely up to date on. It's funny though, because she likes it. The way his pupils dilate when he gets invested in a theory, or problem he's yet to solve. Kafka enjoys studying HIM, the little things that kick his brain into gear, the way he can seamlessly transition topics with relevance to one another piling into a full on lecture at times.

She always reacts when he goes on his in essays about philosophical dilemma. Sometimes it's a simple cant of the head, or soft chuckle. Physical little reactions she gave him to show she was listening, and she was; intently. Every word he said captivated her and she asked questions and posed debates to ensure him every time they spoke together like this. It wasn't any sacrifice on her behalf, knowledge was something Kafka always enjoyed getting more of. Even more-so now that she was enamored with him...

Currently as he's stopped on his current ramble to ponder further on what he wanted to discuss with her, Kafka is twirling a loose strand of her own hair, watching his cute little gestures as he tries to find whatever he's looking for. It's something they share, closing his eyes she imagines he's skimming through hundreds, if not thousands of text that he's read before. If he could visually see them in his mind, they were more alike than she initially thought and that was saying something. She hears him start to mumble something, apologetic as his eyes eventually landed back upon her. Honestly she can't stop herself from staring at his lips.

He was simply so fired up, passionate, she abruptly stood up from the chair she'd been lounging in, and stopped oh so closely to him. It was silly how it took him a moment to notice just how up and in his personal space she suddenly got. That blush on his face came on swiftly, and Kafka can't help looking a little proud of her effect on him. "I've never met a man who gets prettier when he talks about his passions~ I don't know how you do it." Kafka wraps her arms around his waist, pulling him close with ease.

Deep pink hues were locked upon his golden eyes, despite the flush, he did not try to escape her. A smile upon her lips and she's tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. "If you could lean down here just a little for me, handsome... I'd really like to kiss you right now." Her voice lowering to an almost whisper, and the second he began to follow her little direction she grabbed ahold of him and tugged him down by his shirt to her lips, kissing him. She's caught a little off guard though as the doctor suddenly backed her into the wall, kissing her against it, Kafka didn't expect it and it only egged her on further. He could feel the smile though and when they broke after a long intense moment, he's caught caressing her cheek with the back of his hand. "Were you interested in the subject matter at all, or... just me?" He asked, perhaps a bit of disappointment in his tone. Kafka without hesitation "Sweetheart, I was interested in both. Of course... Now the only thing on my mind is straddling your lap in that chair and kissing you until you remember that tiny missing detail you've forgotten.~"

Ironic wasn't it? Because Kafka actually knows the exact theory he spaced out on, but now it was her turn to back him up. Of course, if Veritas wanted to stop her, he easily could have, as much taller and more muscle this man held over her. But he backs into the chair willingly and she falls gracefully on top of him, straddling his lap and kissing him roughly against his lips this time, Kafka nipping at his lower lip and leaving lipstick marks across his neck and all over his face, daring every so slightly to mark up his chest as well.

When she pulls her lips away from his, she can't help but smirk feeling him chase after her only for her to grab his hand and question, a little breathlessly. "Do you want a hint?" He was still trying to get her lips back to his, perhaps a little love-drunk in the moment, and the perplexed expression was cute as Hell to her. "Wh-... I'm supposed to remember that now of all times?" He asks, his hands were pinned above him so he couldn't do anything but sit there waiting for her next move. "So cute... How distracted you are right now." She whispers in his ear before he finally grabs her wrists. "The principal of finality, how fitting you would droll my attention elsewhere with the topic at hand..." He spoke firmly now, upset, not letting her move. "... Kafka" He starts with frustration, and maybe worry in his voice. But she stops him, he loosens his grasp on her and she settles with her forehead resting against him, her tone a weak whisper answering that expression on his face that was starving for a real answer. He can feel her ever so carefully shaking her head against him as she says it. "I'm not ready to talk about this with you, Veritas.... Not tonight..." As she says it, Kafka's body slumps against him, her face burying into the crevice of his neck. She'd rather have this for tonight. Him there to hold her.

Fate and finality? She wasn't ready for that talk. "There's time enough for it... Another day, heh.. I promise you." Kafka assures him before taking his hand within hers and weaving their fingers together, her head now resting against his chest as she curled up on him. He lifts her chin to give her a much softer kiss now, letting their lips linger against one another. "Very well." As he says it though, she knows this is tearing at him. She knows it will be a problem again, at least it felt like in this moment he cared for her. That's all she needed.

[houseflyy]

Are you Listening?

619 words.

—

“Father?” Melody said, nudging him on the arm. “Father? Are you listening?”

She watched his chest rise with a great inhale, then the steady stream of air that was his breath depart from his mouth. A deep breath, she knew, was good for him; deep breaths helped Father feel more relaxed. But his eyes remained closed, and he didn’t reply. Maybe, with time, he would feel better, but Melody was impatient. Why wait for him to be happy later when he could be happy now?

She hopped up onto the rim of his glasses, where she said again, “Are you listening, Father?” Still, no response.

“Well...” A smile grew on her face. “Are you ready?” She didn’t wait for an answer this time. The next moment, she flew up over his head, then down to the outside of his ear, brushing her fluttering wings against it.

That was when he began laughing.

“Melody,” Father said with a groan, “stop that.” He gently waved a hand near the little fly, who had no trouble avoiding it, buzzing over and under his sluggish, outstretched fingers. And she started to laugh too, a light jingle that grew with intensity when she flew around Father and playfully batted at his other ear.

“Got you! Got you!” Melody called out to him amid her giggling, and again, she flew out of the way of giant fingers intending to nudge her away.

“All right,” Father sighed. He shrugged his shoulders, raised both his hands away, and leaned in his chair. “I give up. You can buzz in my ears all you want from now on. You can even live in them, too.”

“What!?”

Melody halted before him and nearly fell from the air as she did. “Live in your ears? That’s silly,” she chuckled. “I couldn’t do that!” But she eyed Father’s face closely, and he looked quite serious. “...Could I?”

“Maybe,” Father told her. He held out a finger beneath her, and she landed upon it. “Think about what that would be like.”

“Well—” Melody held a claw up to her face in thought— “I could go with you wherever you go. I could talk with you all the time and tell you secrets that no one else could hear! And I would never get cold.”

“Right.”

“Bu-uuu-ut,” she continued, “it would be a lot less roomy than my enclosure. Where would I play? Where would I put my food dish?”

“True,” said Father.

“I’m not sure,” Melody said. She rubbed at her eyes. “I guess I could try it?”

“Of course, you could. It’s always good to try things,” Father noted, “so you can come up with a confident answer. Remember?”

Melody nodded her head. “Yeah. Yeah! Then I’ll try it—for a confident answer!” She wasted no time, bouncing off his finger, buzzing up to the right side of him, and perching atop his ear. And she considered it more than she arguably ever had, climbing around, taking note of where was comfiest, and realizing that trying to nestle any further within his ear was much too tight.

She was so intent on observing the potential new living space that she overlooked Father gradually reaching up his hand. “Mmm—No. I can’t live here; I like my enclosure better,” she thought aloud. And she happily declared: “There’s my answer!”

A great big hand cupped itself around her.

“—Huh?”

“Got you,” Father smirked. He covered his ear and trapped her!

“Hey! Hey!” Melody jumped onto his palm and pushed and patted at it. But she was met only with his laughter, much louder and guttural than before. Melody stopped pouting and listened to him. Then, she started to laugh, too.

—

[saetoru]

imagine rich boy gojo finding out your name for him in his phone is just “satoru” or something 💀 and then from the side geto is like “mine’s got an emoji!”

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。NO HEART — GOJO SATORU. (rich boy! au)

rich boy! gojo, college au, fluff, established relationships, dramatic gojo which is consistent in every version of him no matter the au

studying with gojo satoru is the worst idea you could ever allow to happen—and yet, every time he asks, you let it happen.

“baby, aren’t you getting my texts?” gojo pouts. it earns him an unimpressed glare from you as you look up from your textbook, a glare that makes him wilt while geto snickers from the corner.

“satoru, if you don’t stop bothering me while we’re supposed to be studying, so help me—”

“but it’s funny, look,” he whines. and before you can stop him, he picks up the untouched phone beside you, tapping the screen to unlock it. except, he doesn’t make it that far.

suddenly the world stills. it stops spinning on its axis. and suddenly, gojo satoru’s face is the dictionary definition of devastation.

“satoru, what’s wrong,” you furrow your brows.

“satoru. satoru? satoru?” he repeats, each time in more disbelief than the last.

“that’s….your name, yes?” you raise a brow. and then realization strikes your features—or so he thinks. he’s soon to find out he’s mistaken. “oh, sorry,” you snort, “toru, is that better? toru, get to studying—”

“my name in your phone is just satoru?” he asks, cutting you off like you’ve genuinely wounded him—the betrayal on his face and the shock in his voice are all too real.

you blink for a moment before you realize the source of his tantrum seems to be the contact name you have for him in your phone. only gojo satoru would find a way to make a big deal out of his own name, you think.

“well, yeah,” you shrug, “it’s your name. plus i had it set when i first got your number from that project. i hated you back then.”

“you called me gojo back then,” he squints accusingly.

“yeah that’s because it was gojo satoru at first,” you nod. from the side, you hear geto snicker again about the full government name to himself—which earns him a pillow thrown at his direction by gojo. “i deleted the gojo part when we started dating,” you add.

“oh so you can delete my surname once we started dating but you couldn’t even add a heart?” he asks, jaw dropped and eyebrows furrowed in that dramatic way he does. it’s a bit cute, the way he’s worked up over something so small—but it’s also entirely theatric, making you roll your eyes.

“would a heart make you feel better, satoru?” you purse your lips.

“no! not if you don’t add it because you want to,” he huffs, “you might as well just say you don’t love me!”

“satoru,” you sigh in exasperation. maybe if you didn’t have physics 1302 problems to work through—a whole six of them due before midnight, in fact—you would humor him in his elaborately dramatized attempt at getting your attention. but you have classes to pass and gpa’s to maintain, so you purse your lips instead. “it’s just a contact name. what’s mine?”

“it’s baby <3. with a heart. see?” sure enough, when his phone is turned to face you, it’s baby <3. with a heart.

“i have an emoji in my contact,” geto adds from the side, ever the instigator, “maybe it’s because i’m cuter—”

“you gave suguru’s an emoji?” he asks in distress, staring at you like you’ve told him you’ve cheated. you think you might hurt his feelings less if you did, with the way his lips are curled in a genuine frown.

“suguru set his own contact,” you defend, shooting the nuisance in the corner a sharp glare. geto only offers you a sly wink in return. “i didn’t realize you cared that much about contact names,” you shrug, “i can change it—”

“no need,” gojo huffs, holding up a hand to silence you as he turns away and sticks his nose in the air in defiance. “i’ll just change yours to your full government name. see how you like it.”

“satoru—”

“and you’re not getting a heart either,” he glares, deleting the <3 slowly just for show, making eye contact with you so you know the severity of your actions.

you roll your eyes, snatching your phone back as you shake your head. “if i make your contact baby <3 with a heart because you’re my baby, will that cheer you up,” you sigh.

he ponders it for a moment, as if debating the offer. and then his arms cross in defiance once more. “no. make it baby boy 💋 with a kiss emoji.”

“gross,” geto twists his face in disgust.

gojo turns to him, face blank and serious as he shoots, “single people should not speak when it’s not their turn,” before turning back to you. “i’ll consider forgiving you if you make it baby boy 💋 with a kiss.”

“okay,” you sigh, “baby boy it is.”

“with a kiss!” he glares.

“with a kiss,” you assure, rolling your eyes.

“can i also get a kiss?” he asks hopefully, eyes wide and bright and earnest enough to warm your heart.

you smile, chuckling at the way he looks so cute, at the way he melts your heart and makes you forget you have physics homework for a moment—but only for a moment because then you mumble, “no. now do your homework.”

PLS THIS PROMPT KILLED ME