#The bottom line is the more popular something is the more likely it is

[skinnypaleangryperson]

I'm literally cackling like a hyena alone in my living room right now because I've genuinely almost committed unalive in the past 24 hours just because a sitcom came out with a casual joking episode that was so innocent initially that it could have been aired on PBS and 24 hours later the end result has been as someone with autism on the verge of unaliving (before judging, consider the fact that there has been a lot of events that have occurred since then in real life that would justify these intense emotions)

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.11 i feel so high school

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot, marijuana use, sexism, sexual harassment (verbal only)

ᰔ chapter. 11/x (probably 18)

ᰔ words. 11.1k

a/n. hi friends! omg this chapter took me forever to finish even though i had 90% of it done for sooooo long. i just had a lot of self doubt for it :'') i have said this before n i'll say it again my mind is a prison smhhh. ANYWAYS i had the song "so high school" off of taylor swift's ttpd album (sped up ver.) on BLAST while writing this chap so if you wanna experience what i experienced while i wrote this chapter i highly recommend listening to it too lol it's pretty much this chapter's anthem hahah. hope you enjoy and i'll see you at the bottom!! if there are typos or errors im sorry im just a girl

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☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1 :: ♬.*ﾟplaylist

It’s a sunny Thursday afternoon, sun beating down on your skin from where you walk on sidewalk that's damp from sprinkler spray, although you’re not sure as to why, because the path leading to the host house is adorned with artificial turf all around that glitters with a wetness it didn’t need. The weather is getting hotter these days, and seemed to have flipped suddenly from gloomy overcast into full blown spring-time heat that has a thin layer of sweat sheening over your skin. Thank God for Mina, who convinced you to switch out of the jeans you were planning to wear in favor of something shorter and lighter, otherwise you would’ve been toasted. Although her true desire was for you to just “wear something cuter”, like the thin slip dress you’ve got on right now. 

The smell of barbeque smoke fills the air, and you see Mina in your periphery put a hand over her stomach.

“God, I’m so hungry,” she says as you two continue to walk up the sidewalk. Plastic pink flamingos line up on dirt, like arrowheads leading you towards suburban paradise. When there’s loud boombox music playing openly into the air, and sounds of people whoo!!-ing to pair, you know you’re close by. 

There’s a guy standing at the white picket fence entrance that leads into the backyard court, and he’s super familiar in the face. You recognize him as that guy you shared a couple shots of tequila with at that SAE party a while back, but his name fails to come to memory. He’s checking people’s phones and letting them in.

“Hey, Mina,” he greets her with familiarity, likely since Mina’s been to more SAE events than you have, given her and Todo are inseparable these days. His eyes flicker to you, widened and he greets you by name too, and now you feel awful that you don’t remember his. But he’s got one of those tacky corporate My name is… stickers plastered across his chest with the name Ryota scribbled across it, along with a drawing of a penis in a different colored marker, which you can only assume someone else drew on there and Ryota was simply Too Lazy To Care. 

He scans Mina’s phone first and then moves to scan yours, but not without letting out a huh noise and then you’re asking him what?

“Oh, nothing,” he says, “it’s just, in my four years of pledging for SAE I don’t think I’ve ever seen Satoru actually use one of his plus ones.”

You blink at him, feeling a twinge of heat in your cheeks. You’re dying to know more info about that, but he reaches over behind the fence gate to release the lock and then he opens it, gesturing for the two of you to head inside before he’s helping the people behind you.

The backyard is huge, it’s own concrete jungle with a tile-parameterized pool off to the left equipped with a jacuzzi in the corner, and only a couple of insane people choose to sit in that hot water while most of the rest are relaxing in the pool. Off to the right is the barbeque grill space, with SAE frat brothers distanced at stations as they yell things to one another like Hey, where’s the medium rare steak I asked for a half hour ago?!?!? and it’s fookin’ raw!!! like they’re on an episode of Hell’s Kitchen, but there’s a growing line of people standing eager with paper plates in their hands ready for lunch, so maybe the pressure was indeed on. 

Your eyes take in more as you step inside. There’s fake sandy gravel arranged near the pool over plastic tarps, which you’re assuming are stretched across for easy clean-up, and it doesn’t take you long to realize that this was a tropical-themed barbeque event. A makeshift bar is tucked over in the back at the outdoor kitchen counter, some beachside-mimicking establishment with seashells hanging and surfboards leaning as the guy shaking drinks has blackout shades on and is entirely too engrossed in his role. They’ve even got a little corner over where the concrete meets brick seating in a little closed off garden where there’s a projector screen set up and people are screaming, controllers in hand, while making enemies over a game of mario kart. 

You and Mina walk by two guys talking, a conversation that goes like—

frat bro 1: imma take your mom’s virginity bro

frat bro 2: she’s not a virgin bro. she gave birth to me 

frat bro 1: but bro. you don’t know that.

frat bro 2: …..you’re right bro…..i don’t….bro……..

–and then you hear Mina say “I’m already losing brain cells here.”

“Hey!!” you hear a familiar voice yell, your head turning in the direction of it, and you see Geto storming across the hot concrete towards the pool and he loses one of his flip flops in the process then steps barefoot on painful fake sandy gravel and he cusses under his breath before hopping over to the aqua-colored tile surrounding the water. “NO FOOD IN THE POOL!!! C’mon guys, how many times do I have to say it?!?!” 

You take a few cautious steps towards him because he looks like he’s on edge, well, literally, he’s balancing on the pool’s edge, but when he makes eye contact with you he looks pleasantly surprised. 

“Oh! Hey, y/n,” he approaches you, “and Mina. It’s nice you guys came.”

You give a little wave and Mina does too.

“I think Satoru’s somewhere out back getting supplies,” he tells you with a point over his shoulder and he deftly ducks his head under when he sees a pool ball flying his way in his periphery before it falls to your feet. You pick it up and throw it back to the outstretched arms in the water. 

“Oh, thanks,” you respond. “How’s it going? You look stressed.”

He sighs and you see he’s got a lot more hair falling over his forehead than what usually escapes his tight bun. “It’s going–...fine. Our social chair has been out this past week so I’ve been in charge of making sure things go smoothly today.” 

“Ohhh,” you and Mina acknowledge in unison.

You get some weird spidey sense, perhaps it’s your keen way of just knowing, or maybe you and him are cosmically connected by now, but you can just sense that Gojo’s near. You raise yourself a little on your tiptoes to peer past Geto’s shoulder, and sure enough, you see Gojo approaching with boxes of stuff in his arms. Geto becomes aware of your line of sight, and then he’s turning around to face him too.

“Hey,” he says, “why’re you carrying a box of condoms?”

“Huh?” Gojo says with a tilt of his head before he looks down at the stuff he's piled up, “oh, I dunno, Hide said he needed ‘em for something. But it’s Hide, so it’s definitely not for sex.”

There’s another man that lightly jogs up to Gojo, and you notice he’s got barbeque grease stains all over the front of his shirt and on his cheek too, as well as a cafeteria lunch lady hair net over his head. “Oh awesome, thanks man, needed these.” He takes the box of condoms from the top of the pile in Gojo’s arms, “we ran out of gloves.”

“Ohhh,” Geto says, with a few slow nods of understanding, before the realization flashes across his face, “........WAIT, WHAT?”

There’s some absurd conversation that breaks out between Hide and Geto, and then a loud thud startles you when Gojo drops everything he was carrying to approach you. You take in the entirety of his appearance– black shorts that hem at the rounds of his knees, a loose sleeveless shirt that shows off the flexed muscles of his arms a little too fucking much for your sanity’s sake, and he’s got his hair peaking out underneath a snapback he’s pulled on over his head. He looks so insanely fratty and douchey and the way he’s got his arms spread open as he gets into your space with that where my hug at? look on his face before he dips his head down to kiss you has you shoving him away by a palm pushing under his chin until now he’s just staring up at blue sky.

“Um, excuse you,” you say, “why are you greeting me like you’re my man.”

He groans and grabs your wrist to pull your hand away from his chin. “For fucks sake, let me be your man. We’re already dating in my head anyway.”

There’s another guy that approaches the group forming here, and he crouches down to open up the cardboard boxes Gojo abandoned on the floor. “Who the fuck was responsible for defrosting these hot dogs?! They’re solid as rock!!” 

Geto sighs, rubbing an exhausted hand across his face. “Oh, uh, Mina, y/n, this is Hide, and this is Sota,” he gestures to the two of them, “our other two housemates.”

The four of you exchange pleasantries and then Todo suddenly comes up behind Gojo, slinging his arm around him, before grabbing Mina’s hand from afar and placing a wet, sloppy kiss to the back of it. 

“My lady,” he says, retreating his arm from Gojo to fully step into Mina’s space, “shall we?”

She looks at you in courtesy, and you nod in approval, and then the two skip off together towards the pool. There’s shouting from the barbeque station and Hide and Sota make haste to get over there to put out a grill fire that their neglect was most likely the cause of.

“Um, where’s the restroom?” you ask, turning your head around to look. You just now notice there’s a pool house stretching across most of the courtyard with floor to ceiling sliding glass doors, past the arch that connects the main house to the garage. 

“You can try the one downstairs in the house,” Geto says, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb.

“Uh, I wouldn’t,” Gojo interjects, “unless you wanna be traumatized by the sight of a girl swallowing Choso whole while he’s seated on the toilet.”

Your nose curls up so high you can see it between your eyes. “No thanks,” you say.

Gojo grabs your hand, and he’s tugging you across the concrete. You’re still in sensory overload over all the stimuli around you, but your head is vaguely registering the fact that people are staring at you. Some with curiosity, others with studying eyes, some turned away, some turned towards, yet eyes still watching and you remember Ryota’s words from earlier about the history of Gojo’s never-used invites. The attention is a little nerve-wracking, but Gojo squeezes your hand twice as if he knows what you’re thinking right now, and the gesture puts you at ease. It’s been a week since the embarrassing and frightening intervention you had with Kai last week, and it’s sad to say, but Gojo and the other guys on the soccer team that helped you out that night are pretty much the only men you feel truly comfortable around right now. 

Gojo walks you to the pool house, and he points towards the inside to where the restroom is, and you thank him before hurrying in. You didn’t even need to pee, it’s just become some weird ritual for you to check in with yourself in front of a bathroom mirror at social events as you needlessly fix barely smudged mascara and smooth down the fabric of your clothing. 

Just have fun, is what you tell yourself in the mirror. There’s a sad sinking feeling underneath your rib cage when you realize you’re graduating in less than two months. Going to classes, doing assignments, having coffee dates with friends, organizing stuff for clubs, going to social events, just being an undergrad student who has all the fear in the world and no care for it, all the little things that have become a part of your life and have given you purpose, it’s all going to be gone soon, and you’ll have to fill the time and space with new things that give you purpose. Things that you want to carry with you into your adult life. Your actual adult life. Out in the “real world”, or whatever. And while the thought is scary, you also remind yourself that you’ve still got time left to just enjoy your college experience for what it is. You take some deep breaths, of which somehow make you a little more nervous than before, but it’s fine. You swallow the feeling. 

Gojo’s still standing outside the pool house where you left him, except he’s leaned back against the exterior and talking to a few of his frat brothers. 

“Hi,” you approach, sparing a small smile to the people he’s talking to just to be polite, but you’re not interested in any introduction. Your finger pokes Gojo’s elbow, and he leans himself off the wall, says some words of see ya around to the group and then he’s grabbing your hand again to lead you towards a different area of the backyard. The makeshift beachside bar.

He greets the guy behind the bartop with a solid grab of his hand and then he leans over the counter on one elbow, eyes on you. “Want something to drink?” he asks.

Your eyes squint to take in the writing scribbled across the blackboard hung up behind the counter. “Oh, no way,” you say when you realize the drinks are named after the players on the soccer team, albeit with cheeky twists on their names, all in anticipation of tomorrow’s win.

There’s a grin on Gojo’s face, “you should get mine.”

“What is yours?” you ask.

“Uh, I actually have no clue,” he confesses as he scratches his cheek and glances at the bartender, and now you’re both just waiting for an answer.

The guy pushes his blackout shades up his nose, and his skin is tan like he really did just come here from the beach. “Somethin’ like a blue lagoon, sweetheart. Blended,” he says, and you realize he’s most definitely too old to be a college student.

“Oh god,” you say, “is it gonna give me a brain freeze.”

The bartender gives you a nod to humor you but mixes it up for you anyway, then slides the drink across to you. It's chilly in your hand but it’s a welcome feeling under the heat of the sun. 

“Hey!! You guys,” Mina approaches with Todo tugged along by the hand, and her hair and clothes are soaking wet. “Can you count which one of us can hold our breath underwater the longest?? Please??”

You see Gojo reach behind the bar counter for a chilled long neck beer that he cracks open with the edge of the counter. “Sure,” he says, “You’d probably win, though. Better lung capacity. Todo’s been vaping since he learned how to spell. So, for, like, three years now.”

You can tell Todo’s already had a few drinks with the way he saunters over to Gojo, then slaps his back so harshly that it has him choking on the gulp of beer he just took.

“What the fuck–” Gojo sputters.

“Satoru here is going to be best man at our wedding someday, babe,” Todo slurs, “since he brought the two of us together.”

Gojo wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yes, all me,” he affirms and you roll your eyes, “I’m like that one angel with the love arrows. I forget the name.”

“Anteros,” you joke.

“Yes, that.”

“N-No–...cupid. It’s cupid.”

“Oh?” 

“My lady,” Todo slurs as he approaches Mina, “shall we go for another swim?”

You watch as Todo doesn’t even give her time to respond before he’s throwing her back into the pool, and you flinch as droplets of water from the splash threaten to graze you. You turn back to the bar counter and sip your drink through your straw, then look at Gojo who’s just staring at you.

“What?” you ask once you take your lips off the straw.

“Nothing. It looks like they’re having fun,” he says, peering off into the pool.

You glance over your shoulder at the water, “that’s true. I’m gonna be honest, it’s an odd match, but surprisingly it works. Like beauty and the beast.”

“What would we be?” he asks.

“Lady and the tramp.”

“Okay. I would find that insulting…….but I actually really like that movie so it’s fine.”

“Mm,” you smile at him mid sip, already halfway done with your drink with the prospect of brain freeze on the horizon. 

He’s grabbing your hand again, and you realize this entire afternoon might just be him taking you wherever he wants you while you essentially turn your brain off. But those eyes are on you again, peering ones that are intrigued by the way Gojo doesn’t seem to want to leave your side all day, like he’s usually everywhere else all at once, and was until you showed up, and now you’ve got all his attention and apparently that was some anomaly. 

People seem to want to say hi to him wherever he goes, or catch up with him about something or the other for conversations they’ve seemingly put pins in, you’ve noticed most guys that had no shame in eyeing you when you first walked in are now too scared to even look at you now that you’re in his presence, and perhaps the most jarring observation of yours is how many girls are just shamelessly and borderline seductively staring at him despite the fact that he’s in your presence.

He stops suddenly to turn around and face you, and you almost crash right into him.

“Wanna go inside?” he asks as he holds a hand above his eyes for shade, “the sun’s kinda harsh out here.”

“Oh no,” you comment sarcastically, eyes flicking up to the snapback he was wearing, “if only you had something on your head that could block the sun.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, “if only.” And then he’s grabbing your hand again to lead you back to what you realize is the poolhouse. 

But then the two of you are stopped by a group of guys and girls, and suddenly, you realize that there are also a lot of eyes on you that are jealous. 

“Hey, do you guys wanna join us? We’re about to play power hour by the pool,” one of the guys says, gaze on Gojo before it drifts slowly to you in inclusion. 

There’s a girl standing next to him with her eyes flitting back and forth between you and Gojo before she gives you one look down your form, and then glances off towards the pool with disinterest. You blink at her, not proud of the assumptive what’s her problem? thought that flashes through your head but, seriously, what’s her fucking problem?

She’s twirling her hair and blinking up at Gojo before he finally responds to his frat brother with— “Oh, uh, nah. We’re good.” Like he wouldn’t trade two minutes alone with you on a couch tucked away inside the pool house with minimal decency for any amount of winning-at-public-drinking-game glory.

And that’s exactly where he leads you. A couch, tucked away inside the pool house, with minimal decency. He sets his bottle of beer down on the small table by the arm rest before he slumps down onto the couch, sunk in with hardly any give to the cushions, and he’s manspread to the moon as per usual as he pulls you to him with his hand holding your fingers until you’re standing in between his legs. Your knees bend to press into the sofa, and he lifts your hand into the air, holding it curled like you’re a lady in the mid eighteenth century and he’s about to kiss the back of your hand, except he’s just holding it that way to guide you into your seat. A more suitable action, at least. Modern and sleazy.

Your right knee is first to press into the cushion next to his thigh, and then your left knee follows until you’re hovered above him in a straddle. Then he settles you into the warmth of his lap with an urging hand on the small of your back, and you’re akin to the way he slides you up to above his groin once you’re sat. 

“You don’t want to get in the water?” he asks as his hand finds the bare skin of your thigh to caress while the other still lingers low on your back.

You can’t help but smooth your hands down his chest, and you swear he looks like he’s been made light headed by the action. “No. I didn’t know there was a pool here. Didn’t dress for the occasion.”

His eyes flick down to watch his own hand slide up your thigh until the fabric of your dress falls over his knuckles. You look down too, and maybe you’re vain for it but you’re a little obsessed with the way you look sitting in his lap. 

He seems to share the sentiment, considering he’s still hooked on the sight when he speaks. “The occasion of getting wet?”

“Mhm.”

Now he looks at you. “Weeeell sometimes you’ve gotta get a little wet to have a good time.”

“What are you getting at?” You place your hands on top of his shoulders and feel the rise of the blades when he shrugs. 

“Just some philosophy for ya. General wisdom. Tenets of life.”

“Ooo, big words there, did you learn them yesterday?”

“Don’t be sassy with me. It’ll get you into trouble.”

He brings his bottle of beer to his lips, loosely held in his hand with his head facing off to the side slightly so he can still maintain eye contact with you as he tips it back. Your eyes are immediately on his lips and fixated on the way his jaw is slack almost lazily, barely enough to let the amber liquid enter his mouth. 

His brow raises at how attentive you are to the sight, and he tips the bottle your way with a want some? look on his face, and in the beat too long that you take to answer, he’s already settled the cold glass rim on your bottom lip, a drop of bitter coating your tongue. Your chin tips up in silent permission for him to give you a decent swig of it, and the eye contact you give him as you take it is something sultry that makes him swallow hard, which you witness in the roll of the muscles of his neck. A droplet makes its way down your chin, and his thumb swipes it off for you, then he presses his thumb to your lips for you to lick.

Listen, he’s hot enough when you’re sober, but with drink in your veins, you’re worried you might fuck him hard enough not even your birth control could save you from what you’d coax from him. Alcohol is a hell of a drug, but so is his undivided attention.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask with a tremble in your voice when you feel his hands slide to hold your hips and his eyes look cloudy with something you can’t discern. 

“You. I’m thinking about you. Duh.”

“But what about me?” 

“Whatever the song just said.”

“I don’t even know this song.”

“You’d be a pretty bad stripper, then.”

Your skin feels seared inside out from how his eyes seem to undress you, and it doesn’t help that he’s way too hot blooded underneath you, running warm against your body’s attempts to keep its cool.

He slides you back a little, to where you’re not sitting right over his crotch anymore. 

You hold a tiny twist of your hair between your forefinger and your thumb to distract from his intense eye contact, in favor of inspecting for split ends. “Can I ask you something?” you say.

“Anything.”

“What was the bet?”

“Huh?” 

Your eyes flicker to his briefly, just for the duration that you speak. “You mentioned that the reason you messaged me those couple of months ago,” you start, “was because you lost some bet with Todo, and you had to help him get with Mina after that. What was the bet?”

“Just some stupid fantasy football thing,” he says. You tilt your head at him and briefly consider feigning interest in fantasy football, but you’re not that down bad. “I’m really glad though,” he continues, “since I got to meet you because of it.” Then he’s drinking from the bottle again. This time, you grab it from him once he’s done to consume some for yourself.

“What did you think of me when you first saw me?” you ask, the questions like an impulse you can’t control, and you swipe a drop of beer from your chin with the back of your hand.

He takes the bottle from your hand once you’re done swapping spit on it then sets it down on the table again, and there’s a moment of surprise on his face when he registers it’s a lot lighter than when you took it from him. And then his thumbs are back to rubbing those dizzying circles on your hips through the taut fabric of your dress, touch grazing up the curve of your waist when he feels like it. “Cute,” he says, first and foremost, “sorta wide-eyed and a little lost. Not the type to put casual sex on the table in the way that I thought you would.” 

“That’s a little insulting.”

His brow furrows for a moment before he sighs. “Your head’s a very pretty yet very strange thing.”

“Do I not seem promiscuous?” you ask, not even sure why you’re offended by it, “I can be–” you catch the slurring of your words, “I can be chill, and the type to have casual sex. No strings attached girl. I could be that if I wanted to.” 

“Maybe,” he says, a slight tilt to his head as he looks at you with something you’d describe as adoration, “but not for me.” And then suddenly his features turn sharp again. “Oh, and not for any other guy, either.”

You roll your eyes at his latter statement and ignore it. “But wasn’t that what you wanted from the beginning,” you say with a hic and a finger lightly grazing down his chest which he tucks his chin to watch, and you clarify when you realize you’ve lost him, “Casual.”

He senses you’re playing a game now, of cat and mouse, or just-tell-me-what-I-wanna-hear-already.

“At the beginning, sure. But not so much anymore.” And he ends it there.

You raise an eyebrow. 

He sighs. “I need you to know that I’m not great with words.”

“Neither am I,” you say, just to feel similar to him somehow.

“I disagree,” he states, like he sees right through it, and he leans away from you to lay back, hands leaving your hips to set his elbows up on the couch, open for proper conversation all of a sudden. “You’re good with words.”

You pinch the fabric of his shirt in a fidget, and raise an eyebrow at him in question.

“I don’t know,” he tries to elaborate, “you just know what you want and you ask for it. I don’t always know what I want from people, so I hardly ask for much.”

You release your grip of his shirt. He sulks about it. “I can recall you asking me to call you daddy once. Weirdo.”

“Wow. I open up to you and then you kink shame me.”

You giggle a little, because he’s funny sometimes, and he’s showing you his appreciation for the sound of your laughter in the air by giving you a playful pinch to the plush of your thigh. 

“Sorry,” you drawl, “it was on my mind. Because of–” you point to the ceiling, “because of what the song just said.”

He laughs. “You’re not into it though? The– uh, you know what I mean.” Evading the word like he’s preserving propriety for now.

“I don’t hate it for other people…not really trying to yuck anyone’s yum here, but my, um, my real dad’s not around anymore so it’s just a little,” you pause, feeling awkward, “weird for me I think.”

“Oh,” his brow furrows, like he’s glad he preserved that propriety from earlier, “my bad. If it’s any consolation, I was half joking.”

“Half is good enough for me,” you tell him, in a voice a little higher pitched than your usual, and you hold his face still by the jaw before leaning forward on foreign instinct to kiss him but you stop yourself right before you do. Eyes on your lips now, he leans forward to seal what you teased but you’re only stopping him as well by the heel of your hand pressed to his sternum.

He remains close though, gaze still fixated on the light tuck of your bottom lip under your front teeth, and when his eyes flicker up to yours again, they’re wild and dark.

“I like this weird thing we’re doing,” he exhales, sorta husky, “where you won’t let me kiss you. It’s hot.”

“Ok,” you say, with a small shrug as you push him away until he’s leaned all the way back onto the couch again, “I’ll keep it up forever then.”

He can’t help the groan that leaves him as he tips his head back in agony. “I’d die. I’d literally fucking die.”

You roll your eyes at the drama. “Isn’t this nice though? No kissing means more talking.”

“Yes, because talking is exactly what I wanna be doing with you while you’re sitting in my lap.”

Your shoulders drop in a bit of a sulk, and his eyes soften at the sight.

“I do,” he starts as he leans forward before pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth, dangerously close to breaking rules, but he needed to kiss your pout away somehow, “really love talking to you, though.”

You can’t think of anything clever to retort with, so you wear your heart on your sleeve. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m pretty sure I could recite everything you’ve ever said to me off the top of my head, and that’s given the fact I’ve got the memory of a goldfish on any good day, so,” he says as he tucks strands of your hair behind your ear. It’s a messy tuck, one you have to fix yourself anyway, and when your fingers brush against his from the redundant movement, he holds your hand, “but yeah, sure, I’m just saying it.”

He pulls your hand from where it’s near your ear, and interlocks his fingers with yours in that intimate way that makes your heart skip a beat. There’s the texture of his callouses against the back of your hand, rough on his fingertips yet soothing over your skin, and it reminds you of when he held your hand in that hotel room. From the look in his eyes, you can tell he’s thinking of it too.

The memory is intense, and it has you shifting your weight a little in his lap, until you accidentally rub your panties right over his crotch and a soft gasp leaves your lips when you realize that he’s hard underneath you. 

The motion gets a groan out of him as he tilts his head back and his hands grip tight on your hips to keep you there.

“Hey. No. I didn’t mean to do that. Don’t get aroused,” you squeak out. The ribbed expanse of his neck as he’s leaned back makes you want to kiss him at the taut skin, right near the vein that’s tense down from behind his ear to his collarbone.

He tips his head back down to level his gaze with yours. “It’s way too late for that.”

You struggle a little against his grip, and the sensation of his erection held snug against your clothed heat sends a pleasureful ache to your lower tummy. “Y-You’re just gonna suffer, then.”

“Yes. Which is a pattern with you. But I kinda like it.”

“Mm. Your head’s a very strange thing.”

“My head? Baby, my head hasn’t done any of the thinking since I saw you in this dress.”

You feel like you’re on fire. “You’re such a whore today.”

“Can’t a dude just chill on a couch with the girl he likes. Jesus.”

You know he's said it already, so it's no secret, but him calling you the girl he likes makes your head spin hazy in a way you wish it wouldn't. Because half of your heart is telling you it's the bare minimum you'd want, while the other half is telling you it's all you'll ever need to hear from him for the rest of your life. 

He’s bouncing one of his legs up and down in relief of some of the self restraint he’s exercising right now, and it’s making you sway a little in his lap while he admires you.

“You’re so pretty,” he sighs with a shake of his head, like it’s torture for him in the best way possible, and then his nose nuzzles under your jaw, right where you sprayed your perfume. You shiver when he presses a kiss there. “Pretty girl.” 

You lightly push his shoulder with the heel of your palm so that he pulls away to look at you, and a few shy flutters of your eyes tell him people might see us, to which his eyes say don’t care as he tilts his hips up towards yours. 

Most guys would match the tempo of the music with a slow grind like this, but of course he makes his own. One he settles you into with guiding hands on your hips, the way he wants it. One that makes your hand shoot out to grip his shoulder for purchase when your hips start to move on their own from the feeling of him hard and hot and excited underneath you, until he's got you unsure of whose idea this was in the first place. 

“Fuck,” he exhales with a slack jaw, all air and no tone, when you rock your hips forward and he leans back on the couch as he starts to grind up against you as well, firm and flush, and you’re satisfied by the loss of his composure. 

You’re sure you’re nothing but sopping, unadulterated wet between your legs, and if the fabric over his crotch was any shade of black lighter, he’d be able to see the mess you’re making on him. It’s a shame. Or maybe you’re glad he’s unaware. Unless—

“I can feel how wet you are,” he tells you, sounding like he’s out of breath from the sensation alone as his finger hooks the hem of your dress up just enough to eye the sight of where you’re sat on him, “if you’re gonna play hard to get, you’ve gotta learn to control your arousal a bit better than this.”

“Oh,” you squeak out, his words having the opposite effect, and you squirm when you say, “y–...you’re one to talk.”

“I’m not trying to hide how much I want you right now,” he says, and he proves it by holding your clothed arousal flush against his heavy erection to where you can feel it twitch with need underneath layers of impossibly taut fabric, and he caves into a harsh jut of his hips upwards, bumping against your clit and when you gasp then lean into his chest with your chin tipping up to the ceiling, he kisses your neck where your hair is stuck to the sweat at your nape. 

It's true, if actions could speak, his say I wanna fuck you senseless right now. And the way you can practically feel his cock ache as he’s rolling his hips up into you tells you he's about two seconds of resolve away from fucking you senseless right now. But he also knows that it's a game, and for a moment you forgot how good he is at winning those things.

You halt movement for a second, and his fingers press into the plush of your ass to get you to keep going with it, but you don’t. “What are we doing. Dry humping on a couch like we're high schoolers.”

He makes a point to teasingly poke you under your ribcage, and you flinch then swat his hand away. "Just seeing how far you'll let me take you without letting me kiss you."

"What if all the way?"

"All the way without getting to kiss you? I couldn't even imagine that." He pauses in thought. "No, wait, yes I can." He pauses in thought again. "Holy fuck, can we?"

"Do yourself a favor and stop thinking."

He purses his lips in a pout, his leg that’s been bouncing up and down picking up in vigor, and you’re not sure if it’s because he’s genuinely starting to lose his sanity, or if it’s because he wants to see your tits jiggle with the motion, but maybe the latter since he dips his head down to kiss right above the neckline of your dress, where the softness of your breast starts. It’s a light kiss, more of a brush of his lips, and he breathes in the scent of your skin like it’s a drug. “How do you always smell so nice?” he mumbles against you, “drives me insane.”

His palm smooths up the side of your waist before he tucks his thumb under your breast while his other fingers wrap your ribcage, and his teeth catch the lace of your dress to tug down, revealing more of your soft sweat slicked skin and his gaze flicks up to meet yours in teasing eye contact.

God, just one touch between your thighs would reveal how flush your panties are stuck to your pussy by the embarrassing amount of arousal, entirely disproportionate to the minimal amount of obscenity it took from him to get you there. And the lewd sight of him tugging at the neckline of your dress with his canines makes you wonder if his teeth would be enough to peel the soaked and skin-flush cloth of your panties off of you, or if his hands would have to get involved. 

Like he reads your mind, his other hand comes between your thighs and he brushes two of his fingers over your clothed clit, light pressure placed like he’s just playing with you, yet it’s somehow enough to where your hand shoots out to grab his forearm with nails digging into his skin.

His teeth release the lace of your neckline when you writhe in his hold and he moves his lips to your ear. “Too much?” he murmurs.

“Mm,” you hum, hard to think when he’s drawing circles over you now and you can feel the wetness dripping out of you. His middle finger slides to the place where it soaks your panties, prodding slightly, the only thing keeping him from fingering you right now being the flimsy cotton fabric.

There’s a brief silence around you as music abruptly stops, lasting for maybe three seconds before it resumes, like someone was fumbling to change the song out in the courtyard, and it’s barely sobering enough for you to remember that the two of you are still in potential eyesights of other people and your cheeks flush as you pull his hand out from between your thighs. 

"Are—” you gasp a little, “are you excited for tomorrow?" you ask in an aim to distract as you guide his hand back to your waist.

"Huh?" he huffs, tearing his eyes away from your cleavage to look at your face, his features twisting into confusion and some sort of frustration too. Sexual, most likely. His leg is bouncing again.

You blink at him, alcohol from earlier starting to get to your head. "The big game tomorrow?"

"Oh, yeah, very," he mindlessly kisses your cheek, "excited."

"You know," you start, arms sliding past his shoulders and loosely locking behind his neck so you can lean off to the side in a dizziness that he keeps you from falling from by both hands holding onto your waist, “I used to–" you can't even finish your sentence without preemptively giggling because you can already imagine how he'll react, "I used to play soccer when I was younger. When I was a young one. In my youth.”

He scoffs in disbelief, and he’s poking his tongue to the inside of his cheek with some boyish interest in his eyes and you can tell he thinks you’re just fucking with him. “Yeaahhh right.”

You, and the alcohol, tell him, “No really, I did!!”

You think you’ve lost balance when you fall more to the side than you intended, but then you realize he’s just shifting you to lay on your back and now he’s hovering over you on the couch. His toned arms frame the sight you’re looking up at as you blink slowly to admire his face, and then your wrists that are still crossed behind his neck are tugging down because you need him a little closer. 

He comes down onto one elbow, sunk into the cushion for leverage, and his other forearm slides under your waist. The fabric of your dress has fallen to your hips to expose the skin of your thigh as you press it against the side of his hip.

“Alright. What position did you play then?”

Fuck. In fairness, you would’ve remembered all things better if the ethanol wasn’t metabolizing in your veins.

“I was,” you look past him to the ceiling briefly, “the…fielder.”

“The fielder?”

“Something like that.”

“Uh, like a midfielder?”

“No, no, not mid,” you pout with a shake of your head, “above average.” 

He snorts. “I don’t think you’ve played a single day in your life.”

“I did,” it comes off as a bit of a whine, because you’re frustrated he doesn’t believe you, “I remember once in a middle school match I was playing defense and this girl elbowed me in the boob and I called her a bitch and the referee told me I couldn’t play for the rest of the game. So I called him a bitch too.”

His grin is wide like he’s proud of you for it. “Atta girllll,” he drawls, a curl to his tongue to fight the slur of his own words, and he lifts your butt up with one cupped hand underneath it until your hips are pressed against his again, and you loosely wrap your legs around him, too enveloped with delirium to care about anything else anymore. He resists the urge of rutting his hips into yours for the better part of half a second. You stifle your moan with a purse of your lips.

“I’m. A little bit.” You say between a hiccup.

“A little bit what?”

“Little bit tipsy.”

“From what? The beer?”

Another hic. “I think so.”

“You’re so cute it’s honestly killing me.”

You bring your hands up to hold his face, one thumb caressing his cheek, and he lowers his head down to rest his forehead against yours, then you’re both looking into each other's eyes for what feels like forever. Your pinky can feel his pulse thrumming fast under his jaw, his eyes so soft and sweet and serene you didn’t even know it was possible for anyone to look at you with that much adoration. Like you’re the only thing that matters. 

Your head tilts up, a few flutters of your lashes as you lick your lips and succeed in drawing his gaze to them when he realizes you’re finally giving him the permission. You tuck your bottom lip under your front teeth, suddenly shy in anticipation, and his thumb pulls it out from under and presses into the softness of it, and both of your chests are rising in slow rhythm with one another when he finally dips his head down to–

“Yo! Satoru,” a loud voice calls out in interruption from the glass sliding doors of the pool house. You turn your head towards the source and feel Gojo’s hand possessively pull the fabric of your dress up your thigh to preserve your modesty. You see one of his frat brothers standing in the frame holding up a pair of metal tongs, clacking them in the air to get his attention. “It’s your turn to grill, man.”

You turn your head from his frat brother back to Gojo and watch as he blinks blankly off into the distance, the two of you clearly pulled out of the feverish trance you were just relishing in, and then you see Gojo wave a dismissive hand in the air as if to say yeah, yeah, okay, gimme a sec which is somehow convincing enough to get his frat brother to head back to the barbecue stand. 

Gojo snakes his arm around your waist and lifts you up with him, sitting and sinking back into the cushion of the couch and you wobble a little from the dizziness of suddenly being upright as he pulls you into his lap again. His eyes are darting across the features of your face while he has a small tug of a pout to his lips. 

“Okay. Well. It seems I have to feed the masses, so.”

“So?” you prod him to finish.

“I’ve gotta go.”

“Then go.”

“I will,” he says. 

You try your best to hide the sulk that weighs on your shoulders, because you don’t want him to go, and when you study his face, you notice his expression relaxes a little and the corner of his mouth twitches upwards slightly into some sort of smirk. Like he’s caught on that you’re still on the edge of what could’ve been a kiss, and he’s satisfied that you’re the one craving it now. 

You dislike the loss of power over him, and you roll your hips once over his crotch to find that he’s still hard underneath you and he sucks a harsh breath through his teeth before a low growl leaves his lips, and then he’s softly glaring at you. 

“Maybe meditate,” you say to him, “for the boner to go away.”

He snorts, and you blush when you realize it’s because you made it sound more like an infomercial rather than something sexy and minxy and alluring like you were going for, but he still kisses your cheek regardless before he slides you off of him. And you realize you almost like these chaste kisses more than anything else. “It’s fine,” he says, “like I said, I’ve gotten used to it with you.”

His words make you briefly wonder how many boners you’ve given him, and then you realize you’d really rather not know. Although it would probably be strangely endearing to know. But still. For some reason. You’d really rather not know. Or maybe you would?…Now you feel like you’re the one that needs to meditate. 

He gets up off the couch with an exhale of a grunt leaving him, the couch adjusting so harshly to his lack of body weight that the springs bounce you up and down once or twice from the motion, and you’re sitting on your heels from where you look up at him, seemingly still as a statue like you’re not going anywhere. 

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Come get some food, yeah?”

“Mhm. In a sec.”

He hesitates for a second like he wants to ask a question, or maybe multiple, but he just lightly shrugs, gaze lingering on you for a short second before he turns on his heel to head out of the pool house and out towards the barbecue station. The second he’s far away enough for you, you let out the almost crestfallen sigh you were holding in before plopping down onto your back onto the cushions.

And here you were, laying on a couch staring up at the pool house ceiling, occupying yourself with the study of a dusty cobweb across the wooden pillar high into the structure, so you don't have to think about the way you've been left high and dry. Why do people say high and dry? If anything, you’re high and soaked. Well, you suppose for men it’d be high and dry. But the phrase should be bisexual at the very least. Er– unisex? …gender inclusive?

You realize you’re still a little tipsy. 

Gojo's words from earlier linger, "Weeeell sometimes you’ve gotta get a little wet to have a good time." Okay, well, you would’ve chosen pool wet instead of left-here-an-aroused-mess wet if you had any clue what your options were beforehand. 

Your head lifts up off the cushions until you're seated straight, tilting your head side to side as you peer off into the courtyard, still a little dizzy from the buzz, and you grab Gojo's now flat abandoned beer to finish the rest of it off in one fell swoop before you stand up and head towards the courtyard.

You stop in the broad door frame of sliding glass doors of the pool house, arms crossing as you take in the sight of people all around you. Holding their breath underwater, sprawled on lawn chairs while eating hot dogs, oaky smoke slightly fogging and burning the clarity of your vision as your eyes settle over at the barbeque station. Plastic tablecloths cling to white fold-out tables with custom print for SAE and UTOKYO's D1 SOCCER publicity arranged in amateur graphic design fashion, and you see Gojo standing at the grill flipping the meat he was making work to cook. There's a line developing, and you realize it's lunch time. Hide's taking special orders at the line, chatting up some girls who you're pretty sure you've seen in sorority Instagram pages, and you watch as Hide throws a pointing thumb behind him towards Gojo, and then a trio of those girls split from the line to make their way over to him at the grill.

You squint your eyes to focus your vision, and you realize one of the girls is the one from earlier that was looking you up and down and sideways before batting her eyelashes at Gojo when you were standing right next to him.

The trio exchange a brief word to one another before that girl taps on Gojo's shoulder. Whatever conversation he was having with one of his frat brothers is interrupted when he turns to look at her. You see that signature clueless "huh?" look on his face, and she's pointing at the grill. Oh, special instructions, you can practically hear the thought that flashes through his head, but you feel uneasy. When there's music this loud, and you want a guy to lean in closer to you, then you talk real quiet, right? It’s a trick as old as time. And that's exactly what happens in front of you, when he leans down because he can't hear her purposefully hushed words, and then the girl wastes no time in wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him down towards her and—

Your heart drops to the ground at the same time your mouth falls open when you see her kiss him, glossy lips sickeningly sweetly pressed against his mouth, and the pure hurt that spreads through you is fully sobering to say the least.

Shock is the only expression you can see on his face from here, and he's quick to pull away, but god, it was still tough as hell to witness. His lips read "what the fuck?" as he confronts the action, before his gaze immediately darts towards the poolhouse and he makes eye contact with you, panicked worry written all over his face, and you roll your eyes before storming off across the courtyard towards the main house. There are eyes on you paired with hushed whispers of gossip but you just can’t bring yourself to care with the way your stomach feels like it’s been flipped upside down like you’re about to straight up puke right now, and you barely register bumping your shoulder into Geto and Nanami before they call out your name behind you with a few words of concern, and then you hear Gojo’s voice calling out to you too, but you continue to hurriedly push on until you disappear into the main house, around the corner, down a slim hallway, and barely make it into a tiny little walk-in coat closet when you feel a warm hand wrap around your wrist. 

"Hey– y/n, wait—" you hear Gojo desperately stutter behind you, stopping you. You turn on your heel to face him, and you see he’s breathing heavy, brows tightly furrowed, mouth slightly open from the way he was raggedly exhaling in the clear sheer panic rushing through his veins only proven by the guilty look on his face, but there's only the image of another girl's lips on his still present in your memory. It's not the first time you've seen him kiss someone else, but after all this time and everything that’s happened since then, this felt so much worse. If there was one thing about jealousy, it's that it’s enough to make all feelings you have for someone surface in a way that's so overbearingly powerful, so insanely potent and borderline physically debilitating that it makes you feel sick to the stomach, and that's why there's a prick of tears in your eyes when you make eye contact with him. It's a primal, possessive thing ringing in your head when you look at him that just screams mine, mine, mine, mine, mine. You can be pissed off all you want later, but right now you need to get the sensation of another woman’s lips off of him.

Your fists ball the fabric of his shirt, and you pull him to you so hard the momentum has your back slamming into the surface behind you and you kiss him, hard, it's messy, honestly you could've chipped a tooth if he hadn’t braced his hands on the wall behind you before his lips crash onto yours, and his surprise only lasts a hesitant second before he's hungrily kissing you back.

There's just the sound of the two of you exhaling together in feverish unison with the kiss as his hands are quick to cup under your ass and he lifts you up, pressing your clothed heat flush to the front of his groin as his hips pin yours to the wall. Your arms wrap around his neck, skin tickled by the short hair at his undercut, and the moan that escapes you when you wrap your legs around him and feel his bulge pressed against the thin cotton of your panties is muffled by him in harmony with his groan, pure expressions of all the pent-up arousal felt in the way he kisses you like he’s worried it’s the last chance he’ll ever get. 

His teeth nip at your bottom lip, and you gasp before he deepens the kiss, but the prickle of tears in the corners of your eyes when you shut them tight makes you pull away from the kiss completely.

You’re both panting heavily, looking at each other in close proximity under the dark lighting of the closet. You wrap your arms around his neck a little tighter, and you’re not sure if you want his lips on you again or if you don’t want to see him for an entire week. His eyes are dark, low, and set on your lips, which you’re sure are puffed and glossy and look like nothing but pure sex to him right now, and he leans in to kiss you again but you turn your face away from him at the last second and his lips make contact with your cheek instead. He’s confused for a moment, kiss limp as he looks at the side of your face in his periphery before pulling away slightly, and the second kiss he places on your cheek is softer, intentional, an apology, a sorry, a guilt-ridden affection like he knows you’re hurt and it’s killing him. You feel the plush of your cheek squish up to your cheekbone from the gesture, and the feeling has you blinking away tears for some reason. 

“Let-...” you say, catching your breath and tucking your chin under when his lips graze your temple, then your hand pushes him away weakly by his shoulder. “Satoru, let me down.”

An expression of hurt flashes across his face before his palms hesitantly slide down the underside of your thighs until you’re gently eased back onto your feet and you tuck your disheveled hair behind your ears, to gain poise, before you blink a few times then look up at him with so much uncertainty. 

“I don’t know–” he starts, already sounding flustered with panic, “what the fuck happened back there, I don’t even know who that was. I wasn’t trying to– I didn’t– it wasn’t— “

You could finish his sentences for him in your head, but you just watch him trip over his own words. You suppose the fact he was so desperate to vindicate himself to you right now was the only thing keeping you sane from the realization of a truth you’ve been evading this whole time, which was that if you were to date Gojo, you’d constantly be competing for the right to be by his side. Luckily enough, the two of you were graduating soon from all the fraternity & sorority space, but even then, you realize that no matter where he goes, he will always have pretty women that look at him, and want him, and want to be with him, without any regard for anything besides the pure desire to have him, whether he’s taken or not. He’s going to be a pro soccer player someday, with millions of fans, and although he’s never done anything to make you doubt he’d be loyal to you, there’s just no way you could escape the sinking feeling in your chest that tells you you’ll never be the best thing. There will always be a better best thing, and you’ll only have his attention for so long before he finds it. 

“I’m,” you choke out, feeling rawness in your throat that makes it difficult to speak, “I’m not feeling well, I’m just gonna go—”

He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you to him, harsh, your head thwacking against his chest as he wraps his arms around you and you can physically feel your heart ache at the familiarity of his scent surrounding you. 

“I’m sorry. I…I won’t let that happen again. I’ll never talk to another girl ever again. I won’t look at another girl again. Hell, I won’t even exist around other girls ever again, uh, I’ll wear an invisible cloak, a hazmat suit, change my identity, move to a different country, in fact, I don’t even know what other girls are, no clue, seriously. I just—fuck, I don’t even know what I’m trying to say right now, I’m just— I’m just so sorry.”

You purse your lips together, unsure of how you went from being on the verge of tears two seconds ago to trying to stifle laughter from how stupid he sounds, but you wrap your arms around his waist as he continues to spew utter nonsense as he commits to an almost maniacal and impossible level of fidelity to you. Here he was, manwhore of the school, tripping over his words to confess undying loyalty to you like you’re domesticating some wild beast no one’s ever dreamed of conquering from natural habitat. 

“I just want—” you hear him rambling, the rumbling of his words felt on your cheek as you press it against his chest. He wraps his arms around you tighter, and you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head. “I just want you.”

Your heart skips a beat in your chest, and you feel a single tear drip from your eyelashes and soak through the cotton of his shirt, tiny enough to where he doesn’t notice, and you shove your face further into his chest so it stays that way. You wonder if one day you’ll be able to truly believe his words. And you curse yourself for not being brave enough to. 

You two stand in an embrace for a solid ten seconds before the knot in your throat is loose enough to speak. 

“It’s not your fault,” you muffle into his chest, “she kissed you out of nowhere. The bitch.”

You feel him stiffen a little in surprise over your profanity. “Damn. Didn’t believe you when you said you called that girl who elbowed you in the boob at a soccer game a bitch when you were younger, but I kinda believe you now.”

“It’s my favorite cuss word.”

“I can see that. You’re free to call me a bitch any time, by the way.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re stupid.”

He tucks your head under his chin in a nuzzle, and you count every beat of his heart. “Are you mad at me?”

You give serious thought to his question. “Mm. No. I’m mad at the girl who kissed you.”

When he only hums above you, you pull your head away and look up at him.

“Seriously. It’s not right. And you’re allowed to be angry about it too,” you say.

He raises an eyebrow at you and tilts his head.

“She’s a random person who kissed you out of nowhere, like you’re just some piece of meat to toy with. It’s wrong. You’re a human being, not an object to lust over.”

His eyes widen slightly, and your heart sinks a little when you see he’s confused and trying to genuinely process your words, like it’s something no one’s ever told him before. Like it’s happened in the past too, and he was never taught to believe that it was wrong, just because he’s attractive and popular, like that somehow meant he’s just supposed to take all the glory with no complaint or preservation of his own person. 

You shift on your feet a little, releasing your hold of him and he releases his embrace of you as well, and from the way he’s darting his eyes across your face and the wall behind you and occasionally towards the ceiling, like you’ve just put some epiphany in his head that’s being processed in the brain behind his rapid blinking, you realize he probably needs a second to process what you’ve just said. You move past him but not without a comforting squeeze of his bicep in the process. There's a sound that leaves his throat, something undecipherable, like he was just filling the air with some response that’s now lost, but for the most part he just watches you leave with those same wide eyes.

You get back out into the courtyard, a slow exhale leaving you as you brace yourself for the eyes of all the onlookers, and though most of them are just curious over the girl that Gojo Satoru just chased after in front of all his frat bros and harem of sorority girls, you can’t help but feel like some of them are judging and hateful and jealous too. But anger beats out all of your emotions of worry or embarrassment, and when you see the girl that kissed him still lingering over at the barbecue station, glaring daggers at you, you match it with a glare of your own. 

You walk up to her, and you see she expects you to say something, like she’s prepared for a cat fight as if it’s all she’s ever known, but instead you just calmly look over her towards the barbecue station, push past her with a harsh bump of your shoulder against hers, knocking her off balance as she gasps offendedly at your choice to ignore her, but that’s exactly what burns people like her the most. The feeling of realizing their fuckassery is insignificant and boring and not even worth the energy of reprimanding. 

One of the frat bros at the grill cautiously hands you a plate of ribs.

“Um. You didn’t use condoms to serve these, right?” you ask as you take it from him.

“N-No,” he stutters, “…why? I-Is that a request?”

“No, no, no. You’re good.”

.

.

.

[end of chapter 11]

a/n. hiiiii thank u sm for tuning into another chapter of Edging With Plot!! 🤞🏼🤞🏼🤞🏼😍😍😍 (haha just kidding. sorta) hope you enjoyed readinggg n apologies for the wait for this chapter. honestly writing the little scene on the poolhouse couch was a lot of fun tbh i got such young puppy love vibes while writing their dialogue pls guys i think they’re fallng in loooovvee :(( sobs. lil kickoff couple sorry if the chapter ends kinda abruptly haha i am sooooo unbelievably jaded rn after four weeks of traveling i couldn’t think of any other way to end it since the last part was the only scene i had left to write lol. on that note, i will be a little mia next couple days as we’re doing the long haul stretch drive home and i’ll be driving for most of it so :’’) i won’t be able to respond to replies or asks for this chapter right away like i usually am able to but i can’t wait to interact w you all once i’m back home very soon <3 so much love from me as always!! hope you’re all taking care and having a nice summer. remember to stay hydrated :) - ellie 💕

➸ you're all caught up!

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[werecreature-addicted]

werewolf jock is making me go crazy but werewolf mean girl is making me go stupid-

perhaps both even- they’re so territorial over their stupid loser

this is an incredible thought. the only issue is a Hot girl being mean is just every lesbian I've ever dated.

Popular mean girls and Popular bully guys tend to be mean in different ways too.

Mean girl werewolf telling you you're sooooo brave for wearing that outfit and laughing with her friends while you walk by then insisting she isn't talking about you while giggling. "no guys they're so shy leave them alone- omg I didn't even know you could talk it's so funny hearing your voice it's like crazy."

But also if a mean girl werewolf wanted to bash my head into a locker and finger me in a bathroom stall while teasing me for being a hopeless loser slut. I'd let her.

She makes you hump her expensive high-heel boot and then lick up your cum off her shoe because, gross she is so not walking around with your spunk on her leg, she may be the wolf here but you're the dog.

I like to imagine she waxes/ shaves her excessive body hair to better fit in with human beauty standards but still has a thick line of hair that starts at her navel and disappears into her pink mini skirt. she doesn't bother trimming down her happy trail and bush unless she's planning on wearing a bikini soon. Go ahead and bury your face in her messy pubes and huff her musk while you eat out her pussy.

She's a pillow princess. She wants to just lay there and let you do all the work. You're lucky you're even seeing her naked, let alone fucking her, you absolutely should have to do some work. The only exception is when she's in heat. no pace you set will be fast and hard enough for her so she has to roll you over and ride your dick/strap until she can make herself cum. Also, she's a total bottom. she can't top for shit. she's mean and bossy with the weakest stroke game in the world.

I see her being slightly more possessive and territorial than her male counterpart. She takes it as a slight if you fuck other people, what is she not good enough for you? if you do find yourself caught between Bully Jock and Mean Girl, she's fucking you to prove something, she wants you to see that she's the one you should be crawling back to every night. Not some smelly jackass.

Although, in this threesome, she ends up on her back, legs spread wide while you sloppily make out with her pussy and get railed from the back by the other werewolf. so much for fucking some sense into you. But hey, everyone got an orgasm out of it so who's she to complain.

[sapphicantics]

Two Sides of the Same Coin | Prologue

Pairing: Regina George x fem!reader

Summary: After a nobody destroys the Jocks and insults the Queen Bee without a care or an apology, you get catapulted to the top of the social food chain next to aforementioned Queen Bee, Regina George, who now has to learn to share the spotlight with North Shore’s new bad girl. | Or alternatively, your ‘don’t give a fuck’ attitude sucks you and Regina into each other’s worlds sending you down a path you never expected.

Contents: mentions of violence

Note: This fic has been sitting in my drafts since like the end of February and it’s undergone several changes since then and I’ve got several ideas for this fic. This is just an intro chapter so it’s pretty light right now but please keep an eye on the contents because there are plans for this story to include potentially triggering topics as we go on.

Chapter One

— — — —

A reputation is the beliefs that are generally held about a person.

In high school, reputations are the most important thing about a person. The better your reputation, the better your high school years will be; the better your reputation, the more popularity you’ll have.

The best reputations means the most popularity, and the most popularity means the best reputations.

The best reputations, however, do not always belong to the best people.

Take Regina George, for example.

She’s the Queen of North Shore High — everyone knows who she is, everyone loves her, everyone wants to be associated with her in some way, everyone wants her to like them — but she is far from a good person.

She’s a mean girl, and she’s proud of it too.

She’s at the very top of the social food chain. She’s the peak of the social hierarchy and everyone else, even her fellow Plastics, fall below her lest they want their secrets revealed and their social life ruined.

It’s about power for her and there’s nothing Regina likes more than having power over people.

Unfortunately for Regina, you exist.

The girl with no secrets.

You don’t hide anything about yourself. You’re loud and proud about who you are and it pisses Regina off because that means she has no power over you; nothing to hold over your head and make you bow to her with. Sure she could make something up about you, but she prefers there to be a hint of truth in the rumors she spreads to ensure her dominance, and she can’t do that with you if you’re an open book.

But what pisses Regina off most is that you have no friends, no acquaintances, you don’t talk to anyone unless you have to; you’re basically a loner and yet, despite Regina not wanting to acknowledge it, you’re at the top of the food chain with her.

And she hates it.

You should be at the bottom, you should be below the art freaks, you should be an easy target of bullying by the jocks or her or anyone really, because that’s just how high school works - the lesser get bullied by the higher, but you don’t take shit from anybody; not from the jocks, evident by the way you leave several star players battered and bruised after they put their hands on you, and definitely not from her — evident by the way she insults you one day ( the same day you beat up the jocks ) and you insult her right back without looking at her, without any hesitation, and all while still walking to your class which leaves the whole school stunned.

Regina is pissed about it and lashes out at people for the rest of the day, but there’s also a piece of her that’s intrigued by you which pisses her off even more, and when Regina is pissed it becomes everyone else’s problem.

Except yours because you don’t care and anyone who tries to make it your problem, anyone who tries to make you apologize and “fall in line”, ends up like the jocks.

This is what cements everything in place.

This is the day The North Shore Menace is born.

[aceof-stars]

One thing I love about Miles Edgeworth is how realistic and practical he is, more than he is moralistic. As much as Miles cares about justice and doing what he thinks is right, he’s not fueled by belief the same way, for example, Phoenix is. And this is one of the things I feel like gets ignored or brushed aside when Miles's character is softened too much.

Both pre and post redemption, Miles puts a lot of emphasis on reality and the bottom line of what people can do in a situation.

In Turnabout Goodbyes, the first thing Edgeworth says in response to Phoenix asking him why he became a prosecutor instead of a defense attorney is: "… I couldn't let myself deny reality like you."

He also doesn't truly believe that every defendant he prosecutes is guilty, contrary to popular belief. In Turnabout Sisters, he says this: ""Innocent"…? How can we know that? The guilty will always lie, to avoid being found out. There's no way to tell who is guilty and who is innocent! All that I can hope to do is get every defendant declared "guilty"! So I make that my policy." Miles is disillusioned with finding the truth and trusting people that he settles for doing all he can hope to do.

And when you think about it, his motivation of finding the truth is an extension of his realism. After all, the truth is quite literally the most objective, realistic thing ever. In 1-3, after helping Phoenix convict Dee Vasquez, he says: "Will Powers was innocent. That he should be found so is only natural… not a miracle." The truth as a motivation is probably a grounding force for him.

When Miles comes back in Farewell My Turnabout, he calls out Phoenix's flawed motivations for becoming a defense attorney by offering realism: "We aren't some sort of heroes. We're only human, you and I. You want to "save someone"? That's something easier said than done, wouldn't you say? You are a defense lawyer. You can't run away from that. You can only fight. That's all you can do." Miles isn't saying Phoenix can't "save someone". Miles is saying that Phoenix shouldn't be so focused on saving someone that he forgets that his job as a defense attorney is only to fight for them.

Side note, I love the way Miles comforts people, he isn't exactly "nice" but he's incredibly kind. His blunt honesty digs at the heart of the matter, and he gives them an extra push because he respects them enough.

And then there's, possibly, my favorite Miles Edgeworth line: "It doesn't matter how many underhanded tricks a person uses… The truth will always find a way to make itself known. The only thing we can do is to fight with the knowledge we hold and everything we have. Erasing the paradoxes one by one… It's never easy… We claw and scratch for every inch. But we will always eventually reach that one single truth. This I promise you." This directly parallels the line he says in 1-2, and it makes me emotional every time I think about it.

The fact that Miles Edgeworth never lost his unwavering realism, in both quotes he acknowledges how untrustworthy people can be, but gained a new purpose.

[rboooks]

Can you write a dead on main? Something with a bookstore au please!

Now that I know the ship names, you bet I can! I'll try my best to get through the ones I got requested in the past few days.

Jason liked bookstores.

They were a safe haven for him as a child, even when the fancier ones chased him off when he became a street kid. He adores the various series, the smell of books, and the quiet of stores. Often he thought that they were a small pocket to escape reality.

He had always known he could escape between the pages when everything had been terrible.

Maybe that's what lead him to this store even if it was a bit odd.

It was out of the way by the old docks that Joker used to run, thus making it condemned to the rest of the populace.

An old warehouse turned into a three-story bookstore. The entire first floor was aisles placed in side-way lines with the main counter as its center. The second floor had cozy reading nocks, plush futon couches, pillows, and blankets, complete with a small cafe. The rule was that anyone could take a book off the second-floor walls to read for free.

Employees asked to be informed if any food or damage was done to the second floor since the second book only had one copy of each. The owner would pull one off the bottom floor shelves to replace it.

The final floor had various reading rooms, but Jason loved that each room was based on a book. The room was professionally decorated to the point it left visitors feeling like they actually stepped into the world of the book.

Sculptures, playable settings, phenomenal little details the hard die fans could spot, and even sound systems playing sounds that sounded like the world. Jason could only compare it to Disney World or universal studios. The fact that people could rent the rooms for an hour for only fifteen dollars made them much more popular.

The third-floor rooms- ten in total- would rotate between series after a few months. Hence, the rooms were always different, but inside them were recommended books with the same kind of theme that was always the perfect recommendation, or maybe people just wanted to explore a room of their favorites.

Jason had visited the strange little bookstore with Tim after his brother had gone on a date with Bernard there.

Tim and Barnard had rented the "Hogwarts common rooms" room for three hours. Jason had been amazed by how real the four standard rooms looked, how there were even dragons spitting fire in one corner, moving portraits, a sorting hat ceremony, a small teddy bear decorating corner, and even a wand building second. All for only fifteen dollars. Tim had practically been glowing when he came home with his Ravenclaw bear and his own wand.

And maybe Jason is a huge Harry Potter fan; perhaps it was one of the first things he boned with Tim over, so maybe his brother had taken him to have an experience that he compared to the first time Bruce took him to Universal Studios.

Then he ran into the owner while one of the employees had been helping him pick runes to have burned into his wand.

Jason started to come back for an entirely different reason.

"Hi, Jason!" Elle says when she sees him climbing the stairs toward the third floor. She's the store's co-owner and has gotten to know him on a first-name basis due to how often Jason has visited the store in the past year. If they made a reward points system, Jason knows he be the highest one on the chart.

She's sitting at a table that is decorated like a galaxy. The books for these quarters' room themes are on the table's surface, all with a door key under them and a clipboard for the various hours.

Jason's eyes land on Pride and Prejudice, and his heart leaps.

"Hi, Elle. What's the wait time for door seven?"

She smiles, flipping the clipboard to the time slots. "The Ball at Netherfield Park has a lot of openings today. I got a three, four, six, or seven. When shall I fit thee dance card in milord?"

Jason laughs and checks his phone, ensuring he doesn't need to do anything for a while before saying. "Three will be fine. It's only thirty minutes. I'll go get a coffee while I wait."

She nods, writing his name down for three. She then passes him some disclosure forms he has to sign, forgoes the long-winded explanation of the rules, and sends him on his way, promising to send him a reminder text.

"Just so you know, Ball at Netherfield Park comes with a unique costume option. Five extra dollars to go through our costume section, and you can dress up like Mr. Darcy for a full hour."

Jason shakes his head though it's a very tempting offer. "Thanks, Elle but I'm okay with my street clothes today."

The other shrugs and checks her nails- their asexual theme today, he notes- before nonchalantly commenting. "Too bad. Danny really wanted someone to cosplay with him. Jane Austin's books are less prevalent in Gotham than we thought, and he's been dying to wear his Mr. Bingley outfit. I thought you like to, so I told him to come over when you arrive, but I can text him to cancel-"

"Five dollars, you said? For the full outfit or just like a coat?" Jason ignores her smug expression and quickly places a twenty on the table.

"Full outfit. What do you take us for?"

He glares at her just as the man of the hour himself runs up the stairs. Danny Fenton, founder, and co-owner of Ghost Zone Reads. He's in a light blue Regency period man coat that makes his eyes pop. A pair of white pants that hug his hips and thighs in all the right places, black knee boots, and a black gentle top hat.

Jason's knees go weak at the sight of him.

Danny's face is flush from the run, but his whole face lights up when he sees his sister and her guest. "Jason! I'm so glad you choose the Ball at Netherfield Park experience. I can't wait for our dance."

"Dance?" Jason chocks. Elle chuckles.

"You can't experience a Ball at Netherfield without the ball part dingus." She waves a hand at her brother. "Told him Dick canceled on you, so he offered to step in."

Jason never even mentions Dick to her but he's not about to call her out on her lie. She's doing him such a big favor.

"I always wanted to go to a Jane Austin ball!" He says instead, mentally wincing at how lame he sounds. Thankfully Danny's eyes only light up even more as the other man starts explaining the instructional videos installed in the ballroom mirrors so they can learn the real moves of Contra Dancing.

Jason falls just a tad bit more.

(Elle watches with a fond smile as Jason and Danny get lost in Austin's most significant works. She quickly texts her allies in Wayne Manor under the table. This is a big step in the "Make us in-laws" operation; the Fenton and Wayne children started a few months back. They were all tired of watching Danny and Jason dance around each other. Damian's idea to use Jason's favorite author was working fabulously.)

[wake-me-up-inside-imagines]

Hi there could I request a top male yandere popular jock with a bttm reader could it be nsfw as well as for the prompt it's all up to you.

Hi, sure thing! As per the ask, this whole thing's gonna be nsfw, so you've been warned!

I definitely feel like I could have written this better, but I hope you all enjoy it as it is.

Also, just want to clarity this now, Reader and Jason are in college. Jason's on a college level football team, just thought I'd clarify in case anyone was confused.

Yandere! Jock With A Bottom Reader

Male! reader

Warnings: Yandere behavior (I'm counting the possessiveness as yandere behavior), NSFW content, rough sex, degradation, orgasm denial, anal sex, creampie, exhibition, biting, marking, extremely possessive sex, minor threats of violence to other people (he would do worse if he wasn't so horny)

Divider credit goes to @cafekitsune

"Fuck, you're so tight. Tightest hole I've ever fucked. C'mon, keep clenching around me like that. You wanna make me feel good, don't you?"

You find it hard to reply with your face smushed up against the locker, your cheek pressing against your teeth. Jason's standing directly behind you, his back pressed firmly against yours as he holds your head against the locker. His fingers grip harshly at your hair, digging into your scalp as he gives a shallow thrust into your ass. The stretch is almost too much, bu you bare it, allowing yourself to loosen up around Jason's cock.

If you were being honest, this was not how you envisioned the night ending. At least, not his exact way. You had assumed that after Jason's game, the two of you would meet up somewhere, you'd congratulate his victory, and then head back to his apartment, or go get dinner, or something along those lines.

So when Jason texted you to meet him at the locker rooms, you hadn't thought much of it. You were nervous about being near his teammates, they never really liked you all that much, but it made sense to meet your boyfriend where he'd be changing before heading out for the night.

What you hadn't expected was for him pull you into the now empty locker room the second you arrived, crashing his mouth against yours. You thought maybe he just missed you, but before you knew it, both of you lost your clothes, Jason's fingers buried themselves deep inside of you, and only moments later, he was pushing into you, groaning as he bottomed out in your ass.

You probably should have expected this. Jason never was one for shame, and besides, he was high off adrenaline, with no way to blow off steam. No way to blow it off, except for you, that is.

"C'mon baby boy, I need a verbal response. Cat got your tongue?"

Jason suddenly gave a harsh thrust into your ass, drawing a embarrassingly loud moan from your lips. You were rock hard, your dick slapping against your stomach as your body jolted forward. You would have been mortified if you were in your right mind, but at this point, the horniness had taken too deep a hold on your mind for you to care. All you wanted was for Jason to move, to wreck you, to pound you until you collapsed to the floor.

"Yrs," you mumble out. "Werna mke you eel grd." You try to buck your ass further into Jason's pelvis, but he stops you, keeping your hips steady with one hand.

Before you can blink, your head is getting yanked away from the lockers, allowing you to speak and breath normally. Jason removes his hand from your head grabbing your chin harshly, forcing you to look him dead in the eyes. It's painful for you to turn your neck so sharply, but you don't dare look way, not when Jason's looking at you with those intense, commanding eyes.

"Awe, poor baby. Can't speak properly." He mocks, bringing his face closer to yours. A smirk adornes his face, one your used to seeing by now, his teeth flashing menacingly. "Let's try that one more time, yeah?"

Despite the hold he has on your jaw, you nod, your eyes wide. "Yes," you whine out, much clearer than before. "Wanna make you feel good!"

His smirk only grows wider, his hold on your jaw growing impossibly tighter. "Yes what, sweetheart?"

You whimper at the lack of movement. You hated how he teased you, never giving you what you wanted until he decided he wanted to. "Yes sir."

"Good, good boy." Jason praises, the same stupid grin plastered on his face. his leans in to kiss you, and you go to meet him, your lips parting as you close your eyes. You can taste the sweat on his chapped lips, no doubt from the long, intense game he had just played. You guessed he'd probably end up even more sweaty before the night was through. You and him both.

He breaks away from you, his bare chest rising steadily as he takes in air. You look back at him, your chest halfway pressed against his, your eyes slowly opening as you wait for his next move.

Before you can blink, Jason's slamming your body against the lockers again, your chest pressed right up against the cool metal as your head snaps foreword. You don't get a warning before he thrusts into you, his pace beyond brutal as he presses himself as far as he can into your hole, his balls slapping up against your ass.

A loud, high pitched moan leaves your throat. He going so fast and so hard that it’s difficult for you to get your bearings. You place your hands on the lockers in front of you, trying to brace yourself against your boyfriend’s unrelenting pace. F-fuck, slow down! It’s too-too much!”

"Oh, is it?" Jason coos, leaning over you so his back is flush against yours, his head leaning on your shoulder. His muscular arms wrap themselves around your stomach, one of his wrists brushing the tip of your cock as he moves to hold you in place. "Maybe you should have thought about that before you decided to rile me up during one of the biggest games of the season. What did you expect to happen?"

"Wh-what?" You squeak out, your voice shaky from the unrelenting pleasure. You honestly have no idea what he was talking about. You hadn't even seen him before the game, so when could you possibly have riled him up?

"Don't play dumb sweet boy, you know what you did." He groans, slamming into you again and again, your body shaking under him. He loves seeing you like this, he loves seeing you beneath him, giving up control and letting him do as he pleases to get you both off. "You really think I wouldn't notice that sweet voice of yours calling my name in the stands? You think I didn't notice how you cheered for me whenever I made a play, calling out like I was the only one out there? You think I didn't notice how you smiled at me with that gorgeous little grin of yours? It was like you were begging me to rail you right then and there, I could barely focus on the game with you watching me with those eyes."

"Ah, ah, ah~" you whine, your hard dick leaking pre-cum all over your stomach. You had no idea you were doing anything to provoke Jason, you hadn't even realized he could hear or see you in the stands, but fuck, it felt so good to be taken like this that you found it hard to care that your innocent actions had stirred up a beast inside of Jason. You'd do it forever if it meant he'd make you feel this good afterwards.

Jason grunts behind you, giving a particularly hard thrust in your ass. "But the worst part of it all was that I wasn't the only one who was distracted." He chuckles darkly as you turn your head, confusion shining in your cock drunk eyes. "Oh no, you didn't think the others wouldn't be able to hear you, did you?" His thrusts become harsher, more brutal, if that was even possible. "Because they did. You should have seen them. They couldn't keep your eyes off of you. You know how it feels to have your whole team give your boyfriend lustful looks like that?"

Jason moves his head, opening his mouth and biting down hard on your shoulder. You cry out, the pain and pleasure almost unbearable for your overstimulated body. you knew you weren't going to leave this locker room without several marks all over you, but you couldn't complain. You liked how possessive Jason was over you, how he claimed you over and over and over again, never letting anyone doubt who you belonged to. You were his, and it turn, he was yours, you had not doubts about that.

He releases your skin, kissing the bite mark he left behind before moving to your neck, his lips brushing over your skin before he finds a spot to suck on. "I'll tell you what it's like. It's jealousy-inducing. It's blood-boiling. It's maddening. How dare they look at you like that? Like they'd ever get to have a chance with you? You're mine!" He bites down again and your hips jerk violently, your cock straining for release at the painful ecstasy you're experiencing. You feel him release you, his lips looking for another spot to mark up. "Mine, not theirs! They'll never have you, not like I do. I had to teach them that before they tried anything."

You turn your head to look to him again, your gaze half lidded. "I-oh shit, just like that...what? What-What lesson?" Your face suddenly shifts into an expression of understanding. "They can't...Are they watching right now?"

Jason smiles, this time a little kinder, kissing your forehead lightly. "Oh no baby, don't worry, they can't see you. I would never let them. This," a hand reaches down to your cock, wrapping around it and pumping it at a leisurely, almost teasing pace. "This is for my eyes only. I would never let them see you like this."

"But..." he continues, his smile growing more sinister. He speeds up, the sound of skin meeting skin and your moans of pleasure echoing off the walls. "they can certainly hear you. You didn't think they went home, did you?"

You tense up a little, your face flushing red with embarrassment. Jason's team was still there? And they're listening in? You hadn't seen anyone besides Jason on your way in, so where were they? Were they all standing behind the locker room doors, pressed up against them as they listened in on what their teammate was doing? Were they there the entire time you'd been going at it?!

The hand jerking you off quickens it's pace. A moan tries to force it's way out of your throat, but you stifle it, embarrassment flooding through you at the thought of multiple different men, none of whom you knew very well, if at all, listened in, getting hot and bothered to the sound of your pleasure.

"Ah ah ah," Jason scolds, placing his lips near your ear again. "Don't get all quiet on me now. What happened to all those pretty noises you were making?"

"I-mmmph," you stifle another whine, trying your hardest not to make any noise. You want to answer Jason, but you settle for keeping your mouth shut, too afraid of letting something slip to risk trying to talk.

"Hey," Jason grunts, annoyed with your antics. He suddenly stops moving, snatching away the pleasure you had been so desperately chasing. He takes his hand off your dick, holding it limply at his side instead. "I won the game today, remember? Don't you think I deserve some kind of reward?"

He watches as you nod hesantly, unsure of where he's going with this, but desperate for him to resume fucking you. "You know what I would like, more than anything?"

"N-no?"

He leans closer to your ear, his hot breath enveloping your skin. "What I want," he starts, his voice dangerously low, "is for you to scream my name. I want to remind everyone who you belong to. Can you do that for me?"

You don't answer for a moment, still embarrassed at the prospect of others nearby, but Jason gives one sharp thrust into you, which is all it takes to get you bobbing your head up and down at dangerous speeds. You feel immense relief when Jason picks up where he left off, this time letting all the noises you had been trying to muffle slip out in a torrent of incomprehensible noise. Screw whoever was behind the locker room doors, screw being quiet, you were so close to sweet release, and you refused to mess it up by being too quiet for Jason's liking.

"That's more like it!" Jason's voice comes from above you, his chin moving to rest on top of your bent head. "You didn't seem to mind them hearing you earlier, so why should you care now? Fucking slut. Probably wouldn't mind the whole team having a turn with you, would you?"

"No! No, only yours, don't want anyone else! Just you, only you!" You cry out, dick twitching as your guts get rearranged. Behind you, Jason's pace becomes clunky, more inconsistent. He's getting close, and based on the intense pangs building up in your stomach, you are too. "Shit, keep going, I'm so, so close!"

"Oh yeah?" He breathes out, his chest heaving with the effort of his strokes. "Then prove it. Prove who you belong to. Tell them who owns you!"

"You do!" You whine, your voice cracking. "You, only you, fuck Jason, I'm gonna cum, please don't stop!"

"I wouldn't dream of it." He growls back, picking up the pace. "Cum for me, show them how good I can make you feel."

He watches with fascination as your stomach tenses, your hardened dick spewing white hot cum all over your stomach and thighs, your dick twitching with each burst that comes out. You cry out with pleasure, and he feels pride bubbling in his chest at the reminder that only he can make you cum so hard your seeing stars, only he can see you so weak and pliant, and only he gets to cum inside of you, claiming you as his for the umpteenth time.

Your body shakes as you come down from your orgasm, legs trembling with the effort of keeping you up. You're faintly aware of Jason stilling inside of you, your ass growing warm with the influx of cum flooding your hole, your boyfriend's grunts and groans sounding out loudly in your ears. All the energy in your body has been sapped, leaving you a tired, panting mess under Jason's muscular body. You feel like collapsing, and you almost do, you knees buckling beneath you, before strong arms wrap themselves around you, holding you up by the stomach.

"Awe, poor baby's tired already." Jason taunts, his signature smirk reappearing on his face. He moves one arm up your back and the other down to the back of your knees, swooping you up in a princess carry, holding your tired body close to his sweaty chest. "And you didn't even do anything! I've been running around all day, tackling people, sweating my ass off, and you're tired after just one round?

You rest your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes in bliss. Despite his teasing, you feel safe in Jason's arms, safe enough to forget that his teammates are still there, outside the door.

You let him hold you for a while, trying to catch your breath, jolting a little when he suddenly lowers himself onto a seat nearby. As he sits down, he hooks the pile of clothes you two made with his foot, dragging them toward you two until it's close enough for him to reach with his hands.

"Here." He says, putting you down next to him. "I've got your clothes. Get dressed. We aren't going out there naked." He stands back up, grabbing his own clothes before putting them on, covering his sweaty skin with cleaner clothes.

You follow suit, albeit slower than your boyfriend. You use your boxers to wipe off the cum on your body, reminding yourself to change them when you get back home. Your muscles ache with every movement, your tired limbs in no rush to clothe you in a timely fashion. By the time you finish, Jason's staring at you, watching your every move with bored looking eyes.

"You done?"

You nod. "Sorry for taking so long."

Jason sighs before moving towards you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as you two walk towards the door. "It's fine. Save what energy you can while you can. It's gonna be a long night for you." He chuckles at the confused look on your face, his eyes twinkling. "What, you didn't think that was it, did you? Oh no babe, by the time I'm done with you. every muscle in your body's gonna be sore. Be prepared."

You would have responded to him, but before you could, he pushes open the doors, stepping out into the gym beyond them.

Sure enough, his teammates are there, all strewn about in different locations. Most of them look preoccupied with their phones, but you can see the redness on a couple of their faces, not to mention more than one hard on showing through their pants. Some of them look up as you to pass by, but they quickly look away, whether it be from the sight of the hickeys and bite marks on your neck, or because Jason glares at them the second he sees their heads shoot up.

Neither of you say anything as you exit the building, or as you make it to Jason's car. As soon as he unlocks it, you open the door to the passenger seat, sitting down on shaky legs as you wait for Jason to hop in with you.

Eventually he does, but to your surprise, he doesn't start the car. Instead, he turns to you, grabbing your chin with his hands and smashing his lips onto yours. The force shocks you, but you eagerly reciprocate, letting him shove his tongue down your throat while you moan into his mouth.

"Mine." He mumbles against your lips, his eyes slight.y parting to look at you. "Mine. Nobody touches you, nobody looks at you, except for me. I'll beat the shit out of the next person to even glance at you. Understand?"

You nod slightly, breaking apart from him to catch your breath. "Yours." You whisper back. "Only yours."

"Good." He murmurs. He pulls away to start the car, but before he does, he grabs his phone, opening it up to text somebody. You don't pay much attention to that though. You let your mind wander, imagining what Jason will do to you once you get back to his apartment. You have no doubt he'll make good on his promise to make your whole body sore, but the more you think about it, the harder it becomes to suppress a shiver of delight.

You can't wait to see what he has in store for you.

I hope you enjoyed!

[olderthannetfic]

i generally believe in/support the concept of ship and let ship, but I feel like there should be lines. Like, it feels really disrespectful of IRL people who don't like being shipped. For example, I know a guy who posted smut online about an ace YouTuber who has expressed discomfort over content like that, and... I just feel like there should still be boundaries for people that you respect. some people are super cool with content like that about them, and thats great for them! but at the very least if you're going to make content about someone who has mentioned not wanting that, don't post it? the person posted it to ao3 and the only reason he took it down is bc it was a hint he'd accidentally given to a friend and I that would have helped us figure out his account.

(I should say that I've never and never plan on harassing people over their ships, it's none of my business. even with this friend I just kind of looked at the other friend present and made a face that they imitated.)

--

You know I'm not going to be sympathetic to tired RPF discourse, right?

The same arguments have been made for longer than I've been alive.

"But what if they're uncomfortable" applies to actors who play characters fans write about. It applies to novelists. It applies to every creative, not just RPF subjects. You might find someone's discomfort over RPF more legitimate, but that doesn't make it so.

The bottom line is that RPF posted to places like AO3 is not in the faces of the subjects. If they choose to go looking there, they are the ones crossing a boundary. If their other fans choose to show them such writing, those fans are the one crossing a boundary, not the RPF writer.

It's more awkward now that youtubers who maintain really poor boundaries with their fanbases are so popular, but it's not that different from all the RPF about boy bands or actors. Fundamentally, these are about fictionalized versions of these people. They're something for the fans. Just keep it out of the person's face, and you're good.

--

If you believe there should be lines in what people are allowed to write or to post in fan spaces then, no, you do not support ship and let ship.

[thenickgirl]

The sturniolos would be perfect if Nick wasn't Fat.. like that chubby ass man has tits.. its disgusting

i…so exactly what did you think would happen coming to a very obvious nick stan acc and talk shit?? i feel like you just want your ass handed to you so that’s exactly what i’m gonna do.

first of all, you stupid bitch, he’s not fat, don’t get him confused with your mother. you scary ass internet hoes love speaking on someones body when the whole time your momma built like a linebacker, body wider than the state of texas. second of all, there would be no ‘sturniolos’ if it weren’t for nick. matt and chris couldn’t do a fuck thing without him, so respect a king when you see one bitch. car videos would not be as popular or get the views they get without nick, that’s just the bottom line, and you’re crazy if you think otherwise. actually i’d love to see how less entertaining a video would be without him in it.

it’s musty bitches like you in this fandom that really give me the ick. how can you claim to be a fan let alone a matt or chris girl, which im assuming you are, and talk shit about the one person they care about the most, like are you actually a fucking idiot?? matt and chris wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire. you’re literally so disgusting and embarrassing it’s insane. i started to just ignore your stupid ass, cause clearly the elevator doesn’t go all the way up, but i need to make an example out of you so everyone knows who not to play with when it comes to nicolas antonio sturniolo.

please go spend your time doing something more productive like jumping in front of a train 💗

[semisgroupie]

KUNIGAMI + MATING PRESS

kunigami rensuke x fem. reader

wc: 1.4k

warnings: jealous kunigami, possessive kunigami, rough sex, breeding, unprotected sex, creampie, biting, clothes ripping (he’s an impatient man, what can I say?), size kink (kinda), mating press, hints at babytrapping, light choking, hint at multiple rounds

synopsis: he just wants everyone to know you’re his

a/n: part of the bllk boys and their favorite position anthology (will make a masterlist soon)

Kunigami would never refer to himself as the jealous type. No, not jealous at all.

He just hates the way other people eye you whenever you two are out. He hates the way people want what’s his. It’s as if the necklace adorning your neck with his initials never really existed or if people couldn’t see how his arm was always around you. It’s not like he could always pull you in to have an intense makeout session (even though he had done it plenty of times). There was just something more that he needed to do, he needed the coup de grâce.

As he sat to really think it over, it finally struck him.

Breeding.

If he fucked you full of his cum and bred you then he wouldn’t have to worry about the lingering eyes, the stupid muttered comments, everything that pissed him off. But after some more thought he had to think of something more.

He had to think of the perfect position where he could breed you. Every time you two had sex, he would fill you with cum but it wasn’t enough. In every position he tried, his cum would just end up on the bed sheets as it leaked out. So he just had to find the perfect position. He looked through all the positions that could be good, missionary was perfect but you leaked out so much cum. Riding him was really good too but by the time you both woke up, there was a puddle of all the cum that ended up leaking out on the sheets. Doggy was one of his go-tos but it posed the same problems as all the other positions.

Then he stumbled upon a position that caught his eye. “Mating press?” He thought it was just a position popularized by all those hentai clips he caught Raichi watching when they used to live together. That would be a great position. He could keep you up and make sure all of his potent seed filled you up. Fuck, he could feel himself getting hard at the thought of it.

You two had just come back from a skillfully planned date night. He decided to wine and dine you and while you two were out he could feel the pit of his stomach churn whenever someone stared at you for too long. It just made him want to ravage you right then and there, make everyone watch as he fucked you full of cum and bred you like you deserved. But he had to wait, just wait until you were in the privacy of your bedroom.

Once you two were inside he pulled you into your shared bedroom and his hands were all over you, almost ripping off the dress you wore for date night. “Ren baby, the zipper is in the back. This is my favorite dress, you don’t want to ruin it do you?” You brought his hand to your back where the zipper was and he quickly brought it down so your dress could pool at your ankles.

He quickly took your bra off and pushed you onto the bed, “takin’ too long.” He mumbled as his hands went to undo his belt and he dropped his slacks so they looked at his ankles then turned his attention to you. He forced your legs open and his hands went straight to your panties, tearing the flimsy fabric in one swift movement. Just as you opened your mouth to protest the air was taken right out of your lungs.

He forced your knees to your chest and lined his cock with your entrance, he dropped his head and spit on it then pushed it inside you. “Fuck!” That was all that could leave you at the moment, not the complaint you quickly pushed to the darkest corners of your mind. He leaned down and kept a bruising grip on the backs of your knees as he bottomed out. “I don’t need you to say a fucking thing besides my name and how good you feel. I want my name to be imprinted in your brain, you don’t need to think of a single thing but that. Hell, I don’t even think you’ll be able to form a coherent thought by the time I’m done with you but you can try.”

He tightened his grip just a little more as he put more of his weight on you, then he started thrusting. His thrusts felt so heavy, his hips snapped into yours and you felt like you could feel the tip of his cock in your throat. You could barely gather your thoughts as he pounded you with animalistic thrusts. He dropped his head and his mouth explored your chest, licking, sucking and biting whatever piece of flesh he could get his mouth on.

The wet and loud smacks of his hips against yours filled your ears, practically animalistic growls and groans left your boyfriend’s mouth. “You’re all mine got that? I’m gonna breed you to prove it. You don’t even understand what builds in my chest whenever I see someone eyeing what’s mine. Once you’re round and full with my seed, no one will question if you’re mine, there will be no second doubts or second guesses. They’ll know I’m the one who fucked you full of cum and if it doesn’t work this time, then I’ll put you right into this position every single day and fuck you full of my cum over and over again. I won’t fucking stop until you’re all round and swollen with my child, whether you like it or not. Got that?”

He moved one hand from the back of your knee to grip your face and forced you to make eye contact with him when he didn’t get the response he wanted. “Answer me.” He snapped his hips into yours harder, the faint jingling of your anklet could be heard with the wet sounds of his cock filling your pussy. You tried to gather your thoughts, trying to understand what he wanted to hear from you so you just did what you thought would be the right thing and nodded. “Good girl.” He loosened his grip on your face and moved his hand down to rub your clit while he thrusted.

“I’ll make sure you’ll never forget who you belong to, you’ll never forget that you’re mine. You’re mine, all fucking mine.” He continued thrusting and soon he felt all the telltale signs that your orgasm was nearing, you gripped his cock in a vice grip and your legs twitched and trembled. “Cmon my love, tell me who you belong to and you can cum. You can make a mess all over my cock and I’ll breed this fertile cunt. Just say who you belong to.”

Your heartbeat was pounding in your ears as the coil in your stomach tightened and tightened, getting closer and closer to the point where it was going to snap. “I’m yours Rensuke! I’m all yours! Please breed me!” He rubbed your clit faster which finally let the coil snap inside your belly. You cried out his name and your hands flew to his shoulders, digging your nails into the flesh and leaving your mark on him. He thrusted a few more times but your words were just enough to send him over that blissful edge. He bit down on the plush flesh of your tit and his hot cum flooded your pussy.

He kept his hips pressed against yours as he kept pumping more and more cum into you. His hands moved to under your hips to hold them up as his cock stopped twitching. He slowly pulled out and was very satisfied with the sight in front of him. As his eyes moved to your pussy, he saw how most of his cum stayed inside you while your pussy clenched around nothing, like your body wanted this just as much as he did.

“Fuck baby, you look perfect like this. You’ll need to get used to staying in this position because this is the only way I’ll be fucking you from here on out but for now, catch your breath. I haven’t emptied my balls in you yet and I don’t plan on stopping until I’m 100% sure you’ll be bred.”

Kunigami just reassured himself that he wasn’t a possessive or jealous guy, he just needed to make sure that no one would eye what’s his.

taglist: @litepowee @satmitsuplanet @benkeibear

[masterhallmark]

Credit for discovery: @misscloudiedays

So a lot of people are confused as to how Epic Mickey Rebrushed meaning Disney probably isn't getting profits works, so let me explain real quick:

What's the Sitch?

If you go to the Steam Page, Disney is not publishing EM Rebrushed themselves like they did with the original EM games, another company ,THQ Nordic, whom Disney does not own is.

This likely means they sold the licensing rights to that company rather than accepting profit cuts.

How this works

Copyright holders often do this if they think the product would make less profits than what they sold the licensing rights for. For example, this happened with the author of the Witcher books, who thought the games would flop and sold the licensing rights instead of accepting a percentage of the profits. He later acted like the victim when the games actually ended up being wildly successful. This also happened to the writer of the American Pokemon Theme Song, who didn't know the Pokemon franchise was going to go on for decades and remain popular, though he was more chill about it and worked something out.

Basically, Disney likely had so little faith in the game, they chose to sell instead of accept profits, which would mean whether you buy or pirate the game wouldn't affect them, since they would have already gotten the agreed upon amount, and they'd probably piss themselves if the profits Purple Lamp gets is more than what they sold it for.

Would they actually do that?

For anyone who questions if Disney would really be dumb enough to do this, REMEMBER THIS IS THE COMPANY WHO:

SHUT DOWN AND ENTIRE VIDEO GAME DEVELOPMENT COMPANY JUST BECAUSE EPIC MICKEY 2 DIDN'T MAKE AS MUCH MONEY AS EPIC MICKEY 1

THOUGHT PEOPLE WOULD ABANDON CONSOLE GAMING IN FAVOR OF MOBILE GAMING

THOUGHT KINGDOM HEARTS COULDN'T POSSIBLY HAVE SEQUELS

HAD A CEO WHO THOUGHT ADULTS DON'T ENJOY CARTOONS

AND THE MOST RECENT BLUNDER OF ALL, THOUGHT DISNEY FANS WOULD PREFER A LUMA KNOCKOFF OVER STARBOY IN WISH, BECAUSE THEY WANTED A MARKETABLE PLUSHIE

Yeah, I think they're that dumb.

Bottom Line

For those participating in the Disney boycott, it is probably safe to get the game, and will not be a breach of your boycott. Buying the game would instead show support to those who actually care about the game while not benefitting the company that abandoned it.

That being said, this is not guaranteed to be completely correct. Keep an eye on things as it develops, and make your own decisions on the matter.

[avtrbee]

dragon blood

✢summary: daemon doesn’t often love, and when he does he deals with it in the worse ways possible

✢tags: daemon targaryen x reader

✢tw: reader is implied to be a targaryen so typical incest

✢a/n: ik i don’t write things with reader bring preggy and kids because the very thought of it disgusts me, but seeing as the story is set in the game of thrones universe i doubt any woman can refuse to have children especially if they are highborn.

Daemon loves many things. He loves his girls down in Flea Bottom where every whore would approach him like flies to honey at the sight of his white hair for a chance to sleep with a Valyrian prince. He loves his role as the commander of the City Watch and his gold cloaks who are loyal to his demands, he loves the violence, the blood that slicks his hand red when he slits the throat of a criminal or the painful look of a rapist’s face when he cuts his cock off. Daemon loves war, this war for the Stepstones is something he has craved for a long time. The weariness of it, the frustration, the battles and the sword fights- Daemon loves every bit of it.

Daemon loves his ancestry, his Dark Sister who fights with him in every battle, his Caraxes, his pride and joy, whom he rides on to war like a god as cold wind wooshes through his hair in the sky. Daemon also loves his brother, despite popular belief. Viserys who was there from the start, a peacemaker to his violence, someone soft to Daemon’s harsh lines. Viserys, who Daemon bends every rule and law for his attention. Viserys just makes it so…hard to love him sometimes.

Viserys has also given Daemon a wife, who he does not love.

Viserys did not realize that Daemon wanted to choose his wife, not to be given another as soon as his previous marriage was annulled. He does not love his wife, but the Lady Y/N Targaryen is far easier to look at than his old bronze bitch. They both have the blood of the dragon in their veins, strumming chaos and fire in their blood, making it enjoyable to bed her. And so Daemon did, over and over again, until her screams rang across the Red Keep, eating his lovely Targaryen wife until she fainted but even then Daemon did not stop- until her peaks were just short shivers, until she was heaving heavily with no thoughts in her head but his name.

Daemon likes the way the court averts their eyes every time he sees his wife, yanking in her hair to expose her neck to him. He likes the way her neck feels in his hands, so soft and delicate, but he likes the sultry gaze Y/N Targaryen gives him more.

There was only one moment where the thought of loving his wife came up in his mind was when he had held his son in his arms, still freshly birthed and red from blood. “Jaehaerys,” she whispered, taking his attention away from the babe to her. “A name of a great king to a great babe.

Daemon merely nodded and drunk in the sight of her. Y/N’s cheeks have sunken and eyes have darkened after long hours of labor. Her hair was tied to her back by a handmaiden in the middle of her labor but some strands had managed to escape. She was wearing nothing but loose robes with no jewelry on her neck or hair, a far cry from the the Lady Y/N Targaryen of the Viserys’ court. Daemon had never seen her so beautiful. And now, she had given him his son.

Before he could even stop himself, Daemon leaned over and pressed a kiss on her sweaty forehead. “Thank you.”

Y/N have him a surprised look.

Perhaps this was it. Perhaps he could stay here, in Dragonstone, with his wife and Jaehaerys without a thought of the world. Perhaps he could love her as he already loves his son. Kings Landing could die and he would not care, but…

Second sons must make a name for themselves, Daemon’s head echoes the words of Corlys Velaryon upon his summons at Driftmark.

Daemon gives Jaehaerys one last kiss before giving him back to his mother. He had ridden Caraxes to the Stepstones by sundown.

-

You had barely even finished your fast when you were suddenly rushed by your handmaidens to dress quickly. “The King has called for an audience, Princess,” said Mhyra, gently guiding you to your vanity as you sit down before it.

Alys, your other handmadien, scurried to you from your closet with a red and black dress in hand. Your eyes squinted on her bold dress of choice. It was one of your ‘strong’ dresses that boasts your house with two dragons on your shoulders while rubies are bejeweled to the embroidered third dragon on the back. “Audience for what?” You asked.

Behind you, more of your ladies in waiting scurry around in a flurry. “Get the Price Jaehaerys!”

You turn at the mention of the prince, watching as three of Jaehaerys’ maids walk briskly out of your chambers. “Wha- what is happening?”

“Prince Daemon has returned with victory from the Stepstones, my lady.” Mhyra answers, as you immediately tense.

You almost fail to hide your displeased grimace.

Within minutes you are dressed in your best dress directly below the Iron Throne as is your right. You watch as the Kings Guard fill Viserys’s court first, then sworn shields, then the lords and ladies of Kings Landing flock to the hall until it was full. Chatter and whispers fill up the hall of the Iron Throne with rumors of Daemon’s victory, Daemon’s defeat, or god forbid- Daemon’s rebellion from the Iron Throne.

From the corner of your eye, you spot Rhaenyra’s platinum head among the chatty crowds. You give her a questioning raise of your eyebrow as she should have been in Dragonstone while she sheepishly smiles in response.

Silence holds the room immediately as Daemon finally walks through the halls. He walks slowly, taking his time like he was strolling through a garden. He is still arogant, it seems. Though the crowd wa already split into two, you think that Daemon was like a shark swimming through schools of fish as the crowds take a step back when he passes by as he walks towards the throne.

The first thing you notice him was he was wearing a crown of white bark held together by a dark strings. You raise your head up to the Iron Throne and almost immediately, Viserys’s purple eyes return your worried gaze.

You turn your head back to the exiled prince. The second thing you notice- his hair. Gone was his flowing white locks of hair that passed by his shoulders. His hair was now sheared short that ends before his nape. He looks as handsome as ever.

Before he can take another step towards the Iron Throne, Daemon is stopped by a sword. The crowd hold their breath as Daemon raises his own sword to the King before dropping it to the ground. “Add it to the chair.”

The sword echoes as it falls to the ground.

“You wear a crown,” starts Viserys, looking down at Daemon with the legendary sword of Aegon the Conquerer rests sheathed on his hands. “You also call yourself king.”

“Once we smashed the triarchy, they named me King of the Narrow Sea,” Daemon shrugs in explanation. A wave of tense anticipation rolls to the shores of Viserys’s court. You do not fail to see the Kingsguard slowly grasp their sheathed swords. Beside you, your own sword shield has moved from your side to your front, ready to defend you if chaos arrives.

You do not blame them, as you yourself had already calculated an escape plan. You would hand Prince Jaehaerys to your shield, and run towards fastest way to the dragonpit to mount your dragon. Lords and ladies flicker their gazes back and forth to the King and his brother, waiting in anticipation of his next words. Would this be a surrender or Daemon’s rebellion?

“But I know that there is only one true King, your Grace,” Daemon’s words were sweet as honey as he kneels in genuflect infront of his brother. Viserys turns to his Otto Hightower in silent contemplation, then he turns his gaze to you.

Viserys cranes his neck to the crowd as he searches for his former Master of Ships. “Where is Lord Corlys?”

“He sailed home to Driftmark.” Answers Daemon, still on his knees.

“Who holds the Stepstones?”

“The tides, the crabs, and 2000 triarchy corpses stakes to the sand to warn those who might follow.”

Viserys descends down the steps of the Iron Throne and takes Daemon’s wooden crown. He looks at it in discontent before passing it to one of his Kingsguard, as it pales in comparison to his own crown and all the riches House Targaryen has to offer. “Rise.”

Viserys holds a hand to Daemon’s shoulder as a fond look appears on his face. As if he was weak to his brother’s touch, Daemon’s head immediately falls to Viserys’s shoulders.

The court finally breathes free as a thundering applause echoes across the hall. Any rumors of Daemon’s rebellion has now faded away to praises of ‘King Viserys’s mercy’ and the brothers’ love for one another.

But the clapping soon faded as soon as Daemon soon removed himself from Viserys’ loving embrace to face you.

“My lady,” he starts, and the crowd goes silent again. “I have won the war at the Stepstones for you and out King.” Daemon walks to with a smile that you can’t decide is charming or apologetic. Your face is stone as you remember how Daemon left so abruptly, the ladies that whisper at your back in court, the pitying stares Jaehaerys gets when he walks down the halls of the Red Keep.

You see Daemon’s eyes pan to you, then down to your dress to look at the boy who looks so much like his father, who has been clutching your skirts like it was a shield. For a moment, you see Daemon soften infront of his son like he did three years ago when he held him first.

“And who might this little prince be?” He breathes so reverently that you have never heard Daemon sound so gentle before. There was no question as to who the father was. Jaehaerys’s Valyrian looks hav attested to that. Jae’s tiny fists curl tighter around your dress as Daemon kneels infront of him.

“I’m Jaehaerys,” came the little voice from behind your skirts. Normally, Jae would be a cheerful child, a far cry from the shy on that Daemon sees now. Jae is a ball of restless energy, eager to please and talk. But this stranger is someone else.

“And do you know who I am, little Jaehaerys?” Daemon’s head tilt at the child.

Immediately, you regret telling your decision to tell Jaehaerys’ stories of Daemon- of his brave acts in battle, and how he is strong as he is brave. You remember his sad words as Jae asks why Daemon isn’t here when his Aunt Rhaenyra’s father is with her like how his cousins Laena and Laenor has Lord Corlys by their side. You regret telling him that he has sadly left to defend the realm when in reality he had left Jaehaerys as soon as he was born at the first mention of a war.

“You’re my father.” Jae answers bravely. “Isn’t that right, mother?” Your hand instinctively moves to rest on Jae’s head as he looks up to you in confirmation. You look down at Jaehaerys’s purple eyes that looks at you to innocently, but you also feel the gaze of hundreds of people at court.

A nod from you was all it took before a wide smile appeared on his face. His shyness was tripped away as he let go of your skirts and jumped to Daemon’s arms with no fear. Applause filled the room again as the court adored the sight of a loving father-son reunion, paying the scorned wife no mind.

if you like this, check out my masterlist!! as always, please don't hesitate to leave your throughts through comments. they keep me going :))

[steddieas-shegoes]

steddie fic request: due to some miscommunication Steve believes a night in with Eddie is a date. it's not and its devastating when Steve realizes he has read too much into things Eddie had said to him. maybe the feelings are requited at the end? tysm!

Honestly guys, this is probably the most likely scenario in how Steddie gets together. They're both fucking clueless. Sure, Steve was a lady's man, but only when he was popular enough that he didn't have to really try. Eddie probably has kissed one and a half people at most because he's fuckin' weird, okay? You think these two actually have a single clue how to do things normally? Ha. - Mickala ❤️

--------------------------------------------------------

His hair was not doing what it was supposed to be doing and it was really starting to irritate him.

Steve had been trying to get ready for almost an hour now, and nothing was going his way, not even the shirt he wanted to wear.

That was another issue entirely, but one he was trying very hard to get over.

Tonight was his first date with Eddie.

He had to look perfect.

They weren’t even doing anything special really, just going to the diner for some burgers and shakes and then driving to the quarry to get high.

It helped to know it would be casual though, that it would probably feel like any other time they’ve hung out.

He still wanted to look good though. Eddie deserved his best.

“Steve?” Eddie called from the bottom of the stairs.

Shit. When did he get here?

Eddie, Robin, and Dustin all had keys to his house for emergencies or to make things easier if they were coming over. He hadn’t thought to ask Eddie to knock tonight, and Eddie apparently didn’t think it was any different than any other time.

“Be right there!” he yelled back, voice pitched much higher than usual.

Great start, Harrington.

He rolled his eyes at himself in the mirror as he tried one more time to get the flip in the front of his hair to do what it needed to do.

When it didn’t, he sighed, shutting off the bathroom light and walking into his bedroom, where Eddie was sitting on his bed.

Steve froze as he took in how relaxed Eddie looked against his headboard, his legs crossed at the ankles and arms crossed over his chest.

“You look…nice,” Eddie said, sounding almost confused.

“Thanks,” Steve blushed. “Uh. So do you.”

Which was true, but Eddie looked the same as he always did.

It was something Steve loved about him, that he didn’t really put effort into impressing anyone. He was who he was and you either liked it or you didn’t.

Steve loved it.

Eddie looked even more confused, but shook his head and stood up.

“Ready? I’m starving.”

“Yep, let’s go.”

Steve didn’t do his usual moves, didn’t try to reach over to hold Eddie’s hand while he sat in the passenger seat, didn’t try to put in his “First Date Mixtape,” didn’t even pull any lines out of his hat when Eddie so easily offered him the chance.

He didn’t want to be obvious that he was already head over heels for him, definitely didn’t want to make him uncomfortable before the date even really began.

He kept it up over dinner, kept it casual enough that it felt like any other time they hung out. Usually Robin or Jonathan or Nancy or the kids were with them, but he just pretended they had to cancel. It kept him from letting himself go too far in public.

They were still in Hawkins, after all. Two dudes holding hands at a diner might as well scream “beat me up!”

It was easy, which just further sent Steve spiraling about how perfect they could be.

When the waitress brought the bill, he stopped Eddie from reaching for his wallet.

“I asked you, I pay. That’s how this works, right?” Steve asked as he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket.

“Um. I mean, sure. We can just split it, though,” Eddie said, that look of confusion back on his face.

“Nah, I got it. Maybe you can get it next time,” Steve winked before pulling out enough cash to cover the bill.

“Oh. Okay. Sure.”

He wasn’t paying attention to the way Eddie was suddenly messing with his rings nervously or biting his lip like he was trying to think of something else to say.

When they got to the car, Steve turned the radio on, smiling to himself when Head Over Heels came through the speakers.

“This is my favorite song right now,” Steve said as he turned it up a little, smiling over at Eddie as he drove towards the quarry.

“Not surprising,” Eddie snorted. “Do you like anything that can’t be heard on mainstream radio?”

Steve knew he was just teasing, but it still kind of hurt when he thought about how quick Eddie was to judge his music taste.

He liked a lot of genres, he just liked what was easy and fun most.

In fact, most of their group had similar taste, but for some reason, Steve got the brunt of his teasing.

It was fine, though. He didn’t want to ruin the night with something so trivial.

“I like plenty, but sometimes it’s nice to just have something fun to listen to.”

And then Steve reached a hand out and set it on Eddie’s knee, squeezing once before letting it rest there while he continued to drive.

Only a few seconds passed before Eddie spoke and Steve’s heart almost instantly shattered.

“Uh. What are you doing?”

It was the tone of someone who didn’t like what was happening, and Steve immediately pulled his hand away and bit back the tears he felt pooling in his eyes.

He had the sudden realization that they’d never actually called this a date.

He’d run with his own assumption that when Eddie asked him to hang out with just him he shared the same feelings, and that clearly wasn’t the case.

“Sorry. I-”

“Steve, did you think this was a date?” Eddie asked, not harshly, but serious enough that Steve felt the first tear fall down his cheek.

He tried to subtly wipe it from his face, but Eddie saw.

“Okay, pull over please.”

“It’s fine. I can take you home. Forget it ever happened,” Steve rushed out.

He didn’t want the night to end like this, but he knew he couldn’t look at Eddie right now, or maybe ever again.

Robin was going to make fun of him for years over this.

“Steve. Pull over.”

So Steve did.

He had blurry vision from the tears anyway, so it probably wasn’t safe for him to try to drive at dusk.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you thought this was a date. I guess it kinda explains the looking extra nice and paying for dinner, but I just thought you were excited to hang out,” Eddie said quietly.

At least he was letting Steve down easy.

“Yeah. I should have asked I guess,” Steve said, still looking down at his lap instead of at Eddie.

“Did you want this to be a date?” Eddie asked.

Steve considered lying. But what could he lose at this point? He’d already embarrassed himself beyond redemption, he might as well go all in.

“Yeah. I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask you out for months. I was pretty excited when I thought you’d finally done it for me.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

They sat in silence, the radio playing a song Steve didn’t recognize.

And then rain drops slowly started pelting the windshield.

Of course they did.

Steve sniffled and then looked up, watching as the rain started falling heavier with every second, a bolt of lightning lighting up the sky for just a moment.

“I guess we should get to my house before it gets worse,” Steve said, voice barely above a broken whisper. “If it gets too bad to drive, you can take the guest room.”

“Steve-”

“It’s fine, Eddie. I get it.”

“Do you?” Eddie asked. “Do you get why this is so shocking to me? I didn’t even know you were into guys! I didn’t think I could ever be an option for you, man. I didn’t let myself feel that way about you because I couldn’t deal with you not feeling the same.”

Steve finally looked over at Eddie, who was watching him with wide eyes.

“I thought you were there when I told all the adults about being bisexual?” Steve asked, wracking his brain to remember that night not too long ago. Robin had held his hand the whole time, Nancy and Jonathan and Argyle all giving him hugs after. He couldn’t remember where Eddie was.

“Was that the night I was helping Will DM?”

Fuck. He really thought Eddie had been there.

“Shit. I think so.”

Eddie reached his hand out, placing it against Steve’s jaw as he turned completely towards him.

“Stevie, if I had known, I would have been taking you out every night. You have no idea how much I care about you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Eddie teased, finally giving Steve a smile.

“So you do like me?” Steve couldn’t help confirming, his stomach in knots, his heart racing in his chest.

“So much, sweetheart. You have no idea,” Eddie said as he leaned in closer.

Steve knew what was going to happen, he wanted it to happen.

But something made him stop Eddie when his face was only an inch from his.

“Wait.” Eddie pulled away a few inches and looked at him, concerned. “This is gonna sound so stupid, but,” he looked outside at the rain pouring down. “I’ve always wanted to have a big romantic kiss in the rain.”

“And you want that to happen with me?” Eddie smirked.

“If you’re up for it.”

Eddie didn’t answer. Instead, he opened the passenger door and got out, almost immediately getting soaked.

Steve didn’t make him wait. He pushed open the driver’s side door and rushed out, meeting Eddie halfway in front of his car.

Eddie wrapped his arms around his waist, making Steve melt against him.

He barely noticed the rain as Eddie closed the distance between them, his lips meeting Steve’s in a surprisingly soft touch.

It wasn’t exactly a passionate kiss, but it was still perfect.

It lasted a few seconds, their lips moving together slowly, not pushing for more yet, just appreciating the easy glide.

“I’m sorry our first date kinda sucked,” Eddie said as they rested their foreheads together.

“We’ll just have to have another one,” Steve said before placing another quick kiss to his lips. “Wanna watch a movie at mine?”

Eddie searched his face for a moment, before looking around at the completely empty road they were on.

With the rain like this, it was doubtful anyone would drive down it for a while.

“How about we dance first?” Eddie asked, gleam in his eye.

“Dance? To what?” Steve giggled.

Eddie started to sing Head Over Heels quietly, rocking them back and forth in something barely resembling a dance.

“I thought you hated this music,” Steve looked at him in awe.

“No, I just like to tease you for being so stereotypical. I don’t mind any music. And I like anything that makes you light up the way you do when this song comes on,” Eddie admitted.

They were absolutely dripping wet, and Steve knew this was probably a stupid decision without having something to protect the seats of his car from getting wet.

But as he rested his head against Eddie’s shoulder, listening to him sing his favorite song while they kind of danced in the rain, he couldn’t give less of a shit about anything else.

[allwaswell16]

A One Direction fic rec of fics where the main pairing is versatile in bed and both top/bottom (or as we say in this fandom they kind of share that really) as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics, please leave kudos and comments for the writers! You can find my other fic recs here. Happy reading!

- Louis/Harry -

🔄 And Then a Bit by @infinitelymint

(E, 158k, canon) Harry and Louis fake a relationship for publicity. Eventually it becomes a lot less fake and a lot more real.

🔄 Like a Bullet in the Dark by Vurdoc

(E, 99k, Will & Kate au) Prince Harold Edward Styles Lancaster is second in line to the throne of Great Britain. He is also your average Uni student- or he tries to be, anyway.

🔄 Have Love, Will Travel by @kingsofeverything

(E, 97k, road trip) Rather than spend the summer working at their desks, Louis and Harry are given the opportunity to crisscross the country together in a tiny camper, filming their adventures for a YouTube series.

🔄 Been Together Since Way Back When by @alivingfire

(E, 95k, established relationship) the painfully realistic college au where everyone's poor, lovesick, tired of school, terrified of the future, and still having the greatest times of their lives.

🔄 taste on my tongue by bethaboo / @bethaboolou

(E, 77k, reality tv) Take Louis. Take Harry. Add in a heaping cup of sexual tension. Another cup of delicious (and not so delicious) food. A smidgen of competitive spirit. A dash of hopes and dreams. And you get Kitchen Wars, a TV show that promises to be the must-watch event of the fall.

🔄 Now you know me (for your eyes only) by nadinecestmoi

(E, 77k, famous/famous) harry clearly had someone in mind when he wrote the song so the last day of recording comes and louis’ like “thanks for having me on the song” and harry just shrugs and is like “well it just seemed fitting bc the song is about you”

🔄 After Dark, After Light by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird

(E, 71k, historical) In an attempt to garner extra protection for his clan, Harry sets out to mend his father's past wrongs and ally with their neighbors to the west, Clan Sutherland. Louis Tomlinson is the mysterious commander of the Sutherland army sent back with Harry on orders from his laird to help shore up Clan Edwards' defenses.

🔄 Teach me how to love by @perfectdagger

(E, 70k, fwb) The one in which Harry is bad at sex and Louis spreads it all over town and to make up for it, decides to help him with no agenda of getting anything from it, but in the end, he ends up getting more than he bargained for.

🔄 Suddenly Last Summer by @disgruntledkittenface

(E, 44k, mystery) Louis is bored, rich and lonely. He has no reason to expect that this summer in the Hamptons with his friends will be different from any other – until he meets Harry.

🔄 best kind of bad something by wildestdreams / @thelavendrhaze

(E, 40k, established relationship) Louis is the town troublemaker and everyone hates him except for Harry.

🔄 Every Snowflake Is Different (Just Like You) by @hellolovers13

(E, 20k, only one bed) Turns out, getting snowed in with your not quite One-Night Stand wasn’t actually that bad.But the snow wouldn’t last forever. Was there a chance for love even after the snow had melted?

🔄 Can I just be the same? by Star_Henderson / @tommosgun *

(M, 17k, vampire) Harry is a two hundred year old Vampire with no one in the whole world and Louis is the kind hearted stranger who comes into Harry's life bringing something that Harry had missed. Love. But Harry is forever running, can Louis be the one to change all that?

🔄 I Still Find You Lovely by @angelichl

(M, 16k, one night stand) In which Harry goes to a bar in search of a bloke with an air-conditioned flat.

🔄 Salt and the Appetite by @sadaveniren

(E, 14k, bdsm) Harry, a popular BDSM blogger, writes a negative review about Louis’ club. Louis wants to have a chance to make it up to him.

🔄 getting yourself wet for me by me_her_themoon / @dreamersdivin-headfirst

(E, 10k, secret relationship) frat boys take on watersports

🔄 Just For Me by iwillpaintasongforlou

(E, 9k, Posh/Becks au) Harry is a supermodel with a fake boyfriend. Louis is the captain and star forward of Manchester United with a fake girlfriend. They should have no problem having a completely platonic lunch between friends.

🔄 Going Green (so fucking green) by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright *

(E, 5k, pwp) Harry just really loves being used, and Louis really loves Harry. Who is he to deny him? Or: Reduce, Reuse, Recycle but make it BDSM

🔄 Switching the positions for you by 28sunflowers / @vintageumbroshirt

(E, 4k, omega Louis) the omegaverse AU where they decide to try a completely new position in bed

🔄 From the Dining Table by @littleroverlouis *

(E, 3k, established relationship) Harry's thirtieth birthday hasn't gone as expected. Things start looking up from the dining table.

🔄 Eager To Please by @enchantedlandcoffee *

(E, 1k, pwp) "Ah, ah." Louis tsked disapprovingly, the younger boy's actions immediately halting. "You want to be a good boy for your Daddy, don't you?"

- Rare Pairs -

🔄 honey, we should run away by narryblossom

(M, 18k, Niall/Harry) It’s… kind of nice, actually. But being a nice house doesn’t take away the sting of what Harry’s done or what he’s asking Niall to give up by moving there.

[goqmir]

if you want to be a chef in this day and age you have to want to fuck the food. it used to be that you could get away with just desiring food-related sex-- in western saloons in the late 1800s, for instance, there were often gouges in the floorboards leading from the cook's favorite lovemaking bedroom in the inn to the nightly spot laid out for the salad bar trolley. Now, though, you have to have sexual urges about the food itself. If you don't, you will be easily outclassed by those overworked bakers who stop for condoms on the way home after they score some extra jelly-filled pastries from work, or the Michelin star chefs who have hours of mac and cheese stirring ASMR saved in a YouTube playlist. They simply want the food more than you do. Every chef with a decent career in the fine dining world has that not-so-hidden secret. If you can afford it, expensive dishes usually have wonderful texture-- just ask Gordon Ramsey and his fridge full of crab puffs-- but if you can't, I would recommend first starting out with something affordable you can easily keep on hand, with little preparation time and a decent texture. Of course, not all beginning chefs follow this advice-- a lot of dedicated chefs attempt to start fucking the food after learning about this subculture, leading to an alarming number of juice fetishists in the sous chef workforce. Unfortunately, many learn too late that you need substance in your food-- some decent texture to rub against-- or you won't get the same experience with food you need in the industry. By that time, of course, the juice kink has set in-- if you see a sous chef pouring apple cider into a pot of mac and cheese, you don't have to ask what it's adding to the flavor profile. A lot of popular picks are easy to reheat in the microwave, not quick to perish, and give a decent enough texture to be satisfying. A common pick is simply bread; filled donuts offer a pleasant pocket and satisfying orgasms; muffins are thick enough where working a hole from its bottom to its top is not only possible, but expected; almost all of the kitchen staff at Red Lobster leaves for the night with a few extra-soft biscuits in their bags. Others have more interesting taste: melty cheeses, the pointiest carrots and pineapples, the claws of lobsters, the most decadent helpings of whipped-cream topped parfaits. This all works fine for a number of years, until you notice your skill as a chef starting to plateau. Many chefs simply stay in this zone, as well enough preparers living happy lives at good jobs. But the best chefs, the headliners, those who prepare the best meals the world has to offer... they take it to the next level. They spend a good, long time preparing the dish they are covering in their cum up to four nights a week. Hours of baking, broiling, dirtied pots and pans. The food preparation is like foreplay, one of the most creative parts of sex and cooking alike. A good chef gets hotter with the pasta in the pot, sizzles along with the eggs in the pan, finds themselves on edge with each slice of the potato into the crock. Until finally, hours into the night, cock hard like a lamppost, after dicking down that beautifully prepared pasta frittata since the sun was still up, they orgasm all across its gorgeous pasta fillings and creamy cheesey insides and finally Understand food. After learning all of this, you may be tempted to go down to your neighborhood spot and ask the chef what they do to deepen the connection between themselves and their meals. Of course, if the neighborhood spot happens to be a bar, you'll probably actually have a line cook-- where instead, you should probably ask what they like most about putting their cigarettes out on twinks.

[kitchenisking]

Day 4

Seires Fic Rec part 14

Queer Your Coffee by alisvolatpropiis - (Queer Your Coffee) - (Rating: Not Rated, Words: 3,084, sterek)

Derek's just over the city line when he sees a sign for an independent drive-thru place, Full Spectrum Brew. There are three cars in line when he turns in, which annoys him but gives him hope. Not that he really trusts the people of Beacon Hills to have much taste when it comes to coffee (god, he is a snob), but the shop’s popularity does seem to bode well. The line of cars moves way more slowly than he’d like, each customer in front of him seeming to take way too long to order, and then lingering when they get their coffee. He’s irritable from lack of sleep and an even more detrimental lack of caffeine, anxious to get out of the car. Finally it’s his turn and he slowly rolls up to the window, turning the radio down.

For a second, he thinks he must have fallen asleep while he was waiting, because what he sees when he looks in the window surely must be a dream.

Stunning brown eyes like glowing honey and sweet little nose, slightly upturned; a shapely pink mouth, bottom-lip pierced by a thin black hoop that he's worrying with the tip of his tongue as he smiles a gorgeous hello.

He's the most beautiful man Derek's ever seen.

And he’s shirtless.

It's a Beautiful Night by khasael - (Hale and Hearty) - (Rating: T, Words: 2,887, sterek)

Just because they're all almost used to fighting against the Creature of the Week and assorted other Bad Guys, doesn't mean it doesn't get Stiles's heart rate going.

Dream a Little Dream by Yoiko - (A Little Dream of Me ) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1,101, sterek)

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time. And since this is my dream you’re going to let me do it.”

All things share the same breath - the beast, the tree, the man. by devilscut - (There are nights when the wolves are silent and the moon howls.) - (Rating: Mature, Words: 11,687, sterek)

A shell-shocked Stiles regroups with the pack to find his father who has been kidnapped by the Darach. Their search leads them to the Nematon, where their confrontation with the Darach reveals her plans and that there is more to being a True Alpha than they know. Derek and his family's legacy is at the heart of her schemes and when the Darach has him under her control Stiles begins to realise the extent of how much he really cares for the sourwolf. In true Scooby-doo fashion, the villain has told them of her plans but more shockingly to Stiles she also reveals a very important aspect of his and Derek's relationship.

The virtue of patience by nofeartina - (Patience) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 11,827, sterek)

Stiles isn't afraid of admitting his feelings to Derek, but that doesn't mean that Derek wants to hear it. 

Or the one where Stiles knows that all good things come to those who wait.

I Feel Like You Can't Feel the Way I Feel by i_might_be_in_over_my_head - ( Einherjar MC ) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 14,087, sterek)

“Fuckin A, dude! The last time you gave me that look I ended up in the woods in the middle of the night, lost my inhaler, and almost died. Please tell me why you’re always trying to get me killed?” Scott shook his head resigned. He knew Stiles was going in and nothing he could say would change that. “If we wake up dead tomorrow just remember this was your idea.”

Stiles threw his fist in the air enthusiastically, almost punching Scott in the face, and turned to the door. He knew if he didn’t go quick Scott would probably change his mind and he’d have to start all over. “Dude that was sophomore year of high school, let it go! Plus dead body! We had to go. We’ll just have a drink and check it out. It’ll be fun!”

fingertips have memories by thatworldinverted - (let's talk about sex ) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1,800, sterek)

Pochemuchka (Russian), noun: a person who asks a lot of questions. 

"I saw the way you watched me, when I was home last month. How long have you been dreaming about getting me on my knees?"

seems to me it's chemistry by HalfFizzbin - (covalent bonds) - (Rating: T, Words: 4,153, sterek)

Awkward Nerd Derek has been crushing on Handsome Jock Stiles since forever—so getting paired with him on a Chemistry project is definitely the best/worst thing that's ever happened to him.

These next two fics go hand in hand. 😇

The One with All the Kids by Itsreallyjustforresearch83 - (Rating: G, Words: 6,527, sterek)

Derek didn't know what he did to deserve to have this again. A house full of people, of family. He's going to be forever grateful to that rouge witch for what she did for him and Stiles, because after all the hurt they went through together, many years later, they're standing in the Pack house, in their house, surrounded by their family.

A New Hale by Itsreallyjustforresearch83 - (Rating: G, Words: 4,543, sterek)

The Pack meets the werewolf cub that Stiles and Derek gets placed with them on Christmas.