#i tend to either over establish or under establish when i write and i don’t like ny sentenxe structure much but i’ve also never shared my

[iceicewifey]

so many friends posting writing lately … makes me wanna get over my fear and try something ;^;

[ashasdiary]

Five Margaritas, Five Senses

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x fem!Reader

Synopsis: You enjoy a night out with your girlfriends. You all get enamoured with a dark haired bartender. Gojo gets jealous so naturally, he has to remind you whose you are. 

CW: drinking, alcohol, established relationship, jealous Gojo, possessive Gojo, smut — unprotected sex, drunk sex, overstimulation, creampie, dacryphilia if you squint WC: 5.9k A/N: loosely based off of my own shenanigans. still steaming from last night as I write this 😹 ENJOY <3

You were drunk. 

There was no denying it.

You’d all but downed your first three margaritas, had inhaled a strawberry daiquiri, were halfway through your fourth margarita and had every intention of getting some shots after. 

You found your body moving on its own accord to the groove of the music that was playing in the bar, hands in the air, hips swaying without a care in the world as you danced. 

Your two friends, Shoko and Utahime cheered as you danced, getting up from the booth to join you. 

Your third friend, Suki, walked into the room: a cute little secluded spot with pink fur on the walls, a disco ball shining in the corner, and plush seating, drinks in hand. 

“Guys! There was a bartender that just started his shift, he was soooo handsome!” She tries to set down the two cocktails carefully on the table but a little spills from the sides. “Go and get more drinks and you’ll see him!” 

Suki’s insistence for you all to see this handsome bartender doesn’t so much faze you because there are handsome bartenders everywhere. Utahime’s interest however is piqued slightly so she dances away from the group with a laugh to Suki, “Let me get another cocktail and see some eye candy.”

Suki draws her away for couple of minutes as you and Shoko keep dancing and giggling together. Utahime comes back to the room with her drink, squealing in excitement to you and Shoko, “You have to see him! He was so freaking pretty!” 

Utahime is quite the character so her reaction was not out of the ordinary. Shoko twirls you under your joined arms and grins, “I’ll go get some shots for us.”

Shoko sashays away to the bar, leaving you to finish your fourth margarita. You set down the empty glass and you giggle, twirling around, the music taking control of your body. 

“Is Gojo picking you up later?” Suki asks as she slings her arms around your neck, swaying with you.

“Mhm…he said he’d come at 11 so we can get an early night,” you smile at the mention of your boyfriend, the blush on your cheeks deepening a little. 

“You lovebirds…make me sick,” Suki laughs and she pinches your cheek. 

Shoko comes back to the room, wide eyed, a tray of shots in hand as she calls your name, “They weren’t lying. That bartender is fucking beautiful.”

“My goodness, you three, relax! There’s beautiful people everywhere!” You spin on your heel and stumble a little, Utahime catching you. 

“I do want another drink though. So I will be back shortly,” you nod, earning a couple of snickers from them. 

You stroll over to the bar and lean over it, waiting to be served. There was a man with his hair gathered up in a little man bun, crouched down tending to the fridge on the other side, so his back was to you. He stands and straightens up and turns towards you and stops when he sees you. “Hi,” he greets you, voice velvet smooth and brown eyes twinkling, “what can I get for you?”

You just blink at him for a moment. The alcohol already in your system was slowing things down considerably but you were in awe of just how beautiful this man was. How the strand of hair that he had loose was framing his face perfectly. You don’t usually get shy, either, but words were lost on you for a second. “Hi…” you manage to smile, “can I get a vodka lemonade please?” 

“Playin’ it safe, huh,” he chuckles, rolling up his sleeves and in the low light of the bar your eyes fall to the dark ink adorned on his skin. It was so intricate and detailed, nothing like you’d ever seen before. You watch him move around the bar and start to make your drink in the mixer bottle so effortlessly, and you suddenly come to yourself and realise that you’d been holding your breath this entire time. 

“Can’t go wrong with a vodka lemonade,” you breathe out, and his gaze locks with yours, a smirk on his pretty lips. That’s when you realise you’d taken your sweet time in responding and you blush as you fumble to occupy your hands with something, settling on the chain of your belt. 

“I saw your friend over there get some shots. Have you ever tried a baby guinness?” He decorates your vodka lemonade with a small sprig of mint on top and gently pushes it toward you, leaning on the bar and coming closer to you. 

“I can’t say that I have,” you answer, and you clear your throat, your hand absentmindedly coming to play with the straw in your drink. 

“I’ll make you one to try. On me,” he gives you a grin and holds your gaze longer than he should have before he looks away to find the bottles of Irish cream and coffee liqueur.

Placing a shot glass in front of you, he is mesmerising as he makes the drink carefully so that the Irish cream doesn’t sink into the liqueur. He gestures to the smaller glass and gives you a playful smile. 

“Have a try. I bet you’ll like it.” 

His voice…oh, his voice. It’s so smooth and so deep that it rumbles through his chest, the tone of it something sublime. It’s a voice that you could fall asleep to from how soothing it was. 

You take the shot glass between your fingers and hold it up, “Salud,” and he lets out a chuckle right before you knock it back. You were expecting a burn, because it’s a shot after all, but were surprisingly greeted with the soft touch of what genuinely tasted like chocolate.

“Oh my god, that was divine,” you tell him excitedly, “can I get 4 more?”

He grins at you, “I told you you’d enjoy it. But sure. We do table service. You go enjoy your vodka lemonade and I’ll bring 4 more to your table in a minute.”

“Thank you…” you gaze at him, unable to look away, “sorry, I didn’t get your name?”

“I’m Geto,” he gives you a friendly smile and holds your gaze and it continues on until you get bashful and look down at your hands. 

“Thank you, Geto. I’ll see you in a minute,” you grab your vodka lemonade and shuffle away from the bar as fast as your legs would allow, not looking back because you know in your drunken state you’re extra playful and extra daring. 

The three girls were talking and giggling and sipping on their drinks when you came in and they all turn to you as you sit down among them. “I hate to admit that you were all right,” you take a quick sip of your drink, “he was unbelievable. None of you even saw his tattoos! And I really don’t know why, but I asked for his name, too.”

“He has tattoos—?”

“His name—?!”

“What w—?”

“And,” you interrupt the chiming of your friends, “he gave me this delicious chocolate tasting shot, for free.”

That admissions sends them into a frenzy, Utahime grabbing at your thigh, Suki falling back onto the sofa, and Shoko spluttering on her drink. Granted, their reactions were exaggerated what with the state of drunkenness you were all in. 

“And when I walk in all that I wanna hear…is you say daddy’s home…home for me,” you all hear the familiar voice of Gojo singing as he strolls into the pink room and he snorts at just how pink it is.

“Look who it is,” Shoko giggles and you smile widely when you see him. 

He walks on over, giving Suki, Utahime, and Shoko brief hugs in greeting before he reaches you, bright blue eyes twinkling. “Hi, baby. I missed ya.”

“Hi, my love, I missed you as well,” you give him a drunk smile and make grabby hands to him and he chuckles, plopping himself next to you and pulls your legs over his lap while leaning in to give you a kiss. You drape your arms around his neck and settle against him comfortably. 

“Havin’ fun, hm?” He asks. 

“Oh, you don’t even know,” Suki answers him before you can, and all three girls laugh. 

You sip on your drink until you hear the air being sucked from the straw, signalling its emptiness. Gojo gently takes the empty glass from you and places it down on the table. 

“I’m glad that you’ve been enjoying yourselves. I’ve gotta get all of you home soon, don’t I?” He says and Shoko and Utahime groan. 

“Absolutely not. I got us more shots!” You tell him and he raises a brow, gaze falling onto the empty shot glasses on the table. “Those were…Shoko, were they yours? Yeah, she got some jolly rancher shots before but the ones I got are so delicious, literally like chocol—“

“Knock knock,” you all hear that captivatingly deep voice from the doorway of the room and you all look up to see Geto, tray of shots in hand. Everyone falls quiet as he waltzes in, placing the baby guinness shots down and collecting the empty glasses. From the girls’ silence, you know that they’re all just drinking him in, admiring his tattoos and his full frame. “You have your beautiful friend here to thank for these,” he nods towards you and you blink at him, cheeks blushing crimson red when he winks at you and throws you a smile. “Enjoy your night,” his gazes trails over all five of you in the room before he leaves. 

The girls stay silent as they watch the dark haired man exit the room and turn to look at you, then at Gojo.

“Uh oh,” Suki breaks the silence when she notes that Gojo isn’t smiling anymore. “Gojo, you good?”

He’s quiet for a moment, completely still as he replays what just happened in front of him and then looks to you. “I’m actually shocked at the audacity of that man to flirt with her seeing the way that she’s draped over me like this,” he says and your fingers play with the soft hair at the back of his head. 

“It happens, dude, relax,” Shoko says and she gets up and hands around the shots, skipping Gojo as he is the dedicated carer for the evening. 

“Geto’s very nice, he wasn’t flirting,” you find yourself saying matter of factly through your drunken state, and this makes Gojo’s brows furrow together. 

“You’re on a first name basis already?” He lets out a dry laugh. 

“He just gave me his name before, that’s all,” you shrug and the girls all hold up their shot glasses, and you follow suit. 

“To being smart and sexy!” Shoko says and you all repeat it before downing the shots. 

“That was quite a pleasant shot actually, everyone say thank you,” Utahime comments and stands up to dance again. Shoko and Suki follow suit, all three enjoying the rhythm as they dance. 

“My smart and sexy girlfriend has been quite the minx tonight, then,” Gojo’s lips ghost over the shell of your ear as he caresses your jaw and kisses your temple. 

“I had…” you start giggling uncontrollably, head falling back as you hold onto his neck, “I had like five margaritas. Have you heard that song?” You ask Gojo but Suki is quick to respond. 

“Give me one margarita, imma open my legs!” She sings and drops into a squat, opening her legs. 

“Give me two margaritas, imma give you some head,” Shoko sings.

“Give me three margaritas, imma put it in my puss—“ you add and laugh as Gojo pushes his finger over your lips to quieten you and the girls all giggle, holding onto each other so they don’t fall over. 

“Give me four margaritas, imma put it in my tush!” Utahime is quick to add, and all four of you sing the next line in unison as Gojo sits and watches, shaking his head as he tries not to laugh.

“GIVE ME FIVE MARGARITAS, IMMA HAVE SOME FUN!” All of you burst out in uncontrollable laughter, tears in your eyes. 

“Alright, gang, I think you have all had plenty of fun tonight and you should all get home and recharge your batteries,” Gojo announces and is met with a chorus of ‘aw’s. “C’mon now. Get your things, ladies, we don’t want to leave anything behind.”

You stay wrapped around him for a moment, breathing him in, kissing his neck, playing with his hands, “I was really enjoying myself tonight so I’m sad we’re going home but I also love when you get all…authoritative,” you tell him and he smirks down at you. 

“I know you do,” he tells you quietly and you bite your lip as you gaze at each other. He steals a quick kiss before you get up and grab your coat and bag from the corner, overwhelmed all of a sudden by the urge to pee. 

“Oh, god, I need to pee. I’ll be right back,” you walk — not in a straight line — out of the room and towards the restrooms which thankfully weren’t far. It’s a unisex bathroom with the toilets in individual spaces. You lock the door once you get in and shove down your tights and underwear, holding up your skirt as you feel the relief of an empty bladder. You sigh and then smile to yourself, reading the scribbles on the walls. There’s always some clarity gained upon reading the writing on the walls of a bar toilet while drunk. 

Once you’re finished, you fix your clothes and go to head out but come out of the toilet and crash into a large, firm chest. “Oh!” 

The large, firm chest of the dark haired man. Geto. 

“Careful, there, shortcake,” that silky smooth voice….his gentle hands holding your upper arms to keep you steady…the soft twinkle of his brown eyes. Jesus, he’s mesmerising. He lets go of your arms as you blink at him, again. Shortcake? 

“Sorry about that,” you say quickly. 

“You’re fine,” he reassures you. “I’ll see you later.“

He turns and disappears around the corner. See you later? You go and wash your hands and try to think. Why would he see you later? Was he flirting? 

You dry your hands with the paper towel and check yourself in the mirror before you exit, making your way back to the pink room, but it was empty. The heck? Where had they all gone? You look around for them, but can’t find them in your vicinity. You walk around the bar slowly, scanning through the crowd of people, unsuccessfully. You huff to yourself. They can’t have just left you, especially not Gojo. 

You stand in the middle of the bar, trying to find a familiar face, until you do, but it’s not the familiar face you were hoping for. “Geto!” You call out to him as he’s walking back to the bar. 

“Hi again, shortcake,” he smiles softly, “saw you sooner than I thought. You okay?”

You swallow upon hearing the use of that nickname he’d chosen for you. It made sense. He was tall. You were not. “I…yeah, I’m okay. Did you see where my friends went, by any chance?”

“Yeah. Come with me,” he nods his head to the side and holds out his hand for you, which you don’t think too much about taking because in a crowd of people, it’s easy to get lost. 

When your hand slips into his, it’s warm and gentle, and he envelopes your hand as he leads you to the bar. You feel a flush on your cheeks at the touch. 

On your approach to the bar, you see your boyfriend’s white hair peeking out in the crowd. They were at the bar, paying off the tab. Of course. Geto leads you to the group and taps Gojo on the shoulder to inform him of your arrival. 

“Make sure this beautiful lady doesn’t get lost again,” Geto tells him, and Gojo eyes how he’s holding your hand. 

“Thanks,” Gojo replies curtly, staring daggers at the other man. Geto releases your hand and heads back behind the bar. The girls are all wide eyed trying to stifle their giggles. 

“Baby, we told you we were going to come pay off the tab. How’d you get lost?” Gojo asks you, arm snaking around your waist to pull you against him. 

“I didn’t hear you guys say that,” you whine and rest your forehead against his chest. He kisses the crown of your head. 

“It’s okay. Tab’s paid now. Let’s go home,” he squeezes you gently as he gathers your friends. 

“Good night, Geto!” Suki waves enthusiastically at the bartender and blows him a kiss. 

“Suki!” Shoko hisses, pulling Suki’s arm down. 

The sound of Geto’s laugh reaches your ears, “Good night, ladies. Hope you had a great evening.”

You find yourself smiling over at Geto before Gojo moves to block your view with a deadpan look, “Home time.”

“We’re just saying bye,” Utahime sighs dreamily. 

It takes some effort but finally, all 5 of you are buckled in Gojo’s fancy car, with you curled up in the front. He begins the drive to Suki’s place which is closest, and when he drops her off, he goes up with her to make sure she gets in safely. 

You love how thoughtful he is, taking his time to ensure their wellbeing with each stop. Utahime was next, and then Shoko, and then…there were two. 

You laze in the seat, fumbling with the buttons and making the seat lie back, trying to get your mind off of the urge to pee. 

“I need to pee again,” you tell him and he reaches over and caresses your knee. 

“We’re almost home, sweetheart,” he says, putting his foot down on the accelerator a little more. 

“Hm…my pretty man,” you gaze at him, enjoying the view of his side profile, soft white hair framing it. He glances over with an enthused expression and before he can reply, you reach over to cup his jaw. “So pretty it hurts.”

“No need to flatter me, sweetness. Not when you’re as beautiful as you are. I can’t wait to see what our kids will look like,” he says the last sentence more to himself, but you hear it, and it makes your heart skip a beat as he turns his head to kiss your palm. And for some reason, that same sentence makes your pussy awaken from its slumber. 

You stay quiet, letting him take your hand in his, fingers interlacing with yours. Your mind races for a minute, thinking of everything Gojo has done this evening. For a moment, the acknowledgement of each action — picking you up, protecting you and your friends, taking care of you and your friends, paying the tab, driving your friends home and making sure they get in safely — leads to gratitude of having such a thoughtful, considerate, perfect man being yours. But that gratitude quickly transforms and only adds to your growing arousal. You almost forgot how horny you get when you’re drunk. 

It’s not long before he’s pulling into the garage and parking the car, cutting the engine. The single act of him turning the steering wheel with his palm makes your pussy purr and you try to ignore the wetness that’s accumulating at your core. He gets out and walks around, opening the door and scooping you up into his arms. You let out a little squeal in happiness as he carries you all the way and inside your shared abode, a nice penthouse with the most breathtaking views of Tokyo. 

Once inside, he toes off his shoes, gently pulling off yours and letting them fall with small thuds on the floor by the door. He carries you still and sets you down in the bathroom, where you keep your arms around his neck and smoothly pull him into a kiss. 

When you break apart, he makes sure that you’re steady since alcohol is still surging through your bloodstream. “Pee. Wash up. And I’ll get you some water and your pajamas.”

He washes his hands quickly and leaves the bathroom, closing the door behind him. You try to go about your night routine as best as your drunk and horny brain would allow you to. 

Gojo had every intention of taking care of you this evening, he really, truly did. He wanted to tend to you, cuddle you, love on you, and make sure you were hangover free tomorrow morning. But there was something inside him that he simply could not ignore. The fiery flames of jealousy were ignited within him. Hand in hand with his possessiveness, oh, it was a lethal combination on his hands. 

He did as he promised, getting you a glass of water, some painkillers, and your pajamas, setting them neatly on the night stand and the bed, respectively. He slips out of his outside clothes as he waits for you, pulling on a cotton t-shirt and foregoing any pants. 

You emerge from the bathroom, having haphazardly pulled your hair up and put it in place with a claw clip, and stripped down to your underwear. “My tummy hurts a little.”

“You didn’t eat anything yet, sweetheart. You want me to get you some food? I can make you a sandwich,” he offers, moving around the bed to get you the water and painkillers, handing it to you. You take them and drink the water to wash them down, still a little dazed, but the more you look at him, the more you want to pounce on him. 

“M’not hungry,” you tell him and he circles his arm around your waist loosely. 

“Maybe not now, but you will be in…” he turns and looks at the clock on the wall, and turns back to you, “half an hour.”

“That’s specific,” you laugh a little. Your arms slip up around his neck, finding their place there. “Are you in my stomach keeping watch of how much food is in there?”

“I can be in your guts if you want me to be,” he smirks, and you snort at this. “You should know I’m setting myself a time limit,” he nods in all seriousness. 

“For?” Your inquiry lit the fuse in him. 

You dared to ask?

His eyes flash with mischief as he gazes at you, his hold on you tightening, pulling your hips flush against his. 

“To remind you whose you are,” his voice is low and gravelly as he speaks, lips ghosting by yours.

Your brain takes a moment to register. Fuck. Oh, fuck. Of course he’d gotten jealous of that bartender. Of course he had. You should have sooner realised this but in your hazy mind, it had slipped. 

“Satoru…” you press yourself against him, showing that you’re eager for him, wanting him, needing him. He knows, of course, he knows how you can get disgustingly horny when you’re drunk, so he’d perfectly orchestrated the last hour with that in mind. 

“My beautiful girl…” he brings a hand up to cup your face, thumb caressing the apple of your cheek as he gazes into your eyes so intensely you feel like he’s seeing the depths of your soul. “You are. You’re my beautiful girl,” he murmurs, thumb swiping over your bottom lip. 

“Satoru…I know I’m yours,” you whine softly, giving into your carnal desires, “please…I need you right now.”

He fucking loves when he has you begging for him like this. 

“Aw, my sweet girl needs me, huh,” he hums, bringing his lips to yours. You eagerly press your tongue against the seam of his lips and he instantly parts them to tangle his tongue with yours in a filthy kiss. 

Taste.

He debates on edging you, making you beg for it, but he decides that the best method right now is to consume all of your senses to the point of overwhelm. He wants you to cry. 

He walks you the half a metre over to the bed and breaks the kiss to pick you up and place you by the pillows. 

He kneels in front of you and pulls off his shirt in one movement, something which makes you stupidly excited. 

Sharing another dirty kiss, your lips are locked and he reaches behind you to unclasp your bra and pull it away. At the same time, you push off your underwear and toss it to the side. 

“Show me how wet you are,” he requests, warm hand rubbing the outside of your knee as he sits back a little. You part your legs for him and bring your hand to your centre, drawing your fingers up and down through your folds, spreading the wetness around easily. God, he loved your pretty pussy. He loved her even more when she was dripping wet like she was now. He groans at the sight, his cock throbbing. He has to free himself from the confines so he quickly and deftly gets his boxers off, kicking them to the side. 

“She’s cryin’ for me,” he purrs, smirking a little, “Who got you this wet, baby?” He brings his fingers to your folds and teases them alongside your own. You shudder when he circles your sensitive clit. 

Touch. 

“Y-you, Satoru, only you.” 

“That’s right, sweetness. Tell me again,” he hums. 

“Only you can get me this wet,” you sigh, and you go to circle your entrance with your middle fingers and dip them inside but he stops you. 

“Ah ah…I’m gonna give you what you want, baby. C’mere.” He slips a strong arm under your waist and lifts you easily, and your legs automatically lock around his hips as he switches the position, lying back against the pillows and perching you on top of him.

Your lips curl into a smile as you lean down to kiss him again, “Mmm…I love this view.”

“Mine’s better,” he quips, leaning his head up to kiss all over one of your breasts, teasing your nipple with his tongue. 

His hands roam up over your back and you find your hips moving on their own accord, grinding your folds over his hard length. Your wetness coats him and he groans against you, one hand gripping your hip and the other swiftly reaching down to guide his cock into you.  

Your head falls back as you feel the tip push past your entrance. He’s slipping inside you easily from how wet you are, but your walls weren’t ready to be stretched out so suddenly. He keeps pushing in, pressing his hips up, until he’s bottomed out inside you completely. You bite your lip and let out a soft whine from just how full you feel with him inside you. “S—ah…Toru…I…” you can’t formulate any coherent words in this moment, so you stop trying. You can’t think, because all that’s in your head right now is the thought of him stuffing you full of his cock. 

Satoru doesn’t like to rush, so he allows you a moment to adjust to him, because the last thing he wants is for you to be hurt. He gently guides your hips to rock back and forth and you start to do it on your own, gasping when you feel the fullness again. 

“Who’s got you full of his cock, baby? Huh?” He asks, a smugness in his tone. 

“Y-you,” you muster, rolling your hips in gradually bigger circles. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he praises you, letting you take the reins, his hands resting on your ass, squeezing the supple flesh. Your walls adjust to him relatively quickly and you lean forward, bouncing your hips on him faster, pussy gripping his cock tighter each time you sink down onto him. “Fuck, that’s it,” he grunts, cupping your face to bring your lips to his. 

“Mmm…Toru, I’m close…” you moan out against him, making him groan to your lips. 

“Not yet,” he tells you, and you feel your walls clench at the sound of his authoritative tone. You slow down your hips a little and pant softly as you continue to ride him slower. 

In a flash of white, he’s snaked his arm around your hips and flipped you onto your back, slipping out of you in the process. Your legs dangle up in the air as you blink at him and catch your breath a bit. 

He gives no warning as he takes control and slides into you again, all the way home, and you keen from the perfection of his dick fitting so wonderfully inside you. His pubic bone teases your clit and your eyes almost roll into the back of your head as he draws his hips back and fucks into you again, but harder. 

You feel his balls slap against your ass each time he ruts his hips into yours and you are rendered speechless from the feeling of his cock pounding into you. 

Your brain is overcome with emotion from a combination of not being able to articulate any words and the way he’s fucking you senseless, and you find tears pricking your eyes and filling your vision. 

You try to blink them away and avoid eye contact by looking down to watch the way he fits so smoothly inside you, but this only overwhelms your senses more. 

Sight. 

Your back arches, a whine falling from your lips which quickly turns into a breathless moan of his name. 

“Baby…you cryin’?” He coos, leaning down and resting his body weight on yours, continuing to fuck his cock into your heat. 

“M-m…” your lip trembles as you cry, the tears rolling along the side of your face as your legs quake. You try to ground yourself, bringing a shaky hand up around his back, feeling the way his muscles are tensing, but it’s no use. 

You feel the imminence of your orgasm as the pressure increases, your walls tightening, making it harder for him to keep pounding into you the way he was. But he doesn’t let up. He keeps going, knowing all too well the signs your body was giving him. He reaches between you, pressing his thumb to your clit, teasing it, circling it. 

You gasp for breath, shallowly, your heart racing, the sound of your wetness accentuating the way your hips were colliding. 

Sound. 

You had made a complete mess of yourself, him, and the bed, but your senses were so overwhelmed by him that you didn’t even notice. 

With each pump of his cock into you, you’re pushed closer and closer to the edge. Your body cannot hold up for another second, the tension having built up so forcefully that it’s sudden; your body releases, the orgasm washing over your entire body and causing you to let out a sound that’s partly a moan and partly a cry. Your walls clench so tightly around Satoru’s cock that it pulls a strangled groan from him, his deep pants only adding to the high of your orgasm. 

He slows down, rocking his hips into yours now and riding you through it as your walls clench less. But he doesn’t stop. 

You tremble under him as you feel the heavy drag of him sliding in and out of your gummy walls. “You’re doin’ so good for me, baby,” he praises, and you choke out a soft cry as you melt into the sheets. “Shh…I’ve got you, sweetheart.” 

His soft voice contrasts with the harsh plunge of his cock deep into you and he begins to fuck you relentlessly once again. Your body had not fully recovered from your first orgasm, yet your second was fast approaching. Feeling overwhelmed and quickly becoming overstimulated, you try to inhale deeply to steady your mind but the delicious scent of his sweat and his pheromones takes over your nose. 

Smell. 

That was it. The final sense, unlocked, consumed in full. Every single cell in your body is consumed by him. Your brain begins to shut down, very well and truly cockdrunk, and he can see this, how he’s got you putty in his hands, senses so gone that you’ve been rendered speechless and become his fuck toy. 

He brings his fingers to your cheek and caresses it softly, “Talk to me, sweetness… wanna hear you.”

His soft coaxing stirs something to life inside you and you feel like you’d been outside of your body for a moment and had come crashing back into it and into this moment. 

“I’m gonna come,” you rasp out. You let out a gasp when you feel the emptiness of your walls when he slips out of you, stopping the tension that was building in its tracks. 

He loves having control, the power, it’s something he gets off on. So when he grabs your legs and pushes them back, folding you in half, you find yourself starting to cry once more. Not from discomfort, nor from sadness, just from pure overwhelm. 

“Toru,” you cry his name and he lets out a low grunt at how fucking sexy you sound. 

“Give me one more, sweet girl,” he dips his head to lock his lips with yours in a long kiss and all you can do is nod through your tears as he slips into you again. 

He’s quick to return to his previous pace, rough, deep, making sure you feel every single ridge of his cock inside you. You felt everything more now because of the new position, and you cling onto the pillow as you feel the tension building fast.

“I-I…I’m close, Toru,” you whine out and you sit up a little, mustering whatever strength you had left in that moment to pull him down to kiss you. With his lips on yours in a bruising kiss, his thumb rubbing quick circles on your swollen clit, and his cock pounding into you like there was no tomorrow, you’re tipped over the edge into the throes of bliss, breathless moans being drawn from you. You feel the rush of your second release wash over your body, this one stronger and more prominent than the first, every nerve ending in your body on fire. 

Satoru’s hips stutter at the feeling of your pussy clenching around him so tightly, and he tries to hold off but he doesn’t know if he can. He kisses you again, and again, finding a steady pace as he allows you to catch your breath for a moment. “Come for me,” you whisper to his lips, and it catches him off guard slightly, but he wasn’t ready for what you said next, “come in me.”

He groans your name deeply, rutting his hips roughly into yours a few more times until his orgasm takes hold of him, hot streams of cum being released into you and painting your walls. He slows to a stop and then lies on top of you, closing his eyes as he enjoys the high. Your hand threads through his soft hair, and you run your fingers through it gently, both of your bodies are covered in a sheen of sweat as you pant for breath. 

“You definitely sobered me up,” you let out a breathless, tired laugh. 

He looks up at you, giving you a languid kiss, staying connected and in your arms. 

“I had to mark my territory,” he shrugs and you flick his arm. “What? I had to remind you that you’re all mine, and always will be,” he smirks. 

 The phrase ‘fucked your brains out’ had found a whole new meaning, because, fuck, did he. 

~

Do not copy or translate my work.

© ashasdiary, all rights reserved.

[lucyandthepen]

last young renegade | jjh

summary: your valentine’s day plans with jaehyun may have gone down the drain just a little. (okay — a lot.)

pairing: jaehyun x reader verse: canon, idol!verse rating: t warnings&tags: reader & jaehyun are in an established relationship, quite frankly there is nothing too out of the ordinary in this fic which is a shocker, it’s a rewritten fic so pls excuse any errors I may not have caught! word count: 5.02k

a/n: happy 2024 friends and family !!!!!! and advanced happy birthday to the man who created valentine’s day, he who is perhaps my first love in nct, jaehyun! this is actually just a fic I’ve been hoping to re-write a bit from before, and since it’s valentine’s themed, what better time to post it!! Enjoy enjoy, and may this year bring more fun, laughs, love (and debauchery) to this blog!

Yᴏᴜ sᴀɪᴅ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ sɪᴄᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛɪʀᴇᴅ ᴏғ ɪᴛ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ, ɴɪɢʜᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴀʏ.

♡ jaehyunnie ♡ I know I said birthday dinner but practice is running so late ㅠㅠ ♡ jaehyunnie ♡ Can we meet after? I’m sorry ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠ How about I call you when we’re done? Maybe 11:30?

At times like this, you often wonder if it’s all worth it.  

You know thinking that way is counterproductive, not to mention a little unfair. You knew exactly what to expect, getting into an under-wraps relationship with an idol, and so far, it’s lived up to most of your assumptions, and then some. It doesn’t help that Jaehyun, even just by name, tends to attract an unbelievable amount of attention. You know you can’t blame him; it’s not like he wants to be high on the radar every time, either. For some reason, though, you seem to be looking for something or someone to blame, which you also know is a dead end. You have no one to pin the blame onto apart from yourself by frequently generating doubts that keep your mind running around in circles.  

It’s not even the sneaking around that gets tiring; it’s the waiting — waiting on calls, waiting on free time, waiting on a good opportunity to do something that doesn’t involve him suddenly getting pulled out to attend to one of many of his celebrity responsibilities. Over the last few years that you’ve dated, NCT has only ever gotten more popular; with that popularity came the fact that the public eye was trained on them, focusing on every microscopic detail of their lives. Jaehyun hates that more than anything, which is why he’s given up on trying to avoid it by practically escaping it altogether, locking himself up in the dorm with you when he has his precious few days off. 

While it’s true that you definitely don’t miss having to play espionage when going out for a cup of coffee with him, you’ve also managed to memorize every single inch of Jaehyun’s room, which isn’t good for your mentality, you’re pretty sure. You have to keep reminding him to open the window whenever the both of you are in there, because all you do is stay in and watch English movies without subtitles to see who can understand the most without asking questions (obviously, he always wins) while eating food he runs up and down the stairs to get every other hour. And while him trying to imitate the British accents on these shows is genuinely funny, you’re starting to suspect even he’s starting to get tired of watching Harry Potter over and over again. Twenty hours sounds like a long time unless you spend every twenty-hour period you have together marathoning the exact same films. Much to both of your disappointment, your suggestion to watch it totally out of order did not make it cooler.

Still, you suppose it’s not all bad. Jaehyun also taught you how to play Fortnite on a couple of his days off back to back, and while you hadn’t been as good a player as you both had hoped, he’d still patiently waited for you every time you got lost on the map. He’d even given you his account’s password with the sentiment that this was him ‘taking things to the next level with you,’ and you get to log into his account and play whenever you want; he doesn’t even get mad when you’ve wasted all the stuff he’s farmed on your subpar gaming skills. And, well, the bigger picture was that you loved him. Based on how much effort he put into the relationship, plus the bonus of his trust in you when it came to his Fortnite account, you could at least be confident in that he returned the sentiment.  

Except, sometimes, you still wonder if it would be easier for the both of you if he flew solo and didn’t have a girlfriend that tanked all of his player’s ammo and health kits and generally made a fool out of his cute little avatar while he was out breaking his back onstage.  

You aren’t sure if Jaehyun’s been noticing the turmoil in you; you’re not that good at hiding how you feel, anyway, but if he has, he hasn’t said anything thus far. You do observe how much more he texts you when he has free time, which makes you feel doubly bad, because you know that he’s spending precious minutes he could be resting with on talking to you instead, which isn’t the best trade-off for someone who’s constantly busy — and thereby constantly tired — like him.  

♡ jaehyunnie♡ ___________ I’m going to practice again, okay? Wait for my call ㅠㅠ You I’ll wait for your call ♡ ♡ jaehyunnie♡ I love you ㅠㅠㅠㅠ ♡ jaehyunnie♡ You love me too — a lot, right? I’ll keep my phone now, but I’ll make sure to check that you said so. ㅋㅋㅋ You Right! ㅎ I love you a lot! ♡

When the clock hits 12:01, and your phone is silent, your mind starts working on overtime again. It’s only when the special ringtone you’ve set for him comes to life at half-past midnight that you break your train of thought and put on your socks so you can meet Jaehyun at your front door.  

You’ve made a rule — sort of like a deal — between the two of you that apologies aren’t necessary when work holds you up. You’ve cashed in on that deal a couple of times, but you’re both aware that it’s more for Jaehyun’s sake than anything else, and he keeps to his word on that much when you open the door and duck into his car. All he does is smile at you, and you smile back, and for the rest of the car ride, everything seems okay.  

He always asks you about your day — unfailingly, at any chance he can. It’s never an off-handed question, either; Jaehyun takes great pride in his memory, and the sweetest thing about him is that he’s dedicated a good deal of it to knowing almost everything about you. Right now is no different. He asks you about your team manager, what you had for lunch; he grills you on if you took your vitamins today and if you got to break in the new shoes you bought online — the ones you’d been pining over for the last three months. He even asks you about the guy from the neighboring department who keeps asking you out for after-work drinks.  

“He wanted to go to Hongdae tonight,” you tell him as he slows for a red light. “There’s some new pub of his friend’s doing a soft opening there tonight.”  

“You could have gone.” He keeps his eyes on the road. “I wouldn’t have minded.”  

“I didn’t want to.”

“Good.” He glances at you, a grin slowly spreading on his lips. “Because I lied. I might have minded a little. Or, you know, a lot.”  

“Don’t tell me after all these years, you’ve turned into the kind of boyfriend that doesn’t let his girlfriend go out without him.”

“That’s impossible for me, and you know that,” he chuckles. “You can do whatever you want, whenever you want. Just not with that guy from the other department.”

“Don’t worry.” You tinker with the little charm dangling on your phone — half of a flat, metal heart dangling from a gold chain that Jaehyun had given you two years back on your birthday. He keeps the other half, but since he can’t freely attach it to any of his belongings, he keeps it wedged between the back of his phone and its case. You like watching him change the backing because he does it so carefully, like he’s worried the other half of the heart is going to break if he rips off the case willy nilly. “I told him my boyfriend and I were going out on a date tonight, so he backed off. Although he did wonder why I keep talking about a boyfriend he’s never seen.”

“And? What did you say?”

“I said it was none of his damn business.”  

Jaehyun laughs loudly, and you go along with him, but you don’t miss how tired he looks when he sobers down, the green light illuminating all the shadows on his face as he steps on the gas again.

Nothing good is open this late at night — that is, nothing you haven’t seen before. You hadn’t even expected to go out at all, but since it was the day before Valentine’s Day as well as his birthday (or it would have been, if you hadn’t waited until midnight), Jaehyun had wanted to do something special without having to run into a huge crowd of couples on the day itself. Your only option is this from-out-of-town carnival that’s set up in tents and even has a medium-sized ferris wheel by the edge of the metal barricade. The parking lot is practically empty when Jaehyun pulls into a slot; you joke that he should break one rule and park in two slots, which he smugly replies to by saying he couldn’t park badly even if he tried.  

He tucks your hair back behind your ears as he loops the strings of a face mask around them, using another one for himself. Between that and the brim of his cap, you can barely see his eyes. The only knowledge that you have that you’re walking next to the man you love is that he takes your hand in his, slender fingers finding their way between yours.  

The carnival is half-closed when you get to the middle of it; there are still a few stragglers, but half the kiosks have their lights off already. There’s a woman dressed in flashy clothes standing on a patch of dead grass a few feet away, and she’s holding a hoop that a ginger cat is jumping through. Jaehyun steers you to them, and you stand there for a good five minute watching the cat roll on the ground and stand on its hind legs, but you can tell it’s been going it at for most of the day because at one point, it just ignores the lady, opting to weave its way between Jaehyun’s and your legs instead. You do have a pretty good time when he picks it up and cradles it in his arms so you can pet it for a second, but it just hisses when its owner approaches and jumps out of his hold, disappearing behind a row of trash bins.  

Jaehyun doesn’t have anything in his wallet apart from his credit cards and 50,000 won, and the coin machine operator says he only has enough coins left to break down 5,000 won for the games, so you end up having to jog back to his car so you can fish out some coins from inside his glove compartment. You come up with a grand total of 1,500 won, and you have to sheepishly go back to the coin machine operator to change four 100 coins and a couple of 50s just to get the last 500. Jaehyun tells you to hold onto the three coins so he doesn’t run off with them entirely and leave you destitute.  

You learn you can only do three things at most — you dedicate 500 won for the Ferris wheel entry tickets, which leaves you with 500 won each. The both of you agree on choosing one kiosk to play in, and with only about five left that are open, you don’t really have that many options. You end up dragging Jaehyun over to a stall with a pond filled with those magnetic toy fish, but 500 won only gets you one fishing rod. Since it’s your choice, Jaehyun lets you play, but you feel kind of stupid doing it on your own with him just watching you. In the end, he decides to stand behind you, his arms around your waist like he thinks closer contact isn’t even more distracting. You do manage to fish out 10 fish and win a small bear on a keychain. It doesn’t even pass through your hands as Jaehyun takes it from the stall operator immediately. 

“That’s mine!” You whine, reaching out in vain to take it from him; he just holds it high over his head. His eyes are twinkling under the shadow his cap casts over his face. “I worked hard for that.”  

“Let me keep this one,” he mimics the pleading lilt in your voice. “I’ll put it on my bag.”

“You know you can’t! Give it back.”

“I’ll win you a bigger one,” he promises. “Let me keep this one. It’s cute. It reminds me of you. I’ll kiss it goodnight before I sleep.” He starts to laugh softly. “And then you’ll feel this weird spirit kissing you at like two in the morning, and you’ll know it’s me.”  

Your arms aren’t long enough to retrieve it, and you don’t really want to, so you settle with twisting his ear. He takes it in stride even if he over-acts, making pained noises while leading you to the kiosk he wants to go to. It’s a shooting range stall, and he pays his own precious 500 won for a dart gun. He’s barely paying attention when the guy starts explaining how many points are assigned to each balloon color, more concerned with talking to the bear keychain in his hand and pretending like he’s cooing at you. You have to hit him across the shoulder to get him to focus.  

“You need to start picking out what prize you want,” he tells you — the actual you, not the animal keychain version — as he lifts the dart gun.  

“I’ll wait for you to finish first.”  

“No way.” He tilts his head, closing one eye to steady his line of sight. “Pick already. Or just go for the biggest one.”

“You know that Fortnite and dart guns aren’t the same thing, right?”  

“Yeah, but I’m well-motivated.” He grins at you, one eye still shut. He looks like a baby pirate. “Go ahead. Pick the biggest one.”

“Why don’t you just shoot, and we’ll see.”  

“Pick it,” he insists. “Tell me you have faith in me. Tell me you love me.”

“Okay, I love you,” you agree. “But I have no faith in you when it comes to this.”  

“One out of two is fine,” he concedes, taking aim.  

All three of you, including the stall operator, let out a disappointed groan when he misses his first shot. His comes with a sheepish laugh as he reloads, suddenly telling you to pick the second biggest prize instead. You can’t even watch him miss over and over, so you pretend to be interested in a bunch of teenage boys playing a game of cups one stall over, trying not to giggle when you hear him get increasingly more frustrated at himself. When you turn back around, you notice he’s holding two small pieces of gummy candy, offering one to you like a kindergartener. He helps you tug your face mask down so you can eat it.  

There’s a food stall nearby that, thankfully, accepts credit and debit; Jaehyun fishes out his card to get you a corndog — only one because he’s watching his weight for the upcoming concert, apparently. This is information you hate hearing but have no say in, and he knows this; you know he does because he says ‘don’t worry about me’ totally out of the blue, like five minutes after the conversation ceases to be relevant.  

His phone starts ringing when the food comes out, and he takes a tiny bite of it — more bread than hotdog — before he answers. You know it’s Taeyong by the way he answers.  

“Hyung, sorry — can we talk later? I’m out with ____________.”  

Taeyong says something loud but indiscernible on the other end. You piece together that it’s about tomorrow’s schedule when Jaehyun speaks again.

“I know. I’ll be home in a bit; don’t worry about it. I haven’t forgotten.”  

There’s more garbled speech on the other line; Jaehyun gestures for you to keep eating, and you do, but you more concerned with the morphing expressions on his face than you are with the act of chewing. He’s making noncommittal noises in response to what seem to be commands and reminders. You’re pretty much done with the corndog by the time he says ‘Okay, hyung. Hyung — I’ll see you later, okay?’

“Taeyong hyung says hi,” he tells you once he’s hung up the phone. “He says you still need to give back that book you borrowed from him last year.”  

“Oh yeah,” you finish off the last of the food. “I’ll drop it off within the week.”  

“Don’t worry about it. He doesn’t actually mean it.”  

Jaehyun watches you snap the stick in half and toss it in the trash bag.  

“We can go home,” you say finally. His eyebrows shoot up. “You’re busy tomorrow. I forgot.”

“I didn’t forget, and it’s fine.”  

“It’s almost two in the morning.” You check your phone to verify. “You probably have to be up in a few hours. You need to sleep, or you’ll die, Jaehyun. I’m too young to be a grieving widow.”

“Let’s at least ride the Ferris wheel,” he suggests. Before you can protest, he tugs you towards the rickety contraption, digging the 500 won out of your pocket and handing it to the bemused operator. He lets you choose what carriage you want because literally no one is on it anymore, and Jaehyun asks for the best carriage. You’re not sure how it differs from the rest, but he makes a show out of guiding you into it, and you don’t miss the corny ‘my lady,’ he mutters under his breath.   

It’s small, clearly meant for either a tiny group of children or couples who want to be as close together as possible. It’s also not air-conditioned, and only one of the windows is open, so you end up sticking to Jaehyun’s arm on the way up. The view is still great, though, and you feel his hand settle on your knee as the carriage makes it slow ascent.  

The ride up is quiet, and you press your face as close to the glass of the carriage as you dare, but Jaehyun doesn’t move an inch. His hand is still heavy on your thigh, but it doesn’t do anything but lay there. When you’re close to the top, you’re hit with the urge to do something romantic — kiss, maybe, tell him happy birthday, or say ‘I love you’ to him in the most sickening way possible — but when you turn to look at him, you have to hold your tongue.

Jaehyun is asleep, leaning against the corner of the carriage, head tilted down a little. His shoulders are rising and falling slowly, and he’s pulled down his face mask a little so he can breathe better; his lips are slightly parted by the slackening of his jaw. His left hand is shoved in his pocket, like he’d passed out halfway through reaching for something in there.  

He doesn’t wake even when you move slightly so you can lean back next to him, rocking the carriage a little — not even when you reach up and adjust his head so he can rest on your shoulder. He breathes deeply, evenly, and you wonder if his ear against your shoulder allows him to hear your heart plummet unfairly to the bottom of your stomach.  

You have to shake him to rouse him when the ride comes to an end; when he opens his eyes and realizes what happened, he looks mortified. Instinctively, he opens his mouth, but you fling the carriage door open and step out before he can apologize.

You have a deal, and he knows what he shouldn’t be doing.

His grip on your hand is much tighter as you walk back to the parking lot, and he doesn’t let go, even on the road. The trip back is quieter, maybe because it’s late, or maybe because there are a ton of things the both of you want to say but can’t.  

He slows down when he gets to your street, but when he stops in front of your building, he doesn’t immediately unlock the doors to let you out. Instead, he turns to you, licking his lips a little nervously.

“Can you…” he clears his throat because his voice cracks a little on the first attempt. “Can you come back with me? To the dorm?”  

“I have work tomorrow, Jaehyun.”  

“It’s still at eleven, isn’t it? I can bring you home before that. You still have some stuff in my room. You can get ready there.”

“Won’t you be too busy?”  

“Just—” he sighs softly. “Can you? Please?”  

You don’t know how to say no to Jaehyun, and tonight isn’t a night you’re willing to try. It’s why fifteen minutes later, you’re walking through the front door of his dorm. Donghyuck, sitting at his computer in his room with the door ajar, greets you sleepily as you pass by.  

Jaehyun steps in the shower with you; you don’t talk, maybe because you’re worried you might wake the others up if you start a full-blown conversation in a bathroom surrounded by other bedrooms. He just passes you what you need, and you do the same for him, and somewhere in between, he kisses you under the spray of the water.  

Later, he falls asleep with a face mask on, and you have to peel it off for him and toss it into the trash. The tip of his nose is shiny, and you want to kiss it, but you know it’ll wake him, and you noticed he’d set his alarm to go off two hours from now. He’s set out a couple of earplugs for you so that you don’t hear it, but you don’t put them in. You want to see him before he leaves, even if it’s in the deadest hours of morning, so you just crawl into bed with him. A minute before you doze off, you feel his damp skin press against your neck, his form curled up against your back.  

The alarm never wakes you; the sun is out when you open your eyes, and when you check your phone, you see that it’s already half-past nine. You also notice that there’s nothing from Jaehyun on your screen, but you try not to dwell on that, considering that you’d been expecting to wake up to an empty bed. His side of the mattress is cold, which means that he’s been gone for some time.  

You don’t know if it’s just because you’re groggy, but your insides still feel like lead when you sit up. The part of you that nags about this relationship is back at full force when you start thinking about Jaehyun going to a pre-recording two hours after spending the last of his energy on you. You start wondering if you’re doing the right thing if it feels like you’re just dragging him down. Your heart clenches tightly when the worst thought hits — maybe, just maybe, he’s tired of you, too.

But you won’t let him go. More to the point — you can’t. He’s the best part of your life; it’d be a cold day in hell if you decided to leave him.

Even the thought of it makes you feel like dying.  

Then again, this isn’t all up to you.  

You’re rubbing the sleep out of your eyes — and maybe a couple of frustrated tears — when the door creaks open. You see two mugs and his hands before you see the rest of him come through the doorway. Jaehyun whispers a careful good morning as he sets the coffee down on his table, making sure to push his keyboard away to avoid accidents, before sitting down next to you. You notice that there’s an envelope next to one of the mugs; the flap is slightly open, and from under it, a flash of red peeks out.  

His hand finds its way back to your knee — it’s his favorite resting place, he’s told you once. Your lap feels like home, he’d joked. Maybe he touches it every so often because it’s like a reset button for him.  

He doesn’t ask if you slept well, or if you want to get ready before having your coffee, or if you’re okay. He just squeezes your knee a little tighter. It’s you that has to start the conversation this time.

“How did it go?”

“It went great. You’ll see it on TV later tonight,” he starts rubbing your thigh idly. “You’ll watch it later, right?”  

“Of course. I’ll call you and tell you how cool you look.”  

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. When you lapse into silence again, it’s because you’re expecting him to say something, but he doesn’t come out with it directly. You try not to let it show that you’re worried, that you’re skeptical, that you’re wondering if he thinks he’s too tired, too busy for this, too.  

You’re expecting him to start how most break-ups start. You know I love you, right? And then the telltale but… would come, and you would have to hold back your tears and smile for him, and tell him you know, and that you understand it isn’t the right time, but maybe one day, someday, when he isn’t everyone’s Jung Jaehyun anymore — only yours.  

“You love me, right?”  

It’s not what you’d been expecting. Nor is it the playful little text he’d sent — no laughs, no jokes. His expression is somber, mouth pressed into a thin line.  

“You know I do.”

“A lot, right?”

“A lot,” you confirm softly.  

“Then whatever it is that you’re thinking about us,” he says quietly. “Don’t. Don’t think it. Don’t do it.”  

“Jaehyun—”

“I know it’s hard,” his fingers dig into your skin a little. “I know I put you through a lot. I know you think that I’m suffering because of this relationship too. I know everything. But whatever you think I’m going to do, I won’t do it — not ever. So if you’re thinking of it too, I’m begging you. Don’t. Please.”  

Maybe he had noticed all this time. A wave of guilt washes over you when you see the pained look on his face; perhaps you were even more transparent than you’d originally thought. You nod slowly to show your understanding, and he continues.  

“I know yesterday wasn’t the best you could have hoped for,” he carefully avoids apologizing, although it’s written all over his features. “For me, too. I… I wanted something different. It’ll be better next time. Do you believe me?”  

You hear him swallow — his nails are biting into your thigh a little, so you have to gently peel his hand off. Your fingers replace it, tightening around his palm as you nod.

“I believe you.”  

“And you trust me, right?”

“With my life.”  

“Then can you put your faith in me right now?” He asks. “Don’t panic. Just — just say yes.”

He pats around his pants, finally deciding to slip his hand into his left-hand pocket. Unlike on the Ferris wheel, he manages to extract something, but he keeps it closed in his fist. It’s shaking a little as he takes your hand in his other one, pressing something small and hard into your palm before he curls your fingers over it. His hold keeps your fist closed as he starts talking.

“It’s not immediate. We’ll figure it out. We’ll tell the right people, and they’ll help us tell everyone else — the public, the press. It doesn’t have to happen right now, or any time soon either— not if you don’t want it to. We can take it slow, or whatever. Anything you want — just as long as it’s with me.”  

“Jaehyun,” you shake your head, a little dizzy. “What are you talking about?”  

He slowly loosens his hold on your fingers, his hand dropping to the same spot on your knee. You’re free to open your fist, and when you do, you can’t help but feel a little stumped.

“I don’t mean now,” he repeats, now sounding doubly worried. “It’s not — It’s just…”  

“You’ll get in trouble. We can’t.”

“I won’t. Not if we do this right. Like I said, we can do it slowly. Months — years, however long it takes to do it well. What it is — it’s just… a promise.”  

“A promise,” you echo. It does have a nice ring to it.  

“That I’m not leaving you. Not ever. And… if you say yes, that you won’t either.”  

Your coffee has probably turned cold. Jaehyun is watching you carefully, looking like he’s trying hard not to bite his lip. You look back down at your hand, and he speaks up again.  

“You know I love you, right?”  

You smile slightly. “No but?”  

“No but,” he agrees.  

The ring fits nicely on your finger; maybe it’s well-measured from the amount of times he’s held your hand tightly in his.  

“Okay, Jaehyun,” you whisper. “I promise.”  

When you place your hand on his, he twists his palm, slender fingers gently twirling the ring around the base of your finger.  

Minutes later, he hands you your coffee. It’s sweet and milky, the way he knows you like it best. When he settles back down on the bed, you notice his eyes travel to your finger again, a small smile playing on his lips.  

Perhaps, in this moment, you finally learn to ask the right questions — not about if it’s worth it, but if he is.  

And in this moment, where he sits in silence with you, the sunlight pouring in from his window hitting the tips of his hair and the end of his nose, with the knowledge that his heart is as full as yours, you come to realize that there can — and never will be — any doubt of that.  

[batterygarden]

If you do sub denji stuff could you ever done one about him and reader doing some semi public stuff?

study session

Cw: MDNI! Denji x F!Reader, established relationship, she wears a skirt, semi public sex, unprotected sex w the creampie 💘, slight subby Denji, college age/college setting! Wk: about 2k

thanks so so kindly to the lovely @akicore for beta read!!!

m.list

On Friday nights, the last place you’d choose to be is the library, trying to wrap your head around calculus concepts. And yet here you sit, the clock just reaching 8pm and with enough work remaining to bury you here the whole weekend. You’re proud of how much progress you’re making though, with the help of a new lo-fi beats playlist you found on spotify to keep you focused. Your boyfriend, believe it or not, is also quite focused beside you. Only instead of the research project he came here to work on, Denji’s attention is fixed on the little scraggly flowers he’s been doodling on his notebook margins for the past five minutes.

Suddenly your music cuts off anticlimactically, and the song that was playing is replaced by the dull buzzing of the library lights above you, and the soft hum of a few other people talking and moving about the big room. You sigh—your headphones must have died.

You shift your eyes off of your laptop screen for the first time in too long, feeling them burn slightly from the uninterrupted staring and peek at Denji, finding him absorbed in a drawing he’s making.

“How’s your progress?”

Denji jumps, this is the first time either of you have said anything in almost an hour.

“God. You scared me. Uhh,” he looks down at his brainstorming, “honestly, i’m pretty checked out for the day! Researching stuff sucks. This essay’ll just have to write itself some other time.”

“Essays don’t tend to do that. But i’m sorry—I didn’t even notice you were done here, you must have been so bored!”

“Nah don’t worry about it, I only gave up just recently. Wasn’t bored.”

“Want me to look over what you have? I could try and give some tips.”

Next thing Denji knew, you were sliding up next to him on his bench, sitting unnecessarily close to look at his laptop and notes.

Not that I’m complaining though, Denji thinks as he scoots closer against your plush thighs. The neckline of his tee shirt you were borrowing droops lower on you than it does on him, and somehow when you lean close to talk it opens to a perfect view of your braless chest. He can’t focus on a word you’re saying.

“Denji? Denji!”

He slow blinks back up to your eyes. When you raise your eyebrows he shakes his head to clear it.

“What was that?”

You huff and then, to Denji’s utter astonishment, grab his hand and shove it under the waistband of your skirt, sliding it over your panties. The fabric is sticky and soaked.

“Woah.” His cock twitches in his pants. He looks around quickly at the near-empty library, you both are sitting in a corner and no one seems to be paying attention to you. He automatically starts rubbing you slow through your underwear.

“Didn’t expect you t’be this wet right now.”

You lean your head on his shoulder, wrapping your arm around his.

“You didn’t even-hhh-hear me. Said I was ready to leave,” you inhale shakily, “but now I'm not so sure.”

Denji gives you stupid eyes.

“Ya want me to keep touchin’ you out here?”

You turn your head to bite his shoulder, keeping yourself from moaning when his finger starts circling your clit a bit faster.

“No.”

“No?” Denji’s hand freezes. Then you point a shaky finger at the study room nearby. Denji purses his lips and raises his eyebrows, you can practically hear the silent for real? he’s asking. When you nod in response, you’re both quickly shuffling papers, closing laptops and throwing your things into backpacks.

Denji throws them both over his shoulders and takes your hand, biting his cheek to keep from smiling too much while you grab a few straggling pencils.

When the door to the study room closes you immediately pounce on him—knocking his legs against the table while he tries to carefully set down the backpacks. You’re impatient though, barely letting the straps leave his shoulders before you’re pushing him down, accidentally forcing him to fall back against the hard surface. “Ow!”

There’s a wide-eyed pause while you both listen to see if a librarian’s coming to yell at you for the noise. When there’s only silence, you crawl on top of him, interrupting whatever remark he was about to make with a rushed kiss. He leans onto an elbow to meet you easier, pulling your hips down so you’re straddling his hard cock. And instantly you’re rocking, grinding desperately against him while your skirt rides up and he whines into your mouth.

“Need you so bad,” Denji groans against your lips while he sits up fully—unable to stop his hips from bucking upwards or his needy hands from squeezing and kneading their way to your sides.

“Yeah?” You start grinding more slow and deep, moving careful so the table legs don’t move.

He nods against you, fast and eager, and the next buck of his hips makes the wood beneath you creak.

You put a finger to your lips and pause your movements—a reminder to stay quiet.

Then you’re pulling apart to undo his pants, trying to slow your heavy breathing while he does the same. He’s still a bit twitchy while you work on his belt buckle, accidentally moving his hips towards your touch then blushing when you smile at him.

You successfully unzip them though, and then you have to crawl off the table to help him pull the pants down, fumbling with the denim to come loose. Everything’s hurried, you’re both suddenly so desperate for more that going slow isn’t an option.

So when his pants are finally pulled down, then his boxers too, you’re immediate when you push him back to sit on the table.

You could pause—you might have if you were in one of your rooms. You could worship his thick cock and tell him how pretty it is, you could touch it nice and slow at first and then lick his precum, you could make him go crazy. But you’re in the library and you’re desperate to feel him inside you already; you don’t even know when it closes.

So your panties are ripped off before he can situate himself, then you’re lifting your knees onto the table around him and straddling his hips. Denji’s hands are frozen, he’s so turned on he can barely think let alone move, and he can’t wrap his head around the fact that you’re about to fuck him in the library. He thinks he must be dreaming—he’s certain of it when you spit in your palm and start stroking his dick, getting him ready for your pussy.

“Denji,” you whisper, breaking him out of his trance.

“Hm?” His hands find your thighs.

“S’this… okay?”

“Yeah. Yes.” He nods while he talks, making eye contact with your lips. So you line him up with your entrance, sighing when you feel his tip start to slide in. You’re wet—enough that the initial stretch barely hurts—Denji’s size usually always takes some adjusting to. Then you’re both shakily inhaling as you slowly slide yourself down, and Denji whimpers when you bottom out.

“Y’okay?” You ask, wrapping your arms around his back to pull him close. Denji wraps his arms around you too, dropping his head over your shoulder and breathing in your comforting scent.

“Soo okay.”

You sit still for a moment, heart melting in Denji’s big embrace. You’re so warm now, despite the heavy air conditioning; you love holding him like this—snugly connected in every way. But when you shift a little you’re reminded how stiff his cock is inside you, and how sweet every movement feels. So you roll your hips. Gently at first, but gradually picking up speed. It feels so right, he feels so right. Soon your hands are tangled in his hair while Denji’s lips find your neck, kissing then licking then sucking, likely leaving bruises. You have to bite your lip to keep quiet—your senses overwhelmed.

And so are Denji’s. For him, everything is you, you’re in his lap, in his arms, around his cock, on his tongue. It’s the kind of feeling that makes him wonder how he was functioning without it. When you pull him into a messy kiss, never ceasing the steady movement of your hips, he can’t stop himself from moaning, slurring how soft you feel against your lips.

“Shhh, Denji. I know it feels good but I need you to be quiet.”

You’re panting and holding back moans yourself, trying to maintain enough restraint for the both of you. It’s so easy to forget where you are when he’s hitting all the right places inside of you, sighing sweet words against your skin. It’s easy to get lost in the feeling of his hand sneaking under your shirt, palming your breasts, and then tugging one of your nipples. It’s easy to start slamming down hard the way you know makes Denji Dizzy, forgetting that you’re perched on an old table instead of his bed.

A particularly loud creak of the wood makes you freeze your actions, face heating up. You look at the door again, but then Denji’s lifting your shirt more, stealing your attention when he leans down to drag his lips across your chest.

“Ngh. Denji,” you whine, holding him close and arching your back when he captures a nipple in his mouth. His big hands find your hips again, pulling you up and down, helping you resume your movements.

He has to work to keep his voice quiet when he says “Please don’t stop. Want you to keep goin’.”

What Denji doesn’t realize is that you couldn’t stop even if you wanted to. At this point your body is moving without your command, chasing a high that only he can bring. So you pull him up into a new kiss, your lips frenzied against his while his cock hits you perfectly over and over.

Each stroke is more intense with Denji helping you, making him struggle to kiss you back. You can tell he’s getting close the more his lips falter, his jagged breaths filling your ears. So you use his shoulders for leverage, pushing yourself up and down more quickly with their support. At this point you don’t care if the whole library can hear squeaking from the study room, all that matters is that both of you can get each other off soon.

“M’gonna cum.” Denji’s struggling not to groan when he talks.

“Good boy. You’re doin’ so good for me,” you say, gripping his neck and rubbing your thumb over his cheek. You want to burn this image of him in your brain forever—his messy golden hair and lidded eyes, his glossy parted lips. You actually like how the fluorescent study room lights capture him, how you can clearly see all the cute details of his face.

But you like how he looks when he’s cumming best of all, throwing his head back while his eyes scrunch up—the bridge of his nose wrinkling. So you force yourself to keep your eyes open when you reach your high too, riding it out while his hot seed makes a mess under your skirt, watching Denji spasm below you. You barely notice his grip on your sides has become bruising, only feeling the waves of orgasm wash over you, electrifying you in the way that would have rendered you silent even if you were in the privacy of your own room.

Denji has to lean forward again and bury his face in the crook of your neck, pressing his mouth to your skin to keep his noises at bay as his cum is pushed back into you over and over. It’s too much, he’s so sensitive, but he’s not confident he could tell you that without losing control over his voice completely.

When you finally slow your movements around him, and your cunt stops clamping down so tightly, Denji is able to lift his head from your shoulder and meet your eyes. He doesn’t expect to find lust still swimming within them. But then-

“I’m so glad our schedules finally lined up to get this project over with.”

“Me too. Should we find a room?”

You hear other students outside the door, their voices getting closer.

thanks so much for request anon! I also got one for fucking him in a study room so i combined prompts <3

[booksofadventures]

Rules & Current Muse List!

{ Gonna have this pinned here and just leave this for my mobile user peeps! }

RULES

1.) Hey everyone, my name is Klemmie! I am nonbinary & my pronouns are they/them or she/her, I prefer they/them though! I am of age at 29 years old and have been RPing since about 2010, over a whole decade! Due to my age there might be NSFW on this blog at times but it will always be under a read more and tagged. On this subject, most muses are of age or have a verse where they are, please be aware of this and all main verse ages for my muses are on their bios on the character page.

2.) I am working a job which I usually only have a couple days off in the week and most evenings free. However activity and replies may be slow or low due to the nature of this being a multi-muse blog and my energy levels on any day. I will do my best to pop in at least once or twice a week with the intentions of queuing up any replies that I owe and once in a blue moon do I reply quickly and without queuing. But just to make everyone aware that this is how this blog operates!

3.) I am good with a mix of jumping into things without a plot; such as memes, open starters, random things are good. But sometimes I prefer plotting, even if only a little bit, especially when it comes to a pre-established relationship that isn’t the canon between two characters; this includes children of muses. I am okay with writing with said muses but I would like to have a bit of plotting to this as my version of the muse or muses as parents in question is not the one canon to yours as such, I need to make sure I know whats going on or all your gonna get from my muse is either ’ I have no kids ’ or i dont believe you, so i tend to avoid that if no prior communication has happened before hand! I do also like screaming about plots that both parties might want to do and discuss between us to work out a possible thread idea?

4.) This blog is multi-fandom, verse and ship. Meaning all threads even if tagged as in the same verse for a muse are their own story and thread between our muses, this includes for relationships, unless its a story that has been discussed and plotted between all involved.

We are also Crossover-friendly here! I love mashing up fandoms and seeing what happens!

5.) As stated in my first ruling, NSFW themes and topics may be present, if I feel that the topic, even if it’s gore and not sexual nsfw, is too heavy or unsafe to just have out on display I will always put it under a read more and tagged the triggers like; tw;__

6.) Continuing with the point above, I will not tolerate certain things like underage sexual content or abuse or any nsfw content with minors - this goes for muns & muses and hanging, if you are ever unsure of anything please ask me. This is also a if I ever forget or don’t tag something that is a trigger for you please just message me and I will tag them accordingly.

7.) Unless your muse has some supernatural abilities or in my muse’s canon knows things about them, please don’t use information that is like their weaknesses and things like that in our threads until my muse reveals them or it is revealed in a thread, I class this as meta rping/writing/gaming?? and it’s no fun???

8.) I’m okay with multiple writing styles, I don’t have the need for anyone to match my length in replies, I know I can get lengthy at times, but as long as it’s more than one sentence or is appropriate for the type of thread we are writing together, because sometimes even I just want to do shorter threads, though I do prefer more written and longer ones.

9.) I’m more into story driven threads, ones that develop my muses and yours hopefully, ones that develop a chemistry and relationship between them. These are the kinds of threads I prefer.

10.) I’m open to all plots and relationships, just come hit me up and let’s see what we can come up with!!!

11.) For shipping I am a shipper of chemistry, I am here for the development. But if you feel like our muses are beginning to develop something, please message me and we can talk. I am always up for shippy things and all relationships, I prefer them to be developed and chemistry based. I will not force anything onto anyone if they feel like something isn’t there.

12.) I’m no biggie on spelling, grammar is also not too much of an issue, but a clear grammar is preferred. As long as I can read and understand it for a reply we are good. If I am having trouble I will ask you to clarify.

13.) When sending in an ask, please specify a muse, one thing on my anxiety is when I get an ask without some specifying, sometimes I will throw someone randomly if I can but if not I get anxious about it, so unless you state one or that its for any muse I will not answer it, unless I know you & muse or muses well enough to know who it’s from or I have come and asked you to clear up who it was for.

14.) OOC =/= IC. I will not tone down my muses for anyone, but I don’t agree with their morals and choices all the time. OOC is not the same as IC.

15.) I have a habit of forgetting to reply to threads, if it’s been more than a week since I have replied, give me a poke. I may have forgotten or lost muse, this doesn’t mean we can start more threads and get back to it.

16.) Cool with anon asks & M!As.

That’s all folks! Hope that we can write something together soon!

CURRENT MUSES

Sora Ryuu - fandomless oc

Beetlejuice - au and canon

Rias mizuhana - au borderlands [ genderbend of rhys strongfork ]

Emery din - oldest triforce bro / legend of zelda oc

Torin nayru - middle triforce bro / legend of zelda oc

Leon farore - youngest triforce bro / legend of zelda oc

Hades - mix of sources / headcanon based

13th doctor - mixed of au and canon

Percy parker - spiderman oc { currently being rewritten }

Roxas - kingdom hearts

Riku - kingdom hearts

Spyro the dragon

Judai yuki - yugioh gx

Revali - legend of zelda

Link - legend of zelda

Zelda - legend of zelda

Edward Elric - Fullmetal Alchemist

Dean Winchester - Supernatural

Fizzaroli - Helluva Boss

Merlin - bbc merlin

Alphonse elric - fullmetal alchemist

Bill cipher - gravity falls

Eleventh doctor - doctor who

{ Muses may get added or removed at any time, but I will post when I've changed anything! }

GUEST MUSES!

Yukio Okumura - Blue Exorcist

River song - doctor who

[ad-astra-per-asparagus]

Ok dumping my thoughts right here now that I’ve collected them since reading Batman 138. It’s a doozy, so bear with me.

Honestly, the premise of Gotham War is intriguing and could’ve been good if not for the sloppy execution. It’s interesting to see Bruce’s psyche rapidly declining, but how Zdarsky is going about it is ham-fisted and forced. First off, Selina’s method is outlandish and riddled with plot holes. There’s no skirting around that. Now logically I could see the batfamily members not declaring an allegiance to either side because both Bruce and Selina are in the wrong here; Bruce is losing his mind because Zur is hijacking it while Selina thinks training criminals will magically solve all violent crime in Gotham and everything will be sunshine and rainbows. But having the kids blindly fall into line with Selina because they agree with her plan is dogwater writing that I’m surprised Zdarsky cooked up after his spectacular Daredevil run. Have them form their own faction and let them actually act like they have agency and purpose instead of shoving them into roles that don’t fit.

Now I’m a little skeptical on the whole Jason/failsafe stuff. On one end, it’s a daring concept to play with. It shows how Bruce is going off the deep end and raises the stakes of the plot. On the other end, it’s going to drive an enormous wedge between Jason and Bruce for the foreseeable future. Like, there is no forgiving Bruce for this easily. Maybe that’s a good thing though, considering Jason for the past few years has been cycling through the same character arc over and over again like a washing machine that spits out clothes that are more worn-out after every load. Taking him out of the batfamily fold and inserting him into his own corner of DC sequestered away from Batman might actually force DC to write him organically, depending on whether or not Jason doesn’t go insane himself because what Bruce did to him was quite literally torture that will now be perpetual. Wowza.

My next gripe is the timing between comics. Batman and Robin’s timeframe is vague, but after reading 138 it makes zero sense why Damian would steadfastly stick by Bruce’s side—unless of course B&R happens way later, and somehow Bruce regains minor control of his mental state. Or the most realistic explanation being that the writers didn’t communicate the timelines, leaving their stories to contradict each other. But what are comics if not zany contradictions of stories? So I guess this gripe can slide…for now. Benefit of the doubt to Williamson at least because he planned B&R way in advance, meanwhile Gotham War was strung together as a myopic copy of Marvel’s Civil War in order to—I’m spitballing here—have Bruce be alone for a while in his own comics because he’s “a loner”…despite his character being, at his core, a family man, and whose character revolved around family for decades. Family rift stories can be good. Packed with drama. Exciting. This is none of the above.

Finally, arguably my biggest complaint about this dumpster fire, is Tim. Writers tend to be biased toward characters, I understand that, but when favoritism bleeds into the writing it sours the story altogether. Having Tim assume this role of “Bruce’s savior” is incredibly cheap and a little laughable at times. I see that they’re trying to establish him as important again, reliving his glory days as the Robin who helped guide Bruce back onto the right path after Jason’s death, but throwing other characters under the bus to lift him up is crazy. Especially Damian, because Damian saved his dad’s life twice in the last few months. Seriously, I’d brush it off if Tim hadn’t told Damian he was the one who helped Bruce out of the darkness while Damian only pushed Bruce further into it. Paraphrasing, but that’s the general idea: Tim is a saint and the rest of his siblings (Cassandra? Who?) are a cut below him when it comes to helping dear old dad out of his bad place. That hug was cute, but it was sugar spread on a pile of shit.

[x-neurodivergent-reader]

Heyy i Hope You’re Doing well! I’m a new writing acc and I don’t really have any requests or an audience, can I please ask for your advice on how to start writing more or gaining an audience, because I struggle to write without any ideas being given or a prompt list.

Sending love!! Byee

Hello, welcome to the world of writing fanfiction! Since this might get a bit rambly, I'll stick my advice under the cut. I'll also break it up into categories, and bold the most important parts, just for easier readability.

Writing a particular niche/experience

To be honest, I'm not entirely sure how universal my experience with writing/the following I built is, because my blog is directed towards a specific niche? It was genuinely a case of there being very few fics directed at/including neurodivergent readers, deciding "fine, I'll do it myself", and then the people who also wanted more of such fics were drawn to my writing as they came across it.

As such, writing one or two things based on your unique personal experiences (that you're comfortable sharing) might be a good start?

Your blog doesn't have to be centred around those experiences for you to write about them, and it doesn't have to be very specific, either (a few of my first posts were literally HCs for "[character] x Autistic!Reader - Established Relationship"). My more specific/unique ideas came along as I wrote more, and from the requests that came in over time.

There'll always be someone out there who not only relates to your experiences and feelings, but is waiting to see themselves in your stories!

Prompt lists (even without anyone to send them!)

Other than that, though: there's no shame in starting with a prompt list! Even if there's no one to give you a prompt yet, you might be able to find a small list, and then put the numbers/prompts into a random name picker to choose it for you?

I've just had a look for some examples, and a lot of prompt lists tend to be fairly long, from what I'm seeing (around 15-25 prompts seems to be the average) - but I've found this blog, that has some smaller lists to choose from. If anyone else knows of any others that anon might find useful, feel free to share them here!

An extra bit of advice...

This isn't really relevant to your question, but is the No. 1 bit of advice I would give to a new fic writer: figure out what you are/aren't comfortable writing before you start taking requests.

When I got my first request, the requester ended up having to change it a couple times, because I hadn't considered that, for example, someone could request a character I wasn't familiar with - leading to the "don't request characters I haven't already written for" rule in my guidelines. In hindsight, I'd recommend writing several fics before you start taking requests, so you have a better idea of what your boundaries are, and can list them out for people to take note of. It'll save you, and the requesters, a lot of trouble!

It's also important to not let anyone intentionally try to break those boundaries (e.g. by blatantly guilt-tripping you). While it's wonderful to have people appreciate your writing enough to want to see more from you, they aren't entitled to cross the line like that - it's OK to stand up for yourself. Do no harm, take no shit, etc. etc.

And that's all I've got!

I hope this was at least a little bit helpful - again, I'm not sure how universal the way my blog grew is, but hopefully there's something you'll be able to take away from this!

I hope you have fun writing! c:

[fallintosanity]

🤗🎉📚

🤗 What advice would you give to new fanfic writers that are just getting started?

Two things! The first isn’t fanfic-specific and is common enough to be a cliche, but: write what makes you happy. My earliest fics were terribly awkward multi-verse crossovers which quickly evolved into (what I tried to convince myself weren’t) Mary Sue fics with a sort-of self-insert character who was everything I wanted to be when I grew up. (Full disclosure: there are echoes of that self-insert character in several of the original characters I’ve created for my more recent fics, although I like to hope my writing has matured enough to keep those OCs more realistic and interesting. XD ) 

But!!! Writing those fics was fun. Most of the other students in my screenwriting degree classes were older than me by ten years, give or take, and their writing tended toward literary fiction aimed at twenty- and thirty-somethings. Their stories bored teenage me out of my skull, and if I (or my teachers) had ever tried to force myself to write the same kinds of stories, I would have given up writing before I turned twenty. (ETA: no hate to those stories, they just weren’t and still aren’t my thing.)  Instead, I wrote all those Mary Sue self-inserts and crazy crossover fanfics, and I learned how to carry a plot and how to use subplots and how to create tension and when to release it and all the other things a writer (fanfic or otherwise) needs to know. 

The second is mostly fanfiction-specific, and that is learn how to mimic. As best I can tell, one of the main reasons why a lot of people like my Murderbot Diaries fics and my Dresden Files crossover in particular, is that I’m faithful to the narrative voice. Fics that really nail each character’s speaking style, as well as the overall narrative style for written works, help keep your readers inside the canon you’re writing for. 

This is kind of the umbrella advice to things like “make sure to britpick your British characters” and “don’t have Aragorn son of Arathorn say ‘Bye Felicia!’ when killing an orc”. But it’s more than just making sure you’re using the right individual words and phrases - it’s about understanding the flow of the narrative voice, the individual characters’ speaking styles, and so on, and being able to accurately reflect them in your fic. (This skill is also useful outside fanfiction if you ever want to write for an established universe, like writing a Star Wars tie-in novel or whatever.) 

🎉 What leads you to consider a fic a success?

Any time it evokes real emotion from a reader! Ideally the emotion I mean for it to evoke, but honestly as long as my fic is making people feel something honest about the story or the characters, I consider it a success. 

📚 Would you ever want to turn writing into a career?

I have thought about it a lot actually! I mentioned up top that I took screenwriting classes - I actually got a degree in screenwriting fresh out of high school. (It’s not a “full” degree like a bachelor’s, though. I don’t remember what it’s called anymore.) And recently, when health issues forced me to take time off from my infosec career, I considered going into video game writing. But aside from the fact that breaking into a career as either a screenwriter or a game writer is insanely difficult, I’ve also learned I do not write well (or at all) when under major stress. (Hence why I did so little writing over the past year :( ) Since screenwriting and game writing are both stressful jobs, I’ve accepted that neither is a good fit for me. I might still get around to trying to write and publish a novel someday, though. 

Ask me stuff?

[faithwounded]

disclaimer

this is a multimuse blog with predominantly mythology/lore and literature based or inspired muses. most muses would be classified as oc’s as they are interpretation and headcanon based. there may be the occasional canon muse.

i have no affiliations with any of the face claims used on this blog, or the media they are sourced from. however there is plenty of my own headcanons and creations on here that are not to be distributed elsewhere.

general

this blog is mutuals only and selective. meaning i will only respond in character to people i follow and who follow me. out of character depends on the context and content of the communication.

personal blogs may send out of character questions or messages, but are not to interact with any posts. this is to keep my notifications manageable. doing so will result in a block.

 underage muns will be blocked on sight. if you do not have an age range listed, i simply won’t interact. i myself am well over 21.

at minimum for me to follow, you must have a rules page and an about for oc’s. in progress pages are fine, just something for me to work with. posts must also be cut, and content tagged.

nsfw is something i quite enjoy writing, but only with muns over 21. i don’t use readmores, but it is always tagged. my nsfw tag is “nsfw   (( lover to lover ))”. so far that hasn’t been caught by the filter. if it changes i’ll make a post.

due to the content of this blog there will be triggers present. i tag all the main things under “tw:______” if you need anything else tagged please let me know. i will not tag dogs because i use my dog as my mun faceclaim.

as to my triggers: if you have images of clowns or needles on your blog, please do not follow. i’m not super comfortable with horror source material either, so i’ll be more comfortable if you have tags for me to blacklist

just don’t be a dick, basically. don’t police my blog and i won’t police yours. but also, i will not tolerate out of character racism, homophobia, sexism etc. however, i’m adult enough to understand that muses aren’t perfect. in character has different standards.

when rebabbling asks, i would prefer you please do it from the source, unless you’ve sent one in. i’ve been used as a resource blog before, kinda hate it.

writing

i tend to skew a little shorter on writing 1-3 paragraph type of thing, only because novellas take me a long ass time to reply to. i’m open to doing them with established mutuals, but please be aware they will take me a while.

you don’t have to match my length, just give me something to work with.

if you want to start writing with me, the best way to do so is via an ask. there’s no time limits on my asks, send them whenever the hell you want. i just ask that you yeet it into a new post if you want to continue. also completely adore being tagged in random starters.

please specify a muse, or at least narrow it down to 2-3 options. if we’ve been writing for a while and chatting ooc, i don’t mind as much. if you approach me with a plot however, i’m happy to pick a muse i think would work best for that plot.

i am a totally hopeless romantic, but not all the muses are. means i am 100% okay with shipping, and okay to go into an interaction looking for that - even if it’s a first interaction - just please let me know that’s what we’re looking for. some muses will do the romance thing, some will need to be discussed. also very much of the opinion that sex doesn’t need love, and a few of the muses agree, so we can do that too.

muses come and go at times, and replies get done according to that. does mean that sometimes there will be a long wait. i will try and let you know if im losing muse. also means i am 3000% okay with multiple threads both with the same muse and with others

i use small font, and some formatting when i can be bothered. i ask you please do not use small + sub/sup as i cannot fucking read it, and it gives me a migraine just trying. like literal migraine, in bed in severe pain for hours. my icons/gifs are various styles and sizes. some are made by me, most are sourced elsewhere and used according to those rules

the mun

my name is rhi, ari or lili depending on how you know me she/her. i’m a 21+ australian.

this is my catch all blog for any muses that take my fancy. save me opening and closing new blogs every few weeks. i am notorious for abandoning blogs every 6-12 months and then coming back to them. so if i do randomly disappear one day, i will probably be back lmao.

my writing schedule is pretty irregular because ..... well i don't really have an excuse. life i guess. 

i’m really quite shy, and struggle with the first approach. doesn’t mean i don’t want to write - just shy. one of those people who’s eternally worried i’m being a bother. will panic if i think i’ve sent a meme too long after you’ve posted it. i just ask for a bit of gentleness please.

thanks for reading and i cant wait to write with you !!! <3

[araedi]

KNOWING YOUR PARTNER WELL CAN POTENTIALLY MAKE WRITING TOGETHER A LOT EASIER.

○  NAME:  Mojito

○  PRONOUNS: He/him

○   PREFERENCE OF COMMUNICATION: Pretty chill! Tumblr IM’s are great if we’re newly acquainted, but I prefer Discord for any ongoing communication as it’s easier for me to snag. I do live in perma-offline lurking mode there though so be sure to just message whenever!

○    NAME OF MUSE(S): Thor Odinson (on this blog. I also run a multimuse at @compassofsouls with canon and oc mix, and Scott Lang at @minimizexaggrandize) 

○    EXPERIENCE/HOW LONG (MONTHS/YEARS?): 15-17 years ish??

○    PLATFORMS YOU’VE USED: Everything from AIM/MSN/Skype to custom-built sites to forums too numerous to count! man I miss the days of proboards and invisionfree. Dabbled in so many fandoms too!

○   BEST EXPERIENCE: Too many! Aside from the friendships which go without saying as the best part, there have been so many hilarious, angsty or exciting plots over the years

○    RP PET PEEVES / DEALBREAKERS: Honestly it’s a goes-without-saying “don’t be an asshole” kinda thing for dealbreakers: lots of drama, poor behaviour, that sort of thing. 

○    FLUFF, ANGST, OR SMUT: All! I’m a big lover of all genres having their place as part of a varied set of threads, and that always gives me something to jump for if I’m not feeling one particular thing on a night. Slice-of-life and fluff are super cute, but I do feel they need a little more plotting/direction else they fizzle out quickly or become repetitive. Action/adventure is super under-appreciated and I loooove a good fight, adventure, or dramatic escape kinda deal :D Hurt/comfort is great for some relationship building when it’s on a fair balance and it’s not always the same one muse always expected to do the comforting. I am frequently bapped with a rolled up newspaper by partners for going too hard on the angst train >:) and as for smut? I’m stunned how little Thor’s gotten here over the years even though he’s open to it tbh xD I’m open to all of it, especially as a means to develop character relationships and explore their dynamics.

○    PLOTS OR MEMES: Light/moderate plot and memes! Heavy plotting can work in the right circumstances, but I best enjoy having a skeleton of a plot arced out (”XYZ happens, then maybe they do ABC and can wind up at F!”) and then go ham with everything in between without need for pre-establishing details. Memes are FANTASTIC for some casual banter and creating in-jokes or incidents muses can reference, but I don’t prefer them as the bulk of my writing. Memes which organically develop into a full thread with a plot have been some of my favourites.

○    LONG OR SHORT REPLIES: Whatever fits the situation, I’ll adapt as the thread/s call for it. I’m kind of a mixed bag where brevity always feels right for the pace of something action-based, but angst will tend to lean longer as there’s usually a lot more room for internal reflection. I don’t tend to worry about matching partners too closely as long as either side have enough to go on in their next reply without being left miles behind.

That being said, with time constraints I prefer to lean towards less lengthy replies, tell myself I’ll whip up a brief post, then get overexcited and waffle on xD especially with my less-loved muses or OC’s: their replies tend to run a bit longer because I’m so desperate to actually have the chance to write them!

○    BEST TIME TO WRITE: Evening or mid-afternoon if I’ve got the time

○    ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE(S): Oooh not sure if that’s really for me to say or y’all who know me best, right? I mean he’s a massive Asgardian deity yeeting through space and lifting things heavier than cars like nbd and I am a reclusive lil chihuahua of a human lmao. He’s certainly more sociable and confident! I guess we’re both painfully stubborn, impulsive, loyal; love to eat, love animals/nature, have a complex family dynamic and identity issues out the wazoo. I used to have to wear an eye patch as a kid and may well lose sight in one eye over the years, so I guess there’s also that xD

Give me his height, physique and braidable hair, tho. Damn.

TAGGED BY: stolen from @benevolentgodloki​

TAGGING: Anyone who fancies it and hasn’t done it yet!

[tougherthanilook]

CONTRACT.

   01. Interaction & Plotting      As long as we are mutuals/following each other, please don’t ever hesitate to reach out if you want to write with me. You can message me directly anytime if you want to brainstorm or just wing it. Either is fine.

   02. Ask Prompts      I love ask prompts a lot and I think they make good icebreakers, so feel absolutely free to send over something (or more) from a meme I reblog, whether or not we’ve interacted before is irrelevant. You are also more than welcome to turn those into threads! In fact, I encourage it. (However, please do not send me romance prompts unless we've already discussed it/are writing it with our muses--everything else goes, though).

   03. Mature Content & Themes      This blog contains mature and potentially triggering content. Any minors who follow will be blocked. That being said, graphic language makes me extremely uncomfortable, so I’m mostly going to keep the writing SFW/non-graphic, even if the topics at hand aren’t (mostly in terms of sexual content and swearing). Please note: this is strictly referring to what I’m going to write. While I would appreciate it if you could match me here when we interact, it goes without saying that you’re free to write however you feel comfortable. For your blacklisting needs, I will be tagging implied sexual content under: #suggestive. and #nsft.

I don’t tag triggers unless my mutuals specify in their rules what they want tagged, or if someone reaches out directly to ask me to tag something. So, if you have something you want tagged, you’re more than welcome to reach out. Personally, I have no triggers. However, I do ask that you tag your suggestive/nsf.t content, implied or otherwise. If you don’t, I will reach out and ask. If you refuse or repeatedly do not tag your nsf.w/suggestive content, I will most likely end up soft-/hard-blocking.

   04. Activity & Response Rate      This blog will be low to medium activity for the sake of making it easy for myself to manage it alongside my other blogs.

   05. Following & Mutuals      This blog is mutuals-only. I will only interact with those I follow and who follow me back. Please state your age or age-range somewhere easily accessible on your blog, and have something resembling a rules page, even if it’s just one sentence. I will not be following or interacting with anyone under 20.

   06. Portrayal      I will be basing my portrayal of Sherry off of Resident Evil 6 in addition to my own personal headcanons about her. I DO NOT write young Sherry (RE2/R timeline).

   07. Style Preferences      My writing style tends to be very minimalistic and accessible. When it comes to length, sometimes I like short and sweet, sometimes I like long, detailed novel-style RPs. It really depends on the mood and the vibe, but either is fine with me. In any case, I’m just here to have fun writing with other people, so I won’t go overboard with formatting and stylization.

   08. OCs & Crossovers      If your OC is a Resident Evil character, I’m more than happy to interact. However, pre-established relationships must be discussed beforehand. Otherwise, I would prefer for our characters to meet for the first time and get to know each other as the thread progresses. For the time being, I will only do crossovers if your muse has a Resident Evil verse.

   09. Shipping      This blog is currently multi-ship with the potential to become either single-ship or exclusive. Chemistry is important but romance is not a priority for me. Do not force-ship.

   10. No Godmodding      Unfortunately, this has to be said. But please, don't make decisions on my character's behalf, don't do things to my character before she gets a chance to agree/decline/react. Don't assume my character's answer to questions she's being asked. Don't write my character for me. Just don't. MINOR godmodding is okay in the case of ask prompts that I may send your way, because most prompts do require a little bit of godmodding for the interactions to work, but outside of that, just don't do it. The only other time I will allow godmodding is if it's concerning something that we have discussed/plotted and it's for the sake of thread progression.

   11. Last but not least,      It’s always good to take a step back and remember that this is just fiction, it’s not real, and there are more important things in the world to get worked up over, so let’s just enjoy the fandom in peace! (which is to say, I don’t like drama).

[melancholicmoonlight]

Blog Rules

Quick mun info: Grayson, 22, it/its he/him. I write ocs.

Follows from: @eatingthebodyofgod

Basic rp rules: don’t goddmod, dont tell me how to write my muses, don’t spam, be patient. no harry potter, terfs, zionists, etc.

Do not, under any circumstances, reblog one of my threads unless you are part of it. If you liked it, great. Just please respect me and my partners and don't reblog. I will block you.

I do reblog-chain type threads, as I’m most comfortable with that, but I don’t mind trying dm/server roleplay on discord

I really do not care how long your responses are, but please know that mine will be short. The most I respond with is one to two paragraphs, or short, quick-fire responses with a sentence or two. It’s pretty simple and quick to the point for actions and descriptions. I usually write more for dialogue if I can, though, but I tend stay away from writing out my muse's thoughts in detail if I find it unnecessary(like if they’re fighting someone or if it sounds repetitive). I can attempt more, if needed and if given enough to write so much to. Please know that I am not in any way a legit writer, I don’t write fanfic or my own works out of roleplay, I just like playing with my little freaks and throwing them around like dolls.

Don't reblog m!as or question prompts from me without sending at least one ask. I am not a meme resource. If you can't think of what to send, reblog from the source if it is available (you may reblog from me if it isn't), otherwise I will probably block you.

I do not use gifs/photos or elaborate, fancy formatting or elaborate tags. You can, but don’t expect me to.

I don’t use face claims for muses, either, but I do draw! If you want to know what a muse of mine looks like, I can attempt a quick sketch of them for you! It just might not be in color.

If you’re gonna send me things over anon where my muse is supposed to know it’s from yours, please tell me in dms beforehand or state who it is from in the ask. I’m usually too tired to piece things together and I like to be told what is going on so I’m not confused.

I don’t personally have any triggers, but I will not write out certain topics as I find them to be unnecessary. Dm to ask. || with that being said, muses are allowed to discuss trauma they have with other muses.

Some tw’s for this blog are: Body horror, horror in general, gore, blood, violence, cannibalism, alcohol use, smoking, guns, knives, murder, hallucinations, and possibly more. And also swearing. I tend to leave these untagged on threads, but please don’t be scared to ask me to tag something if you need me to.

If you haven’t guessed, I like horror and drama. Fluff and every day scenarios aren’t out of the question, though, they’re just less interesting to me sometimes. It depends on the plot. I can’t just do two muses hanging out if there’s not something for them to do or talk about, I will run out of things fast.

If you wanna say something happened out of thread between our muses, ask.

Please don’t have your muses suddenly know what my muses have done in threads that you have no involvement in. Don’t have them know my muses when they have never met, unless they heard about them or something. If you want them to have established knowledge or relationships, please ask.

I don’t like fourth wall breaks.

Do not force ships. If you think a muse pairing is cute, run it by me. I’d rather it happen naturally, though.

No graphic ns/fw or sm/ut. Most I will do is a fade to black.

Do not control my muses. If you need them to do a certain thing to progress the thread, then that’s fine. But do not tell me to have them act a certain way or say/do something different because you personally didn’t like it.

If my muse is mean to yours, do not take it personally. It is not me saying I don’t like you or your muses, it is my muse acting in character.

Don’t be weird about people of color. It will be an automatic block if I notice.

Don’t demonize people with “scary” disorders. Jamie has a form of psychotic depression. This might cause him to act out, but he isn’t dangerous because of his disorder. If your muse reacts negatively to how he might act, then that is fine, I have no problems with that. But I ask that you, the writer, to have some sympathy or at the very least keep any negative comments about it to yourself, as having a disorder like that can be troubling to the person experiencing it, too.

If you call Jamie “the mute man” or whatever or overly focus on any muse’s disabilities or infantilize them for their disabilities, I will not write with you. You’re weird.

Don’t be weird about fat people. Ex; calling a fat person “friend shaped” or saying they “look like they’d give good hugs”. You may be thinking it’s a compliment, but it is actually very strange to say that about someone because they are bigger. You wouldn’t say stuff like that about a skinny person.

Don’t infantilize muses for their sexualities or gender expression. For example, Killian is asexual. She is also a grown woman. She knows what sex is and is capable of discussing it. She is not an innocent little baby for being asexual. Another example: Jamie is a trans man. He is in his 40s. Being a trans man does not make him a “soft boi” or innocent, it just means he transitioned into a man.

Just don’t infantilize anyone. Please. For the love of god. Especially Jamie. Please please do not treat that man like a baby he is in his forties!!!!!!

If you do want to rp with me, you can either dm me to plot or just go ahead and shoot me an ask of whatever. Just be sure to specify which muse it’s for. And if you really wanna be cool, send me an emoji I guess. For proof that you’ve read everything. And it should be of this 🪕shitty little banjo.

[hanzi83]

The Grand View From My Perspective

I already went off on this on an upcoming podcast, but since I am getting back into the habit of just venting in blog form, I have to remind myself not to go off on tangents on social media because if a news item hits me, I tend to go on a bipolar rant at random times through the night, so I will try to write this in blog form more often, there is probably a better chance at people reading this then listening to 5 hour plus podcasts, it might be a bit easier to explain my theories and my perception of what is transpiring more and more every day with this social media storyline shit that implodes into culture war issues in every direction, because a lot of time, I hear and see rants from the more new conservative accounts online who think they are anti establishment, while sophisticating their propaganda and not disclosing who is footing the bill for them to be propped up, all day they will go at people who want this forced liberal representation within television and movies etc, and most of the actual programs and movies these days are a backdrop for the storylines that have made a lot of social currency online, but every day there is nonstop complaints about how people want this limited representation, while to me since the world behind the scenes and under the table, run on delegations, it is like people are at each other’s throats for more social clout and power to have some kind of progressive aesthetic, like it is not completely useless, as people who are online say it is, sometimes I think they do a shit job on purpose so it makes the “anti establishment” types complain about how this institution and industry is evil, but only if they can weaponize their bias against a more liberal view, but as soon as these companies and institutions give into their conservative outlook, suddenly the big bad evil agenda is destroyed, but then with no sense of irony, they treat every celebrity on social media like they are a pet project and a guinea pig, like they hate that representation shit on the screen, but then they then fall for this representation when it comes to who they date, or what political ideology they will have, and when you have my outlook, and you might want to, because the aesthetic of living in your mom’s basement might be too much for people, but if I view the grand view of shit, and this is my perception and my theory, that these celebs and politicians don’t play by regular rules, and the discourse and scandals revolving around them serves to make it relatable to regular people while social climbers online who are working for different delegations, and clicks, then play the studio audience where they boo and hiss, or cheer on whoever is gonna represent for them. Now people might not agree with it, because officially there is no proof even though there are stories about the organized mafia efforts within showbiz, because there is political agendas at play, it has always been that way to me, but people want the political agenda to be the regressive shit they grew up with where that didn’t seem like a political agenda, but a lot of it has, because now people are freaking out over every progressive movement, but the political agenda is always called out when it is liberals, for some reason there is an online belief that the people online who are more conservative are the ones who are anti corporate and anti establishment, and for all we know people are funded by right wing billionaires to persuade opinion, and that has essentially been the goal of a lot of public figures, we can’t count on political analysts to really analyze showbiz shit, either there are far right wing conspiracies which do resonate because anyone with 2 eyes can see there is foul shit that goes down in showbiz, but the people who claim to be left leaning then break down these situations like it is some regular occurrence, when literally the last 20 years we have seen this meltdowns from public figures, people who have done horrendous shit still making a fucking living, everything is inconsistent, and instead of asking the bigger questions, we are gonna use this Jonathan Majors situation, to make it about different culture wars, and what is scary, the people who used to have astute political analysis and would bring up delegations etc, are now reduced to becoming people who are covering shit under this culture war vibe and becoming sports entertainers in the process, and it really hits home that literally everyone who has a big platform or has some kind of influence, they all have to sell their soul to be caricatures of what they once were. Maybe it is amazing to me, that for most of my life, I have been that caricature and I was dumbed down from knowing shit and never able to use my mind to understand, and now I sit here all alone for the most part while I see the world turn into an unwell society, whether it is online or even in my personal life with how much everyone is just committed to shtick. 

I don’t have all the answers, I don’t pretend to, but the people who want to be thought leaders then get mad when you expect them to have a higher standard for analysis, but deep down they all want to join the circus, and all the calling out of celebrity pretentiousness and their agendas etc, suddenly goes out the window when the gigs are dangling in front of your face and you want to become a showbiz person. Even though Hollywood, the on surface shit makes a lot of money just for whatever they put out, it feels like Hollywood has also been producing the political climate and the discourse with celebs where these people are not operating or playing by the same rules as regular people. Maybe watching wrestling most of my life much to many people’s dismay, maybe it was practice to spot manufactured and orchestrated shit in the political and showbiz world, because a lot of the shit I see feels like we have now become the entertainment, we have become the reality show. We all play a part in keeping kayfabe alive, so now we have social climbers online practicing how to react to the news when you find out another one of your favorite celebrities and superheroes are pieces of shit, it feels like it is way too obvious with how much this shit has been happening, it is like once you become a celebrity or a public figure, everything is for sale, you don’t just have to work within the fiction you are known for, you’re life becomes the fiction, and then you have in fighting with race baiting, gender wars, calls of hypocrisies of other celebs who get away with worse, and it feels the discourse is on repeat and it has been that way for the last decade plus, how do we not ask the bigger questions? I get it, we can’t be conspiracy theorists because you let the right wing take it over so if one is proven true, the entire movement can fucking take credit for it, and the representatives on the left will take the most bat shit conspiracy and promote that so then you think any conspiracy involving celebrities etc is completely insane. What is insane is that most talking heads who act like they are media, they would be the characters in the movie where weird shit is definitely going on, and they have to completely deny it until it has to smack them on the face, at least the media on Sopranos television show acknowledges there are mafias that exist, most people can’t even admit that in real life world. Because entertainment is funded in fundamentalist shit, the genius thing in my opinion is that if you call out entertainment for its inherent danger, you are automatically placed with the evangelicals who scream Satan about the showbiz world, no one wants to be on that side of the argument, but to me, it facilitates each other. Like to me it has been obvious there have been mafias within the entertainment world, but the only traction that shit gets, is that people will use the “Jewish conspiracy” shit to completely eliminate any conversation about it, like there aren’t only powerful Jewish people behind the scenes, there are fundamentalists of every background, race and religion. It is like a bunch of delegations behind the scenes go to war with each other in these pretentious showdowns, and then their in fighting seeps out to regular people who have nothing to do with it, and might identify with shit based off their identity, their race, their gender, their political ideology, their religion, you can even include different fandoms in that, because to me, a lot of celebrity worship and entertainment institutions become their own cult. If having a cult is the default, they waste your time with more documentaries on other cult leaders, where we think “Wow this is a once in a blue like thing that happens” when being a cult leader is basically the standard, but we are too blinded by the entertainment. When people are connected with billionaires and other celebs and you say one bad thing about them, you get very sociopathic stares, and people acting like you are the embarrassment, not that their sociopathic behavior is not the issue with how attached they are to this idea of a celebrity and entertainment. Again, this is just my opinion. I am not a credible person, they have discredited me and weaponized my mental illness, but then if I use my mental illness to give my theories, then it is a big problem. 

I know I have not focused on Jonathan Majors just yet. I look at the trajectory in these storylines, not saying someone didn’t really get choked etc, but it is like we are living in a real world West World, we are the guests while the hosts, who are celebs and public figures are acting out their storyline, we present this limited narrative that they play by the regular rules for everyone else, when a lot of billionaires fund this kind of destruction, they own the politicians, they own the law enforcement, they have connections high up to make things look a certain way. It feels like since people are quick to call for his innocence, they are limiting it to just race, like I can see that whenever it is a minority in the entertainment world, they will definitely push that person under the bus faster, since anti blackness is embedded into the system, but it doesn’t mean that Jonathan Majors didn’t do shit, I look at it like a fraternity initiation, will he be booked to lose his jobs and then rebrand as a right wing person who was the victim of cancel culture, because there is clearly other people who have done worse and still are not as affected, these people barely ever pay for their actions if they did do it, they might have the presentation of that, like they do put these people through the ringer but we will never know how this shit keeps happening. There has never been an era where being an abusive piece of shit, or a pedophile, or a rapist has meant less, it feels like everyone becomes one, and then they let us know they have been that then they get canceled, and then they have their victory speech on how they defeated cancel culture. Some people think that it could be MK Ultra programming going wrong. Apparently that could never be an option because an experimental sting like that existed but they shut it down, not that they have used it to control their cogs in the system, so they constantly need help, or need to be saved. Hollywood could only ever be evil under the guise of it being presented as liberal. That is why it has become more obvious, and now you have the overly religious calling it out under the guise of edge lord behavior, and being against the establishment, but maybe all these people playing these roles on the screen show you what their status is in this real life world, you only think kings and queens are in the UK, not that they exist under a different guise in the US. The way people are losing their minds when these celebs do shit, they react like they are the peasants in Hunger Games and we are watching the main characters' drama unfold. It is like they have been easing us into this being part of life now, it became obvious when they decided to blur the lines between celebrity and someone who is a regular person being one with reality shows, because it has eased us into our lives now becoming a nonstop show. They have been showing you this shit in movies and television, and I am never supposed to act like “Maybe they are telling us something” I have to dumb it down and pretend we live in some regular society with these written rules which no one seems to abide by. Everything has become so inconsistent in our world, why would we trust people who say they want to tell us the truth, when a lot of them are trying to perfect their sports entertainment character, they all want their sitcom banter that their echo chamber finds funny. I know I am kind of scatterbrained, but every day there has to be more storylines they are putting in front of us, and I know you can say “Hey maybe ignore this stuff” but how can I literally ignore this shit when people become a reflection of these things, I still have to deal people who are consumed by this shit. 

It feels like now the establishment media and legacy entertainment exist to rise up against without realizing that it has become even more mainstream online. It is like every click, and every corner of the internet has rebooted or done some retread of stuff from the past. People will become bigger, they will get your love and admiration and then they will turn heel, and I have seen that trope in professional wrestling way too much, it is probably why all the celebrities and politicians that snooty ones love so much but think they are above watching wrestling, don’t know when they are being worked because your favorites have taken professional wrestling elements and implemented it into the discourse at large, we can’t think people like Vince McMahon are on that “genius” level because guys like him control his narrative, he controls the negatives and positives, even with the negatives and breaking the law and his possible right wing fundamentalism ties, he will get away with the shit he has gotten away with, the reason why we know about it because someone like Vince could possibly being going into a more powerful status, and these guys will let you know about their corruption because by the time something needs to be done, they can get away with it. Let’s be real, even if they get locked up, I will come up with how it is probably their illuminati clone that is doing the time while they live off the reservation. I am at this point where I don’t even give a shit anymore. I am not afraid of being a conspiracy guy. I am not a right winger. I can use my theories to expose how the right wing have taken over the narratives, so now no one wants to touch them, but when there are a couple of conspiracies that get proven true, it will empower the right wing even more, like you really think it is a coincidence the pro wrestling and right wing pipeline has been more connected? You think it is a coincidence our world has become such a parody? We fucking have a former WWE writer whose on air persona was named Big Dick Johnson, a fat ass mother fucker who would prance around in a thong while he simulates sexual assault to unwilling people who didn’t want to have their face shoved up his crack, that guy is working for Turning Point USA. People funding these right wing causes, there are plenty of people in the world of wrestling who are holding republican office somewhere, or have ties to patriot groups or are Q Anon shills, and the most the critics can say “HAHAHA THIS IS WHAT CTE DOES OR THANK GOD THIS COMPANY WWE WHO ARE TIED TO TRUMP HAD THE DECENCY TO GET RID OF AN ANTI VAXXER” like they are not funding that shit, that is my personal belief. I can’t say for sure right, but anything that I have written in this blog I can’t technically prove, but it becomes more evident as we go on that this world we are living in does not make any fucking sense. Every day the go to trope is someone being a hypocrite or how ironic something is and this is what is being done to counter right wing narratives while these mother fuckers don’t give a shit if they are that, you are talking about them constantly. 

People don’t like political agenda shoved down their throat, and they have made it seem like good messages coming from discredited people, that means that good message is not good, or if that celebrity does some shady shit, they will define them by the social movement they got behind, that is why it is nice to have some people with celebrity and power to do good shit with it, but I leave it there, because eventually it will be a scandal and then the right wing then shits on the entire movement. Like they tried to tie in Ezra Miller being non binary to the abuse he has committed, or because Jonathan Majors put on a dress, that is the reason he is fucked up even though delegations behind the scene will probably initiate you but it has nothing to do with the community as a whole, but everyone in the system, in showbiz etc are in a cesspool, you can wear a nice suit but at the end of the day you are jumping in a cesspool, since we as a society let the celebrity shit define the social issue etc, we constantly have people living vicariously through it and apply this to their lives. As someone who has been propagandized, I can admit I was so dumbed down, I let myself be manipulated because no matter where you go in life, it is constant manipulation, some could manipulate for the purpose of good to counter the general evil that exists, but that becomes more obvious when it is more a liberal cause, we then end up regressing and going back to old school ignorance, everyone has their breaking point to come out and say “WOKENESS IS OUT OF CONTROL”,  but literally every culture war is incorporated into these celeb situations, we think what Jonathan Majors is going through is the biggest racial injustice, when it goes beyond that, it is like the focus goes away from actual people who are being super oppressed because we allow celebrity shit to be the be all end all of it, maybe it symbolizes whoever wins the culture war, there is more social clout that goes to certain factions and communities, there is no other reason why grown ass people who are supposed to be better than me will be invested into this where they end up looking like a parody in this entire thing. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, people will continue, because the incentive online is too much to give up. It pays to keep this kind of shit going. If you want to break down this entire showbiz thing as a whole, I will be there, but catering it to different culture wars is gonna be the end of us. Society is almost fucking done, how can anyone watch the television show The Boys, and not see this is what our lives are essentially. 

I don’t know what the solution is. I have sat back and let “smarter” and more “respectable” people and hoped they could take the charge to expose the evil so we can make the world better but it feels like this shit is destined to be filled with more social media storylines and basically all the entertainment we have consumed, we are now becoming that society and I don’t think anyone wants to give this shit up. I am ready to fucking leave and check out of this planet. I am not gonna physically hurt myself or anyone, I know most people know that, but my trolls who are probably fed accounts who have be targeted, are finding more reason to act like they are concerned with my well being while they have worked to mentally torment me because they might be working for another cult leader like a Howard Stern. I could’ve been propped up for the shit I went through with that show, but I was not willing to sell it under the guise of hating Howard for being “woke” or being “left” because I personally don’t believe Howard is a left or woke, he might have people fooled, but you see the irony in opposing him as a conservative would’ve made me money and get me clout. I chose to try and stay as pure as I can, especially when the world is a filthy mess, a real fucking pig stye, I have experienced mental torment for 10 years plus, and the fucked up thing is people I know, the ones who are supposed to “love” me and constantly want to surround me and use me as guineapig, they can never admit what I have been through, they act like it is nothing but then will show their ass by pointing out how “rich” I might be, they are always counting my fucking money, that is probably my only use, but they have literally let people constantly show disrespect to me, treat me less than, then when I am excluded for the “real gatherings” they limit me and bring me out when they need something from me, and if you judged it by my status and aesthetic, what could they want from me? They have the nice houses, the connections, the nice family etc, but for some reason I am brought out just to have people undermine me, and when I see people like that are reflective of how shady people in the system act, it makes me not want to be on this planet, I could’ve become bigger and have all these shitty scandals, and have my “wokeness going out of control” moments to rebrand as a fucking pretentious right wing grifter, and I try to hold out but when you feel you don’t have anyone in your corner, it is like how much will I have to suffer before they lure me into this shit. I would rather go from this planet because sometimes it feels there is no true good here anymore. I could be wrong about people in my life, maybe they have been put in situations where they don’t even have control, but it just shows you once you become part of the showbiz machine on some level, even if you are not propped up, you have powerful people who have me tagged, just like everyone else, it is not even a difficult thing to make it into that upper echelon, because the elite in this world can buy people off with these luxuries and meeting their favorite celebs, not that there isn’t hard work being put in, but the system is looking for more people to be lured in, and even though when I was a lot more desperate mentally, I would’ve probably given into being propped up even more. It wasn’t like I didn’t suffer mentally from that decision, because I didn’t play ball with Howard’s vision, and even though I feel more peaceful, because I am not being subjected to harassment 24/7, they want to bring me back to being a mentally ill irrational person who would say anything and everything to counter anyone who said disrespectful shit to me. I could’ve been even more of a parody. Sure I am a parody by my on surface status, but it is everyone else who has become caricatures, everyone wants to be the main character in their wacky sitcom, how can I survive with this, this celebrity shit has not been new with all these problematic scandals that are probably more fuel for documentaries and theatrical court cases, everything on this planet is for sale. 

I just want to know how long it will take to finally analyze what is happening with showbiz and the billionaires who fund this shit, I know people who are more politically involved think this shit is useless because we have designed the outlook of the “celeb” world to look goofy when you have Lady Gaga dressing up as a used tampon made out out of bird feathers at the Met Gala, so how can regular people who are facing the worst systemic shit every day relate to that, no one takes that shit seriously but all of that is to facilitate the online shit which is now where we goof on everything that the establishment presents us, how would we ever think there is more sinister shit at play? We can’t possibly think these people are smarter than they look, because they are doing dumbed down shit, there is a saying in showbiz “You’re no dummy making money being stupid” now I don’t agree with that shit, but it doesn’t mean that people haven’t taken that slogan and capitalized to be mentioned in the discourse for whatever social media currency that exists, since the actual dollar is completely and utterly useless. I have kept saying this shit for the longest time, I know I am beating it into the ground, but it feels like everyday I wake up and check the news. It feels like we are continuously sports entertaining ourselves into fascism, and I am just ready for all of this to be over. How can I survive this? I don’t have any real back up, not to my knowledge, and even if I did, I am sure the people who have already been secretive about shit, will appreciate my digs I have been making but those come from the frustration of not being able to talk to people honestly about this shit, they bring me out to make me suffer mentally, giving permission to other people I don’t know to treat me like shit and if I dare say shit, they will use their power to then fuck me over even more because they can do shit like that and get away with it, they are reading this now an figuring out how to make me feel like shit even more, when I piss off people in the system, they know they can’t physically kick my ass without making it obvious, so they kick my ass mentally. They do this to a lot of people in the system, people who are no longer part of their mafia institution will have people inserted into their lives and it is nonstop destruction, how do you think Sunny aka Tammy Sytch keeps getting herself into constant trouble, how do you think when Ultimate Warrior left the system, he had someone injected into his life to get him into right wing fundamentalism, and you know why someone like that goes toward that direction, because in those fraternities and mafias, there are a lot of abuse and sexual shit going down, where someone gets so fucked up from it, they go out in the real world and start generalizing because they can’t come out and say “Yeah in that system we get sexually abused as an initiation” it is why so many people in showbiz who have dealt with that, then “speak out” but they somehow “find god” and finding god is not a problem, but when it is a public figure, there is a good chance it is normally them being brainwashed by fundamentalism. These are just my theories, again I can’t prove 100 percent of what I am saying, but I am seeing a pattern, in fact many of the celebs who are getting behind this anti LGBTQ shit take advantage because there are creeps from all backgrounds in the industry and then they take that experience and take it out on regular people from these communities who have nothing to do with it, and you can literally do that for all groups and how the people in the system use generalizations to weaponize. It is not gonna stop. You can read this shit and roll your eyes, but tell me who is really canceled? You will use official companies that are separated from someone, but you don’t know what other money someone gets for being more to the conservative side. You don’t believe there is money in that. It is all marketing now. Anyways. I know my shit doesn’t get traction, but there is a good chance I will use Jonathan Majors name in the promotion for this blog and since that name is getting a lot of traction, maybe more people might see this blog and maybe think about my view, if not that is fine. I know I am not a guy you are supposed to agree with, but don’t lump me in with the regressive right wing for being a conspiracy person, I don’t think it is a bad thing to be, it is when you are a far right wing grifter taking advantage of the system designed to make it seem like the right wing people are right, I could do the easy thing and just get on that ride, but I rather not. But I don’t have to be ashamed to be a conspiracy theorist, look at all of you who have become sports entertainers and become shells of yourselves. Anyways. I hope one day we can all wake up to this, but this entertainment shit is way too powerful. It is needed to help manufacture consent, you don’t want to be the person who speaks out on the ills of entertainment, because people who take this shit seriously will tell you, you are taking this shit too seriously. But maybe someone does, how far do we have to reduce ourselves to, how much more regression do we need?

[collecting-stories]

Inventory - Daryl Dixon

Request: you can write anything tbh! just something small and sweet, if you don’t mind :) (daryl anon)

A/N: This is honestly just random established relationship fluff or something.

The Walking Dead Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

You weren’t entirely sure that you liked Alexandria. It felt like someone had captured the old world in a time capsule and you were viewing all the things that you had forgotten about. Shower pressure and hot water and actual running water weren’t things that you took for granted and you’d practically cried in the bathroom when the toilet flushed but all the other parts felt uncomfortable. Like clothing that didn’t fit you anymore. You weren’t Daryl, waiting with his hand on a gun for the moment everything went to shit, but you certainly weren’t about to done a cardigan and act like a soccer mom getting ready for a bake sale either. You would let Carol handle the assimilating and gossip. Or at least the former, the latter, you couldn’t escape.  

“I wouldn’t’ve pegged him as your type.” Olivia mentioned, hellbent on making inventory a gossip session.  

“What?” You looked away from the open garage door to where Olivia was stacking cans of corn and writing down their number in her composition book.  

“Daryl. I noticed you watch him a lot...is that like, you guys got a thing going on or you just looking?” She asked.  

You paused in your rearranging of cans to look back out the garage door again. Daryl was across the street talking to Aaron and Michonne and you tried to formulate an answer that made sense for Olivia and for you. She hadn’t technically asked if you were ‘together’ (that ominous word that felt so weighty when you said it to yourself) but she was definitely asking for a definition. Were you more than friends, absolutely. That wasn’t even something you needed to think about. You certainly weren’t sharing beds with your friends the way you did with Daryl. But he’d never given any definition to your togetherness and somehow, even defining it felt like such an archaic thing. Another piece of the old world pulled from the time capsule.  

“I mean...” you shrugged, “both I guess?” There was a thing, for lack of a more concrete term, but you also liked looking at him a whole lot. You’d been enjoying looking at him for a while now and sometimes on the road you’d thought, if something happened, who would you look for in a crowd. It wasn’t just that you liked the view, it was that feeling of something that anchored you into the moment, made your head a little less dizzy, made all this more bearable.  

“I guess he’s not bad looking.” Olivia laughed a little, her cheeks reddening at the thought and you wanted to agree. He most certainly was not bad looking. And you had told him so plenty of times, in the privacy of your own room. “He doesn’t seem very...” she paused, looking over at you as if she had caught herself speaking out of turn.  

Small talk and social etiquettes felt like something you’d left behind too, far too used to being direct with people. It almost felt odd for her to be so unforthcoming.  

“Friendly?” You asked. She didn’t need to say it for you to know what she was thinking. It seemed to be a consensus throughout Alexandria. The community had differing opinions about all of you but the one thing they all agreed on was Daryl’s lack of acceptable behavior. He wasn’t particularly friendly with any of them (aside from Aaron maybe) and he acted more like a caged animal than someone who was grateful for shelter and protection.  

“Uh, yeah.” Olivia nodded, pink cheeks staining darker, “I mean, I’m sure he talks to you, of course...it’s just, I’ve never found him to be particularly...warm.”  

Warm, you felt like the word echoed in your mind once she said it. You’d never really spent too much time thinking about the way you would describe Daryl, he was just, himself, and that was it. You didn’t linger on what he was, what you expected him to be. Even if you didn’t ever think of yourselves as ‘together’ you knew exactly what you were.  

You thought about offering up a defense for him, explaining that he was warm. He was being wrapped in a blanket on a cold night or feeling the sun on your shoulders in the early morning. It wasn’t something you considered often, that you felt like you needed to name, but you knew it right away. The words came on the tip of your tongue, like you’d been waiting to think them. But you didn’t get the chance.  

Daryl came up the driveway while you were staring at him and the softest of smiles graced your features as you watched him, giving a small wave. Maybe you wouldn’t have thought about it if you hadn’t been talking to Olivia but, as Daryl held your gaze the whole up the drive, you were reminded of when you might’ve categorised his behaviour as more shy than reserved. Now it felt like he held back because he chose to, deciding what parts of himself other people got to see. When you’d first known him it was more a defense mechanism than an ordinary occurrence, and he’d never been comfortable meeting your eye.  

“Did you come to help with inventory?” You teased, already hearing the grumbled response in your mind before he said it.  

“Just passing by,” he replied, glancing over to the far corner where Olivia was still sitting, notebook open in her lap. “Morning.”

You wondered if she was scrutinising the interaction. Trying to see for herself what you saw in Daryl, as if that was possible.  

“I’ll go check to make sure we’ve got all the dry foods from upstairs.” Olivia announced, standing from her spot and bumping her chair back against the sorting table. It rattled but nothing fell over and she went so quickly out of the room she looked like she was power-walking.  

“What’s a matter with her?” Daryl asked, taking your water bottle from the ground by your chair and unscrewing the cap so he could drink some.  

“She was asking about you, weren’t your ears burning?” You joked.  

He glanced down at you, unamused, before finally taking the bait, “why’s she asking?”  

“Said I stare at you all the time.”  

“So quit staring.” He capped the water bottle and set it back in its place before fiddling with different cans on the shelves, pulling them off and reading the labels.  

“Easier said then done,” you replied, grabbing your notebook off the shelf in front of you, “besides, I don’t wanna forget what you look like.”  

“Why? You going somewhere?”  

You scrunched your nose at his words and shook your head, “no, but you are right…saw you talking to Aaron.”

“Think ya watch me just ta spy on what I’m doing.”  

“I’m right though, you two are headed out?” You asked.  

“Don’t make it something it ain’t…I’ll be back in a few days time.”  

Daryl was good at coming back when he left, you knew it from experience. He’d come back when he’d left with Merle, he’d come back when he’d left to find Beth, when he went off on his own to hunt he always came back. As sure as you were that he would leave, you were just as sure he would find his way back again. It wasn’t something you had to think about or reassure yourself of but sometimes it was easier to give in to that worst case scenario that sat in the back of your mind.  

“I know,” you said it like you were promising him, “but that’s a few days without seeing you…who am I supposed to look for?”  

Daryl set down the can of beets he was looking at and walked the short distance back to you. His hand wrapped around the end of your ponytail and he gave a gentle tug, guiding your head all the way back so you were looking straight up at him. You thought it was probably a good thing Olivia wasn’t here, she’d seemed scandalised enough at his presence in the room, you could imagine all the things she’s knock over if she saw him now, one hand holding your ponytail and the other on your neck as he leaned down and kissed you.  

It was a softer kiss than the hold implied and you considered the juxtaposition of Daryl’s softness and roughness your favorite thing about him. It’d taken a while, to see the soft bits, but now you saw them all the time. How he kissed you so comfortably, like he’d always been doing it. His tongue brushing your bottom lip almost teasingly but he pulled away before you could do more, standing back up straight and dropping his hands. He gripped the back of your folding chair and you leaned against his hand, feeling them press into the skin between your shoulder blades, bare from your tank top. You kept your head tilted back, a little more comfortably though.  

“When do you leave?” You asked, half expecting him to tell you he was headed to the gate now. Your brain still felt a little dizzy from the kiss but that was a normal occurrence.  

“Tomorrow morning.” He replied, letting go of the chair to run his knuckles along your spine. “Shouldn’t be longer than a day or two.”  

There was a quieter bumping noise and a soft curse as Olivia peeked back into the doorway, a few boxes of pasta haphazardly held in her arms. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”  

“It’s alright,” you replied but truthfully you were just being nice. Because Daryl had already retracted his hand you felt goosebumps on your skin in his absence, as if your body was trying to chase the sensation of him.  

“Ya need help?” He asked, motioning to the boxes as she dropped them onto the sorting table.  

“Would you mind? I’ve got another laundry basket full of them to bring down here and I dropped like five on the staircase.” She explained, following after him to point them out.  

Daryl disappeared through the door, Olivia right behind him, and you went back to organising the latter half of the alphabetically arranged cans. Olivia tended to be more loose-lipped than her other Alexandria counterparts and you couldn’t help imagining her asking him questions, trying to dig out some part of a person under the cold exterior he’d given off while he was here. Searching for the warmth she thought was lacking. They weren’t gone long, Olivia’s chipper voice carrying down the stairs.  

Daryl came through first, laundry basket piled high and the slightest hint of a glare as his eyes met yours, as if you’d somehow put him up to the task of helping.  

“You can set them on the sorting table,” Olivia instructed, “I’ll go through them once I’m finished the canned goods.”  

Setting them down, Daryl just nodded in agreement. You stopped from saying you’d see him tonight, in case that information was somehow on a need to know basis. But he was obviously being less purposefully withdrawn than you’d thought because he took another sip from your water bottle before telling you the exact thing you’d been too reserved to say.  

“I’ll see ya tonight,” he promised, putting your water bottle back and giving your ponytail a playful tug before leaving back down the driveway.  

You watched after him until he turned the corner and was out of eyesight.  

“I can see why you like him so much…” Olivia finally said, getting your attention as you looked back at her.  

“What?” You asked, wondering if he’d said something to her that changed her mind.  

Her cheeks tinged pink again and she looked down at her notebook, “I wasn’t trying to spy or anything…just, you know, wanted to bring those boxes in.”  

You nodded, prompting her to continue.

“I saw him kissing you…” she let out an airy sigh, “I’d be staring at somebody all day if they kissed me like that.”  

[dreamingofaizawa]

Obedient (Rewritten)

Soft! Yandere! Erasermic x Chubby! Fem! Reader

***18+ Fic***

You must be 18 years old or older to participate in this reading. If you are not, please remove yourself from the line and find another piece. Thank you.

Warnings: Yandere, stalking, implied drugging, kidnapping, reader is way too fucking calm with the situation, Stockholm Syndrome, BDSM themes, a collar, body worship, the word Daddy once, smut, double penetration (diff. holes), anal, unprotected sex, overstimulation, aftercare.

Word Count: 6.6 k

Author's Note: Alright. I've been wanting to rewrite this for a while now. Obedient was the very first fic I'd ever written and posted back in September, and my writing has changed A LOT since then. Reading the original, I realized there's a lot that I can change and tweak, and a lot that wasn't very clearly or well written (in my opinion). So, here it is!

You can find the original here.

Enjoy~

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“Happy birthday to me.” The words tumble loosely from your lips on a heaved breath, your fingers curled lazily around a cold glass of whiskey.

It isn’t a rare occurrence to see you perched atop a stool at the edge of the bar, nursing your third glass at 2am on a Friday night. Or rather Saturday morning. It’s one of the only places you can find solace, away from nosy coworkers and nosier acquaintances. The loneliness is soberingly blissful. You never cared much for social interaction.

At this point the bar is emptying, only a handful of bodies sticking around in the early hours. In the reflections of the rows of glass liquor bottles you see them again. Two lanky figures sitting in the corner booth at the back of the establishment. Any normal person would see them and think nothing. But you know better. When you first walked into the bar six months ago they were in that exact spot, and every time afterward they’d be there when you walked in and stayed after you left.

You, being observant as you are, always watched everything from your spot at the bar, the slightly warped images in the glass serving as your eyes for the night. It didn’t take long for you to figure the two were watching you every time you stepped inside. The blonde one always sat with his back to you, and his head would occasionally turn in the reflection. You’d alternate seats to make sure you weren’t imagining things, but it only confirmed what you’d suspected.

Not that you cared enough to do anything about it.

As long as they keep their distance you’re perfectly content letting them look. And they did keep their distance. They’d never even come within 5 feet of you, seemingly happy with just lingering glances. Of course, tonight would be a different story.

You watch as their glassy reflections stand up, the distance between you and them shrinking with each of their long strides. You let your eyes fall to the amber liquid in your hands, praying they’d only pass you by on their way out. Two sets of footsteps approached, two bodies popped up on either side of you, and a deep, silky smooth voice sounded on your right.

“Mind if we take a seat?” A glance to your right revealed a rugged, yet handsome man peering down at you with his deep, tired onyx eyes. Long raven hair spilled over his shoulders, framing his chiseled jaw peppered with barely tamed scruff and a scar curved along his cheekbone. You turn to look at his friend, long blonde hair pulled up into a high bun and hypnotic green eyes focused on you behind orange tinted sunglasses despite being indoors past midnight. He is handsome as well, a small mustache on his smiling lips, high cheekbones and a sharp jawline drawing you in.

You couldn’t help but feel they look familiar, somehow. You’d seen their faces before, somewhere, but you pushed that to the back of your mind for now.

It wouldn’t hurt to let them sit with you, right? They seem friendly enough, and it’s better to entertain them in case things go south should you reject their request. With a small, tired smile, you nod.

“Sure thing, fellas.” They both plop down on either side of you and the blonde immediately gets talking.

“So what’s the occasion, little listener?” Two thoughts came to mind. One, how did he know there was any occasion, two, what kind of pet name is ‘little listener’? Your confusion must have shown on your face, because the raven haired man spoke up.

“You’re pretty dolled up for a night at the bar, kitten.” Ah. So they had been watching you. You aren’t wearing anything that would normally be considered ‘dolled up’. Your tan sweater and black skirt are relatively plain, and the platform boots you’re wearing accompanied by your thigh-high socks are something you’re experimenting with.

But usually you entered the bar with a white button-up and black slacks from your job as a waitress. Today you had time to go home and pamper yourself a bit before heading to your usual drinking spot. Evidently, they noticed. You bring your glass up to your lips and gulp down the remaining liquid before entertaining the question.

“Nothing special. Call it a birthday party.” And hey, you mean it when you say it isn’t special. Your birthday only marks yet another routine year on this earth. The blonde nudges your shoulder with his own.

“I’d say that’s pretty special, sunshine!” The alcohol must be affecting you, because you chuckle a bit at his enthusiasm.

“Just another year gone by, you know?” You’re never this talkative sober. The man on your right rapped his knuckles on the bartop, the barkeep making his way over with a tired smile.

“One more glass for this pretty kitty here.” The name had your eyebrows raising.

“This one’s on me.” As the fresh glass was sat on the bartop you scoffed quietly.

“Kitty?” A deep hum came from the man.

“Well how would you describe yourself, kitten?” Somewhere in your muddled brain you warned yourself not to be self-deprecating on your 25th birthday. You didn’t listen.

“Definitely not feline. I’m short and chunky and the only thing cat-like about me is my posture and eyeliner,” you stated, matter-of-factly. As a waitress at an esteemed high-end restaurant, you had to learn to be quick on your feet, agile, and most importantly, poised. A hum comes from the blonde, a muttered ‘pretty and humble’ floating on his breath. You force a chuckle at the statement.

“Pretty is also a word I wouldn’t use to describe myself.” A short silence falls between the three of you, and you take the time to study their faces. Where had you seen them before? You’re certain if you’d met them before you’d remember them, you don’t tend to forget attractive people.

They’re oddly patient as they watch the cogs in your brain turn, your eyes taking in every detail of every feature. Your breath caught and your eyes went wide when you’d finally placed their faces.

“Present Mic and Eraserhead. You’re pro heroes.” The words are quiet, nearly imperceptible as you breathe them, but they’re close enough to hear. Present Mic beams at the recognition.

“In the flesh, sunshine. But we’d prefer you use our names.” Eraserhead leans away and sticks a hand out for a handshake.

“Shouta Aizawa.” You shake his hand and turn to the blonde, who similarly has his hand held out.

“Hizashi Yamada.” You introduce yourself, a bit shaky and only slightly starstruck. What in the world are two pro heroes doing talking to you? As you regain your composure you excuse yourself to the restroom. You weren’t prepared to talk to heroes tonight. A glance in the mirror has you sobering yourself, rationalizing their strange behavior. These two are pro heroes. They were clearly only worried about your safety, a woman all alone in a bar till the earliest hours of the morning. ‘That’s why they were watching me’, you muse. You quickly fix yourself, then step back out to the two heroes.

The three of you pass another hour of time before you decide it’s time for you to head home. They offer to give you a lift, but you politely decline. You can't intrude on them any more than you already had. Hizashi insists otherwise.

“Please Sunshine? If something were to happen to you we’d never forgive ourselves!” It made sense to you. They’re pro heroes after all, it’s in their nature to worry. So you oblige to ease their anxieties.

Since Shouta hadn’t touched any alcohol, he’s driving, and you punch your address into the GPS system of their very expensive looking car. As you sit back, Hizashi holds a bottle over his head.

“Water?” You thank him and drain the bottle, realizing you’re a bit more dehydrated than you initially thought. In your semi-drunk haze you fail to notice that the bottle had already been opened, and you miss Shouta’s eyes watching you down the beverage through the rearview mirror.

It’s only five minutes later you feel drowsy, your head lolling to the side and eyelids drooping. You don’t quite register the question Hizashi asks you, and when you don’t answer he turns around to look at you.

“You seem tired, Sunshine. Take a nap, we’ll wake you up when we get there.” Your exhaustion takes hold over any rational thoughts, and with a sleepy nod, you stretch out over the backseat and let your mind slip into unconsciousness, blissfully unaware you’ll never see your apartment again.

The first thing you notice as you wake up is how stiff and sore your muscles are. It takes you a moment to realize you aren’t in your clothes from last night, nor are you in your own bed. Your eyes snap open and you sit up, taking in the unfamiliar room. With a curse under your breath you scour your memory for anything, checking if you’d gone home with anyone or gotten yourself in a tight situation. The last thing you remember is being driven home by the two pros, then passing out in their backseat.

Questions began forming in your mind. ‘Where am I? How did I get here? Where had the two heroes gone?’ In an attempt to think clearer, you try crossing your legs, but your ankle is stopped short by something heavy. Throwing off the blanket, a thick metal cuff glinted in the light of the room, an equally thick chain leading somewhere over the side of the bed.

When your breathing begins to quicken, you settle your mind, refusing to panic. Willing yourself to relax, you begin to think about how you can get out of this situation. ‘Today should be Saturday. Assuming this room is part of a house, someone would most likely still be here’. With a small breath, you speak, hopefully loud enough for someone to hear you.

“H-hello? Is someone there?” It only takes a few seconds for footsteps to reach your ears, and the door opens to the last person you’re expecting to see. A ruggedly handsome Shouta Aizawa stands in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe with a small smirk on his lips.

“Good morning, Kitty.” As endearing as the pet name is, the only emotion you feel right now is confusion. Your mind is drifting to all the fanfiction you’d read online, piecing together the events of last night like a puzzle. ‘The bottle of water was already open’. In your defense, they’re pro heroes, it’s only natural for you-- or anyone, really-- to let your guard down. A large hand on your shoulder jolts you back to reality, your eyes wide as you stare up at Shouta like a deer in headlights.

“You okay Kitten?” All you can manage as you settle your thoughts is to blink up at the man, swallowing down the lump in your throat before letting out a shaky breath.

“Let me guess. I’m home now, aren’t I?” The man stares back down at you with subtly raised eyebrows before chuckling softly.

“That’s not the reaction I was expecting, but I can’t say I’m mad about it. You’re a smart little kitty, aren’t you.” He leaves you to your thoughts and your mind begins reeling once again. You understand this is wrong, that you shouldn’t be so willing, so obedient. You also know how boring your life has been up until now. How mundane and lonely you’d been for as long as you can remember.

You’d cut ties with your family long ago, and ‘friend’ is a very loose term. Most of the people you called friends are acquaintances at best, your antisociality and trust issues meant ‘making friends’ is not on your life agenda. Somehow you knew, deep down, you wanted something like this to happen. You longed to give up control, to let someone else string you along and take the reins and let you relax, not have to worry about anything anymore. That side of you tended to make itself known through your explorative late teen years.

You’d had romantic partners before, though once anything intimate came up they all refused to associate with you anymore. They couldn’t understand your want to give up control, your need to submit. They refused to collar you ‘like an animal’. None of your partners ever understood the weight behind such a garment. This may be your chance at the relationship you’d always craved, regardless of its twisted nature.

Then there’s the logical side, the chances of you actually escaping. As a quirkless human in the presence of two trained pro heroes (assuming Hizashi is also in on this), the likelihood of you making it out is slim to nonexistent. If you somehow manage to get out, the two could easily track you down and just as easily drag you back. So, as wrong as it seems, you don’t fight it.

Shouta returns with a tray of breakfast, setting it down on your lap after you’d adjusted yourself to lean against the headboard. As he pulls back you mumble a ‘thank you’ and begin to eat, acknowledging the pang of hunger in your belly. As weird as it seems to say ‘thank you’ to your captor, you find it could be helpful even if only a little. Being polite is automatic, but it’s also a great way to make sure you don’t end up injured, or worse, dead somewhere, so for once in a long time your manners are intended. You’d gotten halfway through your meal when Shouta speaks up.

“You’re taking this really well.” He almost seems skeptical. You peer up at him as you finish the food in your mouth.

“There isn’t much use panicking. I’d only end up hurting myself. Besides, it’s not like I can get out.” You motion to the cuff around your ankle and he gives a small chuckle.

“You’re not wrong, kitten.” He leaves to let you finish breakfast, returning ten minutes later and taking your empty tray. He comes back right after, a pair of handcuffs and a blindfold in hand.

“I’m sure you need to use the bathroom.” You give a small nod, acknowledging the pressure in your bladder for the first time since you woke up. Gently, he takes your wrists and locks the cuffs around them, then holds up the blindfold before going to tie it around your head.

“These are just a precaution.” Soon you feel the cuff on your ankle fall away, and Shouta’s strong arms loop under your knees and back as he lifts you off the bed.You’re both surprised and not that he can lift you with relative ease. He is a pro hero after all. It takes less than 30 seconds for him to stop and gently place you down, taking the blindfold and cuffs off.

“I’ll be waiting just outside the door. Once you’re done, knock and I’ll take you back to bed.” You nod and he leaves, locking the door once he’s outside. Of course it locks from the outside. You take a moment to just think about your current predicament. Currently you’re locked in the house of a pro hero, being kept against your will (sort of). Your life had just taken an unexpected turn.

You knock on the door like Shouta said, and it isn’t long before you’re back on the bed with the cuff around your ankle. As he turns to leave you stop him, and he turns back to you with a quirked eyebrow.

“Can I...draw?” You didn’t know if he’d actually let you have anything, but it was worth a shot. If you were to be cooped up here you need to keep yourself occupied. With a low hum, he leaves the room and comes back with a sketch pad, pencil, and eraser.

Days come and go with either of the pros serving you three meals a day. They begin questioning your obedience, especially Hizashi. He questioned your lack of panic and how you never seemed to try to escape. Even he knows this isn’t normal. Shouta seems less skeptical, like he’d expected less of a fight than any normal, sane person would give. When Hizashi asked questions you answered truthfully. Lying is of no use to you.

“Really, I don’t mind it here. So far my life has been pretty shitty and boring, so this turn of events is mildly appreciated. Besides, you treat me relatively well, considering I’m being held captive, so I can’t say I’m upset.” You’d guessed from both your reading and their actions that they truly believed they cared about you. The chances of them hurting you are slim, so you’re able to live with them without fear.

The cuff around your ankle came off about a week in, and Shouta gave you the freedom to roam the house, though it wasn’t without warning. He held his hand out to you, an offer to help you stand, and you took it. Slowly, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and shift your weight to your feet. Your legs shake like a newborn fawn, but Shouta held you to let you stretch your legs and get comfortable walking again.

He led you out to what you assume is the dining table and sat you down, Shouta taking the seat on your right. You assume Hizashi is in the kitchen, what with the clatter and smell of food. Shouta asked what you’d been drawing, which caught you a bit off guard, but you answered anyway.

“Koi fish.” He hummed, focused on you.

“Any particular reason why?” You take a moment to think about your answer, it’s not a question you’re used to responding to.

“Well they’re gorgeous creatures. Elegant, sleek and graceful. The way they move is so mesmerizing, smooth and flawless like a flowing creek. I’ve always loved drawing koi.”

The conversation lapses into your fascination with the fish, how they somehow remind you of dragons and how the fantastical creature’s existence isn’t as far-fetched as it’s made out to be. Hizashi joins soon enough, serving dinner and listening in on the conversation.

Once you all finish eating you get comfortable on the couch, nestled between the two men. It isn’t long before you drift off to sleep, their body heat lulling you into dreamland. Shouta carries you to bed, carefully laying you down and pressing a light kiss to your temple. He stands above you, admiring your features as you sleep.

You’re gorgeous to him, a goddess in your own right. He and his blonde counterpart had started watching you mainly because you were a woman, completely alone and seemingly unarmed in a bar until the earliest hours of the morning. Neither of them could tell if you were quirkless or not, and as heroes they made sure to keep an eye on you during their weekly trip to the bar should you get into any trouble.

But eventually it became a habit to look for you, and the more they looked the farther they fell. You looked as exhausted as Shouta every time you stepped through the doors, hair just beginning to lose its style and shoulders sagged. But you were so beautiful, even in your exhausted state. Hizashi was the first to mention his infatuation to Shouta, but the raven-haired man had already figured the blonde was into you.

Soon enough they began to get antsy, constantly watching you walk out the door into the dead of night all alone. You’re just too trusting of the world outside, not taking enough precautions for a woman of your caliber. They made it their mission to make sure you were safe, and one day, take you back home where they could protect you.

Now that you’re here, it’s like a dream. Even as you sleep you’re the most beautiful thing in the world. How your lashes flutter against your cheeks, the way your lips softly part with every breath, how your chest gently rises and falls, it all makes him stare down at you in complete awe. It takes a great deal of willpower for him to tear his eyes away from you and join Hizashi in their room.

*

***3 months later***

*

A couple months have passed since you’d...moved in with the two men, and you can’t say you hate it. They’ve respected your privacy, allowing you to stay in your own room and letting you bathe yourself after refusing their attempts at persuading you to join them. Honestly it’s been nice living with them.

Though, the longer you’re with them the more thoughts begin gathering and swirling in your head. Caring thoughts, how their days progress, how they’re feeling at any point in time. And needy, dirty thoughts. Any time those pop up you make it a point to push them deep down into the farthest recesses of your brain, refusing to fuel those pesky embers.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you know what’s happening, what’s been happening. You’re no stranger to Stockholm Syndrome, having done your own minimal research on the subject a few years back. You constantly tell yourself this isn’t normal, nor is it healthy, to enjoy the company of your captors. You have to remind yourself that they had taken you from everything you knew, and even though there wasn’t much for you to love, they’d taken you from that as well.

But soon enough the illogical prevailed, because despite all of that, the two have been nothing but good to you.

In no time at all the days you spend alone in the large house are the days you find yourself missing their company, hoping they’d return sooner. You managed to dig through their clothes and pick out some of their older t-shirts, and began wearing them around the house. Their lingering scents have been a comfort as you patiently wait for them to come back. They don’t seem to mind at all, so you’re content.

As time passes you get closer with them, gravitating toward them and snuggling into either of their sides, letting them wrap an arm around you and tug you into them. You began giving kisses when they left and returned, a small peck on the cheek at the door. The first time you had engaged a kiss was a shock to both of them.

You had tugged Shouta’s sleeve and when he turned you silently grabbed his collar and yanked him down, leaving a small peck on his cheek, doing the same with Hizashi. They barely had the time to react before you dashed to your room and curled under the blankets, face heated and heart pounding like some schoolgirl who had confessed to her crush and got a positive response. That night you’d received more cuddles and kisses than normal.

The kisses became routine, and before long you all slept in the same bed. Strangely enough, life began to feel somewhat normal. The house began to feel like home.

And soon enough that schoolgirl crush manifested into something dirty, something lustful and carnal. Just as much as you long to be around them, you want desperately to feel their hands on your bare skin, mapping out the curves of your body as you writhe beneath them. You crave them and their touch. But of course you still have your pride. Dropping hints would have to suffice.

Slowly, subtly, you dress lighter, more scantily. No shorts under their t-shirts that barely cover your ass, allowing the stretched collars to drop and expose the slightest peek of skin. After a shower you walk back to the room in nothing but a towel, allowing the edge to ride up your thighs. Your tactics seemed to work, their eyes glued to the newly exposed skin, soaking in your plush thighs and soft skin. Their stares make you ache, but after weeks of nothing but lingering glances you decide to toss your pride out the window.

You have dinner ready when they walk in the door, and after everyone had eaten and showered you usher them both to the couch while you sit facing them from the coffee table. Their confusion is evident on their faces, your nervous fidgeting and reluctance to look them in the eyes didn’t help. What you’re about to bring up is embarrassing to say the least, but staying silent would be a detriment to your sanity. With a steadying breath, you meet their gaze and quietly force out your seemingly ridiculous request.

“So… I enjoy being here with you,” your fingers twist into the hem of your shirt and you swallow down the lump in your throat, “and I really appreciate that you’ve given me anything I asked for-”

“No.” Shouta’s voice suddenly cuts off your sentence.

“You can’t go outside, Kitten. I’m sorry, but that’s non-negotiable right now.” You blink dumbly at him, completely thrown off balance by his statement before you catch yourself, waving your hands frantically in front of you.

“No! Oh god, that’s not…um…. I wasn’t asking to go outside. I love being here, with you, and doing whatever but...it’s what we don’t do...that’s bothering me...just a little bit…” By now your voice is so quiet and high-pitched you wonder if they can even hear you. Hizashi, bless his heart, is just as confused as before the conversation started.

“Sunshine, you aren’t making much sense. If you think about it, there’s actually a lot we don’t do.” Shouta holds a hand up, silencing the blonde. His dark eyes drag over your body, watching the way your thighs almost imperceptibly rub together and you can’t meet his gaze. You squirm, the intensity in his eyes something you aren’t used to but it makes you hot all over. His hand comes down on his thigh twice.

“Come here, Kitty.” Slowly, you stand and walk to him, letting his hands grab your hips and pull you down to straddle his lap. A finger curls under your chin, angling your head to look Shouta in the eyes. A small smirk pulls the corner of his mouth, a moment of realization flashing across his face.

“Our little Kitty is getting needy ‘Zashi. Isn’t that right, Kitten?” Heat flooded your face, your embarrassment and arousal sending hot blood to your face and chest. You squeeze your eyes shut and nod, hoping they’d do something about the very horny state you’re in. Shouta’s hand moves to your hip again, lifting you and placing you in Hizashi’s lap before standing and walking away.

The blonde cooed at the surprised squeak you let out at the sudden movement, and you open your eyes to his wide grin. Leaning forward, he wraps his arms around your waist and presses his lips to yours in a sweet kiss. It feels nice, and you let your body melt into him and his warmth, his long fingers digging into the flesh of your lower back as he tugs you closer and a pleasant haze settles over your mind.

It’s a blissful moment shared between you, and Shouta returns just as Hizashi pulls away from the kiss. They share a look you can’t place before the former raises a hand to gently stroke your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He seems conflicted, trying to mull over some sort of decision in his brain, his brows just barely drawn and jaw set. When his eyes dropped to his other hand, yours followed, to find he held a long thin black velvet box. Clearly it holds some sort of jewelry.

After a few moments he turns it to you and lifts the lid, and your heart damn near stops beating. Whether it’s from excitement or a brief flash of fear, you don’t know. These two have been watching you for much longer than just at the bar. Those few months are only the tip of the iceberg, but how they’d come to notice you would probably forever remain a mystery to you.

Right now, all that matters is that they know everything. From your failed relationships to the reason they’d all ended. They had to know, that’s the only explanation. There’s no possible way it’s pure coincidence that you now gaze down at a beautifully crafted leather collar. It’s simple, thin, black dotted sparsely with sparkling gems and a dainty metal ring centered at the front. Tentatively, you reach out and trace the leather with your fingers.

“Is this...for me?” A deep hum sounds in Shouta’s chest, and that’s answer enough for you. Shouta plucks the garment from its seat and moves behind you. The cool leather feels heavenly as he loops it around your neck, his fingers brushing your skin. Everything seemed to go quiet as you waited for something, anything, to solidify this moment.

Click.

You shudder out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Shouta tilts your head and presses his lips to yours, looping a finger through the collar and giving a gentle tug. It makes you mewl, allowing him space to slip his tongue behind your teeth. He can see your pupils dilate when he pulls away, plush lips slick with saliva, lust invading your mind. You look so needy and desperate for them, so fucking gorgeous.

Hizashi leaves a kiss on your cheek then picks you up and places you on your feet. Both men grab either of your hands, lacing their fingers with yours, and gently pull you with them to the bedroom. Hizashi begins undressing first, and you can only let your eyes drag over his bare upper body for a moment before Shouta grabs your chin and distracts you with another kiss. This one is more passionate, heated, rough as his tongue effortlessly invades and dominates your mouth. Hizashi’s voice permeates your lust-filled haze.

“Come here, baby.” Shouta pulls away and allows you to walk over to where the blonde sits naked on the edge of the bed. He motions for you to turn around and you oblige, then he grabs your hips and pulls you back to sit in his lap, your back pressed to his chest. You watch as Shouta undresses, baring his skin to you as Hizashi tasks himself with undressing you.

Your shirt is the first to be removed, a groan spilling from the blonde when he discovers you aren’t wearing a bra. He pulls you flush against his chest, peppering wet kisses down your neck and shoulders as your eyes roam over Shouta’s sculpted frame. The raven haired man makes his way over, kneeling down between your legs and reaching up to toy with your breasts, rough fingers working your nipples until they peak. Hizashi’s hands find their way down to the pouch of your stomach, grabbing at the soft pliant flesh and squishing the fat there.

You let out a low whine, feeling extremely self-conscious with his hands working at the parts of your body you hate the most. You grab at his wrists in an attempt to pull him away, but he hushes you and whispers into your ear, his breath hot on your neck.

“It’s okay, pretty baby. Let me feel you.” You will yourself to let him go, let his hands explore your body the way he wants. He keeps his hands on your belly, long fingers massaging into your skin.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” He’s nipping and kissing at your neck, whispering praises into your ear as he fondles all the fatty parts of you.

Shouta’s hands reach up and tug your panties down, then grip your thighs and pull them apart, exposing you to his hungry eyes. You can’t help but feel exposed, uncomfortable, as they touch and gaze at every part of yourself you had always despised. A whimper builds in your chest, tears beginning to sting your eyes and your breath shaking. Hizashi leans over and kisses your tears away as Shouta leans forward and kisses at your belly and thighs, hands working at whatever flesh he couldn’t get his lips on.

“Let us love you. All of you. You’re such a pretty kitty.” You let yourself relax, let yourself relish in the fact that these two gorgeous men are doting over your body like you’re a goddess, like they couldn’t live if they didn’t worship every one of your perfect imperfections. Though you’re far from comfortable, the initial fear subsides, allowing them full access to you.

“Good girl kitty, good girl.” Shouta whispers as he nips at your thighs, sucking little red marks into your skin. He hooks your legs over Hizashi’s, and the blonde’s fingers dip down to tease your folds, barely breaching your little hole and making you buck for more friction. A soft moan slips from your lips as he pushes two long fingers into your soaked pussy.

You rock your hips into his hand, his palm barely brushing against your clit making you mewl. Shouta focuses his attention on your breasts and belly where Hizashi left bare, kneading and kissing and licking, leaving blooming marks all over your skin. Soon you feel a knot form in your stomach, tightening and burning impossibly hot. Hizashi feels your pussy clenching around his fingers and quickens his pace, grinding his palm down against your clit hard and curling his fingers to hit that spot that has you seeing stars.

When the knot snaps you’re falling apart on Hizashi’s lap, back arched and legs shaking. You throw your head back against his shoulder and cry out, pleasure racking your body in intense waves. Hizashi keeps moving his fingers inside you, letting you ride out your high, legs trembling and toes curling with the continued stimulation.

After your release you relax back down, chest heaving with every breath. Hizashi lifts you up and lays you down on the bed, Shouta crawling up over you and kissing you sweetly. He grabs your legs and wraps them around his waist, lining up his painfully hard erection with your throbbing pussy.

“Are you ready for me kitty?” You look up at him through your lashes and nod fervently, needing him desperately despite the sensitivity. He tugs at your collar gently.

“Use your words kitty cat. Are you ready for me?” Your eyes widen slightly and you answer without any real thought.

“Yes Daddy.” Shouta growls at the name and swears under his breath, thrusting his hips forward and bottoming out all at once. The air is punched from your lungs, the stretch around his thick length almost enough to make you cum a second time. Shouta leans down and kisses at the bruises Hizashi had left on your neck, giving you some time to adjust. It only takes a few moments for your walls to stop clamping down on him.

“I’m going to move now kitty. Relax for me.” He starts slow, groaning as he watches his length slide in and out of you.

Your warmth feels so good around his cock, and he moves faster, driving his cock so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat. Hizashi lays down next to you and puts two fingers into your mouth, your tongue sliding over them, coating them in your saliva.

He pulls them out and goes to rub your clit, leaning over and placing open mouth kisses along your collarbone, sucking new bruises onto your skin. Your legs quake with the quick building pleasure, your second orgasm creeping up fast. Suddenly both men stop their movements, Shouta pulling your body flush against him and sitting up.

Lithe, cold fingers suddenly dance around your back entrance, toying with your puckered hole. A single finger pushes in and you mewl and squirm at the new sensation. A second finger works its way in, the two digits working to stretch you gently. Soon there’s a third, and when you’re relaxed the fingers are gone and replaced by the thick head of Hizashi’s cock.

“You ready, sweet thing?” You nod and whine, a little weary but ready to be full of the two men. He slowly inches his way inside, shallow thrusts sinking him deeper until his hips are flush with your ass. Both men pepper wet kisses along your shoulders, giving you time to relax, but you don’t need it. You whine, wiggle your hips in an attempt to get them to move, and they oblige.

Their initial pace is slow, letting you feel every ridge and vein as they slip in and out of you. They build up a rhythm, when one is bottomed out the other has only the tip in, and soon you’re drooling from the amount of stimulation you’re getting. Hizashi’s fingers move down to work at your clit, and just the slightest touch has you trembling. The stimulation shoves you over the edge and has you cumming hard around them, your slick dripping down your thighs. They slow their pace slightly, your holes clamping down on them and attempting to milk them dry. Hizashi’s fingers rub your clit harder, overstimulating you.

“Do you have one more for us baby? I know you can cum one more time for us.” You whine, thrashing in their arms trying to simultaneously get away and tug them closer. Tears fall down your cheeks and a familiar tension fills the pit of your stomach and Shouta leans over and bites down on your shoulder. The pain pulls you over, crying out as you clamp down on their lengths hard. Their hips stutter as they chase their own release, and they shoot rope after rope of cum into you as you ride out your own high.

They still their movements, holding you and each other close. After a few moments they pull out together, the movement making you moan and tremble. Your body goes limp and Shouta pulls you to lean against him, stroking your hair and back. You’re sobbing softly into Shouta’s shoulder, your last release washing over your body almost painfully, your bones already beginning to ache. Shouta rubs your back softly and Hizashi peppers soft kisses along your shoulders, both cooing praises in your ears.

Shouta picks you up and the three of you go over to the bathroom, where Hizashi plugs the drain and turns on the tap to fill the large tub with hot water. Shouta climbs in and sits down, still cradling you, and the slowly rising water begins to soothe you. Hizashi pulls out a tube of ointment and rubs it onto Shouta’s back, relieving the scratch marks you left on him. After tending to Shouta he unlocks your collar and sinks into the tub, leaning against you. You let the two massage you and wash you, bringing you back from the intense scene.

“You okay kitten?” Shouta rumbles into your ear, petting your hair. You nod into his shoulder and grab Hizashi’s hand, wanting to be close to the both of them. The hot water and the care of the two bring you back down to earth, and you start to feel fatigue pulling at your consciousness. Hizashi notices you drifting off and takes you from Shouta. He dries you off with a towel and locks your collar back around your neck.

“Sho, I’m going to take her to bed. When you’re ready come join us.” Shouta hums and Hizashi carries you to bed.

You lay with Hizashi and cuddle into his chest, letting him hold you and rock you as you drift off. After a few minutes you feel the bed behind you dip and look up at Shouta with half lidded eyes. He gives you a peck on the lips before nuzzling against your back. With a long, soft sigh you melt into their arms, content with the new life you’d been brought into.

[dourpeep]

WAIT. I'm losing my mind over that friends to lovers post you reblogged. All I can think about is college Albedo + mutual pining, romantic tension, and friends to lovers OTL

- Leaving little post it notes in his bag or inside the cover of his textbook to tell him to have a nice day or remind him to take care of himself because you know he has a tendency to work too hard sometimes!! And what if he meets up with Sucrose and Timaeus because they like to catch up and sometimes discuss their research or homework, and they see Albedo hiding a grin behind his books and think that he's solved a particularly difficult problem but it's just a cute little note you slipped him when he wasn't looking

- You stay up studying for exams with Albedo and he dozes off on your shoulder so you sit there afraid to move because you don't want to wake him but you're also dying inside

- The two of you go to the library to work but eventually get distracted so it turns into the two you sitting close together on a couch and reading each other sections from your favourite books

- I can also see him as someone who rambles about labs or new research he's absolutely taken by. Weeks later when you mention something he said before, he's a little surprised but you just tell him that you tried your best to understand everything because you know it's important to him and maybe his heart skipped a little

- Going off your headcanons: Albedo looking for little specimens and deciding it could be a fun outing with Klee so she can get some sunshine and you find the two of them in the park. You end up joining them and Albedo's heart softens seeing you and Klee laughing and smiling together!

- I remember this little headcanon you had where he snorts when laughing sometimes and imagine Albedo letting one slip out while he's with you, and Kaeya teasing him later on.

- Eventually, his friends start asking if the two of you are together because of the silent affection and teasing between the two of you. Albedo knows he likes you but he's scared a relationship will ruin everything and you're too important to lose even if it means he never says anything, but little did he know, you have feelings for him too.

Anyway, I hope you have a nice day and week! Sorry about this monster of an ask lmao

NEVER APOLOGIZE FOR ALBEDO

NEVER

Like... there are two characters that I seldom, if ever, turn down and that's my beloved Albedo and beloathed Scaramouche- If you don't want me to shut up about a topic??? Like just utter word vomit???? Bring them up. Bring them up, I dare you--

Okay okay okay okay now lemme just--

oops. 1.4k words. Enjoy your headcanon drabbles, courtesy of me being a hard simp for Albedo--

College au Albedo is pretty close to how he normally is! Brilliant, though having difficulties with making friends and keeping said friends, getting carried away with experiments (did you know if you're on good enough terms with the professors, they'll vouch for you so you can use the lab when there aren't classes using them?? Yeah)...so the friendship that you have with him is certainly the closest one he has.

It'd be the kind where you knock on his dorm or apartment door at 11:45pm with some takeout and your textbooks and he'll let you in without a second thought. You slip inside and settle on the floor next to the coffee table cross-legged, setting the food out as if you don't live a good walk away. He wasn't going to sleep any time soon anyway.

Like the kind of friendship where your hand instinctively slips into his to tug him towards something cool you found or to the café where you tend to go after classes.

Even after you get to your destination, you don't let go.

Now that that has been established--the little notes you slip into his bag or on his books really began as a little reminder. Despite his keen intellect, Albedo tends to easily forget things because his mind is always going onto the next thing. So, being the great friend you are, would just slip a note to remind him to take breaks, eat a snack, or that you're supposed to go and meet Sucrose and Timaeus after class to prep for the upcoming exams.

Neither of you really know when they began to turn into doodles or 'seemingly platonic declarations of adoration'. It's normal for friends to write a heart besides "Don't forget I love you!", right? Yeah.

The smile that makes it's way on Albedo's face is unmistakable the moment that Sucrose accidentally stumbles upon a sticky note carefully tucked in one of his notebooks.

-

Speaking of Albedo and his tendencies to get carried away with stuff, he often functions on...minimal sleep.

Those nights that you pop up at his place to study or just hang out, he often ends up dozing off, glasses sliding uncomfortably down the bridge of his nose and hair tousled out of it's usual style.

You never plan to stay the night (though even when he's awake he insists you do because it's not as safe at night to make the commute home), but you can't just disturb his sleep when it's the first time in a while that he's probably gone without taking a capsule or two of melatonin to help himself back into some semblance of a sleep schedule.

It's these moments that you remember just how soft his hair is and just how nice his shampoo smells.

Also that he's a cuddler.

You awake in the morning, back aching and eyes squinting against the sudden brightness of the world around you and limbs tangled with your best friend. He's unbothered because his face is half-shoved against the crook of your neck.

-

With the library, you often find yourselves in a little game. There's so much to learn and so, so many topics through the old vanilla-scent found between pages!!

So trips to the library end up with the two of you digging and sifting to find a topic you've never heard of, sit and read for 15 minutes, then proceed to explain said topic the best you can (without looking!!). It almost always ends up with a few chuckles from Albedo as you fumble explaining (and half-making up) information and Albedo's (unfairly) great short-term memory winning out.

Speaking of...between actually studying and your little topic games, Albedo turns to you to bounce off his current observations and ideas. Sucrose and Timaeus, though both in similar majors as Albedo, are busy with their own projects and research to the point that they don't really have the time to help with stuff as extensive as his research.

Annnnd, naturally, since you don't have anything better to do and are almost always by his side, you play that part!

You listen intently no matter how dense the subject may be and no matter if you do or do not have the background knowledge.

When you ask him to explain something you don't quite understand, he can't help but blink in surprise because you were listening??? And wanted to really understand? You prove time and time again (even days, weeks later) that you listened to every word that tumbled out during his rambles.

And of course you do! Albedo's one of the most important people to you, so it's only natural that you want to show interest in his interests.

Also it's pretty cool to find out those random bits of trivia (like lobsters and their repairable telomeres-).

--

Klee!!!

Oh man, the first time that you met Klee was a pretty hectic day for Albedo. Due to his Aunt Alice's incredibly busy schedule, he tends to care for Klee on days that he doesn't have class.

However, that particular day he just barely finished class before he had to go and pick her up from school.

With you in tow, that is.

Immediately, the little girl brightens up at your presence, no doubt excited from what she's heard about you (listening in to Albedo's conversations with Alice and the embarrassed tone in his voice when he realizes that he's let your name slipped again and now Aunt Alice wants to know about this particular friend who's captured dear little Bedo's attentions). He's relieved when Klee doesn't immediately reveal that.

From then on, Klee insists that Albedo invites you for every outing they have.

The cafe for a quick treat? The bookstore to sit and read a few books?

"Oh, please please please?? Can they come Albedo? Klee promises that she'll be good!"

Who is he to say no?

But above all, those park days are his favorite. You end up running around with Klee, lifting her up so she can reach a particular leaf on a branch, squatting down to see a bug or lizard that she's entirely enthralled by--all while Albedo sits under the shade of a tree on a blanket, sketchbook and pencil in hand.

You don't know it (even though there's many occasions where he's shown you his sketchbook), but the pages are filled with your smile.

-

Around you, Albedo's found that he's most comfortable.

There's no need to hide insecurities or hold his tongue when something particularly exciting comes to mind...nor does he hold back in his laughter. Especially with your insistence that his laugh is cute.

That scenario with Kaeya is entirely an accident, proof of just how used to your presence he's become.

It's a late night and you're out with a bigger group of friends than usual, some friends that Albedo's only known since the start of college, but definitely good ones.

With a drink in your hand you all sit at a large table, chatting about anything and everything when you crack a joke and Albedo snorts.

Not like a snort with his normally quiet chuckle, either.

Instead, he's laughing hard, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes and stomach hurting (and maybe it's because of the few sips of drink he's had) and he snorts. The moment the sound escapes him and he's trying hard to calm back down, Kaeya grins.

He's most definitely one of the first people to put two and two together.

After all, Albedo keeps to himself, even around them. But with you around? There's a certain spark of life that ignites.

-

It's no surprise that the two of you are close when all is said and done.

But that doesn't stop either of you from choking and cheeks from flushing when someone asks if you're a couple. It happens often--too often to count--and ranges between Kaeya's teasing comments and a few sweet words from an elderly woman passing by your table at the cafe.

And you laugh--you and Albedo--because no, no, you're just friends.

Right?

Then the light hits your features just right, illuminating you in a soft glow that makes your eyes shine and--

It's undeniable the way that he feels for you. The sudden quickening of his heartbeat is proof enough. You slide your drink towards him for him to try and he does the same, eyes unable to leave your lips as you take a sip and then smile.

Between the cracks of his appreciation, of this warmth, dread seeps.

Though...that was just over a week ago.

Sitting down back at his apartment, your head resting on his chest and your hands intertwined while you watch whatever's on tv, you shift. Your lips meet in a sweet kiss.

And Albedo wonders how neither of you managed to see it sooner.