#Hey they were smart coming up with these names

[ladykailitha]

A Love Connection Part 2

Hey guys! Did you miss me? LOL!

Just a heads up this chapter is a little angsty because we have get Steve desperate enough to try going on a game show. But have no fear, it doesn't last long.

Also in this Susan Mayfield never marries Neil Hargrove, but she moves to Hawkins because her job moved her there. So Billy and Max aren't step-siblings.

Part 1

~

Steve nearly had a panic attack right there in the car when Chrissy screamed. There wasn’t a crisis. Or at least not one that needed immediate attention. What it was, was their little drunk text about #needsmoregays at A Love Connection went viral. There were actual fucking news articles. Yeah, the first was from Pink News, but the rest? Actual fucking trades. Variety, Dateline, even The Hollywood Reporter, for fuck’s sake.

Steve was going to pass out, but he managed to get them to the school safely. Thankfully there was nothing on Chrissy profile that was her real name or where she worked. She had a work Twitter for that. And that one was only on her computer at work. She was very careful not to cross the two. So there weren’t any news people out front of the school. But her DMs were filled with requests for comments or even actual interviews.

He decided she could do whatever the hell she wanted, he wasn’t going to get involved in this. She’s the one that drunk tweeted. Yeah, it was because of something he said when he was also drunk. But still!

He also decided ignore Chrissy and Robin at lunch, choosing instead to have it in his classroom to avoid them. Because, yes, he was avoiding them thank you. He just wanted to see gay people have love, too. Last Saturday was a disaster and he wanted proof that gays like he could find love.

Luckily, it was only a nine day wonder and Chrissy’s inbox went back to normal. Or as about as normal as one can get after have a tweet go viral.

They were cruising through the school year, same as always. There were always the super smart kids and the ones that didn’t care about history. So Steve always tried to make it as fun as possible.

Gladiator days where they wrestled stuff animals. Letting the kids stab him in March. Building their own mini pyramids. His hallpass was a gladius for extra fun.

They were gearing up the for Olympic games just before Christmas when Mrs. Byers, the principal pulled him out of his class.

“Hey, Steve,” she said warmly, “you’re not in trouble.”

Steve looked over his shoulder at his class before looking back at her. “Okay...”

She smiled up at him sweetly. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to watch the AV club today after school? Mr. Jenner went home because he’s puking his guts out. Normally I would just cancel, but a couple of the kids are in the club because their parents can’t pick them up until after seven.”

He let out a long sigh. He was going to go home and get ready to go try a new bar Chrissy had found. But now, by the time he got home, showered, and ate it would be too late to go out.

“Yeah, sure, Mrs. Byers,” he said.

“Thank you so much, Steve,” Mrs. Byers said. “Mr. Jenner will be so grateful too.”

Steve nodded and then waited until she walked away to roll his eyes. Nate Jenner’s alcohol problem was the worst kept secret in the school. Even students were aware that there were times he taught drunk. Most kids didn’t know why he would be slurring his words or conked out on his desk; only that they were his ‘bad days’. But the kids who did know? They tended to shield the other kids from the worst of it.

The problem was that Mr. Jenner was two years from retirement and they didn’t want to make him lose his pension. Which Steve thought that he absolutely should. That old coot had no business teaching students like that.

He went back to teaching his class, wondering who they got to cover Mr. Jenner’s classes. He finally got through to the last class and went to the science ‘wing’ of the school. He walked up to Mr. Jenner’s class room and there was Robin coming out of it.

“Now that’s just unfair,” he moaned. “If you were watching his classes, why couldn’t you watch the AV club?”

Robin patted him on the shoulder. “Because I played the dumb blonde routine until Mrs. Byers gave up.” She waved at him as she walked away.

With a sigh, Steve went into the room and began getting out the equipment that they would need. He didn’t know much about radios and shit, but he did know what they did and didn’t need.

He had just gotten set up when the first of the kids arrived.

He wasn’t surprised to see Will come in first. With his mom as principal, all of the teachers tended to tiptoe around him as to not have any ‘misdeeds’ taken back to her, so his last class never went over. Ever.

The next couple of kids to file in were Dustin Henderson and Lucas Sinclair. They both had Robin’s Spanish class last period, so it was no surprise to see them together.

“Sinclair!” Steve said, fist bumping the kid. “What are you doing with these nerds?” He was only joking and they all knew that. Lucas had been friends with Will, Dustin, and their other friend Mike since Dustin moved in in the second grade. Lucas loved history and was one of Steve’s brightest students so he liked to pick on him for his choice of friends.

“Sorry, Coach,” Lucas said with a grin, “if I wasn’t around they’d fall into an uncovered manhole or something.”

Steve gave Dustin their secret handshake, complete with death and everything to make up for the nerd comment. But Dustin and Will took it all in stride. They were used to the teasing.

A couple other kids came in. One spotted Steve and immediately walked back out.

“Some people just aren’t made for fun,” he lamented to the kid’s retreating back. “I’m just too cool for some people’s children. It’s not my fault.”

They all chuckled and then finally the last member of the AV club arrived. Mike Wheeler.

He sighed when he saw Steve, but didn’t turn around. He threw his backpack on the nearest desk and slumped into the chair with a heavy sigh. “Why can’t we get a teaching advisor who isn’t such a flake!”

Steve wiped his brow internally. Mike didn’t like him all the time, so the fact that he was complaining about Mr. Jenner not being there rather than Steve taking his place was a relief, honestly. It meant he wouldn’t be grumpy the whole time.

“All right everyone,” Steve said, clapping his hands together. “Dustin is in charge, Will will take notes for next time. Let’s go!”

The club went as well as could be expected considering Steve really didn’t have any idea of how all this stuff worked.

After class while Steve was waiting on the curb with the ‘Party’ as they called themselves, waiting for their parents to pick them up texting Robin and Chrissy.

“Coach...” Lucas asked, “did we ruin your plans?”

Steve felt a stab in his chest as his head shot up to look the kid in the eye. He looked down at his phone where there were dozens of messages bitching Robin out for leaving him with the AV club because she had a girlfriend and Steve didn’t even have that. Or boyfriend, which was his preference. He had dated women in the past but he liked men more. Or rather liked men full stop. That was certainly a revelation and a half.

He put his phone away with a sigh. “No, Lucas you didn’t. It was due to the irresponsible behavior of Mr. Jenner. He’s the one to blame. I was just a little annoyed at Miss Buckley because she knows this stuff better than I do, but got out of it under false pretenses.” His eyes cut to Will. “Don’t tell your mom I just said that. I don’t want Miss Buckley in trouble.”

Will held up his hands in surrender. Steve nodded.

“I love history and sports and swimming,” he began, he held up his hand to stall whatever words were going to come out that kid’s mouth. “For fun, Dustin. I like swimming for fun, which is why I didn’t include it in sports.”

Dustin huffed and crossed his arms over his chest with a pout.

“I like going out with friends and meeting new people,” Steve finished, “and of course I love teaching you kids. But I look around me and I just see someone who’s stagnated before he’s even thirty.” He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know why I’m telling a bunch of teenagers this. Sorry.”

Will put his hand in Steve’s. “You’ll find someone. If my mom can find someone at her age, you can find someone, too.”

Steve gave his hand a squeeze and didn’t point out that Mrs. Byers, Joyce had already had two kids and had been divorced by the time she was thirty so it really didn’t count.

Mike’s mom Karen arrived first. Mike just waved goodbye and slipped into the passenger side of her car.

Steve shook his head. Mike was trying to learn how to balance friends and liking girls and after school activities. He’d get there.

Dustin’s mom and Will’s older brother Jonathan arrived at the same time. Jonathan was Steve’s age, but Will have been born over a decade after him as a last ditch attempt to save his parents’ marriage.

Steve waved goodbye to them and then it was just Steve and Lucas.

“My mom always told me,” Lucas said softly, “that there might not be one person out there for everyone, but there is the right person out there for what you need right now. I think she was trying to explain why Mrs. Byers had two husbands, but I think it works for you, too. You’ll find you right person at the right time.”

Steve blinked down at this boy, barely thirteen. He rubbed the top of Lucas’s head. “Thanks, kid.”

Just then his dad pulled up. “Go on,” Steve murmured. “I’ll see you after the break.”

Lucas re-shouldered his backpack to just the one shoulder. He paused as if he wanted to say something else, he just shook his head.

“See you later, Coach!”

He got into his into dad’s car and immediately started talking to him about school excitedly.

Steve pulled his coat tighter around him. He wanted to be that dad, but as time wore on it was looking less and less likely. He went back inside to clean up and grab his stuff. He had a pile of assignments he had to grade. He never gave homework and never did tests. Both were pointless in his opinion, plus it meant that he less stuff to mark and grade. He based his grades off participation and being able to stay on task.

He walked through the darkened halls and felt the weight of it on his shoulders. His best friend and her girlfriend were out having the time of their lives, while he was alone in more ways than one.

He didn’t even Garfield to keep him company anymore. Yeah, he was just a stupid goldfish, but he was Steve’s.

The cold seeped into his bones and buried into his heart. He was even going to be alone for Christmas. Chrissy was taking Robin to her brother’s for the holiday. They felt bad because they both knew Steve’s parents had cut him off long ago and didn’t have anywhere else to go.

But he had encouraged Robin going. Meeting her girlfriend’s family was important. And with Chrissy and her brother, Peter both being estranged from their parents it was even more important than usual. They promised they would be back for New Year’s and Steve promised he would be fine.

He stepped onto the curb and stopped, tilting his head back, eyes closed as he fought back tears. When the first snowflake landed it made him flinch at the sudden extra coldness to his cheek. That one was followed by another and another. It was hell.

He opened his eyes and let the snow melt on his lashes, the cold mingling with his hot tears.

~

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9- 9- @dreamercec @wheneverfeasible @garden-of-gay

[changingplumbob]

Foster Household: Chapter 9, Part 8

CW: Mental Health Struggles - Guide to content warnings

Chad: How are you today Carson

Carson: Not good. I mucked up at school

Chad: Oh? It’s not exam season is it

Carson: No. I just... I was painting and Ariadne came to talk to me and then the bell rang and all my intrusive thoughts started up and she didn’t finish what she was saying. She probably thinks I’m a rude idiot

Chad: Carson, remember how we talked about mind reading?

Carson: Sort of. It’s like imagining what another person is thinking

Chad: Yep. It’s also a notoriously unreliable train of thought. There’s no way for us to know what someone else is thinking

Carson: Unless we ask?

Chad: Exactly. So while it might be easy to imagine that everyone is thinking the worst of us, it doesn’t make it true. How have you found talking to her when the intrusive thoughts are more quiet?

Carson: Good. Really good. I held her hands and it felt great

Chad: Have you read up on asexuality at all?

Carson: Oh I have and it was good! Like just... exactly what I feel and think has a name. It was... validating. Yeah, validating. I don’t know how touch averse I am, I guess I’ll find out with time

Chad: I’m glad to hear that. Is there anything else you want to discuss before we get to today’s workshop?

Carson: No I’m good

Chad: Great. So last time was all about identifying your symptoms and thoughts. Today we’re going to revise that and discuss some ways to apply reasoned arguments to those thoughts

After he had finished with Chad, Carson hoped on the ferry home and gave his mum a call.

Carson: Hey Mum, my session is all finished. Do you need me to grab anything on the way home

Kayleigh: Oh sweetie I’m sending the new address to your phone

Carson: New address?

Kayleigh: YES! The movers came while you were at school and we’re all set up

Carson: So strangers were touching my stuff? Mum do you know how many germs they could have left?

Kayleigh: We got you some brand new stuff to, don’t worry. You’re going to love it. If you want to clean anything I can help, okay?

Carson worried all the way to the new house. People touching his stuff? When he got there he was pleased to see there were no internal stairs though, much safer. Kayleigh showed him his room and while he was apprehensive he couldn’t deny that his mum had done a good job of preserving his things. Once he was settled Kayleigh left him to do his homework. The light here was much nicer to, but he’d probably have to be careful for mold with his room sitting above the water. Could sharks break through floors like Lachrymose Leeches if they smelled food on him?

Harvey: How’d your appointment go? Are you liking Chad

Carson: Yeah he’s really chill. Helps me not feel so stressed

Kayleigh: I’m sorry we didn’t give you a heads up about the move but we didn’t want you to make yourself sick with worry before we were here

Carson: *sighs* It’s not cool mum

Harvey: It wasn’t just her, we decided together. Be mad at both of us if you are

Carson: Do sharks break through floors?

Kayleigh: I don’t think so but if you want to know I’m sure your sister knows

Harvey: She is a marine biologist

Carson: Yeah I might do that

Kayleigh: And we’re hiring a maid. They’ll come every weekday and clean however much of your room and bathroom you want

Harvey: You’re so smart sugar

Carson: Oh watcher, could you wait until I’m out of the room before kissing? Yeesh

Our first visitor was eldest child Charlie!

Harvey: You found us!

Charlie: Too easily. The paparazzi are going to find you here you know

Harvey: As if, I don’t think they know where Sulani even is. Come play chess?

Charlie follows her dad to the back porch, gives her mum a kiss on the cheek hello, and sets down to play. Harvey however is not a great player and the game is soon over with Charlie the victor.

Kayleigh: Alright my turn

Charlie: You think you can win

Kayleigh: I taught you how to play remember

Charlie: Yeah with a long gap and more kids in the middle

Kayleigh: I’ve been tuning my skills for promotion, you’ll see

Indeed Charlie does. Although she does her best to distract her mum during the game with claims of spotting sea monsters in the distance, Kayleigh is the final victor of the night.

Previous ... Next

[thebisexualteen]

I kept my promise that the twins would have Aimée and Arabella so here

Satellite has Arabella and Solari has Aimée

Dang I hope Satellite passed Camy's test

Also with the upside down name I totally put that on accident totally not on purpose

Anyways Crescent your children have decided with names for your siblings(Dw I revived Aimée and gave her to Crescent)

Penumbra-Aunty Cori

Solari-Aunty Ru-ru or Aunty Ri-ri

Satellite-Pibbie Lele(For them, Pibbie is short for "Pibling")

Hehe @insanelyadd

[tonycries]

One More? Please? - G.S.

Synopsis. A kiss always solves everything! But when a kiss turns into something more…well, it’s only a desperate attempt to unseal yourselves from this damned prison realm, right? Right?

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected, coworkers to lovers, being stuck in that damn box, oral (female), mutual másturbation, spitting, fáce-sítting, máting press, Satoru is down bad for you, chóking, overstim, multiple rounds, créampie, pet names (sweetheart), swearing.

Word count. 4.4k

A/N. Happy belated two months to this blog! Concept inspired by this post by @kingkonoha.

“Maybe we should kiss and see if the box opens?”

“That’s the dumbest fucking thing to ever come out of your mouth.”

“Hey- it works in the movies! True love’s kiss and all-”

You heave out a heavy sigh that makes even the skeleton at your shoulder shake its head in pity. Goddamn, if these curses weren’t going to kill him then you will. 

“I take it back. That’s the dumbest fucking thing to ever come out of your mouth.”

Satoru hooks a thumb over his blindfold to gaze at you with mock seriousness. Oh, how the mighty have fallen - and how you were teetering dangerously close to a stroke with each dramatic bat of his long lashes.

“C’monnn~” he whines, with the flair of someone that was not sealed in an inescapable prison, “Don’t tell me that in all these years you’ve never once been at least a little tempted to kiss me, sweetheart.” 

“I’d rather kiss that dusty skull.” Shooting him a pointed look that makes even the skulls at your feet recoil. It would almost be hilarious if it wasn’t for the fact that you were trapped. In the prison realm. With Gojo Satoru of all people. Possibly forever.

Shit, is this karma for all those times you ditched Satoru with Nanami instead of dealing with him yourself?

Now, Satoru might be going about it with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, but just a few minutes ago when his life flashed before his very eyes at the mere sight of Suguru - or at least, the monster wearing his body - he’d expected some of his favorite memories to be the ones with you in it. 

You - his lil’ coworker - in all your gorgeous, smart-mouthed glory. And maybe if he was lucky, he even expected a couple glimpses of you in his future. Preferably with a giant rock on your finger.

But that’s a story for another time, what he certainly did not expect was for your stupidly heroic (and quite beautiful) ass to jump right in the middle of the prison realm’s ensnarement. 

Although, honestly, right now he doesn’t think he’d want to be locked up in here with anyone but you - and that withering glare you send him. 

Undeterred, Satoru has the audacity to throw his head back and laugh. Laugh. A sound you’ve come to realize over the years, as innocent as it sounds, does not bode well for you or your sanity. 

A sanity that’s been slowly dwindling since your first day of meeting Satoru. Back then, a brash, cocky new teacher that waltzed into the halls of Jujutsu Tech in those pretentious sunglasses like he owned the place. 

Well, not that he was any different right now. Lounging over some disgruntled skeletons, you half-expected him to pull out a deck chair and start sunbathing amidst the bones. Your begrudging coworker - and occasional bane of your existence - seemed right at home. 

You, however, were decidedly not having the time of your life. 

“I swear, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you grumble, wincing at the bones prodding you from almost every angle. 

“Can you blame me?” he hums, now fully tugging down his blindfold to hang around his neck, “It’s not every day I get to spend quality time with my favorite person in the world.”

You scoff, strangely self-conscious as those striking blue sweep your figure from head to toe. “Lucky me. Well why don’t you spend this quality time helping me figure out how the hell we can get out of here.”

“I already told y-”

“Anything but that.”

With a sulky huff, Satoru peers down at you, “Then we just wait till someone gets us out of here. I’m sure Megumi-chan is just tearing his emo hair out trying to unseal this thing.”

“...”

“You’re absolutely correct, Yuji then. Or…” he tilts his head towards a sad pile of bones, “We end up like our little friend over there. Though I’d make a far better looking skeleton-”

You don’t hear the rest of Satoru’s rant over the small noise of concern that falls from your lips. Something hot and prickly pooling in your stomach at the fact that yes you really were stuck in the prison realm with Gojo Satoru. Possibly forever. And no this wasn’t some strange dream like when you and Shoko accidentally raided the wrong brownie box in the kitchen.

Shit. 

And perhaps it showed on your face, because you’re jolted out of your reverie by warm fingers intertwining with yours. Grounding. Satoru’s eyes now searching yours with an intensity that made you squirm uncomfortably. 

“Hey, we’ll figure this out, okay?” he mutters softly. “Remember that time we accidentally set the training ground on fire?” leaning in closer now, “Or that mission we got chased by that cursed vending machine?”

You roll your eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite yourself. “Yeah, and then you nearly got us killed trying to order a sweet tea. ”

Satoru chuckles, squeezing your hand reassuringly. “See? It worked out, didn’t it? It always does, sweetheart.” 

And if your heart does a strange little lurch, well, then you just blame it on the femur jabbing into your side. 

All is quiet in your little hell. That is, until.

“Hey, Satoru…does kissing really work in the movies?” 

You barely catch the way Satoru’s breath hitches ever-so-slightly as he leans in closer. eyes sparkling with mischief. And oh you knew that look - one that was usually accompanied by a lecture by Yaga, one that sent shivers down your spine. He grins, “Well, there’s only one way to find out, hm?”

Embarrassment and amusement bubbles inside you, tumbling out in the form of a barely-audible, “A peck. One.”

“Awww. Eight?”’

“No.”

“Five?”

“Satoru.”

Minty breath fanning your face, “Okay okay, one peck and a kiss to your forehead. C’mon, it’s a bargain~”

Pinching your nose, you sigh out a weary, “This is so stupid. Fine, but if it doesn’t work then I’m strangling you.”

And it’s all that is said before his lips are on yours.  

Soft. Satoru’s lips were so soft. And he tasted so unfairly of caramel apples and sweet, sweet mischief. Just like him. Feather-light and fleeting - yet the kiss burns into your brain with an intensity that you strangely didn’t mind.

It’s over before you know it. The cold air hits your lips as Satoru’s words ring in your ears, a disappointed little, “Aw, that didn’t work.”

Barely even risking a glance at the still very sealed realm, your body reacts before your mind - the expensive cotton of his uniform collar soft against your fingers as you pull Satoru towards you with a sense of urgency you can’t quite explain.

And then you’re kissing him. And he’s kissing you because shit this is all that Satoru’s been dreaming about since he turned 23 and suddenly realized that oh you were frighteningly everything that he ever wanted. 

“S-Satoru,” you whisper, breathless against his lips. 

“Shhhh, my girl. One more. Didn’t work.” 

His lips are searing on yours. Urgent and greedy, because fuck if it took getting trapped in the prison realm to finally kiss you then God knows when he’ll be able to again. 

Which is why he breathes you in like he doesn’t have enough time, and probably never will - even in this godforsaken box where time never passes. 

“Shit. O-one more.”

Drinking in your sweet gasps as he intertwines his tongue with yours, tasting how sinfully delicious you were. Satoru’s hands wander the expanse of your body, cupping your head to kiss you deeper, snaking down to squeeze your ass - and everything in between. 

Pulling away ever-so-slightly with a playful bite to your bottom lip, he leaves a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. The disappointed whine that leaves your pretty mouth makes all the blood in Satoru’s body rush to his cock. 

“Sweetheart.” he grunts into the crook of your neck, lips ghosting over your racing pulse. “Y’think I kissed the wrong lips?”

Oh? 

Satoru’s words send a jolt of electricity running down your spine - all the way down to your heated cunt. “W-what?” you managed to choke out, cheeks flaring as he raises his eyes to meet yours and-

Oh.

Oh, shit. If the curses weren’t going to kill you then Satoru sure might. 

You’re snapped out of your thoughts by Satoru carefully jostling the two of you so that he’s lying on his back, your body manhandled to straddle his pretty face. 

“Satoru, when you mean ‘wrong lips’...here?” you trail off, still reeling from him and the abrupt change in position and him. 

“Exactly what I mean,” he chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating beneath your dripping cunt. “Now, spread ‘em wider f’me. Let me taste you- Need it s’bad.”

Body moving as if on autopilot, your knees part wider to let him greedily take in the sight of your soaked panties. Beads of slick seeping through the thin fabric each time his hot breath meets your cunt. 

But not for long - the cool air hits you before you realize what’s happening. Because Satoru is ripping your flimsy panties off with one hand. Throwing it behind to God-knows-where with the urgency of a madman. 

“Shit, so wet f’me already.” he groans, mouth watering at the obscene sight of you clenching around nothing. “S’gorgeous. You really are perfect everywhere, huh?” he mutters through lazy, languid kisses along your thighs. Tongue darting out just so to leisurely trace circles along the heated skin. 

Strong arms wrap around your thighs, the stretch nothing with the two long fingers spreading your swollen folds apart. Your face burns from just how adoring Satoru looks below you.

You buck into his touch, “Hngh- Please. Wan’ your mouth on me.”

And perhaps the great Gojo Satoru decided to be merciful for once in his life, because without another word, he’s surging forward. Tongue flicking out to tease your sloppy entrance, pooling your juices before tipping his head back, back, back to let it slide down his throat so sinfully.

Shit, Satoru could just cum in his pants right now, of course you taste heavenly. Better than he could’ve ever imagined on any lonely night. 

You shudder as he flattens his tongue across your folds, sliding teasingly between them, grazing your swollen clit just barely at an unhurried rhythm that almost has Satoru forgetting where he was. But quite frankly, he couldn’t give less of a fuck about it either.

“This what you wanted, sweetheart?” he hums around your clit, the vibrations making you squeal. Sucking gently, tongue rolling harshly against your bundle of nerves, over and over- “Cause it’s what I’ve been wanting for years.”

The words ring in your ears almost as much as the lewd squelches below. Years?

“F-fuck- feels hngh- What do you mean y-years, Satoru?” 

Oh, Satoru thinks he could pass out just at the way you whine out his name so prettily. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, a hand hastily snaking down to unbuckle his pants. “Mhmm~ Couldn’t go a day without sparring with you where I didn’t think of bending you over and tasting you right there y’know.”

Your eyes snap down to meet Satoru’s hazy, half-lidded ones. Something dark and feral shining within them. And right now, thighs wrapped around his head, you don’t think he’s ever looked happier. White locks splayed out, a fucked-out expression on his face as his tongue bullies past your folds, you could feel the slight smile curling his lips against you. 

It’s overwhelming - both his confession and the way Satoru was making out with your cunt like a man starved.

Nose-deep in your pussy, tongue alternating between its abuse on your throbbing clit and dipping in and out of your sloppy hole at a maddening pace. Mouth only speeding up ruthlessly at the way you convulse and grind involuntarily on top of him.

God, Satoru was going insane at the way your walls were sucking him up so good, clamping down with each push of his tongue. 

“Shit- made jus’ f’me. You like that, don’t you?” he growls against your cunt, voice hoarse with desire. “Like fucking my face with your pussy?”

“Oh! Ngh, yes Satoru- L-love it-”

A bruising grip on your hips, encouraging you to rock against his face. Harder. Tongue more desperate. He couldn’t get enough. Meeting your every grind, tongue lapping at your cunt so obscenely. 

Breaths ragged and hot against your cunt, drinking you in with the desperation of a man that wouldn’t mind giving up air for your essence. And it was Satoru - of course he wouldn’t mind.

Especially with the large hand snaking up your thigh, going from drawing reassuring patterns at your hips to rubbing tight, little circles on your pulsing clit. Hasty, and urgent - like he had no time to waste. “Tha’s right, my girl. Give it up for me,”

Every cell in your body is on fire, every nerve ending singing with pleasure at the way Satoru plays your body like an instrument. 

“M’close, Satoru- Hah- s’close.” you moan breathlessly, a hand tangling in his soft strands. Using it as leverage to ride Satoru’s pretty face just the way you like it.

But you didn’t have to - because Satoru seems to already know exactly what to do. Exactly how to quirk his tongue just right to brush against all your most sensitive spots. Exactly how to match the rhythm of his abuse on your clit to the way he was tonguefucking you into delirium. Exactly how to look at you with such a hungry expression that devours you almost as much as his mouth. 

“Cum f’me, sweetheart.”

Satoru didn’t even have to ask. Because you’re cumming with a strangled gasp of his name. White-hot pleasure coursing through you like lightning, body trembling as you cum all over Satoru’s pretty face. 

Hands moving your limp, boneless hips across his face, forcing you to ride out peak after peak on his red lips.

As the blood roaring in your ears bates, and you blink back your vision, the first thing you see are those familiar blue eyes gazing up at you. Holding you steady, lips brushing gentle kisses along your inner thighs. 

Oh, how beautiful he was like this.

“S-S’toru?” you mewl, still sensitive from your orgasm as Satoru shifts underneath you to sit you prettily in his lap.

“Mhm?” he nuzzles your neck.

“One more. It didn’t work.”

Oh, if you knew the only way to shut up Gojo Satoru was to say something like this then you would’ve done it a lot sooner. 

But Satoru’s stunned silence doesn’t last for long, because he grins, low and sultry, “You’re right. It didn’t work.”

The metallic clinking of a belt echoes in the stuffy chamber as Satoru hastily pushes down his pants. Cock springing free to hit his lower abs, “What a shame.”

You blink at the sheer size of him - he was going to split you in two. It was unfair, really. Water is wet. Gojo Satoru has a big dick. 

But oh was he pretty - so pretty.  Prominent veins glistening in the dim lighting, fat tip flushed your favorite shade of delicate pink, leaking furiously in between your thighs.

Gulping, you reach out to wrap your hand around his achingly hard cock. So warm and heavy in your hands. “Y-yeah, what a shame.”

Both of you watch - entranced - at the way he twitches in your grasp at the mere sound of your voice. A maddening little bump! bump! bump! against your palm as you begin pumping him slowly - so agonizingly slow. 

“Oh- Feel s’good, sweetheart.” Satoru hisses lowly as you swipe at the precum beading at this head. Thumbing teasingly under his sensitive slit, tracing delicately along his veins. 

And by God does it do something to you to see the great Gojo Satoru falling apart for you, hair tousled, lips kiss-bitten, and eyes looking at you like he wanted to positively eat you alive. It made your cunt throb so desperately, slick forming a dark wet patch on his trousers. 

Not one to be left behind, his long fingers deftly snake down to your dripping cunt. Not wasting any time before bullying his fingertips past your swollen folds, curling expertly to press down against that one spot that has your fist faltering on his cock. Hard. 

Pretty little moans left your lips at the way Satoru so easily matches your pace. Thrusting knuckle-deep into your pussy in and out - hitting that spot over and over.

“Shit, Toru- s’deep inside me. I’m- hngh-”

Satoru was in heaven, really. You were so warm and wet around both his fingers and his throbbing cock. 

Only two thoughts running through his mind right now - 1. He was right, your hands were softer and more sinfully delicious around his swollen cock. And 2. The hardest battle he’s ever fought was probably right now - at your mercy, trying not to spill all over your hands because he’d be damned if he finally scored the girl and came in two seconds.

Shit, he thinks fingers almost erratic now, he needs you to cum. Right now. 

As if sensing his urgency, your moves become more frantic, Satoru’s brows furrowing at the way you increase your pace. His hips twitch, as if trying to thrust into your fist. matching your pace as you start stroking him harder, faster. 

Ah, but alas, the great Gojo Satoru’s reputation precedes him. 

“Oh, fuck- M’gonna-” And soon enough, you’re seeing stars behind your eyes - or maybe those were tears - as you cum. Hard. 

Body moving before your mind, you’re clenching around Satoru’s fingers, grinding down so ferally as you edge him closer and closer. “C’mon, Toru. One more, right?” you whisper brokenly, lips ghosting his ear.

Breath coming in short, strained gasps of what sounded like your name now, “Oh- fuck ngh- so close.” he warns, voice hoarse. “If you keep doing that, I won’t be responsible for what happens next.”

You smirk, raising a brow, “Is that a threat, Satoru?”

Willing his fucked-out eyes open, they bore into yours as he utters, “No, ah- it’s a p-promise.”

Without warning, Satoru clasps your wrists, forcing you to stop pumping him. The disappointed mewl threatening to spill from your lips is cut off just as your back hits the ground.

Slam!

You think you could almost get whiplash from how swiftly Satoru had you caged and splayed out so shamefully beneath him. 

You whine, “But you didn’t even get to-”

“Fuck, not now. Gotta feel you or else m’gonna cum so embarrassingly all over your fist.” He rests his throbbing erection laid out so enticingly across your stomach, leaking hot precum onto your skin. And that makes you shut up, eyes mapping where it ended and realizing that yeah, you might’ve faced more mercy with the curses outside of this box. “Besides. One more, right?”

And before you can respond, Satoru’s spitting on you once. Twice. Thrice.

You flinch as the wads of saliva hit your dripping cunt, mixing with your slick so obscenely as Satoru smears it across your swollen folds. Your mouth drops into a soft oh! of disbelief as he promptly pops his thumb into his mouth, groaning at the taste. 

“Shit.” Satoru hisses lowly, “One more might just not be enough.”

Not wasting a moment longer, he’s bullying his throbbing cock into your snug cunt. Head thrown back as your plush walls desperately try to accommodate his size.

“Oh. Oh shit hah- should’ve been locked up here ngh- sooner.” he groans, words straight from his cock. “Feel s’heavenly around m-me.” Because God Satoru thinks he wouldn’t even mind staying here for the rest of his life if it meant he got to have you like this.

You moan at the positively delicious stretch of your pussy, plush walls unable to decide between pushing him out and milking the soul out of him. “Hah- Toru s’too big. I can’t-” 

“You will.” he grits out, teeth clenched and brows furrowed as he focuses on letting you adjust. Pressing inch by fucking inch. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he fights that feral part of himself that just wants to plunge into your pretty pussy till his tip kisses your cervix, and you’re drunk on nothing but his cock.

But he didn’t have to - because you’re immediately wrapping your legs around his toned waist, pulling Satoru to you recklessly until his heavy balls smack your ass. Tufts of snowy white hair - already so wet with your slick and his precum - finally meeting your cunt.

“Ah! Shit, s’full Toru.” you keen, body bowing into his.

There’s not even a hair's breadth between your bodies now as Satoru chuckles darkly. “You little minx. Thought you couldn’t handle me, but you really wanted to be split apart on my cock, huh?”

You feel almost shy under his gaze as you mumble out a quiet little, “Well you did say one more.”

Ah, Satoru thinks deliriously, if you aren’t Mrs. Gojo by the time you two get out of this then there’s seriously something wrong with him. 

But he doesn’t tell you that. Instead with a satisfied smirk, he claims your lips in a searing kiss, sucking your tongue so lewdly as he did with your cunt. Parting for only a second before pressing his lips to yours again. And again. And again, as if it hurt to part.

“Mhm. Always wanted to do this, sweetheart.” he hums against your pretty lips. “Fuck ever since you hah- walked in on that first day.” 

Kissing you sweetly with a tenderness that doesn’t translate to his hips as pulls back, back, back. All the way till his angry, hard tip was just grazing your sloppy entrance. “One more.”

Body moving before his mind, his hips start fucking into your dripping cunt recklessly. Satoru doesn’t fuck you with the finesse he imagined he would all these years, rough, harsh thrusts fueled by pure need and all the desperation from these last few years.

In one, fluid movement, the burn of the stretch hits you before the realization that Satoru has thrown your legs over his sculpted shoulders. 

“Ah- So good, Toru. Oh my god- hah-” you mewl at the change in angle. His pulsing dick expertly hitting that one spot inside you which has your words slurring together, body arching off the floor to press so impossibly close against him. 

And, well, Satoru isn’t any better - because he’s slamming his cock into you mindlessly. Hitting that spot over and over. 

With one hand, he caresses your stomach. Whispering out a ragged, “Feel me inside? Feel me right…” Pressing his palm down hard, “Here.”

The other forces you to look up at him, drinking in your whines of “Yes yes yes, can feel you s-so deep hngh- inside me, Toru.” 

You’re so cockdrunk and full of Satoru that you barely notice the hands groping their way down your body. Catching harshly on your swollen clit, starting to draw, quick, frenzied circles that match the cadence of his hips smacking into yours. 

“Look at me.” he murmurs raspily, “Open your mouth.”

And you can do nothing but take it, tongue lolling out so lewdly for the warm stream of spit that hits it. Once. Twice. 

You look up at him with teary eyes, as you take it all -  anything and everything he was giving. And it makes Satoru bow his head with a fucked-out groan, cock twitching so animalistically as it keeps plunging inside you roughly. Deft fingers on your clit becoming more desperate.

Harder. Faster. Balls squeezing so painfully. Like a lamb to slaughter, he was going to eat you up - and you were going to let thim.

You squeal at the overstimulation, hips bucking up for more more more-

“God, sweetheart, you don’t know what you do to me.” he moans, voice strained with desire and the euphoria of getting everything he’s wanted for so long. It was driving him insane. “Now c’mon. One more. Give me one more like my good girl.”

“Hngh- yes- Toru!”

You don’t even know what “one more” means anymore - all you do know is that you’re cumming and cumming all around Satoru’s unforgiving cock. Walls fluttering so snugly, your body convulses as you cream around his cock. Nails dragging down the expanse of his sculpted back, Satoru’s name leaving your bruised lips and into the heady air like a prayer every time his tip kisses your cervix. His new favorite melody.

And that seems to be what makes him snap as well - because with a final, sloppy thrust, he’s painting your walls such a sinful white. Pumping thick, hot ropes of his cum into your quivering cunt. 

“Shit- yeah, my girl. Take it. Take it all f’me.” Satoru shudders above you, head thrown back, chest heaving as he fucks you through your high. Movements nothing more than shallow, mindless little thrusts to get you both off so animalistically. 

It was so fucking filthy - and exactly what you needed so badly. He was exactly what you needed so badly. 

Now, Satoru only had to take one look as you use him so obscenely for your pleasure - eyes dazed, drool trickling down the corner of your mouth - before he thinks he might just cum again. And again. And again until he physically couldn’t anymore.

But first…

Pulling out of your heavenly pussy with a lewd pop! His long fingers delicately collects the mixture of slick and cum now gushing out of you obscenely. 

Aw, what a waste, Satoru muses as it pools below you sinfully. If it was up to him he wouldn’t waste a single drop from your pretty cunt. 

But no matter. 

Abruptly, Satoru bullies two fingers into your mouth - forcing you to taste yourself, to taste him. Pressing right at the back of your tongue in a way that has you choking and gagging around him, teary eyes just begging up at him. Perfect - you were so perfect for him. 

Kissing your forehead with a tenderness that doesn’t match his actions, he hums, faux innocence lacing his words, “What a shame, the box didn’t open yet.”

And oh does he love the excitement lighting up your exhausted eyes. Pretty thighs twitching underneath him as a slow, fucked-out little smile curls your lips. 

“One more? Please?”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

[katszumi]

“have you seen the abs on that man?” hagakure sat across of you. “sexy on a stick, i swear!” she giggles. she was going on and on about the guy that starred in the superman movie you girls put on last night. henry cavill was his name.

mina agrees with her statement with a nod. “he’s the hottest white man i’ve ever seen before.”

“sure, he was hot, but are we forgetting the misogynist comments he’s made? sexy is one thing, but being controversial is a whole ‘nother thing.” uraraka inserted her input.

“oh, please. i’d cook and clean for him anyday he asks.” mina retorted. both uraraka and yaoyorozu shake their head in shame.

“speaking of controversial.” uraraka murmurs under her breath, you peer over your shoulder, wondering the intent of her statement.

you notice bakugou making his way over to your desk, his eyes planted on you and you only. you shift uncomfortably. why the hell would he be coming to you? did you do something?

once he makes his way to your desk, you look up at him with a half smile.

“hey, bakugou. what’s up?”

his eyes analyze the other girls before looking back down on you.

“my pencil?”

you flutter your lashes at him. “pencil..?” you repeated in a trance of confusion.

he groans. “the fuckin’ pencil i gave you last week. i need it back.”

now it all clicks. you nod, laughing nervously because of your stupidity. you reach in your backpack and grab the black mechanical pencil that you forgot to lend back to bakugou.

your arm extends to the male in front of you, waiting for him to snatch it back.

“sorry.”

he gently grasped onto the pencil, his hand brushing against your fingers for a small moment.

“it’s whatever. just rather not be the one to find you after i lent you something.” he shoved the pencil in his pants pockets, leaving his hands in there. “that’s one of the last pencils i have.”

you shoot your eyebrows up in defense, quickly lowering them after. your eyes falling down to your desk for comfort.

“well, hope you take care of that one.” it was a half-joke. a lame one, might you add. you were just unsure on what to say. especially since it seemed like bakugou was lingering around your desk. as if he didn’t want to return to his seat just yet.

“so, what’d you score on your test?”

“ah…it wasn’t the best, but it wasn’t horrible.”

“well?” was he really desperate to know that bad? you knew bakugou was smart, so he probably only wanted to know so it could boost his ego.

you rubbed your arm out of shame. “a seventy-nine.” you stared at his face to recognize any humility or laughter, but there was none.

he shrugged. “should’ve asked for my help if you needed it.”

right. you almost forgot that bakugou offered to help you study and go over notes with him for the next test. it was such an out-of-bakugou thing to do that you nearly didn’t take him serious.

you nodded slowly, processing his information.

“i was planning on making it up, so maybe for that.”

“fine.” his short one-worded response was dull. but what else did you really expect? “next time, don’t steal my pencil.” was his last comment before leaving your presence.

you sat in your thoughts, reeling the conversation back in your mind. what the hell just happened? it was the most simple yet confusing conversation you’ve ever had. was bakugou joking with you or was he seriously irritated with the pencil situation?

regardless, you made a mental note that bakugou was very protective over his mechanical pencils.

once bakugou returned to his seat, he unzipped his backpack, secretly opening his pencil box. within the box were a collection of pencils. there were so many pencils that he could give one to all of class 1a and 1b and still have few left.

aside sat denki who was clearly peeking inside of bakugou’s bag.

“damn, bakubro. you saving up pencils for a potential pencil outage or something?” it’s denki. of course, he never used his inside voice.

“i will literally blow you out this fuckin’ window and across the lot.” bakugou turns his head immediately, a faint pink blush spreading across the apples of his cheek.

bakugou just didn’t want you to know that the pencil was obviously an excuse to talk to you.

pt 2 of the study sesh

[ragingbookdragon]

Whoever decided to ring her doorbell in the middle of a midnight thunderstorm was either a serial killer or a poor soul stuck out in the rain. Either way, she still felt sorry enough for whatever poor bastard was stuck outside and decided to open the door, but her expression dropped into annoyance when she saw the man leaning against the doorframe.

“Hey,” he murmurs, gazing at her. “Long time no see.” She starts to close the door and he sticks his foot in it. “Wait, please, don’t close me out.”

“Like you did to me,” she retorts, opening the door. “What do you want, Simon?”

He glances back towards the rainy street and hefts his rucksack higher on his shoulder. “To stay the night.”

“Seriously?”

“Please?” He begs and she pauses—Simon Riley wasn’t a man who begged often.

She gazes at him a moment longer before sighing and opening the door. “Clothes and shoes off at the door. Mask too. You’re soaking wet.”

“What gave you that ‘int? The rainstorm?”

Turning, she shoots him a glare. “I’m letting you stay the night despite you breaking my heart. I’d be a little less sarcastic.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, starting to strip his clothes as he shuts the door behind him. He hands her his clothes, standing in his boxers, then cups the front of himself and asks. “You wouldn’t happen to have any of my clothes shoved in the back of your closet…would you?”

“Bottom drawer in the chest of drawers.”

“You kept my clothes? Aw, you still car—” he falls silent when she glares at him. “Going now.”

As she disappears into the laundry room, she calls out, “What did you do, walk here from the base? You know Birmingham has cabbies, right?”

“I’m not wasting money to drive twenty minutes when I can walk within an hour.”

“You know you’ll get sick from this.”

“Wive’s tale. Can’t get sick from the rain.”

“Smart-ass,” she retorts, shoving his clothes in the dryer.

He comes around the corner, leaning against the doorway with a hand towel thrown over his shoulder, short blonde hair sticking up in all directions, evident he’d dried off with it.

“That is a decorative towel, not for use.” She glares at him. “You know that too.”

“You moved the other towels.”

“Oh, for god’s sake,” she mutters, then looks at him, eyes trailing down to where the sweatpants hung low on his hips. “Put a fucking shirt on, floozy.”

“I couldn’t find one,” he replies with a small smirk. “You must’ve used ‘em for fuel for the fireplace.”

She stands up straight and walks up to him. “Why are you here, Simon?” Her voice is quiet, calm, waiting.

He looks down at his feet, shifts his weight and murmurs, “Missed you.”

“You left me.”

“I know.”

“You start going to therapy yet?” She asks and he purses his lips.

“SAS doesn’t exactly offer therapy, y’know that, right? Not exactly ‘ow we operate.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “You know I asked that friend of yours, what was his name? Soap? He said that the SAS offers routine psychiatric care and therapy. He also happened to mention you conveniently manage to get out of it every single time.”

Simon lets out a grunt and pinches his brow. “Soap can’t mind ‘is own fuckin’ business.”

“He’s your friend. And he was also drunk.” She waves a hand. “Regardless, you haven’t done the one thing I told you that you would have to do if you wanted to come back—no, when you came crawling back.”

“I don’t need therapy. I just want a second chance.” He shifts to his full height, looks at her with a pleading look. “Things were good between us, love. You know they were.”

“Sure, when you weren’t shutting down when you were hurting emotionally or running off to God knows where when you had a mission and didn’t leave me a notice.”

Simon sighs. “I was protectin’ you. I didn’t wanna drag you into all the shit I ‘ave to deal with on a daily. I didn’t want you to have to put up with…all of…”

She gives him a hard look. “Simon Riley, what part of me gave you the notion that I ever need to be protected or sheltered from what you do?”

He swallows thickly and gazes into her eyes. “Love…you’re too pure for me. What I do…you don’t need to know the horrors I’ve committed. You’re…you’re too beautiful for such things.”

“You mean how you kill people with no emotion? How you’ve taken lives with your bare hands? How you shove so much of yourself down into the black hole until there’s no humanity left but ‘Ghost’, the hollow killer?”

Simon stares at her, throat bobbing as he replies, “I can’t drag you to hell with me, it would kill me, love. What if—”

“Do you know the moment I knew I was in love with you?” She interrupts and he falls silent. “I was sick that one day a year ago, bad sick. And you told me not to go into work, but I didn’t listen and when I came home early, I could barely walk straight.” She places a hand on her hip. “And you helped me into the bathroom. Ran a bath in the dark, lit a few candles and you bathed me. Washed my hair. Took care of me. You were so gentle and so loving. Like a priest tasked with cleaning his alter, you cleansed me and made me feel safe.”

He shifts uncomfortably but his body language is anything but repulsed; it’s soft. “You started cryin’ when I was washin’ your hair. Thought I got soap in your eyes. But you said you just felt so loved.” He smiles then. “You were like a kitten really. Could barely lift your head. So tired and weak.”

“Mhm. And then you tucked me into bed and crawled beneath the covers with me. Laid up beside me, never once acted sexual. Just…caring.” She looks at him. “Do you remember what I said to you before I went to sleep?”

“No,” he mutters but he looks up at the ceiling and she knows he’s lying, it’s his tell-tale sign.

She gives him the benefit of the doubt and closes the distance between them, lays her hands on his chest, and says, “I said, ‘This is the real man beneath all that coldness. The real Simon. The one I knew I loved more than anything. No matter what.’”

Simon shudders beneath her touch, feels weak in his knees like he might drop to his and worship at her feet, beg for forgiveness like a sinner in confession. His chest aches, tightening as the words tear violently at his chest, a reminder that he left one of the only good things to ever come into his life, all because he was too afraid to let the walls come down, too afraid to be vulnerable, too afraid to risk being hurt—because if she hurt him, he’d never come back from it. In the end, he’d felt like a fool trying to protect a damsel who never needed saving in the first place; and he was left with the realization that she’d been protecting him the entire time.

“I know what you do, Simon. I know it’s hard, even if you don’t think it is. I know that no matter how you push your humanity down into that hole that it’s still there. I know killing someone takes something from you every time but, Simon, I’m not your enemy. I love you.” Her eyes are calm, but her voice is firm. “And I will not stand on the outside of the lines under some guise of protection. You either be upfront and honest with me about everything or you leave, and you don’t come back.”

Simon knows she’s asking him to choose now, and he feels that creeping anxiety rise in his throat like bile until he manages, “Can…can we talk about everything in the morning?”

She sighs and pulls her hands away. “Yeah, I guess so. Sheets and blankets are in the hall closet. You know where the couch is.”

“You’re not going to let me sleep in the bed?” He sounds incredibly offended.

“Couch, Riley.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, but he can’t help but smile when she sets the bedding out on the couch for him. “Goodnight, love,” he murmurs as she passes, and her shoulders tense and she waves a hand.

“Goodnight, Simon.”

He sits on the couch for a few moments, watches the rain splatter against the window, the clock ticking on the wall, before he pulls out his phone and simply types, “I love you,” and sends it.

It’s quiet for a solid ten seconds before he hears, “You absolute bastard!” From the bedroom followed by, “Get in here!”

Simon gives a victory dance as he clears his throat and attempts to look innocent as he steps into her bedroom; she glowers and points to the other side. “You’re on that side.”

“You can make me,” he retorts and crawls into the middle of the bed, groaning when all the bones in his body snap and pop.

She rolls her eyes and goes back to her book, but after a moment, she shifts against the headboard, getting comfortable again. Simon lifts his head, watches her, then he moves and lays his head in her lap, his arms wrapped around her hips under the pillows behind her. Her eyes rise to the wall in front of her and she stares unamusedly at it before she switches the book into her other hand and rests her right hand at the back of his neck, gently thumbing the juncture of his spine and skull. He groans beneath her touch, shifts himself so that she has control over moving him, body going slack when she scratches her nails into his scalp.

“You’re like a cat,” she mutters, feeling his lips turn up against her thigh.

“Meow,” he mimics, and she snorts, feeling him move until his head is pressed into her stomach, face turned so she can see the right profile.

He watches until she puts the book down on her nightstand and turns into him; they gaze at each other, and his eyes gently shut when she cups his face, thumbs brushing over his features.

“You know I’m giving you another chance, don’t you?”

Simon swallows the lump in his throat and nods. “…yeah.”

“But we’ve gotta change. Or else we’ll end up back where we were before we broke up.”

“I know.” He opens his eyes and looks at her. “I’ve missed you, love.”

“I’ve missed you too,” she murmurs, bending down to press her lips to his forehead. “Doesn’t feel the same without you haunting my apartment.”

His lips turn up in a smile as she pulls back and lays on the pillows; Simon rises and crawls up her body, his nose brushing hers as he whispers, “I’ll do better for you. I’ll change. I swear it.”

“Yeah?”

His gaze turns solemn in a way she’s never seen before as he replies, “On their grave, I will.”

She smiles softly at him, pulls him down so his face is tucked in her neck, and replies, “Get some sleep.”

“I love you,” he mutters against her warm skin, arms tucked safely around her, body weight comfortably on her. “I love you more than the world.”

“I love you,” she says back, reaching up to turn off the lamp on the nightstand.

[reidrum]

you say ‘what a mind’ | s.r.

A/N: she’s back and with fluff! (?) exams were really putting me through the ringer but i missed posting so i fixed up this draft i had, i hope you enjoy :D ive been listening to sabrina 25/8 since she dropped so hopefully song inspired fics coming soon 🤞🏽

summary: you get really excited about something new you learned and spencer gets really excited about you

wc: a short n sweet 1k

cw: none, tooth rotting fluff

_______________________________________________

With Spencer's extensive knowledge of just about everything, you had assumed that there wasn’t much you contribute to his abundant learning.

You maybe weren’t three-PhD’s smart, but you were smart, averagely speaking. But you knew Spencer was smart, and truth be told it intimidated you. He never made you feel bad about not knowing something, ever. Anytime he gets to talk to you about anything his face lights up like the night sky.

There was, however, one time you had come home all excited to explain a concept from class that finally clicked for you. And the first person you wanted to tell was Spencer.

He watched you bound up to him with a spring in your step, bright eyed and wide cheeks as you told him, “I have to tell you about what I learned about today, it finally made sense to me. Like it felt like a real life light bulb final puzzle piece fitting type moment!”

He smiled warmly down at your eager face, “Alright angel, lay it on me.”

“Okay, I know it’s a little stupid it’s taken me this long to get it, but it’s—“

The call of your name sternly yet fondly falling from Spencer’s lips interrupts your self deprecating preamble, “Hey, we don’t do that, remember? We talked about this.”

Your rants almost always started with some self deprecating remarks, and he would always frown and try to interject and shut them down, to which you’d wave him off under the guise of, “If I stop, I’ll forget!” You were smart, but stubborn to a fault. He loved you for it, but it was hard for him to see you not understand the value you held, the value that your voice and your words and your opinions held. The value that he knew with all certainty you possessed.

A sheepish blush rises on your cheeks as you mumble, “Sorry.”

His fingers trickle closer to yours and wrap around them firmly, bringing you to sit on the couch next to him as he pulls your legs over to rest on his.

“Don’t be sorry, baby,” he says saccharinely, “We’re working on being nicer to ourselves right?”

You nod, he smiles softly back at you and continues, “Okay, tell me what you learned today.”

You start on your long explanation of the inner workings of the nervous system and its intricacies, explaining details and anecdotes that really showcase the inner workings of how your mind processes information.

Spencer can’t help but stare at you in deep fascination, complete with an awestruck smile and glimmering eyes.

He’s met hundreds of scientists, specialists, celebrities even, and listen to them talk about their research in extensive detail and with expansive knowledge. Hell, he’s had to do it himself with his three doctorates.

But as he sits in front of you, watching the person he’s most fond of on this planet watch you talk with so much speed, conviction, passion, with your hands move with purpose and excitement, he truly swears he has never been more in love with you than that moment.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask cautiously.

“You,” he moves closer, “Are so intelligent, did you know that?”

“Spencer, I’m not in the mood for jokes plea—“

“No, my love. You are brilliant,” he moves closer to be an inch away from you, placing his hands on your cheeks, “The way you process information is fascinating. When I watch you explain things to me I can see you organize it in your pretty head. It is actually mesmerizing watching you absorb knowledge the way you do. You’re like, a beautiful puzzle all undone, but by the forces of nature you’re able to put yourself together and bear the finished product to me, to anyone.”

Your eyes tear up, “Spence…what the fuck.”

He chuckles softly, “I mean it,” he holds you firmly, planting you in the roots of his belief, “What a mind you have, darling.”

It’s enough to make you tuck your head into his chest, obstructing his view from your imminent tearfall.

“You can’t just say things like that.” you mumble against the soft fabric of his shirt.

Spencer instinctively wraps his arm around your torso, letting the other hand take purchase in your hair, gently stroking it down, “Why not?” He speaks softly.

“Because…I might think you're like, in love with me or something.” You joke.

His laugh rumbles through his chest and into your rested head, “Would that be so bad?”

“Yes.”

“And why is that?”

“It’s going to be another whole moon cycle before I have another a-ha moment like this again. I’ll have nothing to impress you with.”

Spencer smiles and sighs, squeezing you tighter against him, “You always impress me.”

You groan, “Ugh, you don’t have to say that to make me feel better.”

“You do know that you’re really smart, right?” you open your mouth to argue but he cuts you off, “You always underestimate yourself, but you’re really one of the smartest people I know. And I know a lot of smart people.”

A deep sigh leaves you, but he continues, “And you don’t have to believe me. I’ll believe it enough for the both of us. You and your brain are remarkable, so when you come to me with your a-ha moments thinking I’ll be impressed with your spark of knowledge, just know that I am impressed with you, but it’s more because I get to see you realize just how capable you are yourself.”

The calming motion of his fingers through your hair tether you back to this world, your insides fluttering about like butterflies in an open field. It was hard not to believe his words when Spencer was always so kind to you. It was always so easy for you to play it off like you didn’t deserve it.

But Spencer knew wholeheartedly that you did deserve it, that you were even entitled to it. And he’d spend the rest of his life reminding you. That, you knew for a fact.

“I love you,” you say softly, “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me angel, I love you too.” He mumbles in your head, his hand trailing down your sides in comfort.

[xxbirkindoll]

tangled lines | 18+

pairings: bsf!rafe x bimbo!reader

warnings: unprotected sex, jealous & possessive rafe, fluff, reader is kind of an airhead, soft!rafe, smut, soft sex, oral (fem!receiving), reader uses the word “daddy” two times

summary: rafe gets jealous after seeing reader with a guy at a party and things gets heated when they get to his house

word count: 5.2k

You and Rafe Cameron have always been inseparable. From the time you were kids on the Cut to now, practically glued together as if one of you couldn’t function without the other. You’re the only person who can put up with Rafe’s moods, his temper, and his intense need for control. But you don’t just put up with it, you adore it.

You aren’t scheming or calculating; you don’t try to be mysterious or play hard to get. You’re…well, you’re simple in the best way. You have a heart that could outshine the sun, but sometimes it feels like your head is in the clouds. You aren’t exactly known for your smarts, but that doesn’t bother you. Or Rafe, for that matter.

He loves you for your warmth, your loyalty, and how you can light up any room you enter. But there’s another side to your friendship that’s anything but innocent.

It starts with the little things—Rafe keeping a hand on your back when you walk through crowded rooms, the way he leans in to whisper something in your ear and then lets his lips linger a bit too close to your skin. And when he stares down any guy who so much as looks at you, you don’t ask questions. You just accept it as Rafe being Rafe, your best friend who always takes care of you.

You adore the way he is with you, how he makes you feel like you’re the only girl in the world. And maybe you’re too oblivious to notice how strange it is for two best friends to act this way. How other people often raise an eyebrow when they see the two of you together, whispering to each other or exchanging looks that seem to hold secrets no one else can understand.

But what everyone doesn’t know is that you love it. You love every moment of it. The attention, the possessiveness, the way he always has his arm around you. It makes you feel safe, cherished, and, though you would never admit it, desired.

And then there are the parties. The kooks love their parties, and you and Rafe are always at the center of them. It’s just another Saturday night, and the familiar buzz of bass-heavy music vibrates through the house. Bodies sway, alcohol flows freely, and the scent of sweat and perfume mingles in the air.

Rafe is easy to spot in any crowd. He stands taller than most, and there’s a certain confidence in his stance that draws people’s attention. You’re always close by, smiling and laughing, blissfully unaware of the longing looks Rafe casts your way when you’re not looking.

Tonight, you wear a tiny, tight pink dress that hugs your curves and shows off your long legs. Rafe can’t keep his eyes off you. The way the fabric clings to your body, the way your plump lips pout naturally without you even trying. It’s driving him insane.

You’re at the bar, chatting with one of the other kooks. Some guy who Rafe vaguely recognizes but couldn’t care less about. His name doesn’t matter. What matters is the way he’s leaning in a bit too close, the way his eyes wander over your chest like he has any right to look at you like that.

Rafe’s jaw clenches as he watches, his grip tightening around the bottle in his hand. He doesn’t even realize he’s walking towards you until he’s already there, sliding between you and the guy with a possessiveness that makes the other guy take a cautious step back.

“Hey, babe,” Rafe says, his voice smooth as silk as he slides an arm around your waist, pulling you against him.

You blink up at him, a little startled but then grinning, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Hi, Rafey!”

He internally smiles at the nickname. He despises it, but loves it when it’s coming from your mouth.

The guy who had been talking to you shuffles awkwardly, clearly sensing the tension radiating off Rafe. He mumbles some excuse and quickly disappears into the crowd, leaving you two alone.

Rafe watches him go with narrowed eyes before turning his attention back to you. “What were you talking to him about?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you say with a shrug, clearly not giving it much thought. “He was just asking about the party, I think.”

Rafe frowns. “You think?”

You tilt your head, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “I wasn’t really paying attention.”

Rafe can’t help but chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You giggle, leaning your head against his chest. “I know.”

But then your smile fades as you look up at him, your eyes wide and sincere. “Rafe, why did you come over here? You seemed mad.”

Rafe’s expression softens as he looks down at you. You really have no idea, do you? How could you be so completely oblivious to the effect you have on him? To how much it drives him crazy to see you with someone else, even if it’s just a harmless conversation.

“I didn’t like the way he was looking at you,” Rafe admits, his voice low.

You blink, your brows furrowing in confusion. “Looking at me?”

“Yeah,” Rafe says, his grip on your waist tightening slightly. “Like he thought he had a chance.”

“Oh,” you say softly, biting your lip as if you’re trying to process his words.

Rafe sighs, his free hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. “I just…I don’t like other guys around you, baby. Not like that.”

Your confusion melts away, replaced by a soft smile that makes Rafe’s heart skip a beat. “Aw, I don’t want anyone else, Rafey. Just you.”

His breath catches in his throat at your words. Do you even realize what you’re saying? What that means? But before he can ask, you’re leaning up on your tiptoes, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that makes the rest of the room disappear.

Your kisses are sweet, gentle, and taste like the fruity drink you had been sipping on earlier. Rafe responds instantly, his arm tightening around your waist as he deepens the kiss, his hand sliding up to tangle in your hair.

The kiss is nothing new. You’ve kissed before. Innocent, playful kisses that friends sometimes share. But this…this feels different. There’s an intensity behind it, a hunger that neither of you can deny.

When you finally pull away, both of you are breathless, your foreheads resting against each other.

“You’re mine, Y/n,” Rafe whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

Your eyes flutter open, and you smile softly. “I’ve always been yours, Rafe. You’re my best friend.”

Best friend. The words echo in Rafe’s mind, and for the first time, they don’t feel right. They don’t encompass what he feels for you, what he wants from you. But he doesn’t push it. Not tonight. Not yet.

He presses another kiss to your forehead, pulling you into his arms. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

You don’t argue. You never do when it comes to Rafe. You let him lead you out of the house, away from the noise and the crowd, and into the cool night air. You don’t say much as you walk, but the silence between you is comfortable, familiar.

You end up at Rafe’s house, as you often do. It’s practically your second home, and Ward and Rose don’t mind you crashing there. You have your own spot in his bed, your own drawer in his dresser. It’s just what you do—best friends who are closer than most.

You settle into Rafe’s room, and you immediately make yourself at home, kicking off your pink Playboy heels—that your Rafey bought for you—and flopping onto his bed. Rafe watches you with an affectionate smile, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed.

“You’re really comfortable here, huh?” he teases.

You grin up at him, patting the spot beside you. “Of course! You’re my bestie.”

Rafe rolls his eyes at the term, but he can’t deny the warmth it brings him. He crosses the room and sits down beside you, his hand resting on your thigh. You don’t flinch or pull away; you never do. You just look at him with that same trusting smile you always give him.

“Rafey?” you ask softly, your fingers absentmindedly playing with the hem of your dress.

“Yeah?” he responds, his eyes never leaving your face.

“Do you ever…do you ever think about us doing more stuff?” you ask, your voice hesitant as if you aren’t sure how to phrase the question.

Rafe’s heart skips a beat, but he keeps his voice steady. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, like…we kiss and stuff. And we’re always together. People ask me all the time if we’re dating, and I always say no, but…” You trail off, your brows furrowing as you try to find the right words.

“But?” Rafe prompts, his hand moving up to gently squeeze your knee.

You bite your lip, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “But we never had sex…”

Rafe feels like the wind has been knocked out of him. He’s always tried to keep his feelings for you in check, convincing himself that your friendship is enough. But hearing you say those words, hearing you admit that you wouldn’t mind being more…he can’t hold back anymore.

"Baby..." Rafe begins, his voice rough with emotion as he searches your eyes for any sign of hesitation. But there's nothing there-only that familiar trust and a hint of something more, something deeper.

You wait patiently for him to speak, your heart pounding in your chest, feeling like it might explode with anticipation.

The room feels smaller, more intimate, and the air between you crackles with tension that's been building for far too long.

Rate's hand moves from your knee to your face, his thumb gently brushing across your cheek. "Are you sure?" he asks, his voice almost a whisper. "Are you sure you want this?"

You lean into his touch, nodding without a second thought. "I'm sure, Rafe. I've never been more sure of anything."

His heart swells at your words, and any doubt that's been lingering in the back of his mind dissipates. You're not just saying this-you mean it. You've always been honest with him, even when it's been hard. And right now, the honesty in your eyes, in your voice, is unmistakable.

Rafe leans in slowly, giving you one last chance to change your mind, but you don't. You close the distance between you, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that's softer, more tender than any of the ones you've shared before. There's no rush, no urgency—just the two of you, finally giving in to the feelings you've both been suppressing for so long.

He deepens the kiss, his hands sliding down your back to pull you closer, as if he can't bear to be even a millimeter away from you.

You respond eagerly, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pour everything you have into this moment, into him.

You've kissed Rafe before, but this... this is different. It's more intense, more passionate. It feels like you're crossing a line that you can never come back from, but you don't care. You want to cross it-you want to dive headfirst into whatever this is, whatever it could be.

When you finally pull away, both of you are breathless, your foreheads resting against each other as you try to catch your breath. The world outside his room feels a million miles away, and all you can focus on is the way his fingers trail up and down your spine, the warmth of his breath against your skin.

"Y/n," Rafe murmurs, his voice laced with emotion. "I've wanted this for so long. I didn't know if you felt the same."

You open your eyes, meeting his gaze with a softness that makes his heart ache. "I didn't realize it at first," you admit. "But now...l can't imagine being with anyone else, Rafe. I only want you."

His grip on you tightens, and he presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if he's trying to memorize the feel of you.

"You don't know how happy that makes me," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

You smile, a warmth spreading through your chest at his words. "Then be happy, Rafe. Because I'm not going anywhere."

Rate pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours, as if he's making sure this isn't some kind of dream. When he's satisfied that you're really here, really his, he smiles—a genuine, heartfelt smile that you don't see from him often enough.

"You're mine," he says, his voice firm, possessive.

You nod, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "I've always been yours, Rafe. You're my best friend."

The words hang in the air between you, and for a moment, Rafe's smile falters. Best friend. The title doesn't feel right anymore-not after everything that's just happened. But he doesn't correct you. Instead, he pulls you into his arms, holding you close as if he's afraid you might slip away.

"You mean more to me than that," he murmurs into your hair.

You pull back slightly, looking up at him with wide eyes. "What do you mean?"

Rate hesitates for a moment, but then he decides there's no point in holding back anymore. You've always been his—he just never let himself believe it could be real.

"I mean, you're everything to me, Y/n," he confesses, his voice low and sincere. "You're not just my best friend. You're... the person I want to be with. The only person I can see myself with."

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, and for a moment, you're speechless. You've always known Rafe cared about you-he's shown it in a million different ways. But hearing him say it out loud, hearing him admit that he wants to be with you, makes your heart swell with an overwhelming sense of love and belonging.

"Rafe..." you start, but he cuts you off with another kiss, this one more urgent, more desperate, as if he's trying to convey everything he feels for you in that single moment.

You respond eagerly, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer, as if you're afraid to let him go.

The kiss deepens, and soon Rafe is hovering over you, his hands roaming your body as if he's trying to memorize every inch of you.

You let out a soft moan as his lips move to your neck, kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin there, trying to mark you. The sound drives him wild, and he can't help but smile against your skin as he continues his ministrations.

"Rafey," you breathe out, your voice laced with need. "I need you."

He pulls back slightly, his eyes dark with desire as he looks down at you. "Are you sure?" he asks, his voice rough with emotion.

You nod, your hands gripping his shoulders as if you're afraid he might pull away. "I've never been more sure of anything."

That's all the confirmation Rafe needs. He leans down to capture your lips in another heated kiss and for the first time, you feel like you're exactly where you're supposed to be. In Rafe's arms, with his lips on yours, with the knowledge that he's yours and you're his.

The kiss deepens, becoming more urgent and demanding, as Rafe's hands roam over your body. There's a fire between you now, an unspoken understanding that tonight is different—that tonight, you're both finally giving in to what you've wanted for so long.

Rafe's hand moves to the hem of your dress, his fingers brushing against your bare thigh. The sensation sends a shiver up your spine, and you arch into him, craving more. He takes the hint, his fingers slipping under the fabric, slowly sliding up your thigh until they reach your hips.

You let out a soft gasp as he grips your hips, pulling you closer until your bodies are pressed together, every inch of you touching. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, the hard planes of his chest against your softer curves. It's intoxicating, the way he's looking at you, as if you're the only thing that matters in the world.

"Rafe..." you breathe out, your voice trembling with a mixture of nerves and excitement.

"Shh," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear, sending another wave of shivers through you. "I've got you, Y/n. I promise."

There's a tenderness in his voice, a promise of care and love that reassures you, calms the nerves fluttering in your stomach. You trust him—of course, you do. He's Rafe, your best friend, the one person who's always been there for you. And now, he's here for you in a way that's even more intimate, more special.

Rafe's hands move to the back of your dress, his fingers deftly finding the zipper. He pauses for a moment, looking into your eyes as if asking for permission one last time. You give him a small nod, and he slowly pulls the zipper down, the sound filling the quiet room.

The dress loosens around you, and with a gentle tug, Rafe pulls it down your shoulders, revealing more of your skin to his hungry gaze. His eyes darken with desire as he takes it off your body, throwing, leaving you lying before him in nothing but your pink lace underwear.

Rafe's breath catches in his throat as he takes you in, his eyes raking over every inch of your exposed skin. "You're so beautiful," he whispers, his voice full of awe.

A blush creeps up your neck, and you bite your lip, feeling suddenly shy under his intense gaze. But Rafe quickly dispels any insecurities you might have by stepping closer, his hands cupping your face as he kisses you again, this time slower, more deliberate.

You melt into the kiss, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his shirt. You tug at the fabric, wanting it off, needing to feel his skin against yours. Rate seems to read your mind, because he pulls away just long enough to yank his shirt over his head, tossing it aside carelessly.

Your breath hitches at the sight of him, his toned chest and defined abs on full display.

You've seen him shirtless before, but this is different—this time, he's yours to touch, to explore. And you waste no time, running your hands over his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips.

Rafe groans softly at your touch, his hands moving to your waist as he pulls you against him. The feel of your bare skin against his sends a jolt of electricity through both of you, and before you know it, his lips are trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

You moan softly, tilting your head to give him better access, your hand gripping the back of his neck as you hold him close. The sensations are overwhelming, each kiss sending a wave of pleasure through you, making your body hum with anticipation.

Rafe's kisses move lower, down your collarbone and over the swell of your big tits, his hands sliding up your sides to gently cup them. He looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire, as if silently asking if this is okay.

You nod, your breath coming in short gasps as you watch him, your heart pounding in your chest. Rafe leans down, pressing a kiss to the center of your chest before moving to one of your breasts, his lips closing around your hard nipple as his hand strokes the other.

You gasp, your back arching off the bed as a wave of pleasure washes over you. The sensation is new, intense, and it sends a thrill through your entire body.

Rafe's mouth is hot and insistent, his tongue flicking over your sensitive skin, driving you wild with every touch.

"Daddy," you moan, your voice trembling with need as you cling to him, your long nails digging into his shoulders.

He responds with a low growl, his free hand sliding down your body, brushing over your stomach and down to the waistband of your underwear. His fingers tease the edge of the fabric, and you can feel the heat pooling between your thighs, your body aching for more.

Rafe pulls back slightly, his eyes locking with yours as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear. "Is this okay?" he asks, his voice thick with emotion.

You nod, too overwhelmed to form words, your heart racing with anticipation. Rafe leans down to kiss you again, his lips soft and gentle against yours as he slowly slides your underwear down your legs, leaving you completely bare beneath him.

He pulls back to look at you, his eyes filled with awe and reverence as he takes you in. "You're perfect," he murmurs, his voice full of emotion as he runs his hands over your thighs, spreading them gently to make room for himself.

Your breath hitches as Rafe settles between your legs, his hands gripping your hips as he lowers himself down, his mouth hovering just above your core. He looks up at you one last time, his eyes asking for permission, for confirmation that this is what you want.

You nod, your body trembling with anticipation as you watch him, your breath coming in short gasps. And then, with a slow, deliberate movement, Rafe leans down and presses a kiss to your sensitive clit, his tongue flicking out to taste you.

The sensation is overwhelming, a surge of pleasure that has you moaning his name, your fingers gripping the sheets as you arch off the bed. Rafe's mouth is hot and insistent, his tongue working in slow, deliberate movements that drive you wild with every flick and swirl.

He's slow, methodical, taking his time to explore every inch of you, to learn what makes you moan, what makes your body tremble beneath him. And you respond eagerly, your body reacting to every touch, every kiss, your mind lost in the haze of pleasure that he's creating.

"Daddy, please," you moan, your voice trembling as you reach down to tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer.

Rafe growls in response, the sound vibrating against your skin as he increases the pace, his tongue moving faster, his lips closing around your most sensitive spot as he sucks gently. The sensation sends you over the edge, and with a cry of his name, you come undone beneath him, your body trembling with the force of your orgasm.

He doesn't stop, doesn't pull away, instead continuing to work you through your release, his hands holding you steady as your body shakes with pleasure. When you finally come down from the high, your breath coming in short, gasping pants, Rafe pulls back, a satisfied smile on his lips as he crawls back up your body.

He kisses you, and you can taste yourself on his lips, the sensation sending another wave of desire through you. But Rafe is patient, his kisses slow and deliberate, his hands gentle as they caress your sides, your hips, your thighs.

"You okay?" he asks softly, his voice full of concern as he looks down at you, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

You nod, smiling up at him, your heart swelling with love and affection. "I'm perfect," you whisper, your voice full of emotion as you reach up to cup his face, pulling him down for another kiss.

The kiss quickly grows more heated, more desperate, and soon you're tugging at Rafe's pants, your hands eager to feel all of him, to have him as close as possible. He groans against your lips, his hands fumbling with the waistband of his pants as he helps you, quickly shedding the last of his clothing.

When his cock is finally free, he presses his body against yours, his skin hot and firm against your softer curves. The feel of him, hard and ready against your thigh, sends a thrill of anticipation through you, and you instinctively spread your legs, inviting him closer.

Rafe pulls back slightly, his eyes locking with yours as he positions himself at your entrance. "You sure, baby?" he asks, his voice trembling with emotion as he holds himself above you, his breath coming in short gasps.

You nod, your eyes wide and trusting as you look up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. "I'm sure, Rafe. I want this. I want you."

He smiles, a soft, loving smile that makes your heart skip a beat, and then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he pushes into your cunt, filling you completely.

The sensation is overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and a slight sting as your body adjusts to his size. You gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you cling to him, your breath coming in short pants. Rafe stills, giving you time to adjust, his lips pressing gentle kisses to your neck, your shoulders, your face.

“You okay?” he murmurs against your skin, his voice full of concern.

You nod, smiling up at him as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “I’m okay, Rafe. Just…move.”

He nods, his eyes dark with desire as he slowly begins to move, his hips rolling in a slow, deliberate rhythm that has you moaning his name, your body responding eagerly to every thrust. The pleasure quickly builds, the slight sting fading away, replaced by a deep, intense pleasure that has you arching into him, your nails digging into his back as you cling to him.

“Rafe,” you moan, your voice trembling with pleasure as he increases the pace, his hips snapping against yours with a newfound urgency.

He groans in response, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his hands gripping your hips as he drives into you with a desperation that matches your own. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, mingling with the sounds of your moans and his grunts, creating a symphony of pleasure that drives you both to the brink.

You can feel the tension building, the pleasure coiling tightly in your belly, and you know you’re close. Rafe seems to sense it too, because he shifts slightly, angling his hips just right, hitting that sweet spot inside you that has you crying out his name, your body trembling with the force of your approaching orgasm.

“Come for me, Y/n,” Rafe murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with desire. “I want to feel you come around me.”

His words send you over the edge, and with a cry of his name, you come undone, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm. The pleasure is intense, overwhelming, and you cling to Rafe as you ride out the waves, your breath coming in short, gasping pants.

Rafe follows you over the edge moments later, his body tensing as he groans your name, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he finds his release, his body shuddering with the force of it and comes inside you.

For a moment, the world fades away, and there’s nothing but the two of you, tangled together in a mess of limbs and sheets, your bodies pressed together as you come down from the high. Rafe collapses on top of you, his weight comforting as he buries his face in your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as you both catch your breath, your hearts pounding in sync. The room is quiet now, the only sound the soft rustle of sheets as you shift slightly, your bodies still pressed together.

After a few moments, Rafe lifts his head, looking down at you with a soft, loving smile that makes your heart swell with affection. He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers gentle as he caresses your cheek.

“You’re amazing,” he murmurs, his voice full of emotion.

You smile up at him, your heart overflowing with love. “So are you,” you whisper, reaching up to pull him down for a gentle kiss.

The kiss is slow and tender, a promise of more to come, a promise that this is only the beginning. Because now that you've crossed that line, there's no going back. But you wouldn't want to go back, not after feeling what it's like to be with Rafe like this, to be his completely.

When the kiss finally ends, Rafe rolls onto his side, pulling you into his arms. You snuggle into his chest, your head resting on his shoulder as you close your eyes, feeling a sense of peace that you've never felt before.

"I love you, Y/n," Rafe murmurs, his voice soft and full of emotion as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

Your heart skips a beat at his words, and you look up at him, your eyes wide with surprise and joy. "I love you too, Rafe," you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion.

He smiles, a genuine, heartfelt smile that makes your heart flutter, and pulls you closer, holding you tightly against him as if he's afraid to let you go.

"You're mine," he murmurs, his voice firm and possessive.

You smile, snuggling into his chest as you close your eyes, feeling completely content in his arms. "I've always been yours, Rafey," you whisper, your voice full of love and affection. "And I always will be."

You tilt your head up to look at Rafe, a soft smile on your lips as you watch him sleep. His features are relaxed, a small smile playing on his lips even in his sleep. You can't help but reach out to brush a strand of hair away from his forehead, your heart swelling with affection.

As if sensing your touch, Rafe stirs, his eyes fluttering open to find you watching him. He smiles sleepily, pulling you closer as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

You smile back, snuggling into his chest. "Good morning."

There's a comfortable silence between you, the kind that only comes from years of knowing each other inside and out. You both lie there, basking in the warmth of each other's presence, neither of you in any hurry to get up.

But eventually, Rafe speaks up, his voice hesitant. "Y/n?"

"Yeah?" you reply, your head resting on his chest as you listen to the steady beat of his heart.

"About last night.." he starts, but you cut him off with a kiss, your lips capturing his in a slow, lingering kiss that leaves him breathless.

"Don't overthink it," you murmur against his lips. "It was perfect."

Rafe smiles, a sense of relief washing over him as he pulls you closer. "Yeah, it was," he agrees, his voice full of emotion.

You both fall silent again, but this time, there's a sense of contentment between you. Because no matter what happens next, you know that you've crossed that line, and there's no going back. But that's okay, because being with Rafe feels right. It feels like you've finally found where you belong.

As the morning light filters through the curtains, you realize that this is only the beginning. You and Rafe have always been inseparable, but now... now you're something more. And you wouldn't have it any other way.

Because with Rafe by your side, you know you can face anything. Together.

A/N: yall i tried my best i swearrr!!!! i really like the bimbocore aesthetic and i feel like i could make a whole series with rafe and his bimbo gf. like blurbs and fics and stuff. tell me if you want to see more of rafe x bimbo!reader in the future. love uu💗

ps: the dividers are from @anitalenia

[euthymiya]

“we’re just friends but…” — ft. ryomen sukuna, gojo satoru, and geto suguru

aka the moment that jjk men realize that maybe, just maybe, you’re not “just friends” and maybe, just maybe, they’d like to be more. perhaps someday in the future, they’ll tell you

before you read: 3.3k total word count (roughly 1k for each) ; fem reader (all) ; fluff ; pining + realizing of feelings ; sukuna: mentions of blood, injuries, stitches, and violence ; non canon compliant + non curse au ; reader stitches him up ; gojo: canon compliant ; satoru has migrains from his six eyes ; reader is touchy (non sexually) ; banter ; geto: non canon compliant but set in canon verse ; suguru doesn't defect (he becomes a teacher) ; reader and suguru co parent nanako and mimiko (non romantically. for now lolll) ; over protective suguru ; mentions of reader being a hypothetical wife

“We’re just friends, but she’s the only one who can scold me and get away with it. No, I don’t have a soft spot for her.” — RYOMEN SUKUNA

You’re not happy. That’s the first thing he notes when he trudges past your door at such an hour. Judging by the slightly bleary way you’re blinking, you must’ve been asleep before he’d rang your doorbell. 

Not that Sukuna particularly cares. If you minded, you wouldn’t let him get away with it. 

No. The reason you’re mad is completely different. 

“Think you can stitch this one up?” He points to the gash on his chest, peeking through a ripped shirt. You can only imagine the stares he must’ve gotten on his walk here. 

“Are you seriously asking me that?” You glare, crossing your arms, “has it occurred to you that maybe you should start with an explanation?”

“Alright,” he shrugs, rolling his eyes, “I got me a little cut here. So I need you to stitch it up. Think you can stitch it up?”

That only makes you get pissier. You scowl at him, shaking your head with a scoff that should make him irate from the attitude, but he doesn’t seem to be angered by it. Slightly irritated, perhaps, but not angered. 

Now that he thinks about it, Sukuna doesn’t think he’s ever been angry with you. 

“That’s not what I meant, smart ass,” you spit. He grunts unhappily at the name. “How did you get that gash?”

“What’re you, cops?” He clicks his teeth, giving you an annoyed glance. “If I wanted a questioning, I’d have gone to a hospital. That’s why I came here, yeah? Quit with the questions.”

“Let’s hear it,” you don’t seem keen on dropping this. He groans, reaching to rub his temple before wincing at the way it pulls at his injury. The twitch of pain is not unnoticed by you. “Let’s hear how you’ve managed to cause trouble yet again and come here with a nasty injury—”

“Hey,” he cuts you off bitterly. “I didn’t cause nothin’. People were just gettin’ in my way, that’s all.”

Sukuna is stubborn. Much like you. They say opposites attract—to an extent, they do, but sometimes, only someone cut from the same cloth can really put up with someone as difficult as Sukuna. You don’t fall from his push. Instead, you drag him along with you from your pull. 

Silently, you storm to your bathroom. He knows to follow you by now, expertly weaving through your familiar furniture and halls to walk into that cramped little bathroom of yours as you sit on the counter and angrily gather your medical supplies. He slots himself between your legs, standing with shallow breaths. 

The wound looks angry. Raw. Painful. If not for the slightly labored breaths, you wouldn’t even be able to tell he’s in pain. Something about that bothers you—something about the fact that he’s so used to pain. So accustomed to it, he finds it easy to not let it show. Like living with it is second nature by now. 

“I hate when you’re reckless,” you hiss, glaring angrily at the wound on his chest as if it offends you. It interrupts the ink running along his skin, slicing through his tattoo. 

He raises a brow, slightly amused as he gruffly mumbles, “nothin’ I can’t handle.”

You roll your eyes. You’ll scold him worse later, you think. For now, you need to take care of the awful wound staring back at you. “I’m not done yelling at you,” you grumble. 

Sukuna doesn’t seem to mind it. He hums, even, like he’s expected as much from you. He’s not sure why you get away with talking to him like that, like you have some sort of authority over him that he should consider. Some sort of power where he needs to consider your words and your anger and be better next time. 

Oddly enough, he considers it. It won’t happen, but he considers it for a moment all the same. That’s a miracle enough. 

Your fingers dip cotton into the antiseptic, carefully cleaning around the wound. It’s so delicate, so precise and measured, he can’t help but note you’re a little too practiced in this. 

How often does he come to you like this? How often do you accept him? Too much to assign a proper number to, truthfully. He’s lost count. 

“Ran into some idiots looking for trouble,” he mumbles, “wanted me to hand over my wallet, so I thought I’d teach ‘em a friendly lesson.”

“They must’ve been really warmed up to your friendliness to pull out a knife,” you say blandly. 

He smirks at that, grinning at your attitude as you slowly pierce his skin with the threaded needle. He doesn’t flinch. Not even a little as you start to stitch the open cut closed. 

Sukuna likes your attitude—finds it funny, even. A little cute, at times. The moments where you think you can boss him around and tell him what to do. He likes to indulge you sometimes, even. Grunt and follow your meaningless little orders if it makes you feel better. 

He doesn’t bother to dwell on what the implications of that might mean. It’s none of his concern, anyway. He tolerates you, and that’s enough—he doesn’t need to indulge in anything more than that. 

“Oh, c’mon. I have it good,” he laughs roughly, slightly gleeful as he thinks back on the number he’d done on the idiots who picked a fight with him of all people. “You’d think this was a paper cut if you saw the sorry state they’re in.”

“One of these days, you’ll get yourself arrested, you fucking idiot.”

“I’ve got your number memorized,” he grins, “I’ll make my one call count.”

It hits him after that he’s admitted he has your number memorized. He’s not even sure when he memorized it himself—now he feels a little pathetic. 

If you think the same, don’t show it. Instead, you glower up at him. 

“Who said I’d come to bail you out?”

“Wouldn’t you?” He raises a brow, “nah, you would.”

He sounds too sure of himself. Your lack of response tells him he’s right to be so confident. 

You would come. 

“If you keep coming to me bloody and cut, I’m not gonna keep stitching you up. This isn’t a hospital, asshole.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he rolls his eyes, “that mouth of yours sure knows how to run.”

Your hands tape up the gauze over his stitched wound when you’re done—and slowly, like it aches to see it, you trace his tattoo until you get to the bandaged portion. The frown on your lips makes him speak before he thinks. 

“Sorry,” he grunts roughly. You pause in slight shock. He does, too. “Just…just quit worrying, ya got that? You act like I’m some puny kid.”

“I’m not going to stop worrying,” you sigh, “I can’t.”

Your voice is so, so soft. Something that resembles the touch of your fingers. So gentle and delicate, even despite that previous rage you could barely contain. Sukuna shivers slightly at the sound of your sweet, quiet voice. 

Fuck, he wants to say. You’re so fucking annoying, softening him up like that. He hates it—hates you, he thinks. 

The worst part is that he realizes the latter couldn’t be further from the truth.

“We’re just friends, but she’s the only one I let touch me. That doesn’t make her special, though…does it?” — GOJO SATORU

Satoru has gotten good at using his technique. Very good. 

Long gone are the days where a migraine is easily one curse too many away from happening. It’s been a good while since Satoru has had a migraine quite like this—it probably hasn’t happened since he was a teenager. He’s gotten better at toughing through it since then, but it doesn’t make it any less miserable. Work is stern when you’re the strongest. Demanding. Unkind, even. The higher-ups send him on mission after mission, side quest after side quest. He’s strong, and he can handle it—has to handle it. 

 But strength has always been a human form of measure. Satoru is human by default. Such little sleep and so much to do has taken a toll on even him.

That doesn’t stop him from making a pit stop at your place, though, bag in hand as he knocks on your door. It’s incessant. Purposefully obnoxious in that way he tends to be, making the door aggressively pull open as you stare at him exasperatedly. 

“Satoru. If you’re going to come over, can you quit being so annoying about it?”

“That’s no way to treat someone who brought you kikufuku!” He chirps, beaming at you despite the throb in his head. 

You know him well, though. Somehow, in an odd sort of way, you’re good at pinpointing the weaknesses a man like the strongest has. (He doesn’t have very many. The main one is you—he wonders if you know that). 

“You look awful,” you hum, making him pout as he gasps. 

“What? That’s just plain rude, you know. I’ll take my kikufuku somewhere where it’s appreciated. You don’t deserve—”

“When was the last time you went home, Satoru?” You ask gently, “your uniform looks like you haven’t ironed it in weeks, it’s so wrinkled.” You’re reaching forward to plant a hand on his elbow, and infinity comes down. It happens naturally, just as naturally as it comes up. Having it up is second nature to him—so much so that Satoru is untouchable more often than he isn’t. But your presence forces his senses to shut it right down.

Because more natural to him is the feeling of your touch.

“Making fun of my looks is a low blow,” he says dramatically, acting less wounded than he usually would. That’s your first sign—apart from the slightly tousled and greasy hair and the evidently overworn and wrinkled uniform. 

“C’mon,” you sigh, shaking your head fondly. You bring him in with a delicate grip on his arm, force him onto your bed as you slowly reach over to uncover those two bright blue eyes he hides under the blindfold. “You should have gone home,” you murmur quietly, “you need the rest.”

“You really don’t want my gift, huh?” He sniffs. You grin, laughing softly as your thumb presses into the side of his head, working out the tension just where he needs you to. His eyes flutter shut. It’s like you just know—and somehow, you really do.

He’s strong, able to persist through with his personality and charm even though the throb in his head is killing him slowly. There’s a slight wince when you apply a bit more pressure before he grunts lowly and lets out an exhale. 

“What am I going to do with you?” You whisper, shaking your head at him. He doesn’t need to open his eyes to know it. “If you don’t take care of yourself, who will?”

“Well, you do it pretty nicely,” he hums, “you could hand-feed me some grapes, too, if you’re up for it.”

“Maybe later,” you snort, making him grin softly, “you need a nap first.” 

Slowly, you push him down onto your pillow. It’d be nice if he’d gone home, maybe gotten some rest in something more comfortable. It’d be nice if he took care of himself better. But you suppose that’s why he comes here. So you can do it—so he can feel spoiled. A little more human.

“Don’t finish all the kikufuku while I’m knocked out,” he warns playfully, his voice hoarse as sleep already starts to settle its fingers into him and drag him into its clutches, “I brought it to share. Don’t think putting me to sleep will let you get away with eating it all.”

The ache in his head is persistent. He doesn’t fight it when you settle a finger on his lips and quiet him down. Instead, he slowly opens an eye to look at you, wincing again when the light through the window makes a sharp pain shoot through his skull. You note to close the curtains when you get up, eventually. 

“You should rest, Toru,” you hum. You only use that name when you want something from him—more often than not, what you want typically tends to benefit him more than you.

He wonders how long you’ll both keep doing this—dancing around this circle but never breaching past the surface into the center. That delicate, fragile core hidden under rough layer after layer, where friends become something more. That spot where you don’t have to pretend like it’s a chore to be the one who cares, and he doesn’t have to act like bringing you something is the reason why he’s here. 

“Why? So you can keep touching me without me realizing?” He teases one last time. One last attempt to touch that center without breaking past the surface.

Your thumbs are still working that gentle pressure into his temple, rubbing circles and working the pain out slowly, surely, soothingly. One finger dares to wander to his forehead, tracing a line before coming down the bridge of his nose. His breath stills and yours is shaky before you finally pull away.

“Rest up, or I’ll finish that kikufuku before you know it,” is the last thing you say before he slowly falls asleep. 

He wishes he could tell you, sometimes: the ache in his head is so easy to bring down when you’re around, but the ache in his chest seems to come tenfold just by having you near.

“We’re just friends, but she’s practically the mother of my two adopted children. Pretty platonic if you ask me.” — GETO SUGURU

Suguru knows he was shaped and molded by a society that cared little for him. He wants Nanako and Mimiko to have better than that.

He does a good job with it, too, he likes to think. Sure, he’s had some help here and there, but at the end of the day, Nanako and Mimiko are his girls. He feels a swell of pride every time they look happy and content. Every time they’re not haunted by the ugly truths of the world that he was once plagued with. Every time they have people around them to understand them the way he never got to have. 

“—Happy birthday to you,” you finish singing, laughing as Nanako reaches to swipe a dollop of frosting onto your cheek after the candles are blown out.

They’re about the age now that Suguru was when he found them, he thinks to himself. It’s been quite a long time. A long time to know someone who might as well be his co-parent by the book’s standards. He can practically see the way Satoru would pinch his nose at him right about now—just ask her out, already, Satoru would groan. 

But two people helping to raise a pair of twins doesn’t automatically mean there’s romantic tension there—Satoru wouldn’t know. He isn’t a model example for relationships, anyway. 

“Geto-sama,” Mimiko says softly, “would you like a slice?” 

Suguru smiles, patting her head affectionately as he accepts the slice of cake from her before he murmurs a quiet thank you. It’s not until the two girls are off to open presents do you and Suguru have a moment to yourselves. 

“You know,” you hum quietly, tapping your spoon on your paper plate as you finish the last of your cake, “they’re pretty big now.”

“They’re not that big,” he denies. Sometimes he likes to delude himself that if he listens closely enough, their footsteps still sound like the small pitter-patter of tiny feet. 

“They’re old enough for a few tougher missions, don’t you think?”

Suguru stills at that, breath hitching as you both stare over at Nanako, who grins brightly at the new smartphone she unwraps. It still feels like just yesterday, you and Suguru were exasperatedly switching passwords again on your own phones, realizing for what felt like the hundredth time that she’d figured out what they were. 

Suguru can’t let go. He can’t let them grow properly into the weapons he once was wielded into himself. The world sharpens youth into daggers, relentlessly and harshly shaving off parts of them if it means creating the perfect edge of a blade. He can’t accept his girls being tormented by the same things he once was. 

It’s why he trains them himself. Becomes a teacher himself to be the role model they need—heaven knows he didn’t have that when he was in their spot. 

“No,” he shakes his head, dead set on being final with his decision. Nanako and Mimiko must have put you up to this—he’s always easier to persuade when you’re there to reason with him. “They’re not ready.”

“They’ve been ready, Suguru,” you sigh softly, “I think you’ve known that for a while.”

No, he wants to repeat. They're his girls—but a small part of him remembers they’re yours, too. 

Sometimes Suguru wonders what would have become of him if you hadn’t joined him on that mission that day. If your hand hadn’t settled on his shoulder and gently pulled his hand away from tapping away at his forehead. If you hadn’t knelt down and freed the two girls from the cage and whispered a quiet, let’s go. 

Suguru doesn’t want to protect the weak if he doesn’t have to. Not anymore. It doesn’t feel like a burden he should be tasked with carrying anymore. He wants to protect what makes life worth the trouble.

He wants to protect his girls. 

“They’re not ready,” he says stubbornly, frowning deeply. “They’re too young.”

“They’re the same age as—”

“When Satoru and I saw things they never should have to.” There’s a sense of finality in his tone. You sigh, reaching over and gently pressing a hand over his. 

He stills—since when was your touch so warm, so soothing? 

“You’re such a dad,” you laugh—he doesn’t know why he’s pausing at the sound. Stiff and unable to move as it washes over him and rings in his ear. “It’s not a bad thing, of course. But you don’t want to clip their wings before they can even try and take flight.”

“Where’d you read that?” He snorts, “some parenting forum?”

“One of us can accompany them,” you reason, huffing at his earlier question and ignoring it. He grins fondly at the way you seem flustered by his teasing. And then he realizes…he’s being slowly swayed by your reasoning.

Since when had he become so weak to you? Since when had the two of you shifted from two people who happen to care for the same set of kids to two people who cover for each other’s shortcomings? His stubbornness and your tendency to be too hopeful. Your leniency and his ability to be paranoid about just about everything. 

Something beats in his chest when you squeeze at his hand. “Fine,” he relents, caving simply because it’s you. “I’ll…I’ll take them on something a bit more serious. I’ll be watching, though.”

“They’ll appreciate it,” you beam. 

Suguru is screwed, he thinks. He’s starting to feel oddly like an overprotective father who needs to be persuaded by the wife he has a soft spot for. Why is he envisioning you as his wife? Why does he feel so hypnotized by your smile? Why is your touch on his hand enough to let go of his firm decisions? 

Is that really all it takes for him? It’s been years—surely this can’t hit him out of nowhere now. (It seems as though it can, although he’s having a hard time coming to terms with it. You’ve always been just his friend who mothers his children. When that changed, he’s not so sure).

Distantly, he can imagine Satoru’s snickering. He doesn’t know what’s worse—the fact that the idiot was right or the fact that he’s completely at the mercy of your smile. 

i was supposed to do choso too but got really tired and gave up. maybe some other day if my brain permits, there can be a nanami toji and choso version

[inkskinned]

you found out today that a phrase you have used before was coined by an abusive man. this felt like getting your teeth taken out. it made you sick and sad and tired, but not surprised.

bad people tell you to be careful when you talk badly of bad men, that it could "ruin" a life. you had your life ruined by a bad man, not that it ever matters to them. your real life having real consequences is not valued as highly as the potential of his future.

this has always been a frustrating little mathematics problem for you. you've missed school and had to call out sick at work and had panic attacks that lasted for weeks. it stole sleep and food and friends from you. you cried in public, fucked your relationships up. and the whole time: your present has never mattered so much as the great what if! of his future. like - one life (your life) is already ruined, should we really ruin two?

so you live with the consequences and he doesn't, and that's just like, something you need therapy for. you once discussed this with one of your friends over coffee. she chewed the wooden stirrer, looked off into the distance. "once i became a victim, everything that happens to me afterward is automatically less interesting in the eyes of the general public. it is always about him. he changed my identity. to survivor. to statistic. meanwhile this whole time - i am a person."

you learned in college that three out of five of your favorite artists and authors were actually abusive assholes. these days, you are no longer surprised. oh, is that what was happening behind closed doors? of course it was, he was a "genius," and she was just a girl. you are talking about him in art history, so obviously his career was absolutely ruined, for eternity. that's what happens, right? they strike your name from the record and refuse to remember you? nobody really knows her name, but hey. that's what you get for being close to celebrity.

you got into an argument about it, which was a bad argument, because it made you cry. he said what, you want us to just ignore all the things this man did because he made a few women uncomfortable? and you'd balled your fists up and choked on it. later, in bed, you agonized over the response you'd been trying to articulate but never found the right moment to deploy: you are ignoring what any person could do if they weren't being fucking abused. maybe her talents far exceeded his and she was just never allowed to fucking use them. maybe we only see genius in white men because they purposefully fucking squash and silence any other people with talent.

but you'd cried about it instead of saying that, because you are the cost. you are the talent and potential that he took. you used to be brave and smart and clever and unafraid. like a lich, he stole years of your life.

quiet on set made you sad and sick and tired, but not surprised. unfortunately, one of the things he said was true: an entire network of people allowed it to continue. this is not news to you, because you have seen entire networks of people make the same fucking excuses when the same thing or-worse happened to you. and your particular story isn't even in hollywood. it was just a guy. it was still difficult getting people to stand up for you.

you and your friend wait in line for your coffee. like a standup joke, one man turns to the other and says "can't wait for every bitch to come crawling out of the woodwork complaining about harassment. it's another metoo." and you think - oh, that's the network. your boss tucks her hair back and whispers that while your skirt is cute, you're giving the boys the wrong idea. that's the network. when you'd told your "friend" about what happened, she'd said oh you must have misunderstood, that would never happen. and that's the network.

you woke up this morning panting, because years later you still have panic attacks. oh, it's not a network, actually, it's a web. and you, little moth: are you still surprised you're caught in it?

[deadsetobsessions]

Fae adjacent! Danny pt. 2

Timothy Drake hadn’t figured out what Danny Fenton was. The shop keeper had been kind, something the nine year old hadn’t expected when he walked into Danny’s shop, willing to trade away his name and soul to get Jason back.

As the young man tilted his head at Jason’s grave, something distinctly inhuman crossing his face as he smelt the soil, Tim had the slightest inkling that he didn’t want to know.

Tim, despite what most people would say, had some kind of self preservation instinct. He wouldn’t have survived traipsing after vigilantes in Gotham this long if he didn’t.

He did not want to find out what kind of creature Danny Fenton could be when enraged. (Despite the fear, something in Tim trilled in Danny presence. Safety, it said. Acceptance.)

——

Danny hummed. The soil here had been disturbed. The dead had not stayed dead. Danny smirked. He knew a bit about not staying dead.

“Your Jason isn’t here, little Sparrow.”

“What?”

“See the soil?”

The little sparrow- Tim- curiously looked down. Danny was sure the kid was smart and a few seconds later, he was proven right.

“The soul’s fresh. Overturned. Someone dug him up? No. An indent. No soil on the outside of the burial, it’s not square- he dug himself up?”

Danny sent the little sparrow an approving smile. “Well, Gotham was never known for its rule abiding citizens, dead or not.”

The little sparrow sighed. “Great. He’s a zombie now?”

“Not quite. Come, we will find your brother.”

“He's, uh, not my brother.”

Danny blinked, pausing. “You would give your name for someone who isn’t family?”

Tim flushed. “He’s- he’s my hero!”

"He'd better be thankful for this, then. What a good friend you are, little sparrow."

Tim lowered his voice, "He doesn't know I exist?”

Danny stared at him and wondered if Phantom ever had anyone who would give their names for him. He also wondered if the standard for human stupidity had lowered since he woke up.

“You see how that's worse, right?"

"Can we get this done, please? Preferably before Batman comes out at night?"

"There are worse things than the Bat, but yes, we may. This way."

As Danny led the way, following the scent of a newly retethered soul and trace amounts of what this world called Lazarus Pits, he found himself wondering who taught this kid his self preservation instincts because they needed to be fired. Tim had followed him, through shady alleys and darkened roads, without a thought for his own safety.

They reached the door of what clearly was a pixie den. Before Danny entered, he turned to Tim. "You, little sparrow, would be the first to be murdered in a poorly done horror movie. Now, stay here while I get Jason."

With that said and satisfaction taken from Tim's flabbergasted and insulted face, Danny headed inside the pixie den to collect the wayward soul.

——

"It's Danny!"

"Danny!"

The pixies in the room cheered as he walked in. Their teeth were a bit too sharp, ears a little too pointed, with shirts that did not fit quite right at their backs.

"Hey, guys." Danny strode to the room, following the scent of Jason's soul. "

"Ah, interested in our fresh catch?" One of the more... prolific pixies sidled up to him. "I think we'll make good entertainment of this boy yet. Maybe even the king would like a gift. His soul's pretty strong, mind's almost dead though."

Danny turned to the pixie and smiled. "I'm coming to collect on my contract, unfortunately."

The bar fell to complete silence. The mist and haze of the bar settled and drew back from the tinge of green in Danny's eyes. Oberon might have ruled his court but Danny's court was above even his.

"Oh- I. Yes, of course, please." The pixie stepped back hastily. Danny strode the rest of the way, content in the unnatural silence of the normally chatty pixies. He picked Jason up from the seat, frowning as he caught the scent of mind numbing herbal paste in the food in front of the kid.

"The children," he uttered commandingly. "Are off limits."

"But-!"

Danny clicked his tongue chidingly as he began leading the unsteady kid out the door.

"It isn't quite the days of old anymore, where people are aware of normal trickery. If an adult falls for your schemes, then that is on them. Children? No. To pick on a newly tethered soul is too far into my court for me to turn a blind eye."

"How are we supposed to do anything with the bat watching the skies?"

"Then fly below him," Danny drew his lips back, allowing Phantom to flicker onto his human face and warping it to something more inhuman. Like them.

"We understand," the bar's proprietor agreed. "Your word will be heard and heeded, king of another court."

"Much appreciated."

——

"Jason!"

"One second, little sparrow." Danny focused, drawing upon the chaotic magic that laid beneath the thrum of ectoplasm. He, oddly enough, has had enough practice returning memories to make this process as easy as a twist of his hand. Jason went limp.

"Jason!" Tim's cry had a little more panic in it.

"Worry not, he's simply sleeping. Regained memories tend to be quite taxing." He shuffled Jason a little closer to Tim. "Here you are, little sparrow. One Jason, whole and generally unharmed."

Tim glanced at Jason and then at himself. He sheepishly looked at Danny. "Would you mind helping me get him back home?"

Danny tilted his head back and laughed.

[womanmanipulator]

prove your love

spencer reid x bau!fem!reader

synopsis: lila gives your boyfriend heart eyes. when he’s assigned to stay over at her place you’re pissed. when spencer comes home, he makes sure to show his love for you. SMUT!!! minors dni

warnings: dom/sub, praise kink, oral sex (fem receiving), piv, various positions, overstimulation, pet names such as trouble, sweetheart, love, etc. very cheesy.

~

you slip your heels off in the hall with an aggravated huff. ‘look on the bright side, the case is over.’ your brain tries to tell you but the many sights and experiences of lila disrespecting you and glaring at you wasn’t going to leave your brain anytime soon. meanwhile, spencer got the opposite treatment, compliments, heart eyes, and lingering handshakes the entire time. she even slipped him her number, that little—

“hey,” spencer says, knocking you out of your thoughts. he can tell your brains conjuring something up. he can practically see the cogs turning in your head. “what’s got you so worked up?” he asks, taking a step towards you. his hands settle on your hips then travel to your lower back. he smiles down at you.

“nothing.” you dismiss, light and airy. trying to act unbothered. “why do you think i’m mad?” you question back, a little too defensive for your liking. “are you asking me to profile you?” he grins. you don’t get the chance to speak before he starts, “for starters, you practically ripped your heels off and threw them, you’re all tense, your fists were balled up and i can tell your thinking hard about something.” he exaggerates.

“you’re wrong because i am perfectly fine.” you state matter of factly. brushing his hands off you and walking to the bedroom. he follows after you. “holding in emotions, specifically anger, can have detrimental effects on one’s mental health. the constant internal struggle to suppress emotions can lead to even more stress, anxiety and even depression.” spencer explains. you just hum in response, searching in your closet for something comfortable, your mind doesn’t stop running about stupid lila though. he watches you. it wasn’t uncommon, he loved to observe you. most of the time it was just to see your pretty face while you were in thought but other times he liked to study your behavior and learn your routines. spencer liked to do it with you.

“you’re staring,” you comment. “i can’t help it.” he flirts. “oh please, did you tell lila that too today?” you let slip. you flush. glad you aren’t face to face with spencer right now. “that’s what this is about?” he chuckles. “cmere,” he says. you stumble over to the bed and he pulls you onto his lap. “you know i love you right?” he says. you nod. not looking at him. “so much, like i am unconditionally and irrevocably in love with you, or whatever bella said.” he makes a twilight reference. you were the one who forced him to watch it. you giggle a little, meeting his eyes. he smiles. “there’s my girl.” he murmurs. your heart swoons. his hands settle on your waist and he leans in. you kiss, it’s almost like a breath of fresh air. when he pulls away, still keeping close he speaks. “i think i need to prove how much i love you, hmm?” he hums. “you don’t need to.” you mumble. “but i want to, please?” he pleads. you don’t protest for long. “okay.. if you must.” you giggle. he smiles. he’s so pretty you feel like your going to explode.

as he places you on your back, unbuttoning your shirt, he starts to spit out another fact. “did you know men are more jealous of sexual infidelity than emotional?” he asks. “women are actually the opposite, they get more jealous with ‘emotional cheating’ than sexual.” he takes his time, you always loved how smart he was. it turned you on.

“i wasn’t jealous,” you say. “oh really?” he snorts. slipping off your shirt. “yeah.” you say. he instructs you to lift your hips so he can slide your pants off. “mhmm..” he says. eyes focused on your body, he’s too distracted to make a smart comment. “she was pretty, i guess.” you try to say. lila was gorgeous. he just chuckles and shakes his head. not bothering to comment. he dips down and kisses you. nose accidentally bumping against yours and teeth clashing. it was messy, just how you liked it. “what was that thing about kissing and shaking hands?” you ask, just to hear him talk.

“the number of pathogens transferred from just a single handshake is staggering. it’s safer to kiss,” he says into the skin of your neck. “that’s interesting, tell me more.” you smile. he groans. “i can tell you all about it later, can’t i just take care of my baby now?” he smiles. “baby? what happened to trouble?” you grin. “you are trouble,” he sighs. lovingly of course. you giggle as he kisses down from your neck to your collarbone, then unbuckles your bra without struggle. pulling it off. he trails down to your tummy, pressing little kisses here and there. making you antsy. he reaches the spot you need him most and smiles into your skin as you squirm a little. “patience, trouble.” he says. he plants a firm kiss on your hipbone and pulls your panties down with one hand. “you’re so pretty,” he smiles. eyes flickering to your face. “all mine, hmm?” he hums and you nod enthusiastically. he chuckles and thumbs experimentally at your clit.

you press your hips up into his touch, leaning into it. chasing that feeling. he smirks, inserting two fingers slowly. he paws at that spongy spot within your walls. you let out a quiet moan and spencer doesn’t deem it good enough, he starts punching at the spot. abusing it almost. this pulls another moan out of you and he speeds up the movements on your clit. you almost see heaven as you arch your back, eyes rolling back. he leans down, attaching his lips on your clit and sucking harshly. thank god you weren’t standing because you would’ve doubled over with how strong your orgasm was. you try to get the words out but only pant. spencer can tell, “gonna cum, trouble?” he asks. then continues his attack on the bundle of nerves. the coil in your belly snaps, climaxing with his name on your lips.

the sound of your slick fills the room as spencer works you through your organism. eyes trained on your pussy. his fingers are pulled out, given a quick lick and suddenly his mouth is on you. lapping and drinking up your release like a man starved. “spence, wait— gimme a minute-“ moan.

your begs fall on deaf ears as he’s absolutely lost in you. there’s no pulling him out. you reach your hand down and bury it in his hair. pressing your hips into the bed to escape the overstimulation. trying to tug him off, he doesn’t listen though. moaning into you when you pull on his hair. the vibrations make you even more sensitive before, his nose brushes up against your clit as two strong hands come to hold you down on either side.

you moan, tears pricking in your eyes from the overstimulation. everything’s magnified by 10. the obscene sounds of your pussy fill the room as your poor clit is abused, spencer’s tongue prodding into you, milking you for everything you have to offer. the familiar hear fills your belly and you can feel the coil start to unwind. “spence—“ you sob. cumming again. riding against his face. you can feel that bastard smirk against you as he greedily laps up your release. “you’re okay,” he coaxs. finally pulling off of you. he presses a kiss to your mound then pulls himself up, he kisses your cheek. then wipes the stray tears on your cheek.

“hi pretty,” he says with a smile. your eyes meet his and you smile, a little dazy. “you have something on your face.” you say, remaints of cum. “do i?” he chuckles. he wipes it off with the back of his hand and kisses you. you can taste yourself on his tongue. “love you so much,” he mumbles against your lips. you don’t get the chance to respond before he’s kissing you again. a little tongue slipping in as he gets carried away. he messily kisses the corner of your mouth, then latches onto your neck. he works at his zipper, multitasking.

begrudgingly, he pulls away from you, slipping down his pants and kicking them off haphazardly. you tug at his shirt and he takes the hint to pull it off. undoing his tie and throwing it somewhere. when he FINALLY takes his shirt off you get to run your hands along his torso giddily. “y’so pretty,” you mumble. “this isn’t about me, it’s about you, trouble.” he says. slipping off his boxers. his cock slips angrily against his stomach and you almost whine. he leans down and kisses you as he slowly pushes in. the stretch burns but is bearable. “i know. its okay,” he whispers. he presses to the hilt, nudging against your cervix. you feel full, his hand slithers down and presses against your lower belly. “mmphh.” you whimper against his lips. he devours the sound and keeps his lips on yours as he starts to thrust in and out of you. pulling his head back to see your face every so often as the tip nudges against that sweet spot. it’s torturous how slow he’s going. you’re so overstimulated, tears start falling out of your eyes.

he smiles down at you, picking up the pace a little. his face contorts and he lets out a moan. you involuntarily clench at that and it punches out another sound. “trouble— can’t keep doing that.” he slurs. the wet sounds of him shoving your slick out of you fill the room as your hips collide. teeth and noses brush together messily and he’s practically devouring you. everything’s happening so fast. before you know it you’re coming again, his name recited on your lips. he works you through it, slamming into you with a feverish pace. you constrict around him and he’s not long after you, pressing himself as far as he can into you and coming. he’s whining,

you pant, he’s collapsed ontop of you. buried in your neck. tears roll down your face. “good girl, good job. taking me so well.” he praises breathily. taking? “..taking..?” you say. “don’t you mean took?”

“we aren’t done.” he lifts himself up from your shoulder, pushing his glasses up. the both of your climax leaks around his dick and spills out of you slowly. “i can’t!” you start to cry as he pulls out, he presses your knees to your chest and shoves himself back in. so much for catching your breath. “you will,” he says softly. beginning to thrust in and out of you, he’s so deep you feel it in your stomach. “that’s it, my good girl huh?” he praises into your neck, a pang of arousal shoots through your body and you can feel yourself get wetter. “spence—“ “none of the whining, you can take it.” he says. he bites at your jawline. you moan loudly. everything feels so good, it’s too much. he reaches down and starts to rub figure eights into your clit gently, a contrast to the brutal pace he had going. “there ya go, taking me so well.” he murmurs, pulling his teeth off and kissing gently. “ah- i- gonna.. cum.” you force out. almost forgetting how to talk. “let go baby.” he says. your back arches, eyes rolling back, clinging to him as if he was the one keeping your grounded. he follows after, shooting cum into you with a whimper and a “nngh.”

it’s unreal. you see stars.

when you come down from your high, your sat on spencer’s lap, dick still intact. you sob, falling into his shoulder and clinging onto him. “i can’t spence.” you sniffle from the overstimulation. if you had to come again you’d probably scream. you’d also scream though if he pulled out.

“the world record for most female orgasms in an hour is a hundred and ah- fuck, thirty six” he says as you clench around him. “i think you can.” he smirks. you push his glasses up.

you bite back, “nerd.”

-

that’s it

not proofread

i’m sick asf rn 🥰

[sparklingchim]

you're losing me; m | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 3.2k

rating: 18+

genre: angst, married couple, age gap, ceo jk, nepo baby oc, second chance romance

warnings: thigh riding, liddol hickey, spittt, groping, dirty talk, name calling, only one spank!!, arguments 🙄, mentions of smoking?, daddy kink, fake sympathy, creampie, little cum play,

summary: jungkook is late from work yet again. but he shows you just how much he missed you.

a/n: this is for us angst girlies 🫂

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Something is not right.

Your nose picks up on the unfamiliar scent on Jungkook as you bury your face into his chest. He squeezes you tightly, big arms embracing you with a warm hug.

“Hi, love,” he softly whispers. Jungkook cradles your head and you melt into his hand. He is bent down to your position on the bed, his loose tie hanging from his neck.

“Missed you.” Your voice gets buried in the kiss Jungkook presses on your lips. You catch his tie and pull him closer.

“I told you not to stay up.” He leans back. Accusatory eyes peering down at you.

Your nose scrunches when he steps away, the pungent waft snaking up your nostrils.

“Did you smoke?”

His round eyes widen at the question, but he denies it with a firm shake of his head. His neatly styled hair doesn’t move – except the short, wispy flyaways on his forehead. Jungkook’s lips pucker the slightest bit. He appears innocent and you believe him if he tells you so.

“I was with Mingyu a lot,” he explains. He places his folded suit jacket on the dresser and begins to loosen the sleeve of his shirt. “You know how he is when he’s stressed.”

You lean against the headboard. “I don’t like the smell.”

“I know.” He starts unbuttoning the front of his shirt. “I’m sorry.” He walks over to his nightstand and exchanges his Rolex for his smart watch. You watch him with knitted eyebrows. “I’m gonna head down to the gym – do a quick workout session.”

“Jungkook it’s late. You just got home from work.” You reach for his arm.

He turns to you, chiselled chest peeking out from underneath his unbuttoned shirt. “It’s fine. I’m not tired.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “Then let me watch you work out.”

Jungkook sniffs a laugh. “You stay here.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Get some sleep for me, yeah? I know you have an appointment tomorrow morning.” His knuckles trace the outline of your jawline.

You sigh and draw back.

“Hey – don’t be upset.” He catches your chin with his fingers. “I told you I was gonna work out today.”

A harsh glower settles on your face. “Well, I thought that meant you’d come home earlier.”

“I tried to, love. I really tried.” His worried eyes search for understanding in yours. “I don’t want you upset. I never want you upset.”

He tilts your chin, so you meet his eyes. Jungkook’s gaze is soft. The amount of softness you’d have if you were staring at a delicate, precious thing. He always looks at you like this.

“I only ever want to make you happy. Nothing else.” His eyebrows raise to stress the tender words he whispered into the room. “Just want to make my wife happy.”

Warmth spreads in your chest. “I know that,” you answer meekly.

Deep down, there’s an overwhelming desire to pour your heart out to him, to express the multitude of things that have been gnawing at your soul, each one a sharp thorn in your side, leaving you utterly upset. But considering how late it is you don’t think it’s the right moment to unleash this torrent of pent-up frustration.

You’re both tired from the useless arguments. You don’t want to make this day any more exhausting for him.

“If you want to make me a happy wife then finish off that workout quickly and join me in bed,” you say. “I need cuddles.”

His eyes crease before a gentle smile sweeps over his mouth. “Good night, love.” He catches your lips in a swift, tender good-night-kiss. “You should shut that thing off. It’s too late for that.” Jungkook regards your iPad with a disgruntling scrunch of his nose. He hates screen time before bed. But you just love drawing on it.

You’d tease Jungkook with it sometimes. Annoy the hell out of him until he’d see no other choice but to put you to sleep his way.

But now Jungkook tucks you under the bed, makes sure to grab his number one enemy when it comes to having you to himself at night and hides in his nightstand.

You watch him slip off his shirt as he crosses the room. You get a glimpse of his broad shoulders and unfairly teeny tiny waist before he leaves the bedroom.

You turn to your side. A tiring sigh flies past your lips.

With two gentle claps of your hands the dim lights in the room shut off.

The spot next to you is empty. Cold.

It’s unsettling how quickly you’ve gotten used to the feeling.

~

The mattress dips beside you.

“Hmm?” You stir awake, emitting confused murmurs.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook hushes from behind you. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Your head turns in his direction. “Jungkook.” You bury your face into the crook of his neck. He is a magnet, always pulling you in. Even when you are sleepy and can barely force your eyes open.

His fingers find their way to your hair and in slow patterns he strokes over the length of it.

“What time is it?” you mutter the question into his skin.

“Just past midnight.”

“Two hours?” Your peeved grumble prompts him to peck your bare shoulder. “You said quick workout.”

“I didn’t work out the entire week, babe.”

You rest your head on his arm, glaring up at him. “It’s just Wednesday.”

Jungkook shushes you with a firm squeeze on your hips. “I’m here now. Done with everything.”

When you hear him emit a tiny, exhausted blow through his nose – barely audible in the quiet room, but you notice because you notice every little detail about him – your eyes turn worried.

“You okay?”

Jungkook lets the questions linger in the air before he nods firmly, uttering a, “Yeah. I’m fine.”

You tentatively sweep his short hair from his forehead. It’s a little damp from the shower.

“The day was filled with lots of important meetings. It was a lot today.” Before you can place your hand back on his chest, he catches your wrist and adds a small kiss to the back of your hand.

You figured as much. Jungkook barely texted you back today. Needed hours to respond.

“Was at least the food that I ordered for you good?”

“Fuck – don’t remind me.” He bites his bottom lip, pleasure spreading over his face. “The food was incredible. Have you eaten there before?”

A smile curves your lips. “Uh-huh. Went there with Namjoon last week. I didn’t know when you’d have time to have dinner there with me, so I got my favourite from the menu for you.”

Jungkook has been coming late from work for over two weeks now. You barely had cute dates anymore.

“We can go there.” His tatted fingers toy with the hem of your lacy nightgown. “You wanna go there tomorrow? I’ll finish work earlier.”

Your eyes sparkle. “I’d love to.”

Jungkook’s dimple appear at your beaming face. He drags your thigh over his abdomen, the silky fabric of your nightgown riding up the curve of your butt. His palm rests on the exposed skin.

“Why didn’t you blow dry your hair?” you ask. You tug at some damp strands.

“Didn’t want to wake you.” Jungkook cranes his neck down to gently kiss your forehead. “We should sleep now. It’s late.”

Your brows furrow in exaggerated displeasure. “Not yet.”

“What’s wrong, love?” He cups your cheek worriedly.

“Wanna hang out more.”

Jungkook chuckles lightly. “You wanna hang out?”

“You’ve been making me feel really lonely,” you say in a pout.

“Love, fuck.” His hand on the swell of your ass squeezes your flesh. “Don’t say that.”

“You’re barely home.” You get closer to him, if even possible, knee skimming past the front of his grey sweatpants. The pads of his fingers dig into your skin at that motion.

“You really don’t wanna sleep, huh?”

“Nuh-uh.”

You slowly start to grind your hips against him.

“Then let me make up for all the time I’ve been away from my wife.”

You giggle when he draws you on top of him. You straddle his thigh as Jungkook leads your face down to his mouth. It’s an impatient and longing kiss, the type that has your mind bewitched, compelling you into chanting his name in a never-ending rhythm.

Jungkook rids himself of his sweatpants, tossing them to the ground with his feet.

Your hips continue to move on his now bare thighs, moving your kisses from his lips to his neck. He doesn’t like having marks on his neck, but you can’t help but feel a little selfish when you start sucking on his skin. Just merely a second after, Jungkook pulls at your hair.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he questions with a sharp gaze.

“Having fun?” Your desire to leave a little hickey might also stem from media outlets starting to question why Jungkook and you haven’t been spotted together recently, but you’d rather not admit that. You don’t want him to think that you care about public perception, even though Jungkook is very well aware of it all. You just like to pretend it doesn’t affect you.

You just can’t wait for the photos tomorrow when you will show up in a cute outfit with Jungkook holding your hand, a small love bite adorning his neck after not making a public appearance with him for a couple weeks.

He sniffs a laugh. “Just can’t help it, can you?”

“Never.” You bat your eye lashes.

His hands are on your waist, encouraging your slow movements. He bunches the soft material of your baby blue nightgown in his palms, staring at your clothed pussy.

“I can feel how wet you are for me.” His eyes move with the motions of your hips, a gentle smirk capturing his lips. “What’s gotten you so worked up, babe?” He flexes his thigh, coaxing a gasp from you.

“You.” You’re already a little breathless, his heartbreakingly handsome face fuelling the deep desire of needing more.

Jungkook clicks his tongue. “Have I not been taking care of my love? Hm?” Jungkook asks you in mock sympathy.

You nod, pressing your palms against his ripped chest while your hips grind a bit rougher on his thigh.

“I’m sorry.” He traces your bottom lip, gentleness coating his words. He pops his finger into your mouth, making you suck on it. You swirl your tongue around it until he withdraws his finger, sneaking it in your panties and pressing it against your sensitive clit.

A whine flies past your lips at his touch, moving even faster.

“You’re gonna cum for me like this?” He starts circling the pad of his thumb on your clit.

Arching your back, you lean in for a kiss, uttering little moans of his name against his lips. You can feel the smug smirk on his mouth, can feel his possessiveness in the way he squeezes your ass and hear it in the loud smack that echoes through the room after his palm collided with your butt.

When you feel the pleasure exploding within you, you bury your face into Jungkook’s neck. Your body trembles. Jungkook tilts his head and gingerly pecks your temple, hands skimming over your back.

“Good girl,” he murmurs.

Jungkook puts you on your back, tugging off your panties and carelessly throws them away. He does the same to his pair of black briefs.

You watch him spit on his dick and stroke his hard cock while you get comfy on the pillows. Jungkook rubs his tip over your soaked pussy, leisurely pressing his dick inside when his head is against your entrance.

“Fuck, I missed your pussy.” He wraps your legs around his waist, staring at how your pussy takes his entire length.

As he moves his cock, his hand raises to your head to tame your chaotic hair. You pucker your lips a little and he instantly answers your silent request with a smooth press of his mouth against yours.

“Want your vibrator?” he asks.

“Too sensitive.” Your nails graze his back, your feet keeping him close to you.

Jungkook pushes your silky nightgown past your tummy and over your tits. He loves watching them bounce as he thrusts his cock into your pussy. He gropes them, toying a little with your nipple as he swipes his spit over your nub. His eyes are practically glued to the supple swells on your chest.

Until he finds something prettier than your tits. Your face.

He wears a boyish smile on his face when you meet his gaze. You bite your lip, pleasure and giddiness swirling through you.

“Taking my cock so well,” he praises. “Such a good slut for daddy.”

You gulp, teeth sinking further into your lip.

He lowers his head, pulling your earlobe between his lips before he whispers, “Right? You love being a good slut for daddy.”

Chills spreads over your neck and you manage a meek nod as loud whines escape your throat.

“Use your big girl words,” Jungkook demands. “Tell me whose girl you are. You can do that, can’t you?” His voice turns sweet again, though the taunting glint remains in his eyes. Your pussy foolishly clenches.

“I’m daddy’s girl,” you utter with bright eyes.

Jungkook flashes you his dimples. Excitement spreads in your tummy at his approval.

“Open,” he instructs and you part your mouth. He drops a tiny bead of saliva in your mouth. With one hand around your throat, he feels you swallowing it. “Good girl.”

He pushes the back of your thighs towards your body, picking up on his speed.

“Jungkook,” you moan weakly.

“Gonna fill this pussy with my cum.”

He pounds you faster, harder, filling the room with filthy sounds.

“I’m close,” you mumble, fingers clawing at the bed.

“Cum with me,” he rasps.

Jungkook grunts your name and you feel yourself topple over the edge as his tip kisses the sweet spot inside you, repeatedly hitting it until your hands fly up to his shoulders and nails dig into his skin.

His hips still, painting your pussy white. Jungkook plants slow kisses on your collarbone, trying to catch his breath.

When he pulls out, his cum follows, but he pushes your mixed juices back inside. You moan lightly, tapping your feet against his back to tell him to get you something to clean you up.

But Jungkook remains on top of you just a little longer. “You did so good,” he whispers. He catches your left hand and pecks the ring that adorns your finger. “I love you.”

“Love you,” you mutter back, a tiny, exhausted smile curving your mouth.

“Forever.” With a doting kiss he conceals the promise he has been making to you for four years.

Getting off the bed, he puts on his briefs and disappears into the bathroom to fetch a warm cloth. When he returns to clean you up, he is gentle with you, peppering kisses on your tummy and thighs and flashing cute smiles your way as he does it.

With his sweatpants and now dirty cloth he walks back into the bathroom.

“Have you thought about costumes for the Halloween party?” you ask him.

“Halloween party?” His voice ricochets through the bathroom.

“Chanyeol’s Halloween party,” you remind him as he saunters back into the bedroom. The grey sweatpants hang dangerously low on his hips. “Wanna go through my Pinterest board? I collected some cute ideas.”

He grabs white lacy panties from the dresser. “It’s in two weeks?” Jungkook helps you slip on the new panties, ducking down to press a light peck on the little bow sitting on the centre of it. “I’ll see if I can find the time.”

You look at him puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Jungkook rakes his hand through his messy hair. “You know I’m extremely busy at the moment.”

“But we always go to Chanyeol’s party.” You reach for his hand, tugging him closer to the bed. Disappointment pulls your lips into a pout.

Chanyeol’s Halloween party is always big, extravagant and ridiculously dramatic, but that is exactly what makes it fun. You love extravagance. Love dressing up.

Jungkook’s finger brusher over your dainty ring. “You can still go. You don’t need me to go with you.”

You drop his hand with a frustrated huff. It’s not the response you wanted to hear. “Missing out on Jimin’s birthday last week wasn’t enough?” you ask disdainfully. A bit mean. You don’t care.

“I’m not doing it purposefully.” He levels you with reproving eyes. “I wish I could’ve come.”

You tuck your feet back underneath the blanket, pulling it up to your lap. “Just squeeze in a little time for the party.” You almost add a “please?”, but you’re feeling terribly annoyed; the kind that makes you unconsciously clench your jaw and pull your brows so tightly, they practically touch.

“I’m not going to schedule around a silly Halloween party, ___.” His tone drips with irritation.

“Fine,” you reply, scooching back on the bed. “Don’t know why I even bothered.”

“Love.” It’s a futile attempt at taming the sudden raging anger that crawled up your neck.

“You’ve been doing this constantly, Jungkook.”

He still stands in front of the bed. Tongue poking his cheek as he debates his next words. He swipes his hand over his face, sighing into his palm.

“You don’t understand,” he grumbles annoyed.

“I know you don’t.”

Jungkook scoffs at your reply – even wears a crooked, ridiculing smile. An angry flush appears on his cheeks.

“Let’s not do this before bed,” he suggests. Tiredness is written all over him.

We’re already in the middle of it. But you keep that to yourself. You don’t have the energy for a bigger fight. He’s drained it from you from all the fights the nights before this.

“I don’t care anymore,” you say. “Shouldn’t have asked you anyway.”

Jungkook turns off the little lamp on his bedside table before he gets into bed. You turn your back to him.

Your heart is heavy with confusing emotions as you lie there in silence. You almost feel your eyes well up with tears, but you blink them away as soon as you feel them.

“Want me to accompany you to your appointment?” Jungkook asks suddenly.

“No.” Yes.

“I’ll start work a little later.” Jungkook’s hand sweeps across your tense shoulders. You must’ve unintentionally stiffened at the mention of your gynaecologist appointment. “I know you’re a little anxious.”

As sleep gradually embraces you a little later, you try to pull back every time invisible strings tug you closer towards Jungkook. You don’t want to sleep in his arms this night, but your heart stubbornly ignores what your mind wants.

Your silent resistance eventually ends, surrendering to the inevitability of your limbs becoming entwined with his. Your cheek is pressed against his chest and his nose is buried in your hair while the soft cadence of his heartbeat finally lulls you into a deep slumber.

This is just the way Jungkook and you function.

Yet, despite your efforts, small seeds of doubt continue to sprout up in your mind, making you question just how much longer you can tolerate this.

[shotmrmiller]

1.8k of what was supposed to be a drabble, oops. same au as this just different situation.

there he is.

the titan the crowd calls Ghost. a creature who seemed to have crawled out of the abyss itself, rage etched into the very marrow of his bones. scars crisscross his arms, chest, and back— souvenirs of battles both won and lost. no one knows much about him. no real name, no past, no future. blank.

a void.

just like his sunken eyes, the only thing anyone can see from behind the midnight black skull balaclava that clings to his face like a second skin. (does he even remember what he looks like underneath?) he stands in front of the club's owner in ragged clothing: a tattered wifebeater that's been stitched, torn, and re-stitched. his pants have strained seams and patched knees. his boots are high cut, made of worn, scuffed leather with laces in the front, pulled tight. functional.

he's terrifying. most here come to fight for glory, for redemption, for escape. not he, though. reverent whispers claim this is all he knows. that he fights like a cornered, wounded beast, with no discipline nor strategy. just primal hunger and unmatched ferocity.

and that's who your idiotic, egotistical boyfriend wants to fight. granted, he's a pretty damn good boxer. not that you'd know much about that, you're simply parroting what you've heard his coach say. but this isn't boxing. no one here wears a padded helmet, with comfortable gloves and silky shorts. the fellow with the mohawk currently fighting isn't even wearing a mouthguard, for fuck's sake.

there are no fucking rules, no referees, no honor, no mercy.

your shoulders rise up to your ears as you tense at a nasty blow the pretty one you've come to learn is named gaz gives mr. mohawk. it splits his lip instantaneously, crimson dribbling down his chin and onto his barrel chest. he should be in pain, but there's only a glint of madness in those bright blue eyes of his. the crazed smile he gives gaz is all blood-stained teeth.

your boyfriend taps you on your shoulder, making you jump. "i'm gonna go talk to mr. price now that he's no longer busy."

what?

"no! you can't be serious!" the metal chair you were seated on screeches as you shoot up and run after him, feet slipping on the mud-slicked floor. "hey! wait!"

he reaches the tall, burly man(broker?) with the antiquated mutton-chop beard before you do. the tailored suit clings to his large frame, molding to his mountainous shoulders and tapered waist. his polished shoes are pristine, unlike the surface he's standing on that's littered with wager slips and sodden with cheap beer.

"don't. be smart, fight smart. you can't possibly— did you see the way the one with the mohawk took a hit to the face without flinching? he's insane! they all are!" you flick your eyes to mr. price. "no offense."

he chuckles low. "none taken, sweetheart. soap's a vigorous man, is all."

soap. gaz. ghost. they've all got bloody fighting nicknames. meanwhile, the only thing your boyfriend's ever been called is dearie by his elderly neighbor.

"your pretty girl's right. i'd steer clear of the pit. this ain't no place for a sheltered bloke such as yourself." his eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, yet it felt like a facade. the evenness of his tone had dread crawling up your spine.

"boss." you squeak at the deep voice that comes from beside you— accent thick on his tongue.

mr. price waves a hand dismissively, the rings that adorn his fingers glinting under the dim light of the overhead lamps. "it's nothin' but a couple a'folk placin' their bets."

the look of unfettered stupidity flashes on your boyfriend's face as he turns his head and realizes just who mr. price was talking to. "if it isn't the masked specter himself."

stupid. stupid stupid stupid. god, your boyfriend came in one piece but he's going to leave in bloody pieces if you don't stop him. "stop," you hiss. "this ridiculous stint of yours is over." as is this sorry excuse of a relationship. he'd been a sweet guy at some point, or maybe you were just blinded by his good looks. "sorry for the bother, mr. price. we'll be taking our leave." tugging on your boyfriend's sleeve, you try to lead him away but he stays anchored in place, posturing like a peacock; chest out, shoulders squared and head held high.

he looks at ghost as he challenges him. "name your price. anything, i can meet."

how he can be so blasé in the presence of this bastion is beyond you. ghost stands tall, his shadow engulfing you whole. you can feel the weight of his presence, a crushing force pressing against your sternum. he doesn't speak; and honestly, he doesn't have to. ghost's silence spoke volumes.

"he's not interested, see? let's just go before we're thrown out on our arses."

but your boyfriend doesn't concede. if anything, it only adds fuel to the fire. "not good enough for you? eh? is that it? think yourself untouchable just because you're king of the underbelly?" he goads.

your cheeks are hot, scalding with embarrassment. he's starting to garner attention from the audience that's supposed to be watching the current fight.

and then ghost breaks said silence. "i don't want your money." his rich voice reverberates through bone and marrow; it rattles your very core. "you didn't work hard for it, i can tell. golden spoon runt."

your boyfriend's eyes ignite with anger. for a moment, you thought he was going to swing on the spot, but then, like a wisp of smoke, it dissipated. his fists unclench, his jaw relaxes. "what do you want, then?" he questions.

ghost tips his head your way as he keeps his gaze on your boyfriend. "her. i win, she's mine."

you should've known your now ex would agree. nothing would keep him from accomplishing his goals of 'putting the big dog down' as he so eloquently put it. now you're firmly sat right next to price on the stands (because you will not be calling him john anytime soon, no matter how many times he corrects you) essentially as his hostage.

"nothing personal, sweetheart. i'm a businessman, after all, and the prize walkin' out the front door would be bad for business. hope you understand."

no, you don't. so you tell him as such.

"tha's alright. simon'll take good care of ya, i promise."

"is there any particular reason you're so cocksure of your simon winning?" you manage to ask, your voice fragile.

he takes a thick inhale of his cigar before answering. "unfortunately for you, i've seen it all— the broken bones, shattered dreams, and—" you watch tendrils of smoke unfurl from his mouth, "adversaries who never walked back out."

spectators have already begun to huddle around the cage, puffing on cheap cigarettes. they all look desperate, eyes gleaming with greed. this time the one collecting wagers is a blonde woman, older in age, with her hair in a low bun and a puffer vest. "that your wife?"

he curls a large hand around my shoulder before twisting to look at— "laswell? no. don't swing tha' way." price gives you a gentle squeeze.

oh. you can feel warmth creeping up your neck. "sorry. didn't mean to- er. i didn't know."

"'s'alrigh'. her wife's nice enough. you'll like 'er.'' her wife? the confusion must've shown because he rumbles out a laugh. "no. it'd be me barkin' up the wrong tree. i—" he tightens the grip on your shoulder, "like whatever's pretty to look at." his words from before resounded in your head.

'your pretty girl's right...'

the heat that'd receded now stung the tips of your ears. whatever words you want to say are lodged in your throat but thankfully, you're saved by the bell. literally.

the rusty thing tolls and the crowd hushes their voices and stills their restless shuffling. first walks in your ex (idiot), looking exactly like what ghost had called him earlier— a golden spoon child. his shorts are glossy, even under the flickering, sickly light that falls over the cage. his boxing gloves are a vibrant red, pristine as if right out of the box. (you don't remember soap getting his pretty face broken by hands with gloves, but whatever.) he looks perfect, like something out of a hollywood movie.

and so out of place.

unlike ghost who's just stepped into the ring— who commands the attention of all within the hazy room. he fits right in with the rats who scurry around in the bowels of the city. he moves like the shadows that cling to the dark corners, his steps silent as whispers. a haunted being— one the world above with its neon signs and bustling crowds has long forgotten— has made his home down here.

ghost bumps his mma gloves with your ex's boxing ones, in a show of surprising sportsmanship.

the bell tolls once again, and the fight begins.

and just as quickly as it began, it ended. you blink, momentarily displaced, because there is no way what just happened is real. there hadn't been no real fight. it'd been one devastating blow to the side of your ex's jaw that ended everything. he hadn't stood a chance. it—

"'s done. sorry, love. but simon's headin' this way to claim his prize." price gives you a sympathetic pat to your back. "i swear it on my life he won't harm a hair on your head."

what?

ghost barrels through the roaring crowd and comes to a stop before you. "you're with me, now. best get used to it." shock blurs your vision, or maybe it's the fact that you've been hoisted up and thrown over a shoulder that did it.

it doesn't matter. the one you came here with is currently lying limp on the stained mat, his mouth hanging open a little awkwardly. is he broken? you're put down on a bench in a large dressing room that has only one tall locker in it with a tiny ghost sticker on the front.

"did you... is he dead?" you ask, pulse quickening.

"no. either dislocated or broke tha' jaw of 'is only."

you sputter when metal clinks on the surface of the wooden table he's currently leaning his weight against. dusters? "you used fucking dusters?"

he turns his head and looks at you, piercing and intense. "you and i both know i didn't need anythin' to knock his teeth down his throat, isn't tha' right, pet? eh?"

his knuckles are calloused and heavily scarred, the little finger bent at an angle even when straight. "don't worry 'bout him, you're with me, now." he shrugs on a plain, black jacket and heads for the door. "try to leave and i'll jus' find you again. don't make this any harder than it has to be."

welcome to the rat king's domain, sweetheart.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

🧠🪱Wiggly Wednesday🪱🧠

(This one ran away with me, whoops)

Batboy_Kas: Um ... dude, what? 🤨

This is the dm that greets Steve when he pulls his phone from his back pocket to check his Instagram. One confused frown, some scrolling, and one near-heart-attack later, he concludes that he forgot to lock his screen when he put the phone away earlier.

Which caused him to somehow end up on this random stranger's profile.

And go to his DMs.

And send him a GIF.

Not just any GIF. One of a grotesquely round and jiggly, animated ass. There's a text beneath the GIF. It reads: 2iggnag lg9gajdgka hfhdgjy.

"Aw, fuck!" Steve swears, neck prickling with heat as he types his reply.

Steve_Hairington: Shit, sorry. My ass typed that 😅

Batboy_Kas: Fitting choice of gif 🍑

Steve_Hairington: Yeah I guess

Batboy_Kas: You could say it's a ... smart ass

Steve snorts a laugh. What a dork! He's still debating if he should reply or leave it at that when Batboy_Kas sends his next message.

Batboy_Kas: So ... not even the tiniest chance you were flirting with me?

Steve_Hairington: Sorry dude. I prefer my men-

(He pauses to squint at the guy's profile pic. A cute little cartoon bat.)

-a little more human-shaped.

Batboy_Kas: Hey! That's just bc you've never had a creature of the night b4 🦇😉

Steve_Hairington: 🤣🤣🤣 Nice try, bat boy!

They end up texting (and flirting) regularly. Kas - named after some vampire dude from that dungeons and dipshits game Dustin enjoys - is a huge fantasy and music nerd, can keep up a string of banter for hours, and his dms quickly become the highlight of Steve’s days.

He knows better than to meet random faceless and nameless strangers from the internet, he really does. But when Kas says he's in town for work some two months later, Steve is a bit embarrassed at how fast he agrees to a date.

Kas doesn't really beat the vampire allegations when he shows up at their meeting point, skittish and nervous, clad in an oversized Metallica hoodie, drawn all the way over his head inspite of the sunny weather, dark shades obscuring his eyes.

He's cute, though. Sweet and almost shy without the distance and a screen between them, but still with that quick wit and edgy sense of humor Steve has come to like so much. A deep, rich voice that makes something inside Steve’s belly tingle, a hint of dark curls spilling out from his hood, and strong, calloused hands covered in rings, the edges of black tattoos disappearing into his sleeves. It makes Steve wanna take the stupid hoodie off him so that he can see all of him.

Which is exactly what he does when they take it to Kas's hotel room later that night. And God, the man is gorgeous. Dark, messy curls framing a pair of insanely dark brown eyes and the poutiest lips Steve has ever had the pleasure of kissing. An intricate web of tattoos that are just begging to be traced with his tongue.

Later, when they're lying together in an exhausted tangle of naked limbs and sweaty sheets, Steve snaps a photo and saves it as his phone background. He doesn't think much of it.

Until a week later, when Dustin opens his phone to read out a message while Steve is driving and starts shrieking so loudly they almost crash into a tree, bc why the fuck does Steve have a selfie of himself and Eddie Munson - frontman of the world famous metal band Corroded Coffin - on his phone and are you both naked, Steve???

Tagging some friends to share a brainworm of their own:

@cuips-not-cute @steddiecameraroll @postmodernau @oh-stars @steddie-island

@wynnyfryd @pennyplainknits @medusapelagia @hotluncheddie @sidekick-hero

[schoenpepper]

A Little Birdy Told Me~

Intro: You have two admirers, and someone spread the news that you're in a relationship with the other. How does it go?

Warnings: bad writing, awful grammar, not proofread, super rushed, one french word idk, main cast minus ortho and lilia

A/N: Super random idea. I spun the wheel of names and paired them all up and thought, huh, what if they were love rivals? Here we are. Super rushed so it didn't make it to my WIP, too lazy to get to that Jamil songfic.

Masterlist

Silver (Vanrouge) vs Jamil Viper

Silver thinks you’ve made a great choice. Jamil is his peer, and he knows that the other will treat you well. He’s responsible, smart, good with- you’re not together yet? But whenever he sees you two, you always seem so happy with each other. Just friends? …Really? Don’t give him hope. Now that he knows he has a chance, he’ll do as a knight should do and fight for the right to court you, after all, his father taught him to go after what he wants in life, and he craves for your affection. So chivalrous and gentlemanly, he’ll have you swooning when he sweeps you off your feet without even realizing it. If you choose him, everyday that you’re together is another day that he treats you like the royal you are.

Jamil won’t fall for rumors that quickly, if at all. A student from Scarabia should uphold its core values, and that means he’ll find out the truth from you without even seeming too interested. Oh, you’re just friends with Silver? Hm, interesting. He’s saying this because he’s a little worried about your reputation, but someone’s been saying that you and Silver are dating. You should clear up the news, right? Hope you’re hungry, because he just happens to have too many leftovers every meal, everyday. Hey, if you’re struggling with that subject, you can come to his tutoring sessions with Kalim, one more person wouldn’t make a difference. If you choose him, you’ll be each others’ reprieve, his oasis in the desert.

Epel Felmier vs Azul Ashengrotto

Epel is shocked, flabbergasted even. Ya’ sure ya’ want that nasty two-faced (omitted bad words)? He’ll come up to you looking like an absolute mess, demanding the truth. He thinks there’s two ways the rumor could’ve happened in the first place, a) that slimy octopus spread it himself, or b) people are just straight up blind, clearly Azul is no good for you. He’ll amp up the antics now because he wants a fair fight, between real men! Y’know, his grandma taught him how to bake a real mean apple pie, you wanna try it? You have class together, he’ll walk you, and even carry your books for you! All that stuff about how beauty and charm can be power too, don’t be surprised when he uses it on you. If you choose him, he’ll make sure to cherish you always.

Azul is panicking. He’ll make an attempt to verify it of course, but oh what if it’s true and you’re actually together with that little—it’s not true, okay yeah he never believed it for a second—stop laughing, Jade! He doesn’t see Epel as competition for your heart, so he might be a tad bit more confident than he should be. That doesn’t mean he won’t further his efforts though. Fancy candlelit dinner for two where he’s both the chef and the person paying? Foolproof notes for your potionology exam? You need a new set of kitchenware for Ramshackle and you can’t afford it? Gosh, all your problems are miniscule, dear. As for repayment, how about you sign on the dotted line? If you choose him, he’ll put up the suave debonair facade before slowly letting you meet the smart, diligent, resourceful, and sensitive little tako in the tako pot.

Vil Schoenheit vs Idia Shroud

Vil doubts its authenticity right away, by the seven, you wouldn’t really choose Idia of all people, would you? While his reasoning is rather condescending, he finds that he’s not wrong at all, it was just some rumor spread by those with nothing productive to do with their time. If you think he’d ever find Idia threatening in a romantic rivalry, you’d be horribly wrong. Might be a little too sure of himself, but he does as he always has. He sends you products he swears are just extra from PR deals (they’re homemade don’t believe him), takes you shopping because potato, your outfit just isn’t it. He even strings you along to some gigs he has every once in a while. Feel honored, he doesn’t do that for just anyone, he’s a world famous model and actor, after all. If you choose him, you’ll always be pushed to be the best you that you can be.

Idia gets it, really. Anyway, how is he to compete with the sparkly and strict Pomefiore housewarden when Vil is practically perfect or whatever and Idia’s—what’s that, Ortho? You did some digging and it was just fake news? Lol, of course Idia didn’t believe the rumors lmao he’s not some normie who just up and believes lies, information literacy and all that, you know? Plus, he’s a genius, so he’d never ever fall for something like that. Doesn’t leave his room even after everything, but you know that gacha you like? Yeah, you have like a bunch of currency in it now, don’t worry about it. Does your daily grinding and in-game events with you, and if you really insist, then maybe he can go out with you to that movie adaptation that just came out the other day. If you choose him, he’ll let you chill with him whenever wherever (plus his wifi’s nuts).

Ruggie Bucchi vs Cater Diamond

Ruggie is confused, or maybe more nervous. Is it true? He goes about his day and pretends everything’s the same as it’s always been. Hey, Cater’s a real good guy, so you lucked out by snagging him, you know? Haha…it’s not real? Oh thank the seven (no he wasn’t about to cry). That threw him for a real loop right there, and it only forced him to own up to the feelings he’d desperately tried pushing back. So uh, if you need a guy to help out with chores, Ruggie’s real good at getting his hands dirty. Plus, if anything needs repairs, he’s never had enough money to call professionals, so he’s gonna be a dab hand it whether it be the pipes or the wires or the gas. If you choose him, you’ll get a lifetime of laughter and smiles.

Cater skips the ‘everything is ok’ thing and gets right to the ‘crying in his room’. He’s good at covering up his feelings, but he really does like you a lot, so spare him if he’s a little sensitive about this, ‘kay? He’ll be back to normal in no time! Anyway, Ruggie’s nice, if not a bit too clever about the wrong sort of things. So Cater hopes that you two are happy…or whatever. Trey needed to barge into his room to break the news because he wouldn’t leave, and there’s just so much relief, like he can breathe freely again for the first time in a long while. He’s bringing you to all the most cammable spots in town, doing things ‘besties’ do while posting all about it constantly. The guy to share memes and try the newest crazes with. If you choose him, you’ll always have fun at the forefront of the most popular things.

Leona Kingscholar vs Deuce Spade

Leona doesn’t even bat an eye. So? Who cares? As if his herbivore would ever choose that blue-haired little punk. He’s correct in his assumption, but also kind of a jerk about it. Another one to not see the rumored person to be competition at all, but hey, it’s Leona, he’s just smug like that (and way smarter than he’s given credit for). While you do deserve a proper courting and all that jazz, he’s not exactly good with words, so his wallet will have to do as a love language. What, you got a problem with that? Of course you don’t, Crowley never gives you anything nice, but Leona’s a prince, you know? 100% uses you as a pillow whenever and wherever he naps, as long as you’re near, you’re cuddling him and falling asleep in his arms. If you choose him, you’ll always be secure, both financially and in his love for you.

Deuce drives down to the beach, and when he thinks he’ll start shouting in anger, he may or may not break down in sobs instead. But it’s a good choice, he admits, because Leona’s tough and he’s got power and money, and Deuce can only really claim one out of those three things. Almost shouts in happiness when you deny the rumor to his face. So like, you’re single? Then how about studying together? He’ll make you proud by showing you a perfect test score, promise! So cute when he tries to impress you by lifting stuff for you, or opening doors for you, or buying you snacks from the cafeteria when the line’s horribly long. Even offers to introduce you formally to his mom (tell him it’s too early). If you choose him, he will literally protect you with his life.

Riddle Rosehearts vs Jade Leech

Riddle believes the news to be preposterous (he almost chokes on his tea). But, he prefers it to be verified before he takes any sort of action, and when you clear up the air during a tea party he’d invited you to, he feels uncomfortably happy. Jade isn’t anything bad, don’t get him wrong, he rather likes the polite and well-kept young man, but Riddle’s a better option, yes? Suddenly, you have your own exclusive throne at unbirthday parties. What did he hear about you struggling with a subject? He’s an outstanding housewarden and NRC student, so he’ll lend you his freshman notes if you wish for it. You really enjoy certain snacks and a specific kind of tea, you say? It just so happens he enjoys them too, so you can expect your favorites during tea time everytime. If you choose him, a structured and dignified life awaits you.

Jade smiles. What, you don’t seriously think he’ll believe rumors, hm? He keeps tabs on you, of course he knows your relationship status. Riddle is no threat to him or his feelings for you and thus he was never worried for a single second (lying liar who lies). Starts to scope out your possible feelings for him after the incident, also a small (big) possibility that he comes up with some overly elaborate scheme for you to confess to him instead of the other way around. Will fool you into thinking you fell first, and will definitely make you think you fell harder. Dinner dates, hikes, camping—he’s prepared for anything and everything, you don’t need to worry, dear. If you choose him (you will, he’ll make sure of it), prepare for a life of adventure.

Jack Howl vs Ace Trappola

Jack is rather despondent; tail hanging sadly and ears flat on his head. He’ll overthink this, and maybe go for a run to clear his head. Well, you and Ace have always been close, but he thought he had a chance. He genuinely hopes you’ll be happy with Ace. All this directly translates to an ecstatic wolf beastman once the fake news is cleared up. There’s no way he’s letting this chance slip through his fingers, not when you’re right there! Do you need help with carrying that? Do you want to work out with him tomorrow? What, you think it’s too early? No problem, he doesn’t mind pushing the hour back, as long as it means he can go with you. If you choose him, every day will be (leg day lmao) another day of bettering yourself and living to the fullest.

Ace is one hundred percent ready to sabotage you. Yes he loves you, and yes Jack’s his friend or whatever, but there’s just no way in hell he’s giving you up. He’s your first friend in NRC, your best friend too! What’ll happen to him when you’re all lovey dovey with Jack? He’s thankful when you tell him it’s fake (that means he doesn’t have to break you guys up haha), and he tries to hint his affection for you through…interesting means. He’ll do things for you but claim you “totally owe him back” (you never asked), he’ll give you random stuff because he just “found them lying around”, and he gets so clingy and touchy but covers it up with friendship. If you choose him, every day will be exciting and new.

Malleus Draconia vs Kalim al Asim

Malleus is upset. Al Asim is a rather cheerful individual, so perhaps that was the kind of person you preferred to court? He’s not quite well-suited to that, but he will try if he must. When Lilia informs him that it was all a hoax (lightning strikes down whichever poor soul started it), he calms down and gets remarkably happy. You are unattached to any individual romantically, child of man? How lovely. He’s princely and noble in all he does; holding your hand on late night walks while talking about anything and everything, giving you bouquets of your favorite flowers upon every meeting, and what he enjoys most of all, is dancing with you under the gaze of the stars above, even with no music involved. If you choose him, the throne of Briar Valley awaits.

Kalim straight up bawls when he hears the news. You’re with Malleus now? Really? If it makes you happy, then he’s happy (he is not, he is miserable). Malleus is a good guy. But, Kalim is also good, you know? Continues crying when Jamil tells him the good news, but this time from happiness. Well, it’s Kalim, so of course he’ll absolutely lavish you in wealth and luxury beyond your wildest dreams, gold and diamonds and gems galore. He throws banquets in your honor and teaches you how to dance and sing to traditional songs of his hometown, and he hand feeds you bites when he can. His favorite activity with you will always be a magic carpet ride, it’s just so fun, so free and romantic. If you choose him, Scalding Sands will be waiting with open arms and a parade of elephants.

Sebek Zigvolt vs Trey Clover

Sebek doesn’t care. Why would he care that you, an annoying human, is dating another human? All that matters is…Malleus…and he needs to convince himself more that you don’t matter to him, not in that way. He can begrudgingly befriend a human, but he can’t… He tries not to react when someone tells him it’s fake, but he can’t help the beating of his heart or the shaky nerves. Suddenly, you might notice that Sebek is around more often. He will reluctantly help you if you struggle with certain subjects, or even help you carry things even when you seem perfectly capable of doing it on your own. He’s bright red when his hand just barely brushes against yours in the halls. If you choose him, he will be your knight and your protector forevermore.

Trey is mostly confused. He’s hesitant to believe it because Sebek is loud, a little arrogant, and perhaps a bit obnoxious—the complete opposite of Trey. His disbelief is proven right, and he takes a big sigh of relief. He really doesn’t know what he would’ve done had it been real. Hope you like sweets, because now you’re invited to every tea party ever in Heartslabyul, courtesy of their vice housewarden. He’ll bring pastries and cookies and puddings and cakes to you every other day, as mama said, the way to the heart is through the stomach, right? He might also give you a set of toothbrushes and his preferred brand of toothpaste in order to make sure that your teeth are unharmed by his sweets. If you choose him, he will be your safe haven in the chaos.

Rook Hunt vs Floyd Leech

Rook is very happy for you, after all, what else is more beau than young love? He’ll clasp his hands together and spout some lengthy poem about intertwined hearts, but no one will ever notice his own as it breaks. Floyd is a very interesting person, Rook is glad you’ve found your one! But it doesn’t take long before he finds out the truth, and when he does (he’ll hunt down the source), best believe he’s skipping over to you and doing his best to serenade you with nothing but his bow as an instrument. He’ll teach you how to use it too if you want, perhaps a kiss will be enough as repayment? Just on the cheek. An arrow will fly through your window everyday with a scroll filled with words praising your beauty and kindness, so you better keep it open. If you choose him, you’ll learn how to see the beauty of the world even if it all seems dark.

Floyd is ready to fight! You, or that weird seagull, or whoever told him the news, everyone’s in for a real good squeeze. He’s pouty and annoyed and his mood is at an all-time low, beware all those who cross his path. He’ll find you to hear the news directly from you, so you better deny it quick before his squeeze breaks your ribs. Eh? It’s a lie? That’s so boring (he’ll hurt the source of this news for sure). Now you have a clingy eel always by your side, if he was clingy before this whole thing, he’s inseparable from you now. He’ll cook you something nice at the lounge if he feels like it, and you’re automatically invited to basketball practice whether you like it or not (please come, the team is begging you). If you choose him, one thing’s for sure, you’ll never be bored again!