spicymochi

[janeyseymour]

She Didn't, But Melissa Did- part 2

Save Me Before I Lose Myself- Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Part 8. Part 9.

She Didn't, But Melissa Did- Part 1.

Summary: Melissa has always shown up for you, from the start, in ways Millie knows Carrie could never.

WC: ~3k

——

For as much as Melissa did wonders with my momma, that’s only the beginning. What Carrie didn’t do for me, Melissa did that and so much more.

——

“I didn’t do much for you, kid,” the redhead looks to your daughter with a look. “You’re giving me too much credit.”

“You haven’t even started reading,” Millie points out. “Stop talking and just read.”

“When did you get so bossy?” Melissa rolls her eyes playfully.

“Being a mother to a hard headed four year old will do that to you,” your daughter quips.

——

Growing up and adjusting to this new life was an easy transition. I had already lived with Melissa for a months at this point, and that was like a whole lifetime at my young age. The woman that would eventually become my step-mother, and then my mother, showed up for me in the biggest ways, but also in the smallest ways- ways I didn’t even realize she could.  A few months into my momma being with Melissa, Momma signed me up for gymnastics class for the first time. I was beyond nervous. But Momma assured me that it would all be fine- it would be good for me. Melissa showed up to the first practice, running into the gymnasium viewing room, after a meeting at her job. My eyes lit up as soon as I saw the red ponytail make its way in. She didn’t have to be there for me, but she was.  Carrie wouldn’t have shown up to my first gymnastics class. She probably wouldn’t have even known Momma signed me up until the money came out of the account despite my mother definitely telling her about it. And because Carrie would have only seen the money come out, she would’ve flipped. But Melissa did. Melissa came to every class from that day on. She bought me more leotards and scrunchies than a girl could need. Melissa showed up to every showcase, every meet- cheering me and my teammates on with the same levels of enthusiasm as any other parent. Thinking back on it, it was probably more than what the other parents did- I could pick her voice out among the crowd every time. My Melly was always the loudest one there, cheering as loudly as she could. Carrie would’ve never, but Melissa did. No matter what I did, my Melly was always there. 

——

“I’m here!” Melissa came sprinting into the gym. “I’m here!”

“Hun, you didn’t have to rush here,” you chuckled as she settled in next to you, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead. It was clear she had pretty much run here. “Mill would’ve told you all about it when we got home.”

“And miss her first gymnastics practice?” Melissa scoffed. “Over my dead body, Y/N.”

Millie caught side of the red hair, and her eyes lit up. The slightly nervous body language turned into the bright little girl that you were used to seeing. Her wave was enthusiastic as ever.

When the practice was over, Millie came running out. When you had expected her to come running into your arms with giggles, showing off the stamps on her hands that her teacher had given her, she went right to Melissa- practically tackling her.

“You came!” your daughter squealed.

Melissa hugged your daughter with the same enthusiasm. “Of course I did, Mill! Did you really think I would miss this?”

It was Millie’s first meet- the first time she would ever stand in front of a judge and do her routines. Melissa and you were sitting in the stands as you watched her warm up. Your heart was racing, but you tried to appear calm. The redhead was decked out in team gear and taking pictures of almost every move your little girl was making.

“Mel,” you chuckled softly.

“What?!” Your girlfriend scoffed. “If you think I’m not taking pictures and videos through this whole thing, you’re fuckin’ crazy.”

“Melissa,” you scolded her quietly. “We are at a children’s gymnastics competition. Watch your mouth please. I don’t want to get kicked out of the first one.”

“If you think I’m not taking pictures and videos through this whole thing, you’re freakin’ crazy. Better?”

“I’ll take what I can get,” you rolled your eyes as you pecked her cheek.

You were a nervous wreck any time that your daughter was on any of the apparatuses. Melissa was all grins, and she was so proud to announce that Millie was her girlfriend’s daughter whenever she’s finished. Millie ended up winning, standing on the top platform of the podium with medals around her neck, a trophy in her hand, and a dazzling smile on her face. She made eye contact with you, and then with Melissa. 

When your daughter was finally allowed to make her way over to you, she came barreling into your arms. It was warm, and it was perfect. And then she was in your girlfriend’s arms, and Melissa told her how proud she was of her- how she was a great athlete, but more importantly she was a great sport to her teammates and the other competitors.

“You should be so proud of yourself,” Melissa had whispered to your little girl, doting a few kisses to the top of her head.

“I am,” Millie replied. “But I’m hungry. Can we go home?”

“Yeah, baby,” you chuckled. “Why don’t we grab some food on the way back?”

Your little girl shrugged. “I’d rather have Melly’s cooking.”

For the rest of your daughter’s gymnastics career, it became tradition for the three of you to go home and enjoy some of the redhead’s cooking.

——

“Those were… I do not miss almost having a heart attack every competition,” you chuckle softly. 

“You’re so dramatic, Momma,” Millie tells you. “I was perfectly fine. Never even got hurt.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you protest. “You just wait ’til Hadley starts doing more than cartwheels and forward rolls, and then come talk to me.”

“Would you quit talking?” your wife groans. “I wanna keep reading about how great I am,” she adds in a singsong voice.

You roll your eyes, but you lean into her touch again and begin to read the next page. 

——

When I was ten, I was hellbent on getting a pet. Carrie never fathomed the idea of having a pet in our house, but Melissa was open to it because I wanted one. She didn’t necessarily want one, claimed that she would be the one to have to take care of it in the end.  Momma wasn’t too keen on the idea either. Still, on a day where Melly and I had off school and Momma was at work, Melissa took me down to the pet store. We left hand in hand giggling about the fact that we had just bought a guinea pig that we both absolutely fell in love with. Momma wasn’t too happy to see that we had gone behind her back and adopted an animal without talking to her first, but when she saw how excited we were, she couldn’t resist.  Melissa and I adored Sweet Cheeks (yes, that was my guinea pig’s name). We spent hours building him a hut from popsicle sticks, laughing until we were red in the face when I accidentally glued my fingers together. We used to practice my reading with him. Having him in either one of our arms at any given time was the usual.  Carrie would’ve never. She would’ve called that thing a rat- would’ve insisted that we get rid of it had Momma and I brought Sweet Cheeks into the house. But Melissa did.

——

“We had that thing for years,” you mumble. “I swear, the two of you were more excited to see Sweet Cheeks than you were me.”

“Could you blame us?” Millie giggles as she leans over her daughter to kiss your cheek.

You gasp, affronted. “Amelia!”

“Had’s the same way with our dog,” Noah promises you. “Don’t take it personally.”

——

When I was eleven, my momma and Melissa got engaged. She even asked me, a silly little eleven year old, for my blessing. And while we had planned how she would propose, Melly blew it the night we got the ring at dinner. Still, it was the perfect proposal.

——

“Millie!” Melissa knocked on your daughter’s bedroom door gently as she pushed it open. “Can we talk?”

“Am I in trouble?”

“No,” the redhead chuckled. “Why do you always think you’re in trouble when you don’t do nothin’ wrong?”

Millie shrugged. “What’s up?”

“I have a serious question for you,” Melissa sighed as she sat on the bed. “You know… your momma and I have been dating for a little bit now.”

“Yeah?”

“And I was wondering… if you wouldn’t mind if I asked her to marry me?”

Millie’s froze for a few seconds before all but launching herself at your girlfriend. “Really?”

“Really,” Melissa smiled. “I- I love your momma, and I love you, and I- I think it’s time we make it official.”

“Ask her. Do it. She’ll say yes.”

It was a week later that Melissa took Millie out for a girls day over the weekend. You were not invited- they were ring shopping.

Three stores and eight thousand dollars later, your girlfriend and daughter came home from their day out. You were settled in on the couch, a book in your hands.

Upon hearing the front door open, you closed your book and prepared for Millie to come flying in. She did exactly that, tackling you in a hug.

“Did you two have a good girls day?” you chuckled.

Melissa nodded as she made her way over to you, leaning down to kiss you softly. “Kid had the time of her life at the arcade.” A lie, but you fell for it- the redhead would take your daughter to an arcade.

“Good. I’m glad.”

“Well, I’m going to start dinner,” Melissa told you. “I hope you’ll join me.”

The three of you made dinner together in the same warmth that you always did- always light, always full of laughter and joy.

But then you sat for your meal, and the redhead began to squirm in her seat. The thought of not being engaged to you was driving her crazy, and the ring box felt like it was burning a hole in her pocket.

“You okay?” you furrowed your brows, concerned for your girlfriend.

The redhead bit her lip, mumbled a soft apology to your daughter, and then dropped to one knee right then and there.

“Melissa, what are you doing?” you gasped, not quite catching on yet. “Did you just- are you okay?”

The teacher pulled the ring box out of her pocket, opened it, and took a deep breath. “Y/N, I was gonna wait to do this at dinner tomorrow with Barb and Ger here, but I- I can’t wait.”

“Melissa,” you whispered, and your eyes began to cloud with tears.

“Y/N,” your girlfriend started. “I am so… deeply in love with you, in love with the family we forged, in love with the life we live. I don’t ever want to lose it, you, or Millie. Will you marry me?”

——

“I still can’t believe you couldn’t hold out one more day,” Millie quips. “I mean, how hard would it have been to wait another twenty four hours?”

“Hey,” your son in-law interjects. “I was the same way with proposing to you, and you loved it.”

“Because that’s us… this is my parents we’re talking about.”

“We never did anythin’ conventional; why would our proposal have been?” your wife teases.

——

When I was twelve, they got married. I still never thought I would call Melissa ‘Mom’. She would just always be my Melly. When I was also twelve, Melly asked me if she could adopt me as her own. As a child who grew up with a mother who hadn’t ever wanted her, to know that someone loved you so much to want to be able to claim you as their own… it’s an overwhelming feeling. I of course accepted her proposition, but I also made her very aware of the fact that I would probably never call her ‘Mom’. I thought that maybe with my insistence that I would never call her mom, despite the legal title she would now hold, she would turn on me. She never did. She was still Melly- always there for me in any way she could be.

——

“I can’t believe you ever thought I would turn on you,” Melissa nudges your daughter. “As if I hadn’t already thought of you as my daughter and had for years at that point.”

“I was twelve, Ma,” Millie reminds your wife. “I was vulnerable.”

——

When I was a freshman in high school, Melly was there for me. For God’s sake, she put together my bouquet. Momma helped, but Melly really outdid herself. And when we all were lining up for pictures at the house, there was Melly, front and center, acting like the paparazzi. Carrie would've never let my friends step foot into our house. But Melissa did- she encouraged them to come over because she knew it would make me happy. When I was fifteen, she caught me sneaking back into the house. She was absolutely furious- and she should’ve been. But where my biological mother, had she still been in my life, probably would’ve whooped my stupid ass, Melly pulled me into a tight hug, looked up to the ceiling, and thanked God that I was safe. When I was sixteen, I had my first heartbreak. Carrie would’ve told me I was lucky to have love in the first place- that I was an unlovable, spoiled brat. She told Momma that nobody would ever love her except her, because Momma was a broken woman. And Momma, for as wonderful as she is, had a hard time dealing with it. It absolutely shattered her soul to see me so broken. Momma did what she could to be there for me, but ultimately, I knew this was an issue I would go to Melly over- seeing my momma so upset was heartbreaking for me. But Melissa, she was there for me. She laid in bed with me, held me while I cried, watched terrible romance movies with me, had Ben and Jerry’s lining the freezer. That was the first time I ever called her by a title other than ‘Melissa’ or ‘Melly’. In that moment, she was ‘Ma’- a title that would become her own.

——

“Mill,” Melissa whispered upon seeing your daughter with red, swollen eyes and curled up in a mess of blankets.

“I’m fine, Melly,” Millie grumbled, not bothering to look at her mother.

Your wife just gave her a pointed look. “Mills, it’s just me. Momma is… sitting outside on the porch right now.”

The blonde bit her lip and finally glanced over to the redhead. “I- I can’t believe he cheated on me.”

“Kiddo, you just say the word, and I’ll have my-”

“I don’t need your cousin beating up my ex.”

“Then what do you need?”

Millie sighed a heavy sigh. “To be told that this sucks, and to cry. Maybe ice cream.”

“Oh sweetheart, I’m way ahead of you. Should I get Sweet Cheeks to sit with us?” Melissa offered as she turned towards the hall.

“Yeah.”

The teacher just gave a sad smile before heading out to where you were sitting on the front porch.

“Hey,” you say quietly. “How’s Mill?”

“I’m gonna be in with her and Sweet Cheeks for a while,” Melissa relayed. “You gonna be okay on your own for tonight?”

You glanced up and looked into those green eyes you had grown so fond of. “Yeah.”

“Okay, honey. I believe you.” She made her way further out onto the porch, just enough to cup your cheek gently in her hand. She pressed a sweet kiss to your lips before wiping away a tear with the pad of her thumb. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whispered. “Thank you for being there for Mill when I can’t.”

The redhead gave you a knowing nod. “She understands this is hard for you- especially with the cheating and your past.”

Then, she was off to the kitchen, grabbing a pint of ice cream and two spoons before heading for the beloved pet of the family and back to your daughter.

Hours later, Sweet Cheeks having been put back in his cage after the first movie, Millie and Melissa sat together in silence as yet another movie droned on.

“Thank you,” Millie whispered softly as she tightened her hold on your wife.

The teacher just dropped a kiss to her forehead. “You know I’m always here for you, Mills.”

“I know,” your daughter breathed out quietly as she rested her head on Melissa’s shoulder. “Thanks. I love you, Ma.”

——

“You know, you callin’ me ‘Ma’ for the first time? It was the best moment of my life.” Melissa’s eyes go soft. “I wish it had been a better circumstance, but… wow.”

“That was the best moment of your life?” you raise a brow. “Not, you know… marrying me?”

“Babe, you know being called ‘Ma’ was the best feeling for me.”

“You know if you never married me, you would never have been given that title in the first place,” you point out, pushing her hand off your leg.

Your wife just shrugs, a twinkle in her eye.

“Melissa Ann,” you pretend to scold gently.

“I love you,” she promises you as she pulls you in for a gentle kiss. Then she turns her head in the direction of the kitchen. “I gotta check on the chili. Give me five minutes, but then I’m sure there’s more than this?”

Millie just chuckles and pulls more papers from her bag. “Go, Ma. It’ll be here when you’re ready.”

Your wife pulls Hadley from your lap and settles her on her hip before heading into the kitchen.

All you can do is look at your daughter with a proud smile.

“Mill, this is… fantastic writing. One of my favorite pieces that you’ve done.”

“Ma deserves to know that she’s somethin’ special.”

——

TAGS:  (and let me know if you want to be included!): @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @sweetcheeksschemmenti @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @dopenightmaretyphoon @emeraldoceansstuff @shinyfaerielights  @blkmxrvel @marvelwomenrule @sarahjohannson

[sgiandubh]

... oh, and Moo...

Sorry to come back to this topic: you are not worth my attention and I had a very busy evening. But I was so disgusted by your gratuitous hatred thrown at an almost random person, that I realized I forgot something important.

@bat-cat-reader, an absolutely spectacular friend, whose integrity and honesty I never questioned, does not need a lawyer. However, for the sake of fairness, here is what I forgot to tell you:

No matter what your feelings might now be towards someone who once showed you kindness and trust, there is no excuse for calling that person 'a whore'. I can be a 'bitch and a stupid whore', all the way: cynically speaking, it's almost understandable. You hate me? Fine. I don't - I simply despise you: I would have to know you, in order to hate you. Not the case.

Many people in here remember how you once were one of the most obsessive investigators on this side of the fence. How you explained that your long 'experience' in the Friends Spanish fandom can help. I can only imagine you were sending this same kind of Anon to people whom you currently call your.. oh, well.. your friends (pun totally intended)?

Since your instantaneous turncoat moment, you have repeatedly stated you have now 'seen the light', maybe in an attempt to bury this dirty little secret of yours and further ingratiate yourself to them. To do so, you never hesitated to criticize the fact that your former friends have poor English, something that is immature, tasteless and spineless. So let me tell you, Moo: despite what you might like to think of yourself and your bajillion evening classes proficiency certificates, your English sucks big time. It almost sounds as if Barbara Cartland had a child with 50 Cents, that rapper.

Anyways, look at you, now: it must be very hard to lick the very spot you spat on, as we say in Romanian (I think it's clear enough what I mean). The day you realize that you are probably nothing more than those people's pet troll will probably be the day you set yourself free and start to live your life, Moo.

[loveanddeepspacefanfic]

Sylus: living with you

Sylus x reader

🔞🔥🔥🔥🌸🌸

Sylus is like a brother! Synopsis:

He and his mom moved into your house. Your dad married his mom, so now you’re all living together, like it or not.

He’s old enough to be an adult but still stuck repeating his senior year of high school.

You’re in your second year of college and laser-focused on it, leaving boyfriends, parties—everything—aside.

He’s the opposite, always skipping class, coming home drunk. Most nights, you find him throwing up in the bathroom after some party.

In some ways, you hate him. Living with a guy like this—reckless, cynical, and a complete womanizer—is something you can barely stand.

***

One rainy day, your bus doesn’t show up. Your dad’s car is still in the shop, and there you are, sitting in the living room, desperately trying to call someone for a ride, but the cell signal is down. Missing class isn’t an option.

Sylus walks in from school; he has afternoon classes and usually gets home just after dark. He sees you, holding his helmet in hand, since he just got back on his motorcycle.

The room is dimly lit, with both your parents cozy in their bedroom, watching Netflix and enjoying the chilly weather.

—What’s up, sis? Something wrong? —Don’t call me sis! Stop being a jerk. My bus didn’t show, and I need to get to campus — you say, eyes fixed on your phone screen. —With that pout, I thought maybe you had a fight with your boyfriend. Oh wait, you don’t date, right? Annoying little nerd. —Shut up! If you’re not going to help, just leave me alone!

You move to the window, checking if the rain has let up, mainly to avoid looking at him. Sylus heads to the kitchen, pours himself a drink, and takes a sip with a smirk, setting the glass down on the table with a little thud.

He swings by his room, grabs another helmet, hesitates for a moment, and decides to approach you again.

—I’ll take you. Grab your stuff. —And who said I want to go with you? —It’s that or suffering in the rain. —I don’t need you! — you shout.

Fuming, you grab your bag, stuff it into a plastic bag, and storm out. Just before stepping through the door, you turn and yell:

—I’d rather walk in the rain than go with you!

Behind the door, Sylus swallows hard. He knew you were bold, but he didn’t think you’d actually go through with it.

You step into the rain, walking quickly, knowing there’s a chance that jerk might try to follow. Gritting your teeth, you hold back tears. The fury you feel at having him in your home, along with his mom, is overwhelming.

His cologne lingering in every room, his clothes and socks scattered everywhere, and his alcoholic mother trying to meddle in your private life—it’s enough to drive anyone mad.

Suddenly, you hear the rumble of his motorcycle. You pick up the pace, practically running. The headlights draw near as Sylus revs his engine and cuts in front of you.

You freeze to avoid getting hurt, your clothes and hair already soaked from the rain. Water pools on the asphalt, making your feet shiver with cold.

���Stop acting so stubborn and get on the motorcycle! Now! — he yells through the downpour.

—I don’t need you!— you shout back.

Sylus, losing his patience, gets off the motorcycle and picks you up with an unsettling ease, setting you firmly onto the seat. Startled, you adjust yourself, realizing how drenched you are.

— I’m taking you to that damn college. —No, I won’t go! I can’t sit through class completely soaked. —Then what do you want? Head home? The rain’s getting worse, so make up your mind already.

You hesitate, dreading the idea of your dad seeing the two of you arriving together. In your mind, Sylus is exactly the wrong kind of company. You’d promised your dad you’d keep your distance from him. Left with few options, you try to think fast.

—Just take me anywhere. You’re always skipping class-don’t you know somewhere decent where I can wait until it’s time for my classes? I don’t want my dad knowing I missed class. —Geez, so many conditions! Fine, just shut up and hold on!— he says, handing you a helmet.

You put on the helmet and try gripping the motorcycle’s side handle. But at the first speed bump, you instinctively reach for him, afraid of falling. Without meaning to, you place a hand on his chest, feeling his defined build and his heartbeat, which is racing.

He seemed tense, different. The feeling of his chest under your hand makes you swallow hard. You manage to pull your hand away, finally distancing yourself.

Sylus suddenly takes a sharp turn down a dark street. You know he’s into some questionable things, and it’s hard to imagine anything good coming from this.

But he surprises you. He parks in front of a small wooden cabin. It’s at the beginning of the road leading to the hills, a popular spot for tourists this time of year.

—What is this place? Some run-down shack?— you say, taking off your helmet and stepping off the motorcycle. —No! Believe it or not, it’s an Airbnb. I rented it earlier. It’s Friday, so I booked it for the weekend with some friends. —This is the kind of dump you hide out in on weekends with those lowlifes? —That’s none of your business, sis. —Don’t call me that!— you yell, raising a hand toward him.

Sylus catches your wrist mid-air, and the two of you lock eyes. He growls for you to get inside. For the first time, you decide to go along with it and step into the cabin.

Inside, you see it’s actually a cozy loft. The rustic decor gives it a warm, comfortable vibe—a hidden paradise behind the look of an abandoned wooden house.

—See? Not bad inside. From the outside, sure, it looks abandoned, but it’s cozy, clean, and the soft lighting’s just perfect.

You look at him in surprise. You’d never heard him string together so many coherent words before.

—You can go now. I’ll call you when it’s about time for me to finish class. —Your phone doesn’t have any signal. Remember? —Oh, right. Then come back around 10 p.m. You can go now. —You want to be alone by the highway? People will notice someone’s here because of the light. —When did you get so sensible? —Just don’t want to be blamed if something happens to you,—he says, mockingly.

You realize you might already be with the most reckless guy in town. Sylus has always been known to hang around with the worst guys. You swallow hard, suddenly aware you’re in a cabin in the middle of the woods with a guy nearly six and a half feet tall.

You sit on the bed, hugging your bag, unable to hide your discomfort. He notices your unease, snatches the bag from your hands, and tosses it onto a small table.

He pulls up a wooden stool and sits, facing the fireplace. The chill is settling in, so he starts a fire with surprising ease.

Silence hangs in the air for a long moment before he clears his throat. Still with his back to you, arms crossed, he begins to speak.

—Even though you hate having me around, I’ll take this chance to tell you some things. —If it’s to say something stupid, don’t bother. —I was against it— he says in a rough, intense voice. You huddle on the bed, deciding to listen. —I was against the marriage. But my mom was head over heels for your dad. I get that it must be hard, having two strangers in your house. —You don’t understand— you murmur.

Surprised, Sylus turns, glancing back at you. He sees that you’re far more hurt than he’d imagined.

—I understand more than I’d like to—he insists.

You realize you never really knew Sylus’s full story, so you take a chance, trying to start a conversation.

—How long have your parents been separated?

—My parents didn’t separate— he says, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

You feel a jolt of discomfort but can’t bring yourself to ask anything further.

—My dad died when I was a kid. —I didn’t remember that. I’m sorry— you whisper.

—That’s not the point. The point is, my mom remarried almost right away—to a jerk. And I hated seeing that guy in my dad’s house— Sylus says, a deep bitterness surfacing.

—Sylus, please... I don’t want to dig into that. You’re getting upset!

Sylus tosses a few sticks onto the fire, taking a deep breath before looking back at you.

—Don’t worry. One night he drank too much and tried to hit my mom. I defended her, and he ended up falling down the stairs. Got what he deserved, you know?

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of each new detail he reveals. Despite everything, you’re starting to understand a bit more about what shaped his personality. For all his wild ways, he truly does protect his mom.

—There’s no need to be scared.

—How could I not be? You always seem involved with strange stuff. Your mom’s always getting called to school. Your friends are the worst. And now… you’re basically confessing you had a hand in your stepdad’s death.

—It was an accident, annoying little nerd. —This time just won’t pass… We hate each other.— you say, almost to yourself.

Sylus glances at you and, for a moment, considers how you’d react if you knew he’d slashed the bus tires so it wouldn’t pick you up for college. That he’d rented the cabin with the plan to bring you here. What would you do if you knew it was all intentional?

—Why are you smiling? —Doesn't it cross your mind that I might like you?

A jolt runs through you. Deep down, you’d suspected this conversation would come up eventually.

It was obvious from the way he’d sometimes look at you out of the corner of his eye. It was more than clear that he wandered around the house in a towel on purpose, or wore so much cologne just to get your attention. And it was obvious he hadn’t accidentally opened the bathroom door while you were in the shower.

That look wasn’t accidental. Nor was his tone when he teased you. The truth was, it was all very obvious, but you fought not to see it—because he was the last person you’d choose. The worst possible option.

Sylus steps closer and touches your face softly. He lifts your chin, tracing his thumb over your lips. You turn your head abruptly, avoiding his gaze.

—Are you ignoring me?— he whispers. — ...

Sylus takes your hand and slides it under his shirt, forcing you to stand in front of him. Shocked, you try to pull your hand back, but he grips your wrist, making you feel his rapid heartbeat. You close your eyes and grit your teeth, holding back any reaction.

—That night you took care of me when I was drunk… I wasn’t entirely out of it. You felt my heartbeat. You looked after me so our parents wouldn’t wake up. —What is this, Sylus?— you say, your voice trembling. —I think… something good came alive in me that night.— he confesses— My heart hasn’t beat the same since.

You swallow hard, trying once more to pull away, but this time he pulls you into a hug. The warmth of his body brings you an indescribable feeling of comfort. Slowly, you place your hands on his back, shyly returning the embrace.

—Stay with me. —Are you crazy? —I’ve always been— he whispers, his voice low and rough.

Sylus slides his hand through your hair, tilting your head back gently.

He kisses you intensely, and you can’t resist as his tongue meets yours.

With surprising ease, he lays you down on the bed, kissing you all the while as he slips off his black jacket, tossing it aside.

You try to push him away, but there’s no strength behind it. You want him—you want that scent of his on every inch of your skin. He trails kisses down your neck, whispering random words between them.

You murmur, half-heartedly trying to stop him, but he’s lost to the desire to have you.

He sheds his shirt in one swift motion, pulling yours off as well. Sylus leaves a trail of kisses over the exposed skin of your chest.

Before long, he removes your bra, pressing you against his chest, savoring the sensation.

He presses his body against yours, making you gasp into his mouth.

You feel his desire against your stomach, realizing there’s no turning back.

Your hands slide over his chest, helping him undo his belt.

With a hungry movement, Sylus lets his hand slip down, feeling just how ready you are for him. He growls against your ear, seeking your gaze for approval, desperate to end the torment.

You nod, and he enters you, filling you completely. His size makes you moan against his lips with each thrust.

Sylus alternates between slow, deep movements, bringing you both to a climax like two people starved for each other.

Sweat drips down his face as he bites your lower lip, savoring your last moans before collapsing beside you.

You both lie there, breathless, wrapped in each other’s arms. He kisses your forehead, whispering in your ear, his voice still rough:

—This isn’t a fairy tale… but if love exists, I think it must feel a lot like this.

[feministdragon]

A boy in my class groused that he was the only boy. “What does it matter?” I asked. “We’re all people here.” “It’s hard to explain,” he said. “I’m sure it is!” I said, thinking that it doesn’t feel very polite to tell people to their faces that they’re inferior beings. He was quiet for awhile, and then said it again. “Why am I the only boy? I don’t like it.” “Why does it matter?” I asked again. “Because they’re better than me,” he said. “Oh, so girls are not supposed to be better than boys?” I asked. “It’s complicated! It’s hard to explain,” he said. “Is it hard to explain that you think that only boys are real people, and girls are not, and so the girls shouldn’t be better at things than the boys?” I asked. “It’s complicated!” he said again. Yeah it is complicated, to explain in front of other beings why you should be thought of as better than they are, when you don’t even know yourself why that should be, only that it should be, because everyone has acted this way your whole life. Later he wrote a sentence in his book. “[boy’s name], a stupid boy, got beaten by a girl at the competition.” I said, “You’re implying that boys are supposed to be better than girls.” He said, “No I’m not, I said he was beaten.” “Yeah, but you also said he was stupid, which implies that he should have actually got the better score, except for that he was stupid.” Later I notice he’d changed the word ‘girl’ to ‘idiot’. I guess it’s a more honest sentence.

A day in the life of a teacher, trying to drag everyone out of the dark ages one fucking conversation at a time. I have a relationship with this student, and I have given him a lot of help with his learning disability over the last two years, so he trusts me, and I trust him, and I have a good relationship with his mom, all of which is why I even risked this conversation.

Normally I would just stop after emphasizing that everyone in the room was a person, deserving of respect. But since we’ve already had an iteration of this conversation several times, and because of the aforementioned good relationships, I pushed it further this time.

Even if this 10 year old boy didn’t learn anything, there were three other 10 year old girls who certainly heard what i was saying, and another older boy in the room, waiting for the next class to start.

I think it’s this kind of tiny conversation that actually does the world-changing work. So I’m always alert for opportunities. Anyways, I thought I’d share this with you all—do with it what you will.

[radfemnotfemme]

been learning about radical feminism in the past year and i have completely reevaluated my beliefs about gender ideology. now im just so stuck on the idea of, how can identifying as another gender not be fundamentally regressive, sexist, and upholding gender norms? how can men just identify out of oppression? but now idk what to do holding these beliefs because truly all my friends would have serious issues with me if i were ever to voice this. in fact, i have close friends who are trans, and there are many trans people in my wider social circle (one of whom specifically made me so uncomfortable in a "female" space that it contributed to me unlearning my previous beliefs abt gender ideology). i attend a super liberal university where in a recent english class my professor even made a comment about jk rowling being an evil terf now.

i feel like i'm walking around with a dirty secret. i feel like i can't discuss these ideas with anyone irl, not even my girlfriend. it would fundamentally change her view of me as she as an incredibly vocal trans ally. i could see her breaking up with me for these beliefs; i could see many friends distancing themselves from me. i'm just wondering how you navigate a social world like this with radfem beliefs ahhhh

i feel you on the “dirty secret” aspect! i can try to give some advice since i’m in a very similar situation (minus the fact i live in a conservative area.)

due to my appearance (i’m visibly gay) i usually only attract TRA & ‘queer’ types to me. my friends are all TRA or some variant of “genderqueer.” i only have one friend ive been able to confide my beliefs to, and she’s more a closet conservative type so we really only agree on trans issues. I will say, if you can find even one person that you can speak freely with it’ll be a huge weight off your chest. Whenever I see this one friend we both just ramble because we can finally talk about shit that we can’t comfortably talk about with anyone else.

the way i’ve gone about managing my friendships with TRAs is to simply never bring up trans (or controversial radfem) topics. i avoid it like the plague, will change topic, and if directly questioned on something i will play the dumb and innocent role, aka just pretending to not understand but intend as coming from a good place. you should evaluate which of your friendships putting up this facade will be worth it, because it gets exhausting fast. i have some trans friends, but they’re all the “genderfluid/nonbinary AFAB who goes by any pronouns” type who present extremely feminine at all times, never even push the boundaries of gender expression honestly which is funny. (literally theyfabs lol) They dont care that i always use she/her and they honestly never bring up gender stuff with me. these type of girls aren’t too bad to be around as i feel they’re not as far gone as some TIPs are who actually take the steps to transition, etc. Being around a hardcore TIF or TIM might be a more difficult friendship to maintain.

Regarding your significant other, you should consider if this is a breaking point in your relationship. For me it’s not since my gf was generally uninformed about trans issues like the dangers of males in womens prisons, unfairness in sports, why oppressed is sex based and not gender based, etc. We’ve had discussions about this, where i explained my reasoning for being against these issues & she actually ended up agreeing after I showed her the facts. She’s still ‘pro-trans’ but is much more reasonable about it & thinks majority trans people just wanna live their life (which who can argue with that!) If this type of open conversation isn’t something you think could be achievable with your gf, you guys might just not be compatible.

It sounds like you live in a very liberal area & so my advice to you would be to see if there’s any radical feminist organizations near you. I think finding other people who think the same as you will help you feel less guilty. It’ll probably be hard since most radfems are secretive about their beliefs (for obvious reasons lol) but i’m sure you’ll find someone eventually.

[televisionenjoyer]

Every time I'm forced to be political on this website I remember the first conscious political choice I made in my entire life. I was around 15, and for spanish class (english class equivalent, for the anglos) we were asked to prepare a debate on abortion rights. Now, me and my friends jointly decided to prepare for debating on the pro-life side, which I did, extensively, not out of genuine passion but by virtue of being a try-hard who always wanted the best grade. But honestly? After some good couple of hours of gathering material the subject was on my mind. I grew more and more hesitant about it, but decided to call it a day and stick to my original decision, after all, you don't have to necessarily agree with the subject you're debating to make a compelling argument, it's mostly about arguing skills.

So the day comes, and my teacher divides the classroom in half: people on the right side would argue against abortion and people on the left side would argue in favor of it. By some divine intervention, perhaps the hand of god himself, my seat ends up around the middle, so my teacher asks me to clarify the stance i was going to take on this debate. I look to my right. All my friends were there. In fact, taking into account that we were a strongly male-majority classroom, turns out all the women were there. I look to the left and it's just a bunch of men. And I was like hell nah, this isn't gonna fly, I can't let a bunch of men fight for the bodily autonomy of women, they're gonna say something stupid. So I choose the pro abortion side. My friends are naturally, utterly betrayed, yet still overly confident.

I'm really nervous, like, what am I doing, am I out of my mind, I'm totally unprepared for this. EXCEPT for the fact that I know all of their arguments. I had unknowingly done some accidental espionage. Also my new debate group are a bunch of idiots, so I join a bit of my own research with some material these guys lend me and I'm straight up illicitly googling shit under the desk, and I'm suddenly shutting down asses left and right, and I'm like, actually convinced of my arguments. The pro life group gets disqualified after a while for being unable to provide a counterargument to something I had said. By the end of the class my teacher reluctantly congratulates me on my performance (she would later on fail a paper of mine on LGBT rights) and my friends say some shit about how it's a really fun exercise to debate against your beliefs and it was really smart on me and I'm like. whatever. because I was fifteen and wasn't going to fight the girls who paint my nails for something like abortion which, at the time this took place, didn't appear feasible in the near future.

TLDR god made a deliberate choice to make me pro abortion

[bicheetopuff]

I think Hori was kind of a genius when he came up witgh "Kacchan" as a concept. I mean why and how did he decide that Izuku would refer Bakugo as Kacchan since the start of the story? A crazy and unhinged idea tbh

As much as I would love to believe that Hori was a genius for that, it’s actually something pretty common amongst children and childhood friends and people with close relationships in general. It’s only a step up from calling someone their first name with an honorific. You’ll see it in other anime’s occasionally being said amongst childhood friends/family members. The same concept is used in the light novels between Macchan and Takkun (two childhood playmates that show up for a chapter and never really show up again) and actually, Ochaco calling Izuku “Deku-kun” isn’t much different.

I know people make jokes about the English equivalent being like someone calling another person “baby” or “pookie” or “snookums” or something, which I’ve always loved, but in reality it’s more like calling your friend Michael “Mikey” or calling your friend Thomas “Tommy” in childhood, and just continuing to call him that as you grow up instead of calling him his actual name. Mike and Sully do the same thing in Monsters inc. (this reminds me that I still need to write that post about the parallels between those two and bkdk ajdbejd)

All of that being said though, I do think it’s kind of unhinged for Hori to decide to have Deku keep the cutesy nickname for him despite their relationship being really bad. It would’ve been one thing if Deku had kind of a petty personality and called him Kacchan to tease or make fun of him kind of like Katsuki did with “Deku,” but that’s not at all the case… he still calls him Kacchan out of childlike adoration. I think that goes to show that Izuku still saw Katsuki’s strengths over his flaws as opposed to the opposite for most other characters. A lot, if not all, of his class were quick to point out how shit his personality was, but Izuku rarely said much about it.

It’s always “yeah he’s kind of a nasty guy, but he’s amazing in every way” or just “he’s amazing.” Even though Izuku was on the other end of Katsuki’s treatment, he would never really like to acknowledge his bad side that much unless he felt like it was needed. I think it’s Izuku trying to keep up the idea of how he saw Katsuki as a kid and didn’t want to ruin that for himself by hating him. He just wanted to be near him and watch him be amazing without much regard of what Katsuki would do to him as a result and I honestly can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing. My minds leaning towards bad cuz of Izuku’s self sacrificial tendencies even in his childhood, resorting to following around the kid who hates having him around because he views him as the friendly neighborhood All Might in the making, but at the same time, I think it’s honorable how forgiving of a person Izuku is to be able to see the good in literally everything when the bad is literally punching you in the face. So basically, “Kacchan” is the hero he sees in Katsuki, making “Kacchan” the name of a hero, which is why it’s important to him that Uraraka helped him reevaluate his own nickname, making “Deku” the name of a hero instead of the useless kid Katsuki trying to view him as. And I think Katsuki had a hard time accepting that, because he’s always seen Deku as a hero and just never wanted to admit it to himself because he also saw him as weak.

Izuku’s a better man than me, cuz if my relationship with my childhood friend turned into that, my new nickname for them would probably be “fucking bitch” for the rest of my life, even if we started to get along again.

But that’s why I think it’s also so important and honestly a lot more meaningful for Katsuki to start calling him “Izuku” again and only calling him Deku when it’s in a heroic context, because it signifies things going back “to normal” between them when it hasn’t been normal since they were literally four years old. “Izuku” is Katsuki accepting him and accepting the fact that he genuinely cares about him. He’s not just some “Deku” anymore and he didn’t feel like it was justifiable to keep pretending like he ever was.

I retract my first statement. You’re right Anon - Hori is definitely a genius for that. He somehow made the way they refer to each other an arc of its own and gave so much meaning to something that a lot of people wouldn’t really care about. And it’s kind of beautiful tbh.

[asexualjedi]

Maybe I can read in the car???!?

I have no clue dog

Should I email about an extension no. Bc like I think I can get the paper done uhhh it will. Well u know I haven’t had a day off since July why start now I’ll just keep hustling.

[ra-vio]

I miss nier. I have to watch the automata anime

[skrunksthatwunk]

household enemy to the yyh watchthrough number one is the olympics. it's taken us a week to get two episodes into the gamemaster fight

[altoskh]

Imso tired man. I'm so tired. Why do I work this hard I am so FUCKING over this shit

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[pantestudines]

having a "former gifted kid" type mental spiral

[pxrxmoore]

out of the depths of fuckin nowhere while running a fever last night my torchwood obsession was re-awakened within me. and also apparently livejournal still exists and people still post there???????

[fridayyy-13th]

i had so many things to do today, but i only wound up doing two. the two simplest things on the list, in fact. putting tabs on my sheet music and writing dates in my planner. no actual homework. (or more accurately, late work.) now a week of three classes' worth of work all has to be done tomorrow, and i already made plans with my friend for that afternoon. it's 1:32 in the morning. what am i doing anymore.

[tonycries]

The Way You Kiss Me - G.S.

Synopsis. The four times Satoru tries really hard not to kiss you - his best friend’s pretty younger sister. And the one time he doesn’t.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! Suguru’s sister! reader, childhood enemies to lovers, PINING Satoru, like really really disgustingly down bad, creampíe, oral (fem receiving), pússytalking, needy JEALOUS! Satoru, running away from it, spítting, punching is Suguru’s love language, mentions of aIcohol, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 7.4k (That’s wild)

A/N. BOO! Surprise upload. This was so fun to write omg.

“You sure this is how the grown-ups get married?”

“Duh, I know everything.”

“Nuh uh, Toru.”

“Yuh uh!”

The first time Gojo Satoru kissed you was underneath that dingy playground slide that the two of you always raced to after elementary school. 

Usually, your older brother, Suguru, would walk home alongside you two - but this time, he’d just so happened to have been held back for throwing paper planes at the teacher that day.

A sign from the universe, Satoru internally celebrated, something he’d learned from those sappy romance novels his mother left lying around the house. No matter that he was the one that made those planes.

You were six back then, standing in front of a determined Satoru - reaching up on his tip-toes, face pink, smelling of those cheap strawberry lollipops he’d sneak into class and taunt you with. At the much older and wiser age of seven, he’d insisted on being the first one to lean in.

Just barely even grazing your dramatically puckered lips before-

Satoru learned two things that fateful afternoon:

Even as a seven-year-old, Suguru’s punches really hurt. 

Never mess with you. Anyone but you. 

Life only seemed to go downhill from there - because that last lesson was proving to be hard along the years. Really. Fucking. Hard.

Little did Satoru know that this would be the start of some strange, unpredictable little dance of push and pull. No, you definitely weren’t his wife. Nor were you exactly best friends - not really, that spot was reserved for your brother. But you didn’t think you could ever be just that either.

And the punch that’d knocked his wobbly tooth out onto the playground floor that day was a painful reminder that whatever that was - whatever weird thoughts he had later in middle school about how you’d tasted like candy - didn’t matter. No matter how part some tucked-away little part of him wanted it to.

Hell, eleven years later and Satoru still can’t walk around that familiar block without feeling slightly queasy. Which is why, after that failed first kiss, he knew there wouldn’t be a second. 

Instead, he settles back to teasing your pouty self, pushing all your buttons, tugging on those cute dresses you wore. Face burning so strangely with- humiliation? when you bickered right back, calling his haircut a “tragic attempt at modern art.”

“So you’re saying I look like art?” A gangly, now-seventeen Satoru blocks the bustling high school hallway, ignoring the bell. Grin only growing at your frustrated huff, he half-jokes, “Aww, if you’re that soft on me, sweetheart, maybe we should go to prom tog-”

You slam your locker, effectively shutting both it and Satoru at the same time. “I’d rather go with Yaga.”

“...you would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would- Sugu–!”

And all Suguru can do is wrap two hands around his neck, mock-choking himself, wondering if it was really too late to embrace a quiet life as a monk. “You’ll both be MLA cited in my farewell note.”

He was used to it, though, forced to watch all this chaos since quickly mending his friendship with Satoru over ice cream the day after the punch. Convinced that this was some punishment for a past life’s misdeed.

With a squawk of protest, Satoru’s turning back to you, eyes crinkling with a hint of mischief you knew too well, “Would not.”

Your face burns, “Would to, Toru.”

You didn’t go with Yaga. but Satoru didn’t exactly count that as a win in his books, either, because you did show up that night hanging off the arm of some jerk from the football team. 

And there you were, all dolled up - which he very objectively noted - way too prettily for some bastard like him. Stars in your eyes, and everything he couldn’t have in that smile. 

Everything. 

Way too gorgeous, even when he finds you sitting outside the gymnasium later on in the night. Too busy bawling your mascara off to even throw out your usual greeting insult his way. Murmuring out wetly about “that asshole” and how he humiliated you by stranding you in the middle of the dance floor for someone else. 

“Well, he was a jerk anyway. Even Yaga would’ve been better, hell, I-” Satoru stops short to his horror at the way you only cry harder.

Way too irresistible, especially as his body moves before his mind - holding out an open hand before he knows it. “I’m a much better dancer than him and you.” And oh Satoru will forever remember the way his heart lurches as you blink your teary eyes up in confusion, “Well, aren’t ya gonna take up the challenge?”

Weirdly, it wasn’t weird at all. 

If anything, you had to hold back your laughter the entire time at the way the great “campus sweetheart” Gojo Satoru was so on edge.

Just a friend comforting a friend, right?

So why was he avoiding your gaze with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, summer blue eyes pointedly trained right over your head. That pretty pink blush dusting his cheeks reflecting the hands hovering in midair over your waist. So close - and yet, fear in each and every turn and swirl.

Yours were searing into his broad shoulders as you tried to guide him to the muffled music from inside. And shit.

That night ended with a second kiss. 

You don’t know who leaned in first, just that Satoru’s soft lips were just fleeting on your glossy ones - barely even a touch. And that shit shit shit- this was Satoru. This was you. 

Everything. 

But it seems that every time Satoru was about to kiss you dangerously close to the way some tiny, forbidden part of his heart wanted to - the universe throws an obstacle at him. An obstacle that was six feet and named “Suguru”, currently running at break-neck speed out of the gym.

“MOVE YOUR ASSES!” he cackles, “THE FOOTBALL TEAM ISN’T TOO HAPPY ABOUT ME BREAKING THEIR STAR PLAYER’S NOSE.”

And not a word is uttered about the kiss as the three of you speed out of the school parking lot in Suguru’s busted-up black hellcat, the wind mussing up the hairstyle that took Satoru over two hours to perfect. Sneaking in glances at the sight of you singing along at the top of your lungs to some overplayed pop song on the radio. 

He learns another two things that night:

Apparently, Suguru’s right hook still really fucking hurt. And thank god for tonight’s casualties of noses, because it was a wonder that he didn’t look too hard at how close Satoru was with you. 

He didn’t…dislike the feeling of your lips on his. And judging by the way you meet his eyes in the rearview mirror - you didn’t either.

It’s mainly that last one that makes him gulp.

Neither of you remember the third kiss - though, Satoru’s sure that at least 80% of Shoko’s instagram followers did.

According to a very hungover Shoko, and the many, many forms of documentation, it had happened on the New Year’s eve during your third year in university. In which you were much more used to the raging parties that would be hosted at Suguru’s apartment, and only slightly less intimidated by them.

“And you’re a lightweight too, dumbass. You were gone.” Shoko sighs from across the café table, eye bags deeper than the last time he’d seen her. “Like gone gone.”

God, what a way to start the year.

Satoru bites back a remark about how “gone” Shoko herself had been. Sitting up straight in his seat, regret immediately hitting his senses faster than the guilty throbbing at his temples. He winces, managing out a semi-disbelieving groan of, “Gone gone?”

And she’s only nodding wearily, subconsciously tapping out the rest of her cigarette ashes onto his untouched plate of sweet pastries. 

“I’m talking dancing on expensive coffee tables and fighting to stop you from giving everyone there a strip show.” She cracks a smirk through a waft of smoke, “Though, she would’ve loved that I’m sure.”

“Har har har, you’d make even Nanami laugh with that one.”

“Eugh, gross.” Shoko taps through her phone briefly, swirling it around to show Satoru a few pictures that definitely gave him a mini-heart attack at 8:57 in the morning. “You look like you’re about to pen really bad poetry.”

And perhaps this was Shoko’s plan all along - to shock Satoru to the core hard enough that she can note it down as one of her sketchy psychological experiments. 

But he knew. Could feel it in the hazy fragments of memories - or, at the very least, in that entire highlight that Nanamin had oh-so-conveniently put up on Instagram titled, “Blackmail.”

You knew. 

You’d kissed him back. 

“I don’t have a-.” you slur, stumbling ever-so-slightly as you try to meet Satoru’s glassy eyes. Because shit the years have had him shooting up faster than you could look up. “-a New Year’s kiss, y’know.”

You were older - more gorgeous, if that was even possible now. That tight dress hugging your body so unfairly in a way that had him forgetting you were his best friend’s sister. 

The one person in this whole world that he couldn’t have.

But Satoru leans in closer, more because he wants to than anything - he could pick out your voice anywhere let alone over the thumping music currently filling his crowded living room. Lips loose as he tries to play up the cool-guy facade he’s been dubbed with since freshman year, “Hah, loser. Because I do.”

“Where?”

At this, Satoru is stumped - damn, you were good. 

“Not- uh here?” If he was in any clearer state of mind, he’d have been embarrassed at the way his voice cracks so traitorously as your unsteady hands pull him in closer by his overpriced button-up. 

Your body was flush against his now, so addictive. Gaze half-lidded and flickering between the sliver of milky skin exposed on his chest - from that impromptu striptease he’d almost started earlier - and the blue eyes that were currently locked you. You whisper a strained, “Liar.”

Close - too close. So dangerously close.

He breathes out against your lips, the smell of booze and you so heady in his mind. And the heavy words falling from his lips sound like lies, even to him. “Not.”

“Toru?” you hum, a sound that has him gasping. “Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And there went your New Year’s kisses. At exactly 11:37PM, if the photos were anything to go by. 

And holy shit were there many. All of which showed your arms looped around Satoru’s neck, crashing his lips to yours. His own, resting against your waist, a scandalously red blush - whether from the alcohol or you - adorning his cheeks. Looking more blissed out than he ever remembers feeling. 

“I’m a dead man, Shoko.” 

There’s a lengthy silence, leaving Satoru stewing in thoughts of how Suguru would react once he finds out. And whether or not he’d be able to rise from the dead just to see how pretty you’d look at his funeral.

Morbid thoughts broken only by Shoko’s cough, “Hey, can I keep your eyes for experimentation if he actually catches you?”

Subtly, he sends himself those photos from last night.  

Luckily for Satoru’s eyes, they never ended up being donated towards Shoko’s questionable contributions to the world of medicine. 

And by some grace of the gods above, Suguru never mentioned a word about the kiss that would’ve inevitably made its way to him. Or maybe it was because Satoru stole his phone until he managed to pester Nanami just enough to take down that highlight. But, semantics. 

His heart, however, might as well have been part of some experiment.

Because it’s been working overdrive since that night - mind reliving that moment over and over and over and- shit, he’s fucked. So, so fucked. 

Fucked enough that it took Satoru months just to muster up to even look in your pretty eyes once more, unless he wanted to get lost in them forever. Fucked enough that he dared to wonder again and again when there might be a fourth kiss - if there would be a fourth kiss. 

He just never thought it would happen the way it did - with you, standing outside his front door. 

“I’m sorry, Toru.” you mumble, “It’s just- I think we both need to grow up.”

You’ve freshly graduated now, looking more and more irresistible each time he sees you - even when you’re looking at him like that. 

Rolling his eyes, “Ha, is this another way of saying you want my secret to getting taller? Because the first thing is to-”

“I’m serious, Satoru.”

And oh how he wished you’d say something - anything - else right now. Call him anything but that. Maybe even throw an insult his way, tell him those new sunglasses look ugly, or about how you got that internship he would’ve died for. 

Satoru manages to choke out a heavy, “I don’t understand.” But that uncomfortable coil of something curling at the pit of his stomach said otherwise. And it causes him to finally breathe out a hesitant, “Maybe you’re right.”

As if that was all the answer you needed, you’re stepping out of the front door. Slow, and deliberate like you were giving him another chance - a thousand more. Sighing out a defeated, “It’s been years.” It has. “And we’re just running in circles.” You have. “I’m starting to think this is just some game to you.” It wasn’t.

“Wait!” he grasps your hand - soft. The look in your eyes even softer as you turn around to face his desperate face. “Please, sweetheart.”

Satoru doesn’t even know what words he wants to say - let alone whether they’d come out of his heavy mouth. 

So, instead, he’s crashing them into yours. 

Brief. Fleeting. Like each one before this. Too addictive, too short, that he thinks he’s almost imagining it as you pull away gently, until he sees that look in your eyes. 

“Toru, I have a date.”

The fourth kiss.

Satoru’s letting go of you like it burned - and, truly, it felt like some deep, dark part of him was burning down right now. “Great.” That should be hm that should be him that should be- “I’m…happy for you.”

And the last.

He fucked up.

He really, really fucked up.

That first date turned into a second. The second into a third. And unfortunately for Gojo, eventually, you were nearing your one-year anniversary with that asshat you’d met during the early days of your internship. 

He’d seen the man himself once, briefly at another one of Suguru’s famous parties. Ducking out of sight before he could be introduced, yet long enough to know that he wasn’t as tall, or as handsome, or as absolutely fucking hilarious. 

What did he have that Satoru didn’t? 

The answer to that, Satoru’s reminded of every time he’s causing ruckus over at Suguru’s apartment, and sees you walking out of your room, tittering on the phone to none other than your boyfriend. So gorgeous. So not his. 

You, that loser had you.

“If you sigh again I swear I’m shoving this popcorn up your a-”

“It’s a sad movie, Suguru!” he defends, draped across your couch at another one of those movie nights you loved to organize. As usual, there was the popcorn, the god-awful movie (if Satoru picks it), and the arguments. The only thing missing, however, was you. Ugh, something about an “anniversary” and a “seafood date”. Seriously, it’s not like you even enjoyed that new seafood restaurant in town, and he’s sure that bastard didn’t know-

“Satoru.” his best friend’s deadpan voice cuts through his little reverie. “We’re watching Mean Girls.”

And he’s barely even opening his mouth to snark back before-

SLAM!

Suguru pauses the movie almost immediately, turning to the direction of the front door. “Uh oh.” 

And lo and behold - there was you in all your pissed off, beautiful glory. Throwing your keys on the table, your fiery glare passes over the two men as you stomp to your bedroom. 

“Seafood wasn’t that good, sweetheart?” Satoru calls out behind you, eyes sweeping down your figure. Heart stuttering in his chest when you turn around with your fists clenched, lower lip wobbling in a way that Satoru would both kill whoever made you feel this way and die to be on the other side of those daggers in your eye. 

Sniffing out an icy, “Fuck off, loser and loserette.”

Then in a whirlwind of rage, you’re gone - your bedroom door slamming only slightly more gently than you’d done with the front door. Leaving a deafening silence, and Satoru whining, “Why am I the loserette?”

“Deserved.” Suguru shrugs. Warily eyeing your door, as if it was about to pounce at any given second, “Let her cool down before you give her an aneurysm at least.” Unpausing the television, propping his feet back up, “S’enough having to deal with you on top of a boyfriend like that.”

And that has Satoru perking up in interest - both figuratively, and literally as he snatches the remote and pauses the movie. “Wait wait wait what-” Holding it way out of Suguru’s reach, “What do you mean a ‘boyfriend like that’?”

Scoffing, “Funny. Now give me back the remote.”

A beat of silence passes. One. Two.

Only then does it dawn on Suguru that this might just not be some strange prank to stroke Satoru’s ego, and he was actually  more serious than he’d ever seen him. Damn. 

“Bro, have you really never met the guy or something? He’s a complete tool. I don’t know what happened, but this breakup was a long time coming.”

Satoru blinks, feeling a red hot surge of anger. “What? Seriously? Why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“You think I didn’t try?” he sighs, running a hand through his hair at the other’s uncharacteristic silence. “Hah, and just imagine, the man was talking about marriage, too. As if.”

And suddenly, Satoru’s hit with an image of you walking down the aisle. Not something he was a stranger to, but it still takes him aback. The sway of the fabric beneath his fingers, your lips against his. Hell, in that split-second he even dreams up how Nanamin would be crying very reluctant tears of joy. 

Everything. Everything that wasn’t his.

His fist tightens around the remote, until he could hear the cracking of plastic. Mind whirling with the thought of you and him and you. How he wished it was him and you. “I would’ve been better.”

Oh. 

Shit. 

“I- fuck this. Suguru, since elementary school I…”

And, well, Satoru’s so busy putting that extra physics seminar he took in university to work - trying to calculate the odds of surviving a jump out of this seven-storey window - that he almost misses Suguru’s low hum, a distant, almost barely-audible little interruption, “Well duh.”

“Hold on.” he’s snatching away the remote that had somehow slithered its way into the other’s hands once again. Ignoring his best friend’s croak of protests to pause in the middle of Regina George being hit by the bus - which, he felt was strangely enviable right now. “That was- what? YOU KNOW?”

“Huh? Even my parents know, the only one that doesn’t is her.”

“...”

Satoru didn’t know how Suguru seemed so calm, but he felt like he was about to spontaneously combust. Heart stuttering in his chest as he sideglances at your firmly shut door - like he was just waiting for you to jump out and tell him this was some elaborate prank. 

Begging for you to come - it would’ve hurt less.

But you don’t.

Fuck. 

And the only response he gets is a low whistle, before a phone is being shoved in his face - flashlight illuminating that crimson blush. “Damn, the great Gojo Satoru speechless? The groupchat is gonna love this, might even send it to my sister, y’know.” 

He didn’t care - didn’t give a shit if this video made rounds to Gakuganji himself. Only one thought racing through his mind right now. 

“But why aren’t you punching me like in elementary school?” 

And Satoru knows he’s smart - intelligent even. Hell, he was the valedictorian, the youngest employee to claw their way up to being on the board of directors. But he’s never felt more stupid when Suguru breathes out a bewildered, “Dude. That was for blaming me for the paper planes.” 

“Oh.”

Then the movie is unpaused. 

---

The last time you kissed Gojo Satoru was at the doorstep to that overpriced penthouse of his, exactly a year ago today. 

The last time you saw Gojo Satoru was just a few hours ago, lounging around your living room like he owned it. Honestly, he might as well have been part of the furniture at this point - like some expensive, fluffy couch. One that prattled on about your “dumbass boyfriend” and god-knows-what else to rile you up just for the fun of it.

Which is why it was odd to step out of your bedroom - eyes just a bit puffy, throat still tight - to a suspiciously quiet hallway. 

The lights were turned off, nothing but the pouring rain sounding from outside, television paused on some rerun of The Princess Diaries. Damn, you told those idiots not to start that one without you.

“Sugu?” you call, finding his bedroom empty. “Thought tonight was movie night?” Padding across the empty apartment, contemplating whether or not to get your phone and call him when-

Ding!

Ah, there. 

You roll your eyes as you head towards the front door, ready to give Suguru a piece of his mind for going out at this ungodly hour and forgetting his key. Seriously, what if you opened the door and he was hurt, or worse, or…

Satoru. 

Speaking a mile a minute.

Satoru.

“-florist was closed and the store clerk looked at me like I was crazy but I got this for-” he pauses abruptly, as if realizing something with a jolt. “-you.”

“You- what-” you don’t know where to look - at the drenched, disheveled Satoru filling your doorframe - rain in his hair, curtaining his frantic eyes, drenching his snug t-shirt. Or at the obscenely large bouquet of cheap strawberry lollipops being placed gently into your arms. 

What follows was an electric silence - and you have half the mind to tease Satoru for finally shutting the fuck up for once in his life. 

But, no. Instead, you eye the way he stands stubbornly at the doorway, fists clenched, blue eyes locked so intensely on yours that it was like they burned. 

Face flushed a familiar pretty pink that makes you realize that shit, he might be taller, voice deeper, broad shoulders tight against his t-shirt - but this was still the same boy that cried when you stole his favorite Digimon card in middle school. The same one that kissed you underneath a dingy slide, smelling of strawberry lollipops.

It’s the steady tap! tap! tap! of the water droplets from his hair that have you tearing your traitorous eyes from his see-through white t-shirt.

Guess you’ve both done some growing up since then.

“You loser.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

The pink wrapping of the bouquet rustles as your grip tightens. “He proposed to me today, y’know.” and yet, your quiet, even voice was the only thing ringing in Satoru’s ears. He jolts, as if some visceral, primal part of himself had been poked awake. Breathing heavy, fists clenching until he could feel the neat indents of his fingernails on his palm. Of course. He’s late. He’s late he’s late he’s late-

That is, until you’re plowing on, “I said no.”

“Huh?”

You think back to the stuffy restaurant, the man sitting from across from you - how wrong it felt. And all it took were those four words for you to realize that. “I said no.” 

Satoru snaps his head up, stepping close - so close. Voice strained like he wasn’t asking - begging. Praying, “Why?”

“We…” you raise a brow at the way Satoru flinches as you trail off. So desperate. A smirk makes its way onto your face, “...we haven’t divorced yet, right?”

And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you. 

Fuck, you don’t know - nor do you really care right now. Not when Satoru’s got his lips crashing against yours for the fifth time in your life, kissing you like it would be the last. Big arms dipping down to your waist, pulling you so tight against his muscled frame that he had half the mind to wonder whether it hurt. 

“Love this. Love the way you kiss me- fuck-” he’s spitting against your lips, kicking the door shut behind him. “Oh- would ya get mad if I-” he tries to get out through kisses. Only to suck on your pretty lips with a pained grunt. “If I-” Again and again, like it killed him to part. “-hah- celebrated right now?”

“Yes.” You’re letting the bouquet fall to the foor, white-knuckling that useless, drenched excuse of a shirt. “Now kiss me properly, Toru.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Such a sloppy mix of teeth and hands and him. Shoving a knee between your legs, making up for years and years of late nights with nothing but his fist and the pretty thought of you. 

“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart.” Satoru breathes out, as your urgent fingers that dispose of his shirt, feeling the gorgeous dips and curves of years of hard work to impress you. “Suck on m’tongue pretty- fuck-” His own fisting your shirt, pulling. Ripping.

“Toru!”

“I want you.” He’s letting the poor, tattered pieces drop in a pile on the floor, trailing a hand between your damp thighs before he can stop himself. “Oh how I’ve wanted you. And I don’t care if I have to buy fifty new outfits to make up for it.”

And it’s the feeling of his long index stroking up your sopping slit through your shorts that has you pulling away with a gasp. Delicate little strings of saliva snapping from Satoru’s kiss-bitten lips. “If we continue like this…” your voice wavers as he presses hot kisses along your collarbone. “-my brother’s gonna walk in.”

“...wouldn’t wanna relive that playground kiss, huh?”

It’s all he says before picking you up so easily, hands resting on your ass. Giving a playful spank ass you wrap your legs around his toned waist. 

And it’s sloppy.

Both his lips still hotly on yours and the way he’s stumbling urgently to your room through pure muscle memory. Pulling away only when you’re all splayed out so prettily for him on your mattress.

“Blue?” he breathes, pulling your shorts off. And it comes out strained - like the very sight of your panties - all soaked and flimsy with your slick - has whatever’s remaining of Satoru’s sanity flying out the window. “Blue? Oh, you’ve gotta have planned this, you little minx.” his hot breath hits your cunt as he shifts down the bed, tongue drawing languid, wet little circles on your inner thigh. “Because don’t tell me this was all for him?”

It was coincidence - or maybe fate - but that doesn’t stop you from giving Satoru a slow, teasing nod. Muttering out, “So what if it was?”

The only answer you get is thumb hooked around your shorts, pulling it just enough so that your brother’s best friend can spy your pretty pussy.

“Well then.” he chuckles at the way you jump when his fingertip just barely grazes your clit. “Guess I jus’ hafta prove m’better.”

A low groan is falling from his lips as soon as they meet your puffy ones, giving your pretty clit a chaste peck. Lingering long enough that he’s sure your sweet sweet juices cover his mouth.

And oh Satoru’s sure he’ll never forget the way your jaw falls slack, glassy eyes following his every move as he runs his tongue along his glossy lips. Savoring your candied taste, “Never kissed you like this before, huh?” 

Fuck, you’re sweeter than he’s imagined.

You whine desperately, something that has him smirking smugly, “Hah, what? Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re better when you shut up.” It’s all you can do to buck your hips into Satoru’s pretty face - not that you had to, because one taste of your dripping cunt and he was addicted. Surging forwards until he was nose-deep, locking your ankles around his head with a firm yank.

And you can’t lie - maybe you’ve imagined this exact scene a few times before on those lonely nights. But you just never expected Satoru to be so depraved. Desperate.

“Ngh- fuck, Toru-” you reach a hand down to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging his face up. But Satoru doesn’t stop - not even for a second. Tongue still dipping to spread your swollen folds with his tongue, looking you right in the eyes as he murmurs a strangled, “Mhm?” 

“Thought you were gonna prove you’re better, hm?”

So goading. So like you. 

At this, Satoru pulls back ever-so-slightly to laugh - laugh. His plump, glistening lips curling into a humorless little grin, “Oh I will.” Thumb circling your throbbing clit. Just dragging your twitching body across the silky sheets close to his, one hand pinning your hips down. Hard. “I will.”

Loving his new favorite place between your legs one hand toys with your clit, quick, messy little patterns. Tongue even more so. 

“Not just better.” he grunts, “Gonna make you cum so much harder, too.” Having your thighs shake with each word hissed out into your cunt, each turn of his deft fingers. “Till I’m the only thing on your mind. Me.”

And it’s all you can do to let out choked up groans of his name, back arching off the plush mattress to let him make out with your cunt deeper. Sloppier. So, so starved with the way he’s speeding up, tongue dragging across your walls. In and out in and out in and-

“Fuck! Hngh-” you angle his head - and he lets you. “There- Toru-”

Honestly, you didn’t even have to tell Satoru - he could feel it. Could feel it in the way your plushy walls are squeezing his hot tongue so harsh, until it was almost difficult to fuck your pussy so sloppily. In the way you’re letting out such delicious whines each time he grazes against those sweet spots. 

“There? Hah- I know.” he pulls away to muse, and your cute, disappointed whine goes straight to his already rock-hard cock. “Did he?”

He didn’t. And you’re shaking your head so pathetically - in a way you’d be embarrassed about usually. 

But that’s the last thing you’re thinking bout because you feel it - the cold, sinful feeling of Satoru spitting on your filthy cunt. Once. Twice. Blue eyes widening in delight at the way the mess of spit and slick drip down your slit. 

“Cute.” his tongue smoothes over the slutty pool, and the only thing your delirious brain can make out now is a low moan of, “So? Who’s better?”

It’s all you can do to choke out a broken little, “T-T-” Face burning at the way he was so clearly enjoying your struggle. And, well, no matter painfully hard it made his dick - he had to go just a bit easy on his girl, right?

“Shhhh, s’alright.” you flinch as he shoves two absolutely drenched fingers into your mouth, making so much more of a mess of it than necessary. Drinking in your cute gags, “I was asking her.” He’s making your head spin with the way he’s speeding up. “N’ she’s hah- very talkative.” Words muffled, and slurring together - like he was drunk off of you and your cunt. “Let’s hear what she has to ngh- say, huh?”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and squeezing into your sloppy entrance - like he couldn’t - didn’t - want to make up his mind. Oh, with your teary mewls strangled, the sound of Satoru making out with cunt is so loud. The squelches so obscene. 

“Fuuuuck.” he drawls. “Louder than I thought. I think she says I’m better, don’t you think?” 

You angle your head just right to catch the way his jaw grinds deeper into you, eating you out like his last meal. Your slick drooling down his chin so sinfully. 

“Ngh- fuck fuck fuck- ngh-” your yelps are dreamy, feeling like you were losing your mind with the way he was stretching you out. 

Like you were about to snap. Any second now. 

But Satoru’s only increasing his movements, drawing out your little moans. “And I think she’s saying…”  Getting sloppier. More erratic - and it didn’t matter if his fingers were cramping up now, cock aching with the need to be inside you. “-that she’s about to cum.”

You do - so hard and loud - both you and your cunt. 

You’re shaking, all but gushing all over Satoru’s mouth, tight pussy squeezing his tongue so hard. Barely even realizing the searing grip you’ve got on his hair as you drag your sloppy pussy all over his mouth.

But Satoru doesn’t mind - he gladly welcomes it, in fact. Tonguefucking your snug cunt senselessly, letting you chase your high as roughly as you wanted. Over and over.

Even when you’re vision isn’t as spotty as before, even when nothing’s coming out of your mouth but little whimpers. Your breathing dying down until all that rings in your barely-lucid mind were those obscene noises of Satoru’s lips all on yours. 

“T-Toru-” you whine, big fat tears pricking at your hazy eyes. “M’so sensitive.”

And of course this is Satoru, the same boy who’s been pushing your buttons for years just to giggle at your adorable reactions. Which is why he grins against your twitching cunt, “So?”

It takes everything in you to raise your head off the pillow that just seemed to be swallowing you whole, and even more to shoot Satoru a half-hearted glare. “So m’gonna ngh- assume you’re jus’ a pussy with a s-smaller dick than-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence - he doesn’t let you. Because Satoru’s fumbling with his belt, peeling off those still-drenched pants just enough for you to admire his clothed erection. 

And, shit, admittedly you expected him to have a big dick - having been subjected to way too much locker room talk with your brother - but this was ridiculous. 

“What? Too big?” He flashes you that infuriating grin. Palming his rock-hard cock through his boxers at the way your beautiful eyes trace the outline of his cock, all swollen and big. So intimidatingly big. “Damn, sweetheart, if I knew that this was how I’d get that feisty lil’ mouth of yours to shut up then I’d have done it a lot sooner.” 

And you don’t even know if you’re breathing, the pads of your fingers dancing along his bulge. Tracing those prominent veins. Thumbing that little damp spot at his fat head. “You wouldn’t have.” 

He hisses as your soft hands dip into the hem of his underwear. Voice cracking slightly, “I wouldn’t.”

Then you’re gasping - in sync with Satoru’s low moan - as you finally let him spring free. Thick cock hitting his sculpted abs, red tip smearing precum in a lewd little pool. Weeping and so so angry at the sight of you.

At the heavenly feeling of your thumb teasing under his sensitive slit, “Oh, shit.” 

He’s throwing his head back when you give an experimental pump, all the way from his pretty tip to the tufts fo white at his hilt. Fist gliding all over the thumping veins. Bucking his hips up like such a slut into your touch. 

“O-oh fuck.” he cracks an eye open at the way your hand looked so small compared to his dick, how well you were taking care of him. “Been ngh- dreaming of this since I learned what handjobs were, y’know? Hah- shit- ya gotta stop before I fuckin’ pass out.”

And Satoru thinks he could cum right then and there at the way you’re bringing your soaked index up to your mouth. Batting your lashes as you suck on them with a lewd pop! “From jus’ that?”

“You have no idea.”

That’s all it takes for Satoru to throw your still-quivering thighs over his shoulders, effectively shutting up whatever tease is on the tip of your sharp tongue by kissing your swollen folds with his fat head. Giving it one, long drag. 

Your mouth is sagging open at the slow, torturous teasing. The sheer anticipation that had your mouth running, “S-so much for ah- jus’ being ‘friends’, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” And you’re flinching from Satoru’s deep, dark tone. The way he’s bracing his fingers so bruisingly on your hips, reeling all the way back till his tip was just kissing your hole. “We stopped being friends the day you married me on that playground.” 

And then he’s slamming in - pushing past that first, feeble ring of resistance, gummy walls stretching out so perfectly for him. As if he fit right in - and he tells you that. Pants it into your open mouth a little over fifteen times, in fact. 

“Shiiiit, look at you.” he can’t tear his eyes away from the side of your lips stretching so wide to try and milk him. Sloppy entrance stretching out like magic. “S’like you’re made for me, huh? This pussy is made f’me?”

“Ngh- fuck, Toru! S’too big-” you keen, feet flattening on the mattress. As if to escape. To maybe fucking breathe.  

Not even half-way in yet, but aleady torn between pushing away and sinking yourself down on his swollen cock for more more more-

“Don’t you dare run away.” he warns, looking up at you through his long lashes. “I’ve waited too long for this. N’ you’re not taking this pretty pussy away any time soon.” Inch by fucking inch. Grinding in short, sharps jabs - no rhythm of rhyme, like they were genuinely out of control. “Way too f-fuckin’-” All the way until your puffy folds was meeting his hilt. Finally. All the way in. “-long.”

And once Satoru had you split apart on his dick - had those tears rolling down your cheeks, cunt swallowing him so sluttily - it’s like something snaps. 

Because he doesn’t waste a second - he’s already wasted almost two decades, anyway - filling you up with his mean hips. Not fucking easing you into it because you always did bring out that part of him, the part that him looping two strong arms around your waist. Pulling. 

“Oh- f-fuck c’mere.” Satoru gasps, pressing your body so crushingly against his. Kissing your shaky shoulers, your sweaty forehead, the gentleness so contrasting to his hips.“God I’ve missed out- fuck fuck fuck-” 

You’ve never seen the great Gojo Satoru - campus sex symbol - so uncomposed. Eyes half-lidded, just boring into yours, mouth slack in a soft oh! as he drags his cock all over inside your gummy walls. And the sight is so heavenly that you make the mistake the mistake of cracking a minute smile.

Just barely curling your lips before - “Don’t smile at me like that.” He’s dipping down a hand to roll your ravaged clit between two bullying fingers. “Fuck, she’s gonna be the death of me. Right?”

You keen at the- stimulation? The strech? The sheer embarrassment as you realize that Satou’s still talking to your sloppy pussy? Nodding so mockingly up at you as he plows on, “Mhm, she says you needa be ngh- knocked down a god, you’re tight- peg or two. So- get- ready-” 

He’s using this as an excuse to sit up on his knees, dragging you onto his lap so easily like some ragdoll. 

“That’s more like it.”

You’re sliding deeper down his painfully hard cock - all the way till his heavy balls rest beneath your ass, clit rubbing against his pelvis every time he bounces you like some slut.  

Deep. Ruthless.

“Keep your eyes open, sweetheart.” He chuckles, and you’re screwing open your eyes that you don’t even remember shutting. Trying so hard to stop crying out at the feeling of the curve of his dick massaging your walls. “Ya gotta hngh- see the o-only one who’d fuckin’ you properly, right?”

You squeal when he’s taking your clit captive once more. Finger quick, deft. “Y-yes.”

But that wasn’t enough for Satoru - it might as well never be. Because he’s only ramming his hips up further. Like he’s pushing into your stomach, your lungs, all the way into your cockdrunk brain. Fat head alternating between kissing your poor, abused cervix and all those sweet spots he’d mapped out with his tongue.

“Sounded unsure to me.” he’s pouty against your hardened nipples bouncing enticingly in his face. Fingers quirking faster on your clit, “Maybe I should ngh- stop then?”

“No!” Your hips stutter against Satoru’s. Nails clawing down the sculpted panes of his shoulders, leaving red angry marks for him to take as a sign tomorrow morning that no, it wasn’t just one of his dreams this time. “No no no- m’sure. You’re the only one makin’ me feel this way.”

You can feel the way he’s twitching wildly at your words, dick thumping harder inside your sensitive cunt. 

He punctures each word with a heavy, calculated thrust. Hand stretching and squeezing open your cunt from behind to let him slide impossibly deeper. “Hmmm, I’m not convinced.” 

Your stupid mouth is only capable of letting out broken, choked-up little moans of his name, ankles locking around those dimples at the end of his spine. “S’you–”

“Still not convinced.”

But he’s still speeding up his movements, just dragging you up and down his cock. “Who else made you hah- feel this good?” Sure to claim you from the inside out - to leave marks everywhere. Heavy balls on your ass, weeping tip on your cervix, lips bruised as you whimper at his murmured, “That ex of yours?” Biting down your neck, “That barista that always flirts with you?” Pulling away only to breathe into your lips, “Who?”

“ I- fuck it’s only you, Toru.”

“Sound convincing to you?” Satoru hums down at your cunt, biting his lower lip at the way you were milking him so good. Your slick soaking him all the way down to his balls - so needy in a way he never thought he’d see. “Yeah-” be breathes, nosing at your neck. “She agrees- fuck does this tight lil’ pussy of yours agree.” A few tears, a few gorgeous marks down his back, and he was finally convinced. “You’re mine.”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming, and Satoru doesn’t either.

Both of you too caught up in each other to recognize that familiar, white-hot pleasure running down your spine - all the way down to where he was so mercilessly buried in your cunt.  

And you’re well into the blood roaring deafeningly in your ears, the sight of Satoru - all wrecked - blurring as he fucks his hips up. Harsh. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he paints your quivering walls white. 

Cumming and cumming so hard that you can feel his seed dribbling down your thighs, making such a mess all over Satoru’s lap. Your poor, overfilled cunt soon bloated and unable to keep up with it.

“Toru–” you whine, like a prayer. Milking the fucking soul out of him while he gently paws at your messy hair.

“Shhh, I know I know, sweetheart.” Such a stark contrast to the way he was filling you up like his favorite sex toy. Not even bothering to move anymore, one hand on your hip, moving your limp body up and down his sensitive cock to fuck it deeper. The other still playing with your clit, “S’alright, my girl”

Satoru’s hands never leave you, and he prays that now that he got a taste - well, you better be alright with them not leaving you for as long as he lives.

“As long as you live, huh?” you chuckle groggily, a noise so dreamy that Satoru can’t even be mad that he said it out loud. “And all that riling me up these years. Do you have a degradation kink or something?”

“Well, only one way to find out~”

“Oh shut up you-”

SLAM!

“Yooo, I bought dinner from that- WHAT THE FUCK?”

There were only two more lessons to be learned:

Always lock the door. Always. And in case you don’t, a bouquet of lollipops will do the trick to a Suguru reeling from the newest addition to the family. 

Cheap takeout tastes better with an apologetic Suguru, and an ice pack to his cheek - and you to kiss it better.

A/N. Can you tell I kept listening to that one Artemas song while writing this?

Plagiarism not authorized.