#THIS GOT LONG LMFAO

[octoling-wearing-gauges]

will the real lars fans please stand up

[leo-kinnie]

continuation of this post !! Donnie never makes it through the movies Leo downloaded (they suck)

[lotus-pear]

bsd rewatch w my friend means obligatory art of my fav found family ever

[crybaby-bkg]

“I’m terrified of trying those hitachi wands,” you offhandedly mention one night in a quiet laugh, while laying in bed beside Bakugou. you’re both on your phones, one last scroll before bed, even though he’s actually playing one of those old people games. he looks over, hair pushed back by a clip he stole from you.

“Why would you be scared?” he asks you, completes the last two moves of the game before he closes his phone and sets it on the table beside the bed. he turns all of his attention on you then, rolling over to his side to face you, and you do the same.

“Because those things are damn near weapons with how they render people useless for like, twenty minutes after they cum.” you snicker, thinking back on the video you had seen earlier in the day. the lady damn near ruined her phone with the wetness, and could hardly move for a good minute after.

Bakugou only stares at you, doesn’t say anything for a long while, but he has this look on his face. he’s thinking about something, but doesn’t open his mouth until he’s whispering,

“That’s crazy,” he kisses your forehead and mumbles an I love you before he rolls over and pulls the covers to his head. you only blink in confusion before you chalk it up to him being the shy little prude he’s always been, and lay down yourself.

the conversation goes forgotten as the weeks pass on, something you don’t dwell on much afterwards. but obviously, it hasn’t passed Bakugou’s mind at all.

“I got it in pink.” he tells you one night after he’s wined and dined you. that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for him, but what was weird was how jittery he had been the entire time. this was why, surely, when he leads you to the bedroom and opens a neat little box with one of those wands you had completely forgotten about sitting prettily in front of you.

“Katsuki!” you laugh, hands covering your mouth before they cover your eyes in a mix of shame and shyness. “Why do you wanna see me laid out and twitching after using that thing?” you softly punch his shoulder, looking between his reddened cheeks and the wand he holds in front of you like an engagement ring.

“It’ll be hot.” he shrugs, mouth twisting this way and that in uncertainty, before he looks at you from under his lashes. “Wanna try it out?”

“Of course I do.” you answer back just as quickly, stripping from your clothes even quicker. it makes Bakugou laugh, taking his shirt off and his pants too, just to be safe in case you become a slash zone.

he tries it first with him sitting between your legs, just holding the wand there. he looks between your legs and then to your eyes, starting on a low setting and watches how you twist and thrive in the silken sheets. and when you cum, he thinks he can push you a little further.

he ups the vibrations, adds two of his fingers inside of you, crooking them until he finds that soft spot inside of you that makes you absolutely sob. you squirt all over him and he wonders if he should take his boxers off too (he doesn’t though; the thought of finding them tomorrow stained in you makes him damn near burst in his pants).

the next position is in front of your mirror on the closet, with your legs spread over his. Bakugou hooks his chin over your shoulder, holds your twitching thighs open as he keeps turning the vibrations up to the highest settings. you’re squirming and whining and whimpering for mercy, even though you cry even more whenever he stops.

the next time and the next time and the next, he’s got more fingers inside of you, his cock, another one of your favorite toys. he sets you in doggy style, even though he doesn’t fuck you, but keeps the wand between your legs. he likes the way your entire body shakes beneath him, collapsing, trapped between his weight and the strong vibrations that send you into another dimension.

the next day, you can barely feel between your legs, shaky and unstable for the whole day. but Bakugou makes up for it; he always does.

[deoidesign]

[foolsocracy]

[tomatoart]

excited to see Static Dress live this year :3

[corseque]

Re: your Twitter poll: I think I’m the only one who thinks that Trespasser line reads oddly if they didn’t have sex.

If they didn’t, that means either 1 of 3 things: Solas is denying something Lavellan herself is asserting, Solas didn’t understand the metaphor or Solas bizarrely brought it up as a non-sequitur.

Meanwhile, if they did have sex, he’s presuming she’s using a play on words to insinuate that he took her for a ride and he’s saying no, I wouldn’t have slept with you if I was pretending the whole time.

I’ve had a few people say this to me, but it makes perfect sense to me so maybe I can try to explain. I’m writing the rest of this post talking only about the interpretation where Solas and Lavellan did not have sex, but as we know, it’s equally valid and canon to think they did have sex. Ok. So.

Solas: “What is the old Dalish curse? “May the Dread Wolf take you?”

Lavellan: “And so he did.” (The Dread Wolf did trick me like the old curse said.)

— Solas: “I did not. I would not lay with you under false pretenses.” (I did not. I would never cross the line and have sex with you under false pretenses.)* —

“But you lied to me. I loved you. Did you really think I wouldn’t have understood?” (It doesn’t matter that you didn’t cross that line. You still lied to me and didn’t trust me when I loved you.)

*yes, this is a disjointed thing to respond with. He’s thinking of the innuendo when she isn’t.

So you said it was one of three things - I think it’s the third thing, Solas bringing it up in a (at first glance) bizarre way.

I think that Reddit post I linked on Twitter made a good point in that Solas seems very thrown in this conversation when Lavellan doesn’t dump him immediately. He’s expecting to be dumped, he isn’t expecting to defend himself. And his defenses seem very wrong-footed, unpolished, honest, and, now that I’m thinking about it, interesting. (I’ll tie it together after looking at the angry branch.)

In the other, equivalent branch, it goes

Lavellan: “Ma harel lasa!” (“You lied to me!”)

— Solas: “Only by omission.” (Lol) —

Lavellan: “Ma lasa banal’ghilana!” (You led me astray!”)

Solas: “What would you have had me say, that I was the great adversary in your people’s mythology?”

Lavellan: “I would have had you trust me!”

The equivalent line there is “Only by omission” which is an equally silly lame duck defense to say. It’s as silly to say “I only half-lied to you!” as it is to say “Well, at least I didn’t have sex with you!”

But I think what these responses both have in common* is that they both would be things he had thought about for years of regret and rumination, so that’s why they were honestly on his mind when he suddenly had to answer for himself. “At least I never lied to her, I only lied by omission.” “At least I didn’t cross that line with her and have sex with her.” “What was I supposed to tell her? ‘By the way, I’m the devil who has haunted your people for ages beyond counting?’”

(it’s funny that all 3 of these things he’s been telling himself just blow away in the wind in an actual conversation with her, haha)

Anyway, “I didn’t cross the line of sex with you” is not a non-sequitor if he had been ruminating about it for years and it was important to him. If it wasn’t important to him*, they would have had sex.

*in this interpretation, of course.

[relaxxattack]

Can you elaborate on what you meant with that ashen post? What do quadrant misunderstandings have to do with Eridan

oh my god, absolutely.

first of all, the fandom seemed to take eridan at his word when he said moirallegiance was a lesser romance akin to a friendzone; that's its own problem.

but in relation to blackrom: the toxic, horrible behavior that eridan displays in his flirting is often taken by fans to prove that kismesissitude is an inherently abusive, unnatural quadrant that the empire forces young trolls into. but this is incorrect.

as stated by multiple characters in-text AND by andrew hussie later: this behavior is not pitch at all. it's ashen flirting.

feferi calls out how transparent this bullshit is instantly. terezi, too, gets caught up in this when eridan decides to drag her into it, but she is also not having his shit. both of them read him for how fake he is. and that's not even going into how completely uninterested sollux was in this “rivalry”.

hussie, in the commentary, also states that eridan's obviously outrageous behavior is basically textbook for an ashen solicitation.

i feel that it's also worth mentioning that when eridan had a real kismesis, his relationship with her was amiable, and they even supported each other as teammates and allies in their campaigns. the second she gets bored of him, eridan starts pretending their relationship is volatile and going to “become murderous” to get kanaya to auspistize for him… sound familiar? 

and now here is what eridan looks like when he's actually pitch flirting. notice how despite his obvious assholery, eridan also tries to treat her with weird respect and pay her compliments? there's a noticeable difference between how eridan treats someone he actually has a pitch thing for and how he treats sollux.

eridan is intentionally going way over the line, to goad people into stopping him. i discussed this before in reference to vriska/kanaya/tavros, but trolls actually seemingly don't want their relationships to become unpleasant. they have an entire quadrant dedicated to intervening if they think a relationship isn't healthy. and the relationship going extremely toxic is attributed to a failure of auspisticism, not a natural facet of pitch romance.

this is what eridan's treatment of sollux is. it's unhealthy, by troll standards. which is saying something! it says that trolls have standards for blackrom; standards that make them think trolls like vriska, gamzee and eridan are going too far. 

so that's what my funny little image was trying to encapsulate. that fandom has such a blind spot when it comes to ashen relationships that it makes them misinterpret pitch romance as well. they forget that it's literally proven in-comic that trolls don't accept shit tons of toxicity as normal in their romance. (of course it gets a little more complicated when caste dynamics are introduced, but in the end other trolls still wish to auspistize in cases like terezi/gamzee.) 

ashen romance has a purpose, and people straight up refusing to acknowledge one of the four romances in the four romance system throws their perspective of the entire thing off balance.

[ptanalo]

something something worship

[ohbo-ohno]

loneliness and fallen woman with price please! happy 1000 followers ❤️

1k game here - no more please!

alright anon. i gotta be real with you, i barely used the prompts you gave and for that i really am sorry. i wrote like 1k of this about three different times because they kept just not being quite right, and they got increasingly further and further from the prompts. sorry!

2.6k of reader x local crime kingpin price. no smut! (the background plot and "worldbuilding" here is really weak, but just ignore it lol)

You know you’re doing something stupid, but that seems to be all you’re capable of these days. The last few weeks have been nothing but stipid decision after stupid decision, your absolute stupidest decision leading you to this exact moment.

You should’ve never slept with John Price. You should’ve known, should’ve recognized his face, but you’d been a little tipsy and a little desperate, and hadn’t connected the very common name John with the very well known criminal John Price. 

No, that had come the next morning, when you’d woken up before him and been able to really take a look at him, completely sober. Him and the gun in its holster resting on his folded pile of clothes.

You should’ve recognized him long before then, and you should’ve turned tail and run. You shouldn’t have let him buy you a drink, you shouldn’t have let him coax you into dumping all your troubles onto him, and you certainly shouldn’t have slept with him. 

You’d left before he could wake up and say God knows what, fear pumping through your veins at the realization of who you’d slept with. You’d nearly knocked yourself out trying to get dressed, almost fallen on top of him before you managed to stumble out of the hotel room he’d bought for you.

Everyone knows John Price. No one ever really bothers to detail why he’s dangerous, but they all seem confident he is. You’re a recent transfer to the area, and you still haven’t been able to get anyone to really say why they always whisper when they say his name.

What you do know about him is that every few weeks, almost routinely, you hear that he’s been arrested. Then two or three days later, like clockwork, it’s announced that he’s escaped, always thought to be “armed and dangerous”. His mugshots are shown on TV enough that it’s truly surprising you hadn’t recognized him at the bar. 

You always figured you’d never run into him. You don’t exactly lead a life of crime, don’t exaclty put yourself in harm’s way. You work a boring nine to five job, have dinner with friends every couple weeks, occasionally meet up with someone from a dating app, and never really stray from that. Had he not happened to be in the same bar as you, you never would’ve met him, never would’ve slept with him, and never would’ve been hunting him down now, weeks later.

Hell, you might not have even slept with him had you not just been stood up by what was supposed to be a first date on the same day you’d lost out on a promotion. But a few shots, that loneliness that grows more and more familiar every day, a simmering frustration in your career, and a handsome man are not a good combination for your self control. 

But you had slept with him, had been especially stupid and not even worn protection - something you’d only really noticed the next morning, when you felt… him still leaking from you, saw that there was no condom wrapper.

And now here you are - stood in that same run down bar you’d first met him in, wearing an old hoodie and your favorite sweatpants, three positive pregnancy tests tucked in your front pocket.

You try to take a deep breath.

You really don’t know what you’re doing. You’ve been running on autopilot since you realized you might be pregnant, the time between buying tests and taking them a blur. Even now, you’re running on instinct alone. Instinct tells you to find John Price, and tell him about… this.

You can figure everything else out after. 

You scan the crowd, hoping to spot him quickly. You know he owns the bar - something you’d found out once you’d gotten home and fallen deep into a rabbit hole and read everything about the man you could find. You’re not sure how he still owns the bar considering he’s got multiple warrants out for his arrest, but you figure it’s probably the same reason he never actually ends up in jail.

But he’s not here now. At least, not anywhere you can see.

You step up to the bar, rest your elbows on the counter and rest your head in your hands, taking a few long, stablizing breaths.

“What can I get for ye?”

You glance up at the sudden voice, coming face to face with the bartender. It’s not the same man as last time - this man’s got a Scottish accent and a mohawk, a far cry from the darker skinned British man with pretty eyes who’d served you last time.

“Do you…” you glance around again, sigh, and decide you should try and find somewhere to compose yourself a bit. “Do you guys have a bathroom I could use?”

“Course,” he smiles at you, open and friendly, and you feel some of the tension ease from your shoulders. “Just ‘round that corner there, a few doors down. Can’t miss it.”

You give him a tight smile, mutter your thanks as you head in the direction he’d gestured. His directions are exactly right, the women’s bathroom door towards the end of the hallway but clearly marked.

Just past the bathroom doors is a stairwell. The door is half open, but you can clearly see the stairs even halfway down the hallway. You’re not sure why, but you walk right past the bathrooms, ducking into the stairwell instead after shooting a quick look over your shoulder to make sure no one saw you. 

It’s nearly silent, the music from the bar growing more and more muffled as you start to make your way to the next floor. It’s even quieter once you reach your destination, just a distant and faint rumbling in the floorboards.

You step out into a hallway with four doors - two of them with nameplates nailed to them. Stepping close, you see one is labeled Simon Riley and the other reads John Price.

Before you can consider whether or not you’re making another stupid decision you’re knocking on the door with Price’s name. 

You regret it the moment your knuckles rap against the wood, can’t believe you keep doing such stupid things without thinking.

Before you can even get a step away from the door, there’s a voice calling out from inside the room.

“Come in.”

Your breath hitches. 

You can’t leave now. There’s no way he wouldn’t come to the door, see who knocked. You’re not about to ding dong ditch John Price, but that doesn’t make it any easier to move forward. You only manage it because you feel oddly exposed in the hallway, and your nerves urge you forward enough to open the door.

You shut it quickly behind you, eager for privacy for some reason you can’t quite pin down. Listening to your instincts regardless, you keep your back pressed to the closed door and shove one hand in your pocket to wrap around the pregnancy tests.

John looks… mostly the same, which only makes you feel even more foolish for not recognizing him on the night that started this whole mess.

His beard’s a bit longer, but he’s got a button up and that silly hat on, the same thing he’d been wearing the first night you saw him. It’s almost like you’re yanked back to that night without warning, the only real difference being the fact that he’s sat behind a desk instead of beside you.

“Oh,” he says, looking oddly unsurprised as he leans back in his chair, hands lacing over his stomach. “It’s you. My little runaway.”

You scowl, your trepidation immediately replaced with anger. 

“First of all,” you hiss, scowling and moving towards his desk, the twitch at the corner of his lips only working you up further. “I’m not your anything. And I didn’t run away.”

His lips curve into a fuller smile, and he shifts his chair back enough for you to see his thighs, thick and bulging against his tight pants. He’s manspreading in his own office chair, and you have to swallow thickly when you realize just how attractive it is.

When you glance back to his face and see the distinctly smug expression he’s wearing, your ire only grows.

“Not sure what else you’d call it,” he rumbles. “Was hoping to spend a little more time with you, love, but you were gone before we could set up a date.”

You instinctively go to bite back, but stumble a bit when what he’d said settles. The idea that he’d been disappointed when he woke up alone, that he wanted more time with you…

You shake the thought off. It doesn’t matter, you have more important things to discuss.

You force yourself to straighten, fingers toying with the tests in your pocket. Your nerves return now that you’re really face to face with John again, now that you’ve got to actually figure out how to tell him. 

He seems to sense the shift in your mood, leaning forward so he’s not sprawled out so casually and resting his forearms on his desk.

“Why’re you here, love?”

This is it, you think to yourself, closing your eyes to take a deep, stablizing breath.

You tug the pregnancy tests out of your pocket, drop them wordlessly in front of him. It’s hard to keep your eyes open, to watch his expression as he slowly looks down at your offering, watch as realization washes over him.

John’s silent for a long moment. Your palms sweat, and you just barely resist the urge to wipe them off on your pants.

Finally, he looks back up at you, shifting in his chair. “You’re sure?”

You hesitate, nod a bit. “There are… I took more, at home. Didn’t want to bring them all.”

He nods, leaning back in his chair and crossing one leg over the other. “And it’s mine?”

You flush, face going hot. You know it’s a fair question, but you can’t help but bristle anyway. 

“Yes,” you hiss, shifting your weight from foot to foot. “I haven’t… I didn’t…” You cut yourself off, the words you were my first trapping themselves behind your teeth. You hadn’t meant to lose your virginity to John Price, and you see no need to tell him you even had. As far as you’re concerned, you can keep that knowledge to yourself. “It’s yours.”

He doesn’t look convinced, and that only makes your face go hotter. You fight the urge to tuck your hands beneath your armpits, determined not to shrink in front of this man.

“I haven’t been with anyone else,” you elaborate, eyes flicking away from his face.

He takes a deep breath, exhales in a loud sigh. You hear his fingers tap against the desk, just barely bite back your annoyance at the sound. You work your tongue between your teeth, nerves racing again.

“Well,” he eventually says, standing from his chair. You can’t help but jolt a bit, having forgotten just how big he is. He towers over you even from a few feet away, his broad shoulders and barrel chest only making him feel twice as large. It’s a conscious effort on your part not to take a step back. “I hope you weren’t too attached to your apartment, love.”

He stalks around the desk, walking towards the door, but you can’t move from your spot. Your eyebrows furrow, and you track him with your eyes.

“My apartment? What’re you talking about?”

He shoots you a look, one you have no idea how to interpret, as he tugs his door open. “Simon!”

“John,” you hiss, stepping closer to him again. “What’re you-?”

He holds a hand up to quiet you as the other door opens, and you can just barely spot another man stepping forward. “Yeah?”

“Need you to call some movers. Need to get my girl moved into my place.”

You gape like a fish as the new man leans to the side a bit to look where Price is gesturing to you, and he nods. “Got it. Timeline?”

“Done by tonight.”

The other man grunts, and leaves again. John closes the door, turning back to you and starting back to his desk.

“What- what the hell?” You splutter, mouth opening and closing in shock. “You can’t- you don’t even know where I live!”

John settles back into his chair and shoots you a look that you can clearly read - it’s nothing but unimpressed.

“Course I do, love. Did you think we wouldn’t be meeting again?”

You blink at him, dumbfounded, as he turns to his computer, lips twitching into a smile.

“Of course we wouldn’t,” you try, hand resting on one of the chairs in front of the desk to steady yourself. “We only… we only slept together once. I didn’t even know who you were.”

He hums an agreement, typing. “No, you didn’t. But that doesn’t matter, you know now. And considering the other… developments,” he shoots a look to your belly, and you rest your free hand over the small curve protectively. “It’s best we get to know each other in far closer quarters, hm?”

“No,” you argue, trying to inject some sterness into your tone. “I’m not moving in with you, that’s ridiculous. I just… I only told you about the baby so you could be involved. Maybe pay some child support. But there’s no reason for anything more.”

He sighs heavily through his nose, giving you another of those unimpressed looks. “You’re tellin’ me you’d rather keep living on your own? Take care of yourself and my baby all on your own?”

You brows furrow. “My baby.”

“Our baby.”

“Whatever,” you huff, moving to sit in one of the chairs, slumping back. “I can’t move in with you. Just because we… slept together, once, doesn’t mean you can just boss me around like a minon.”

 “Oh, it was more than once, love,” he corrects, voice pitching lower. You force down a shiver, cheeks heating again. “And is it really bossing you around if it’s for the best?”

You shoot him your own unimpressed look. “Yes, of course it is.”

He shrugs, turning back to his computer. “Then I guess I am bossing you around. Regardless, Simon will have your belongings in one of my properties by tonight.”

You scowl, leaning forward enough to plant a hand on his desk. “Listen, John, I have a life. A perfectly nice apartment, a job I like, friends - you can’t just take me away from all of that just because we made a mistake!”

The quick glance he shoots you verges on scolding. “That’s exactly what I can do, and it’s exactly what I will do.”

He stands before you can reply, fixing his cuffs as he strides back to the office door.

“You can call your boss tomorrow to turn in your resignation,” he says over his shoulder, tugging the door open and already walking away, winking at you just before he disappears from your sight. “You won’t be working while carrying our baby.”

You gape at the spot where he just was, palms still slick with sweat. It takes you a moment to fully grasp what he’s just said, how the entire conversation has gone, but when you do you’re enraged.

“John!” You shout, storming after him, leaving the pregnancy tests behind. “Get back here, you insane man! That’s absolutely not happening!”

The sound of his low laugh echoing through the stairwell only pisses you off more. Your scowl feels etched into your face, and as you storm after John you vow to keep him from completely steam rolling your life.

If he thinks he’s going to just pluck you from your life and drop you in his with no fight, he’s got another thing coming. 

[riaki]

thrifted romance | megumi fushiguro x reader

synopsis: you’ve never really spoken with megumi before, so when your friends leave the two of you behind on a snowy night, you take the opportunity to get to know him.

wc: 6.2k... SO SORRY I GOT CARRIED AWAY cw: swearing, college au, noncurse au, i don’t thjnk there’s anything else ??

this got way longer than i intended it to be and i rushed to grind it out so it may not be coherent.. if so i apologize :’3 and this one’s late but i hope the content makes up for it ! enjoy meemow barely proofread!

it's a late winter evening when you meet up with megumi and your friends on the side of the street— cozied up in puffy layers and a long blazer stained with coffee splashes and a few hot chocolate smudges here and there.

fall had melted away with the slow gradient of leaves from the trees, sinking into fluffy piles on the sidewalk that soon became coated and replaced with light snowfall; the first of many problematic inches. midterms were just around the corner, and with it meant late hours spent pulling all-nighters that left you exhausted, eyes dark around the edges with a lack of sleep; breaths of minty hot chocolate and coffee from the amalgamation you'd concocted to at least pretend to get into the holiday spirit.

(a fruitless effort, though— if not for your failure that warned you to stay out of mixology, but the way your roommate's cat had knocked over your mug and ruined the flashcards you'd been wrestling with and looked completely smug with itself.)

really, though, there was absolutely nothing jolly about school, or exams. so when your favorite inefficient, sidetracking study buddy had offered to spend the weekend out, who were you to say no? nobara had offered to go find a club, but it was far too cold out to frolic around in skimpy clothing and your expensive winter coats were much too valuable to risk being stolen in the haze of drunken students and sweaty bodies. so, you'd decided to go shopping, because what else is there to do with her? besides the usual karaoke session with the upperclassmen she seems to like so much, of course.

turns out, it'd had been a group endeavor. or, more accurately— a group of four, unlike the duo you had previously thought you'd be going out in. yuji and megumi were there too— friends from separate majors; you'd heard that yuji was involved in the uprising surge of software engineers and computer science majors clambering for a shot in the world of big AI tech companies, even though he supposedly was about as computer-smart as your teetering old grandma ripe with age, permanently stuck in her rocking chair crocheting the days away.

megumi, on the other hand, was a mystery. you'd shared a few classes together; his chipped dark nails that shone the same blue as his esoteric eyes beneath the warmth of the glowing sun, and his inky black hair that spilled over the collars of his simple gray sweatshirts like effortlessly graceful calligraphy on paper had captured your attention as smooth and seamless as the daylight turned to darkness, days cut short by the onslaught of cold. even so, you'd never brought yourself to interact much— he seemed like he'd prefer to keep to himself, if the way he'd disdainfully scoot away from anyone who tried to approach him and turn up the volume of his headphones indicated anything. you had laughed to your friend and called it introversion to its finest, only to promptly shut up when his unmoving gaze landed on you, leaving you feeling like a clown on the stage, rimmed by rich dark red curtains and a wooden floorboard as the beaming spotlight shines upon you imaginary button nose, hot and glaring under his gaze. 

even though you'd approved of his music taste once you snagged a few notes by the ear, you'd really thought his taste in fashion was too bland to be the type of person to shop with nobara— her meticulous style and image were much brighter and more flamboyant than megumi's jaded attempts at a splash of color through the occasional blue argyle or layered turtleneck. still, those were better than yuji's paltry attempts at fashion; at least the myriads of color on nobara's figure were coordinated. the pink-haired boy with funny scars on his face would probably have been better off learning graphic design or art, with the disasters of clashing colors on his person.

and he'd gotten the opportunity to demonstrate his questionable tastes on the chilly evening, when black ice had begun to form on the roads and the soft light of boutiques with slow jazz flowing from the speakers filled your frost-bitten red ears as you walked up to the shade of a nearby lamppost. once you'd all met up, nobara had hooked an arm around your elbow and dragged you off, leaving the boys to follow along like it was walking dogs.

honestly, you wouldn't be surprised if you were— at least, with yuji. he carried nobara's bags like she was the next princess in line, without complaint and with the little fearful quivers that dogs get in their legs whenever their owners scold them for barking or misbehaving, much like how nobara would yell at yuji if he dropped a single cream linen sweater or ruffled pink cami.

megumi, on the other hand, was far too lethargic and quiet to be considered any kind of canine. although the weaved bracelet on his left wrist with a cute little puppy charm you caught sight of when he'd rolled his sleeve up implied otherwise. the only reason he'd even had to do that was to rub the sickeningly sweet orange blossom hand sanitizer nobara had spritzed on each of your palms after you took turns petting a stray cat, one that seemed to take a great liking to you and megumi in particular.

the night seemed to drag on forever; pale yellow lights and holiday decorations blurred into swathes and bubbles of color in your vision as the hours passed and the caffeine from the cute little coffeeshop you'd stopped at earlier began to wear off.

but there had just been something magical about that evening; spending time with friends (albeit, more like acquaintances) had granted you a much-needed break from cramming your mind with an overflow of information that was sure to spill out the moment you answered the last exam question. so, when it was almost midnight and it was time to retire to your bed, you'd insisted on staying out for just a little longer while nobara and the rest returned to their dorms to catch some sleep. yuji had complained something about his legs cramping, but you were feeling giddy, and the stars were twinkling just as bright as the light in nobara's eyes were when you told her you had to soak in the fresh air for as long as you could before being locked in to study again as she laughed and headed home with her pink dog-boy escort in tow.

megumi had mumbled something about staying with you since it was late and he wanted to make sure you were safe. you didn't think too much about it, because if you did, you were sure you'd end up with a faced even more flushed than it was frostbitten from the cold.

so, here you were, strolling down the quieter side of town, a brooding boy with inky dark hair and hands pale with blue veins shoved into the pockets of his jacket trailing behind you. he had one airpod tucked into his pierced ear; you assumed he hadn't brought his headphones because yuji would be there to prattle and babble. even so, you were content not to say anything, so there was plenty of opportunity for him to wear both. but he wasn't. you decided not to linger on it.

you'd just finished writing a silly little note out of the crisp snow gathered on the windshield of some stranger's car; the flakes were cold and biting on your skin, leaving it feeling numb with little droplets of icy water when you pulled away to admire your handiwork.

"actually, maybe i shouldn't be doing that." you decided after a moment, mumbling under your breath. it was just a little message with a whiskered smiley face, but the headlights on the car and the bumper seemed to form a frown at you when you stepped back, shaking its motorized head at your vandalism.

"you think?"

megumi's voice sounded from behind you, a little weighed down by the cold with a wisp of warmth leaving his lips like a powdery exhale, curling into the prickly night air. he was standing on the sidewalk, observing you all prickly-like as if you were some flagrant toddler he was babysitting. you still had to get used to the way his voice sounded after rarely hearing it; the few crumbs you got when your professors forced obligatory presentations onto struggling students had sent this warm, fuzzy feeling collecting in your stomach at the rich tone of velvet it held. not rough or overly deep, but smooth and reassuring. the kind you could fall asleep to; like there was a lullaby just waiting to be poured from his tongue with little scratches in the indent of his tone.

of course, you hadn't heard enough of it to make such an assumption, so when you heard the little quip framed with irritation at the edges, it wasn't all sugary sweetness like you imagined.

"yeah, well, sorry i like to live a little," you huffed, rubbing your hands together in an attempt to resuscitate some warmth back into them with a small little sigh.

"you call that living?" he scoffs a little, cocking an eyebrow at the vandalized toyota behind you. now, it just looked a little sad; imaginary eyebrows over the red lights droopy in disappointment. you followed his gaze, before looking back at him and making a sour face as you stepped onto the sidewalk.

"maybe we just have different tastes, y'know? doesn't mean we don't have to get along like this," you mumbled, shaking your hands out a little to get the remaining snow droplets off before stuffing them back in your blazer pockets. "just like itadori and nobara. one has terrible taste in fashion and the other doesn't, but they both like their bright colors." you feel satisfied with yourself for that one, but clearly, megumi doesn't feel the same. but the corner of his pink lips seem to quirk up just a tiny bit, and you feel pride blooming in your chest.

there's just something about the way it looks— an almost implausible smile coaxed onto his lips by something particularly amusing, reaching his dull blue eyes in a way that made their usual tedious apathy morph into something like fondness, or appreciation. adding a shine to his navy irises the lamp light overhead could only hope to mimic. then again, you didn't let your mind linger on it for too long like usual— so instead you chalked it up to the one other thing that had caught your eye besides the sharpness of his jaw and the handsome slimness of his face: his jacket.

you take back what you said about his style and its blandness before— it would be unfair to what he was wearing right now. just a simple black turtleneck (one that you were sure he'd worn to the early morning wednesday lecture you had a few days ago, when the sun was still bright enough to catch on the condensation of the cup of lemonade your white-haired, oddly sweet-toothed professor had), and black jeans, but the vintage racing windbreaker hanging from his shoulders brought it together in a way that was unfairly seamless; all dark blues and stripes of checker; a neutral grayblue that reminded you of the sky on rainy afternoons, trudging about the shopping districts in tokyo. there were a few brand patches here and there, some red bubble lettering of names you didn't recognize in patches of color that brought out the shade of his eyes. maybe the labels of those energy drink brands you often caught him running on when the shadows beneath his long dark lashes seemed heavier than usual.

all that to say he looked good. like, seriously good. you didn't know how you hadn't noticed all night— but now that you had, it was hard to keep your eyes from his slim and tall silhouette (not that he minded). the jacket really complimented it.

"that's a neat jacket. where'd you get it?" you asked after a moment of chilling silence; he'd probably noticed you looking, and you prayed he didn't think you were checking him out. although, if that meant getting your hands on one of those windbreakers, you wouldn't really mind. he glanced up at you, tearing his attention from the sad snowy toyota camry that seemed worn past its years at the newfound attention on megumi's racing jacket. he blinked a little, and you didn't miss the little flake of frost on his eyelash; probably caught from brushing past a windowsill earlier. by now, most shops were closed; even so, the street still felt warm and safe. well, maybe it was to be credited to a person rather than the concrete— but like you had been all night, you ignored it.

"oh, this?" as if he was wearing more than one jacket (it was cute), "i thrifted it." and for some reason, you didn't expect to be surprised, but you were. him? thrifting? the few western-fashion tailored thrift stores you'd been to with nobara had been lacking— not like you'd been able to stay in them long; the artificial ginger had this... beef with reused clothes. she liked her clothes clean and fresh from the press, even if you reminded her they could just be fresh from someone else's press. megumi must be familiar with the antiquated racks of varied worn graphic tees and frayed pants if he could fish something that classy from a thrift store.

then again, it's not like you had any experience to go off of at all.

"really? y'know, i've always wanted to go thrifting," you sighed, stretching your arms out, watching the fabric of your blazer wrinkle and curve to follow the movement of your muscles. a light dusting of snow coated the surface, like powdered sugar on tiramisu. that makes the coffee stains fitting. "but i feel like i'm bad at it." you said, stepping over a crack in the sidewalk, the rubber bottom of your sneakers brushing against a little clump of pine green weeds.

"bad at it?" megumi echoes, following you with a faint ruffle of smooth fabric, like the sound of a zipper sliding down. before, the world had been a cool shade of gray, like smoke rising from a cigarette or the blurry blue of the sky from the window of a speeding bullet train. but now, you let yourself soak in the sound of his voice, like grinded coffee beans and a smooth, soothing honey medicine for your throat on a sick day when you get to cozy up in your bunk bed and watch the clouds drift by.

it's nice.

"yeah. like, i wouldn't know where to go, or what to find, or what to look for..." you trailed off, rubbing your cold fingers together again as your breaths leave in little exhales of coagulating mist in the cold night air. now that it was late, it the temperature would only continue to drop.

you walked in silence for a little longer, listening to the scuffles of shoes against concrete, glassy with ice that had begun to creep up on the roads like a steady stream of seafoam from the tides.

"why don't we go thrifting now, then?" he asks out of the snowy blue.

you paused, and you almost smacked straight into a pole. "now?" you spluttered, turning around to face him. the look on his face was unreadable; a mix between exasperation, amusement, an attempt at stoicism, and something like affection in the corner of his lips as they curved upward. it was like a CPR compression; the smile that sent fuzzy electricity through your veins and reinvigorated your heart.

"yes, now." he said it like you were stupid, which you might just be, the way you stared dumbly at his face. "the place i got this jacket from is just over there," he said, jutting a ring-adorned thumb behind him. you had to lean up and peek around his shoulder to see it; you wouldn't've noticed if he didn't point it out. it was tucked between two buildings, a stairway downward into the store. the only thing indicating its status as a retail and thrifting store was the broken neon sign and painted red arrow that gestured towards the staircase.

"looks really shady. and it's late." you grumbled after you got over yourself, and he shot you an irritated look. that was all he really seemed to be doing tonight; that downward knit of his dark eyebrows and the slight pout weighing his lips down. not very suave, you think.

he swallows hard, and you aimlessly watch the bob of his adam's apple. "well?" he prompts, a hard edge to his voice despite the situation. you stand there for a little while, marinating in the growing cold until you cant feel the tips of your fingers.

"fine."

one accidental slip on the crosswalk and a few minutes later, you're stepping down the last wooden stair of the thrift store and into the building's basement; it's much bigger than you would've thought, with an expanse of layered clothing racks that obscure your vision, the corners of the walls clogged with cobwebs and years of dust build up. there's a faint lingering scent of cigarette smoke and cologne; something vanilla that you've caught clinging to megumi's wrists and neck on the rare occasion you brush past him. faint jazz spills from the speakers, something in a swing rhythm with the signature lilt of saxophone that makes you think you should be out enjoying a romantic fancy dinner instead of being cooped up between old wrinkly moth-bitten clothes. but you're here with megumi, so you convince yourself you don't mind either way.

"you sure this is the right place?" you asked, trying (and failing) to keep the obvious distain from your voice as you kick a folded 'floor-is-wet' sign from your path and step into the store. you can't even see the cash register from where you're standing.

"yes, i'm sure. can you stop complaining?" you can practically hear the eyeroll in his voice, and you're sure you could see it too if you just turned around. "trust me. it's not all shit." his voice softens, and you freeze up a little as he brushes past you; the corridors and margins are tight, so he has to turn sideways to fit. even so, a tag on your coat manages to snag on his jacket, and you hasten to unhook it before he can notice. he almost disappears into the racks, and you have to follow him, pushing your way through thick coats and worn graphic tees that have cracked logos and balls of lints clinging to them.

you're no thrifting expert, but you're pretty sure the store's supposed to be in better condition than this.

"hey." megumi's voice soon snaps you back into reality, and you look up from the mustard yellow top you were eyeing warily to meet his sedate gaze. "the good stuff's in the back. c'mon." he doesn't give you much room to argue even though it sounds like you're here to do drugs rather than find clothing, and before you can react he's reached forward to grab your wrist and tug you along. a yelp of protest almost spills from your lips, but you bite your tongue and let him drag you along, trying to extinguish the hue of cherry you know is making a home on the tips of your ears.

you brush past patchwork coats and a few leather belts that've tangled with the lace from the silk shirts next to them, but nothing really catches your eye, until you realize that he's let go of you only because of the lack of warmth around your skin and you focus yourself on the current again. you glance up at him, but he already has his back turned to you, sifting through a rack of black shirts that all look the exact same. maybe you have an untrained eye, though.

still, you can't help it when your gaze lingers over the back of his neck; one strand of dark hair has caught itself beneath the collar of his turtleneck, and it irks you. and you decide to do something about it because you'll know it'll bother you if you don't.

time seems to move in a liquid slow; things are blurring and there's no mothballs or ugly recycled coats to get in your way as you reach over and swipe your hand across his neck, hooking a finger beneath the strand and pulling it out of his collar. it takes you a moment to realize what you just did, and when you do, it's like there's a permanent mark seared into your index finger just from the touch of his skin against your own. you think he might have whiplash because he turns his head around so fast to catch your gaze before you can slink away, eyes wide and eyebrows knit, and you notice his bottom lip is snagged between his teeth.

he raises an eyebrow, but before he can utter a shaming word that'll only make you feel more embarrassed you shake your head vigorously, apologetically.

"sorry— it was bothering me. i hope you don't mind." you managed to say, the words spilling out in a rush before you turned away and slipped past him, disappearing into an aisle of dresses. you can feel his gaze burning cold holes into your back as you distract yourself.

you don't let yourself linger on what you just did— you seem to be doing a lot of that, lately, especially with him as you go through a few batches of clothing. by now, it's far past midnight, and you're feeling much more sluggish than you'd like to admit. you haven't seen megumi in a good twenty minutes save for the few times you picked up a few shirts and a cute diner jacket you thought would look good on him. he just thanked you bluntly, taking the bundle of clothing from your arms before walking away to the fitting rooms. you wished he'd stay to let you see the jacket.

you'd tried on a few things, discarding your blazer in favor of a cute knitted cardigan you grabbed, but nothing seemed to stick the way you'd like them to. it would be a great help if you had nobara to assist, but you were sure she was snoring away at home right now, and at the thought of your warm, inviting bed, your knees wobbled a little and you balanced yourself on the wall.

"hey— oh, you alright?" it's an unfamiliar voice; you lift your head up, looking for the source. it's a young boy— he looks to be about your age, maybe a little younger. there's a blue lanyard around his neck, and he's got a spattering of freckles on his hands, which are curled around the collar of a white linen shirt. he must be the one who's tending to the store.

"yeah, i'm okay. sorry," you said hastily, pushing away and rubbing the back of your neck. how embarrassing— he didn't seem to mind, though. he just smiled, big and bright and toothy. cute. reminded you of how toddlers would grin up at parents with those huge red lollipops in hand.

"no worries. i just thought i'd let you know that we're closing soon, since it's almost 2am." he said, shifting his weight on his sneakers. you nodded, about to give a hum of confirmation before another voice cuts through the slow jazz filling the stifling air above, all familiar in its smoothness.

before you could respond, though— "[name]?" megumi's voice rang out in the quaint little store, calling for you, and so you give the employee an apologetic nod before you turn and start toward the noise. you pass a mirror with a coat draped over the top, peeking your head around a tall rack of long skirts to catch sight of the raven head, in all of his glory. you notice that he's taken off his windbreaker.

"what’s up? we have to go soon," you reminded him, yawning a little and rubbing your eyes as you straightened up and stepped over to his side. there was another mirror in front of him, you noticed, with fading stickers pale in the dim yellow light stuck to the wooden rim. even so, with the smudges and the bare sheen of the silver, he looked good. that black turtleneck really suits him.

"i know. i just wanted to ask for your opinion." he said, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. you tilted your head curiously, and he held up a deep mauve sweatshirt, with some varsity logo branded on the fabric. it had a nice touch to it; a warm color that reminded you of red wine and slow evenings. you were sure it had been one of the pieces you'd picked out for him, but you were too sleepy to recall. "you should try it on. i think it'd look good," you said, gesturing toward the mirror.

you think you must've said something wrong, because he looks at you for a moment too long before he seems to catch himself staring and he nods, a choked little sound leaving his throat which he hides by ducking his head down and covering his face with his long bangs. you think you're hallucinating the pink on his cheeks.

after a moment, he glances at you. "hold this," he shoves his jacket towards you, and you have no choice but to take it. doesn't seem like he's used to taking no for an answer, but you're certainly not the one complaining when he tugs the sweater over his head, ruffling his soft black hair as he steps a little closer to you, observing himself in the mirror while straightening out the folds and fixing his turtleneck. you were right— it does look good on him. almost unfairly so— you don't know how he manages to rock granny clothes so well, like he was born a retirement home's runway model.

unlike him, you're not a reticent shut in— and although you'd like to say you have no problem telling him how good he looks, it's still a little difficult when the words feel like they're lodged in your throat in order to prevent you from making a fool of yourself again. but you ignore it and push on.

"you look great. i think it really suits you," you breathed, shaking your head as your hands tighten around his jacket in your arms. he blinks, adjusting the collar before glancing down at you. you take a moment to really appreciate the sight— him, bathed in the soft yellow glow of the chipped lights overhead. despite the dilapidated store and the antiquated, worn clothing surrounding him, he still manages to look like some ethereal angel boy you'd stumble upon in a bookstore on a dreary winter's afternoon and never be able to get out of your mind again.

ink black eyelashes flutter when he blinks, framing his eyes like the bangs falling over his face when he turns around again to observe himself in the mirror once more before he takes the sweatshirt off. it catches on his turtleneck, which rides up when he slips the mauve sweater over his head, tussling his hair and exposing the dip of his pale hips, all muscle and flesh and bone, and you pray he chalks up the red on your face to the cold. the end of his belt dangles from the buckle as you hand his jacket back to him, fingers almost brushing— just barely out of reach.

a meager conversation flows between the two of you; you follow him through the endless maze of used clothing until you somehow stumble upon the cash register and he buys his sweater; the only thing he manages to buy after all this time spent milling about in a dusty, dinky little retail store. the boy from earlier helps check him out, and the icy glare he receives from megumi when he glances at you seems to fly straight past your head as you pick at your cuticles. the tips of your fingers are still red from messing with the frosty snow earlier. you wonder when the car owner will find your message.

it's almost freezing when you get out of the dusty shop, emerging from the smoke-stained alleyway stairs and into the cold night air. your breaths almost seem to form a precipitate, and the thought reminds you of the chemistry conversions waiting for you on your desk beneath the lamp, and you cringe internally. staying out for a few hours longer seems way better than succumbing to the never ending stream of worksheets and documents calling your name. you wonder if your charismatic professor will let you get away with a few assignments if you call in sick. are papercuts excuse enough?

the click of a lock behind you signifies the store's closing— the employee left through a back exit, it seems. and you realize too late that you left your blazer in the dressing room when you turn around and a sigh falls from your lips. megumi, paper bag in hand, glances over at you.

"you okay?"

you almost forgot he was there, in his brooding vintage racing jacket glory. you shake your head, before sighing forlornly again. he notices this, making a little face; his lips press together and his pretty eyes narrow. he thinks you sigh far too much. you'd look prettier if you smiled some more. he likes it when you do.

"i left my blazer in there, but he just closed it and it's so fucking cold out," you whined, bringing your hands to your face and rubbing your eyes tiredly. you're cold and your fingers are going numb again, and there's light snowfall. so much for not losing your coat at a club. you can't tell which one's worse. "sorry to complain so much, but do you mind if we—"

you're promptly cut off; the words on your tongue left unsaid, burning with the taste of bitter black coffee. your gaze trails from megumi's hand, the clink of his silver ring against the zipper rail of his jacket as his fingers curl around the fabric, up his arm to the sleeves of his dark turtleneck, rounding the curve of his shoulders and up his neck to his face. he's not looking at you.

the words that leave his wet lips are so small and hurried that you think you're hallucinating them; when you inevitably looked back at this moment later, you'd realize that he was being shy. he mumbles something under his sweet breath, and you ask him to speak up.

"i said, you can use mine." he repeats, louder than necessary as he finally brings himself to look down at you from under his lashes, biting the inside of his cheek. his voice is a little strained, and a soft breeze carrying the smell of cinnamon and fresh ice rustles his hair. you blinked, feeling like a deer caught in headlights over a layer of thin ice, ready to shatter at a moment's notice.

"oh— okay. um, do you have anywhere else you need to go..?" you said tentatively, reaching forward to take his jacket again. it was exactly like how you'd done back in the thrift store, but the vague sense of deja vu you get is accompanied by an endless fluttering of warmth in your stomach that melts away the winters and tiring exams, and the night seems to become a soft warm orange, as if someone's drained the cool hues from the landscape.

megumi just shook his head, reaching into his bag and taking out the sweater he'd bought earlier. he slips it on again, adjusting it over his shoulders and refusing to meet your eyes as he crumples the paper bag in his hands. you notice they're slightly trembling as he does it, fingers digging into the material with much more force than is really needed. his hair follows each movement of his head; the strain of the muscles in his neck when he swallows again and gestures for you to follow him back down the empty street, past cars coated in melting snow and jaunty yellow lights twinkling over the awnings of closed store windows, shut down for the night. the sweater suits him really well, you think; not too loose, but tight enough in the right places to send your heart racing a mile a minute.

you pull his jacket over your arms, tucking your sleeves in and zipping it up. it's big on you— that's no surprise, and you can almost taste the vanilla on your tongue, his cologne lingering on every fold of the insulated fabric. it's warm, and it feels like being enveloped in a tight hug. in megumi's head, he hopes— prays its him you think of if you ever feel that way again.

you walk in a stiff silence; both of you want to say something, but you're dancing around it, letting your words linger unsaid until the other breaks the ice first. it's only ever cracked once you reach the dorms, where you part ways. there's light snowfall, and a thin layer of white has coated his hair when you turn to face him. you reach forward, learning onto the tips of your toes to brush off the ice. his hair feels unimaginably soft beneath your fingers, slightly damp from the snow. but he's the furthest from cold when you pull away; his face is burning up.

by now, you can't bring yourself to mind.

"thank you," you said softly, sighing contentedly. you move to take his jacket off your shoulders and return it, but he stops you, holding a hand up. the expression on his face is unreadable, but his lips are pursed together in a way that makes you think he's pouting.

"don't worry—" a pause. " you can, uh. keep it. i know you wanted one. just... give it back when you want, yeah?" he says, curt. almost prude, if it weren't for the way he was avoiding your gaze out of embarrassment. it was like trying to play the world's most difficult game of whack-a'mole, attempting to catch his eyes and see the iceberg that's melted into pools of warm glittering affection in his blue irises. at the thought, you wonder if he likes arcades, and you make a mental note to suggest an activity to nobara the next time she has the urge for an escapade.

you don't bother asking him whether he's sure, because you don't want him to take his words back. so you linger there in a moment of silence, letting it hang over your heads like a warm throw blanket, cozied in front of a fireplace with a mug of hot chocolate in your hands. maybe a coffee mix like you'd attempted before.

angel boy clears his throat first to speak, all honey that links the syllables together like christmas ribbon; rich like orange flavored dark chocolate. "i'll see you later, then." it's short and sweet, but your heart is already flying so high on euphoria you can barely bring yourself to care, or suppress the giddy grin that's spreading across your lips.

yeah, you're tired. yeah, you're still a little cold and you think you need to thaw at your desk for a week until exams, but at least you've got his jacket to accompany you when your study buddy passes out first and you're alone on all nighters. frankly, you can't bring yourself to care— your head is spinning with the events of the chilly night, from crude messages in the snow to thrift store mothballs and lanyards, to one checkered racing jacket. but you don’t think it’s so bad when it threatens to stick to your memory, like chewed up gum under your professor’s desk. whether it’s from the students or the professor, that’s a mystery you’ll never solve.

"yeah. see you around, fushiguro." you can’t say the same about the mystery that megumi is, though. in fact, you think you’re already one step closer when you turn around and part ways, catching sight of him in the reflection of a frosted window. he’s slipping both of his airpods back into his ears, crimson at the tips.

the sound of your shoes against the rug stairway fills your ears as you clamber back up to your dorm, eyelids heavy with drowsiness and face flushed a pleasant warmth. even when you finally get to bed, you can't stop your eyes from drifting over to the bundle of lapis blue fabric sitting on your desk, and your mind from the soft spoken boy with eyes like the night sky and inky hair like calligraphy.

you decide you don't think his style is too bad, after all. and when you tell him that the next morning when he's still sleepy and his lashes fall slow when he blinks the weariness from his eyes, you get to enjoy the steady flush that stains his cheeks and prompts a hoarse cough from his throat when he ducks his head away and grumbles something under his breath, probably about being offended you even thought he was boring in the first place.

and if you ever ask, the only reason he lent you his windbreaker that night was to replace the scent of mothballs and dust with your sweet-smelling perfume.

so, as it turns out, you're able to get your hands on one of those pretty vintage racing jackets— except, it wasn't a new one; it was his. nobara hasn't stopped pestering you with questions since you showed up to class the next day; the only thing you hear for the next week is how much she regrets leaving early.

apparently, it's all yuji's fault.

my (riaki) stuff. don’t repost and/or plagiarize !

[gomacave]

5p yuuram bloood twww

[crybaby-bkg]

cw: sex workers reader and toji, wrestling, he puts you in a headlock, ass slapping

as a sex worker under an agency, you sometimes get the opportunity to perform certain tropes that you wouldn't think too much about doing on your own. there have been quite a few that your manager has thrown your way; medical play, light BDSM scenes, and now, mixed wrestling. you've done your fair share of oiled up fighting with other women in your career, but you've never wrestled a man before.

its all staged, much like real wrestling except—except you're not too sure why or how you were paired up with infamous actor Toji Fushigurou. technically speaking, you two aren't anywhere near the same weight class, but you're not sure if technicalities even count for a job like this.

there are a few rules: no actual striking of each other, take the others underwear off during the fight, no biting. as the ref lists off all the other little things you two need to remember, you both take each other in. Toji is, for lack of better words, fucking huge. he's got at least six inches on you, packed with muscle and a nonchalant kind of finesse that makes you just the slightest bit nervous under his stare. he stands only in a tight pair of black boxer briefs, and you can make out the outline of his soft cock, despite the fact that it still rests low on his thigh.

he grins at you when he notices your ogling, winking once when you frown at him. he's been in the industry for so long, he's more than used to being objectified, but something about your little defiance that shines in your eyes makes him want to tear into you, piece by piece.

"Go!" the ref announces once she's finished listing her instructions. Toji doesn't immediately attack you, instead grins at you, hands on his waist as he cocks an inquisitive eyebrow in your direction. with a, albeit weak, battle cry, do you lunge at him—

and quickly find yourself pinned. you don't know how he does it so quickly, maneuver you as if you only weighed a pound, but he does it. catches you in his arms and swings you around until your back meets the floor with a grunt, the wind suddenly knocked out of you. he's gentle though, where he pins you with his knees on either side of you.

"At least try to put up a fight," he teases you, pulling at the straps of your bikini. but you fight him off as much as you can, grunting and cursing at him, taking this entirely too seriously for what will ultimately end with you being fucked into oblivion by the man. doesn't mean you have to go out without a fight, though.

although, your fight doesn't mean much to Toji. by the third and final round, you're fully naked and he's still got his underwear on. your ass is slapped raw by how many times his too big hands have groped you, nipples pinched to sensitivity. you're not surprised when the ref announces your lost, tells Toji to claim his prize.

and he does just that. pins you on the floor, finally releasing the thickness of his cock. he's cocky the entire time, teasing, with how he pins you on your stomach, holding you in a headlock as he fucks his cock too deep inside of you to put up much of a fight anymore.

"Did you even try?" he asks, breathy, a smirk plastered on his face as he looms over your shoulder. "Or did you want to end up like this? With my dick in your stomach? The fight worked you up that much, huh?"

he taps your clit with too thick, mean fingers with his other hand, tightening his bicep around your throat when you try to get smart with him. he knows its all bark and no bite, if judging by the way your cunt sucks him in is anything to go by. you can only gurgle out a curse to him, eyes rolling back in your head when his wicked laugh only pushes you over the edge to climax.

(after the scene ends, he kisses your temples and squeezes your waist, telling you that you guys should do more scenes together. you only stick out your tongue at him, promising to get stronger so you can take him down next time. he laughs at you, more than happy to entertain your thoughts that will, truthfully, never come true.)

[marblerose-rue]

click for better quality!

requests from twitter ^_^

adderfang, goosefeather, dawnpelt

crowfeather, heathertail, frostpaw, sandynose

[deoidesign]

someone asked me what if adam and steve switched vampire and werewolf...

And then since my monsters are purposefully not much visually different because of metaphors, I went more traditional vampire and werewolf...

and then I got carried away...